So, I'm an English Major, correct? Correct. So, I've read/ seen a lot of Shakespeare and other such plays, right? Wrong. You see, as far as theatre (UK spelling because, well, I want to) goes, I feel I've lead a somewhat sheltered life. Sure, It'd be safe to say I saw practically every play and musical my high school (secondary for you brits reading this) produced both before and during my tenure. And I've seen several productions at Gonzaga. They've been good, some of them even great. However, I hope you will agree with me when I say that no one does a play quite like a professional. And, really, as far as professionals go (but what do I know, being sheltered) you don't get much better than London, both in casting and in pure quality of EVERYTHING.
I have been lucky enough to be studying with a program that provides tickets to several (if not all) of the best productions London has to offer. Which means free entertainment, the likes of which tends to go down in history books and halls of fame. Yeah, its good stuff.
What follows is a break down of my experiences in the West End, the South bank and the odd fringe area. I won't be giving reviews of every play I've seen because, really, who wants a bunch of reviews? And I'm no critic. But I'd like to at least do a fair bit of bragging and name dropping. This is partly to do with my hope that many of you will be inspired to jump on the next flight to London and see something great yourself but mostly because I want you to think I'm far more cultured and worldly than I actually am.
So, what's a theatre night like for me? Well, the show's I've seen have been during the week. Usually on a Tuesday or Wednesday. This means I'm already in central London, having spent the day in classes and as the shows ALWAYS start at 7:30 (excepting the Macbeth I'm seeing on Tuesday) I don't have time to get back home to Harrow for dinner. So, I eat out.
Now, the foodie in me would like to use this as an opportunity to sample the best of London cuisine. Many a time I have been tempted to stop in at an elegant looking restaurant and stuff myself on the delights of the wealthy. But, I'm not. Wealthy, that is. In fact, I don't have the money to eat out very often. Or, rather I don't have the money but occasionally I give in to temptation anyone. When I do, I usually convince myself to sidestep the delicious smelling french, Italian or good old pubs (which are expensive) and try to dig up some descent ethnic food. Curry is a favorite although the best I've had was frozen and I heated it up in a microwave. I also like what China Town has to offer. It makes me feel really bohemian and culturally savvy to go down to China Town and grab something that looks vaguely like a meat product on rice. Correction: I feel like Anthony Bourdain which is way cooler than being world savvy. However, as I said, I can't always afford this. Eating out in London is expensive, as I've said many a time before. Actually... this is all sounding familiar. Hmmm... Deja vu?
Anyway, what I do instead of eating in a restaurant is hop down the tube to Charing Cross. There's a Tesco Express right next to Trafalgar Square. They sell pre-made sandwiches and things like that for dirt cheap. They also sell some digestives (like a graham cracker cookie but so much better) which i always get. I'll tell you why later. So, Sandwich (and usually a bag of crisps) in hand I hop across the five or so crosswalks to Trafalgar square, I sit down on the steps in front of the National Gallery and I eat my dinner. This is probably my favorite ritual in London. The sun just begins to set, casting Lord Nelson and his anatomically incorrect lions into shadow. The fountains are lit in changing lights and all around tourists and Londoner's alike scurry or squat. There's this kind of poetry that comes from it all. London can be so crowded, and I'll be the first to say how harsh and accosting that feels. But, at sunset, with a half eaten Egg salad sandwich and a gaggle of toddling Italian tourists, I can't help feel that, yes, I'm IN London right now. It's a great feeling because I just KNOW that where I am is where I should be. I have food. History, culture, art are my show. The traffic sounds and the laughter of lost Italians are my music. The only word for it all is magic. Not the scary kind but the kind from Bedknobs and Broomsticks or Neville Longbottom's- the funny, unexpected kind.
Well, after that experience I usually hop off to the theatre, wherever it is. Sometimes there's just enough time for a cup of tea. As I said, I'll have a package of chocolate digestives. Like Oreos and milk, tea and chocolate digestives are soul mates, never meant to be apart. You dip the biscuit into the steaming tea, just until the chocolate begins to melt but not so that it falls apart. Its heaven. Its my one vice in London and I think I'll go into withdrawals when I go home to the US. However, I have to save the majority of my biscuits for the show. The theatre is a pretty informal place in London, so they're cool if you bring in outside food. My ritual is to always bring in biscuits. They're cheaper than what they sell there, and tasty too. The only problem is that sometimes the wrapper is a bit load and I get a very courteous reminder that the interval is only five minutes away from one of the seaters.
Now, what shows have I seen. Woof, too many to count. But I'll do my best, for shear bragging purposes. Here goes: London Assurance,Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, The White Guard, Enron (a musical), The Caretaker, Waiting for Godot, A Midsummer Night's Dream (Opera), Dunsinane, Twelfth Night and Measure for Measure. I still have more to see too. What have been my favorites? Hands down White Guard is my favorite. There were no really big actors in it but everything was done beautifully and I liked the play itself. I also enjoyed Dunsinane and Measure for Measure quite a bit. Dunsinane was a sort of sequel to Macbeth and it turned out wonderfully. What did I not like. The Opera (A Midsummer Night's dream) just did nothing for me. I LIKE Opera. There's nothing that'll get me crying faster than a rousing few bars of Pagliacci's famous aria "Recitar!" However, I was not prepared for Benjamin Britten nor do I think looking at an opera from a Shakespearean standpoint worked well. In any case I didn't enjoy myself. Now, I appreciated both Waiting for Godot and the Caretaker for being very interesting works with fantastic actors. However, I'm not a fan of absurdism. Not really, anyway. Maybe it's an acquired taste. However, I would not NOT see any of these plays for the world. Whether I enjoyed myself or not, I had the experience of it which is something I won't get anywhere else.
Who have I seen in these plays? Well, I'm jolly glad you asked because this is where the real bragging starts. In Waiting for Godot I saw Sir Ian McKellen (Gandalf, Magneto) and Roger Rees (Sheriff of Rottingham, Peter Quince). In the Caretaker I saw Jonathan Pryce (Juan Peron- Evita, Governor Swan- Pirates of the Caribbean), Cat on a Hot Tin Roof- James Earl Jones (V of Darth Vadar, Mufasa) and Philicia Rashad (Claire Huckstable), Measure for Measure- Anna Maxwell Martin (Becoming Jane, Bleak House, North and South), Enron- Samuel west (Nottinghill, Persuasion), TIm Pigott-Smith (North and South), Tom Goodman-Hill (Doctor Who) and a whole bunch more BBC actors that I've seen in things but I'm not sure if anyone else has. That's the thing about English actors. There tends to be fewer than you;d think and they've ALL worked together before.
So, big deal. I've seen lots of plays with lots of big name actors. You're right. If I've learned anything, a big name in a play can mean absolutely nothing for its quality. I mean, two of my favorites White Guard and Dunsanine had NO ONE I'd heard of before. So, Here's a recap of what I've found most memorable at these plays. In White Guard, one of the characters was killed in a bombing (the play is set in Ukraine during the Russian Civil War- beware the Bolsheviks) and another character is blaming himself for it. All at once he grabs a gun and holds it to his head. At that moment, everyone in the audience gasped and many (me being one) turned there heads. It wasn't that we thought he would kill himself. It was a fact. That man was going t kill himself and we needed to brace ourselves for it. The tension that the actors created, both the one with the gun and the others who were tying to convince him not to was unbelievable. And when he's finally convinced that it wasn't his fault, no one breathes until the gun is safely in the hands of someone else. That sigh of relief was probably heard on the other side of the Thames. I think that's what plays are about. Getting the audience to not just watch, but to witness and participate despite their best efforts.
Well, that's all for now. I've got a recap of my weekend in Bath coming up for you and eventually there'll be something on My Spring Break (both the fiasco and the redemption) but, for now it's Friday and I've got some stuff to do... like reading.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Pilgrimage Part 2: Scotland and Cadbury World
I failed to clarify my chosen title in the previous note. Pilgrimage is a term used in a wide variety of ways. Traditionally it was associated with religious treks of all kinds. Nowadays it can be applied to a long journey where the ending destination is a form of tribute to someone or something. In my previous posting, I went on a pilgrimage to find my family's homeland...thing and the fantastic palace of an adolescent obsession. Scotland, although originally planned as simply a fun educational experience turned into a very unexpected pilgrimage of all shapes and sorts. Birmingham... well, I had one thing in mind going to Birmingham. It was a pilgrimage of a decidedly self-indulgent nature disguised as something close to a learning experience. Yeah, like I'm going to take away anything more than a chocolate hangover from the Cadbury factory.
Scotland, February 24, 2010. It was cold. It was wet. We (my 29 or so classmates, my professor and I) had just made our way to a youth hostel from Waverley Train station. Waiting in the lobby for our room keys I felt like a package of frozen hamburger, left out on the counter to thaw. To be honest, I'm sure a package of hamburger looked better than I did. The wind had chaffed all exposed skin red and plastered our hair to our bodies. However, we were then indoors, out of the rain and the hostel (YHA Edinburgh) was like a hotel which made the bad weather seem less oppressive. After locking our bags safely away and taking a few minutes to sort ourselves out, we ventured back into the cold to Edinburgh castle.
For those of you lucky enough to have been to Edinburgh, you're aware that aside from the pea soup-like mists and freezing temperatures, it is a very beautiful city. I suppose beauty is in the eye of the beholder and I can understand if some people, preferring seaside french villages and Italian wine country villas might see Edinburgh as a downer. The buildings of old and new town are of a fairly uniform caramel-colored brick in a sort of grandiose-Utilitarian style (if that's not completely contradictory). Somehow, the city seems older than even London. It may be that Edinburgh seems more in touch with its Scottish landscape than London which makes it feel older. I'm not sure. I do know that Edinburgh Castle is everything I would hope for from most castles, if a bit touristised. Its even on a hillside so you see it from practically everywhere. That first day we also made it to the Scottish National Gallery. Like the British National Gallery, it is free and has a very good collection of renaissance art and a lovely exhibition devoted to Scottish artists. While I enjoyed the art, I found it a bit lacking in impressionism which, if I had to choose, would be the art movement that most feeds my soul. However, several lovely neo-classical marble sculptures which are always a treat. That night the hostel fed us a filling dinner and most went to bed early. Scotland is a tiring place.
The next day we had breakfast at 7:30. The hostel served "Full SCOTTISH breakfast" which, if it diverged from "full ENGLISH breakfast" I have no idea how. It consisted of bacon, sausage, baked beans, bread, and a tomato. Oh, and tea. ALWAYS tea. As horribly unhealthy as it sounds it is actually one of my favorite breakfast styles now. My future roommates should be prepared for a new Saturday morning tradition. Anyway, on the schedule of events for the day was the High Kirk (I think that was the name) which is the large Catholic Cathedral-turned Presbyterian kirk in the city. It has a fairly extensive history and it was interesting to learn about the rift between the Church of England and the Presbyterians of Scotland, led my John Knox. I'm not sure I'd favor either side (john Knox being kind of a downer and old school Anglicans being kind of legalistic) but all in all it makes for a very interesting church history. After the tour we went to the Scottish Museum. To be honest I spent most of my time searching in vain for William Wallace and Robert the Bruce. I felt cheated to discover that their only mention in the whole museum took the shape of a small display of artifacts and a few blurbs about the wars of independence. I then promptly ate my crisps to show the world my dissatisfaction.
After that, Martin gave us free time consisting of about 3 hours if memory serves. He gave the option of taking the train with him to Linlithgow palace or doing whatever the heck we liked. Being of the castle hunting breed, I opted for Linlithgow as did about 14 others. I think it was one of the best decisions I have made here. Fully expecting a smaller Kensington or Hollyrood, I was ecstatic to discover that Linlithgow is not a "living" castle. Its a skeleton of James IV old residence. It was once a handsome and luxurious home on Loch Linlithgow. Now, its standing stone in the shape of rooms, courtyard, dungeon, ramparts minus roof and all signs of hospitality (excepting a small gift shop near the entrance). Not believing my eyes when we approached, I took Martin's advice to explore (on my own) the area. Giddy as I haven't been since I was 9 and I found out they were making more Star Wars films, I ran immediately across the courtyard, avoiding the ascending steps and heading straight for the ones that went DOWN. I squealed with delight when I realized their was no hand rail, nor helpful lights to illuminate the palace kitchens or other rooms. And there were rooms. So many. Most with dark, small passageways leading to more dark rooms. At times I pulled out my cellphone flashlight to see if that thing in the corner was another passageway, a hiding hole or the ghost of some murdered Scottish lord. It usually was one of the first two. Some of the lower rooms had these enthralling and romantic window seats (there were some windows down there) that were straight out my early imaginings of forgotten princesses and greedy barons and their Magna Cartas (I was a bit of history geek as a child). I think all of this would have made me cry if I had not been so eager to see what else the castle offered. Tears would only obscure my already horrible vision. I won't bore you with further details. I will say that the view of the locks was straight out of stevenson's "Kidnapped" and that I don't think I'll ever forget this experience as long as I live.
After returning from Linlithgow we ate dinner and the night ended. The next day was short as most of the class was heading back to London. We did get a tour of the Scottish parliament. I fully expect that in 10 or so years Scotland will have full independence. Shocked? Don't be. There won't be a war and it ma take some getting used to but I feel most scots want and are ready for a country of their own. Anyway, after the parliament Emily and I said goodbye to our classmates and headed to our own hostel. The plan had been that the next day we would take a train to Aberfeldy and make our way to the Menzies castle from there as I had made a promise to a friend to check it out. Unfortunately, Scotland in the winter is like Russia in the winter: It likes to keep out invading forces. So, as the lines were closed and we were afraid of being stuck up there if we went by coach, Emily and I opted on a different day trip. But before I get to that, I'll talk about The Elephant House. For you Harry Potter fans, this should be a nice volt of jealousy. For you that could care less, now is a good time to get a cup of tea and check your stock portfolio. JK ROwling first (I think, anyway) began to pen the Harry Potter series in a cafe in Edinburgh called "The Elephant House". Aside from this fame, the Elephant is just a darn cool place. There are pastries and tea, hotdogs and soup and all sorts of tasty others. I had a scone and it was deliscious. Sitting at a table next to the window with the view of the castle, I have no doubt in my mind where the idea of hogwarts came from. earlier in the trip (I went to the cafe twice) I had even been inspired to write a bit of something. When I was with Emily, I soaked up the atmosphere and let my mind be a piece with the fact that I had touched someone's muse.
After a decidedly sleepless night (bring earplugs when staying in a dorm room hostel) Emily and I got up early and got our tickets for Stirling. Being disappointed with the Scottish museums display, we had made the early decision to seek out William Wallace and Robert the Bruce on their own turf. Stirling is a beautiful town, right on the edge of the highlands. Emily and took our time getting to the Wallace monument and ended up stumbling on the ruins of an old cathedral where one the James' was buried. We then walked (as Emily would say in the boonies) around until we found a road that took us up the steep incline to the monument which was a tall tower with a great view. Granted, this was made for tourists. But it felt pretty good to walk the 246 steps past all of fake tartans and plastic bagpipes to the tippity-top. We got some very nice posed pictures and headed back down for an early tea. Right after that we walked to the other side of the town to Stirling Castle. Although smaller, Stirling was still pretty cool. The tour guide was a character, if a very distinguished pointy nose, long white hair, a propensity for saying "yay" at the end of statements and long, bony fingers. I of course fell in love with him. We had an unfortunately light lunch and then headed back to Edinburgh. We were both exhausted and ready for bed. When we got to the city, we stopped at Marks and Spencers for sandwiches and whatever else would fill our stomachs (which turned out to e a lot) and made our way back to the hostel. The next day we left Edinburgh for London, better for the experience. I am going back one day. That's not a hope, or goal. Its a fact.
And now for something COMPLETELY different. Like Scotland, Birmingham was also a planned excursion through my study program. I suppose going there had a good deal to do with a better sense of the industrial revolution and the British Emprie and what not. In all honesty, I just wanted some chocolate. We did see a nice gallery ith some Pre-Raphaelite painters. It was nice.
Now, to the good stuff. Cadbury World. Really, a place for kids and kids at heart. But can you imagine a more magical place than an entire complex devoted to the entertainment of chocoholics from around the world? I don't think I can. Yes the staged welcoming videos were as corny as corn gets. Sure, I'm not really sure what an animatronic gorilla drumming along to Phil Collins has to do with coco. But hey, its chocolate. It doesn't have to explain itself. What i wanted I got. Within an hour of our arrival had a small cup of warm, melted chocolate in my hands and that was enough to justify the whole trip. Of course, there were more samples but there's something undeniably appealing about eating straight melted chocolate. Of course, I also discovered a new favorite candy- Cadbury's Turkish Delight. Its Turkish Delight. Its chocolate. Its INCREDIBLE. In future, if someone were to ever need a gift for me, this is it. I could devote volumes to my new found passion for Cadbury's Turkish Delight.
Well, now that I've exposed what a gluttonous fiend I am, I'll end my note. Next weekend is Bath. I have the option of staying over a night. I'm not sure if that'll happen. We'll see.
Scotland, February 24, 2010. It was cold. It was wet. We (my 29 or so classmates, my professor and I) had just made our way to a youth hostel from Waverley Train station. Waiting in the lobby for our room keys I felt like a package of frozen hamburger, left out on the counter to thaw. To be honest, I'm sure a package of hamburger looked better than I did. The wind had chaffed all exposed skin red and plastered our hair to our bodies. However, we were then indoors, out of the rain and the hostel (YHA Edinburgh) was like a hotel which made the bad weather seem less oppressive. After locking our bags safely away and taking a few minutes to sort ourselves out, we ventured back into the cold to Edinburgh castle.
For those of you lucky enough to have been to Edinburgh, you're aware that aside from the pea soup-like mists and freezing temperatures, it is a very beautiful city. I suppose beauty is in the eye of the beholder and I can understand if some people, preferring seaside french villages and Italian wine country villas might see Edinburgh as a downer. The buildings of old and new town are of a fairly uniform caramel-colored brick in a sort of grandiose-Utilitarian style (if that's not completely contradictory). Somehow, the city seems older than even London. It may be that Edinburgh seems more in touch with its Scottish landscape than London which makes it feel older. I'm not sure. I do know that Edinburgh Castle is everything I would hope for from most castles, if a bit touristised. Its even on a hillside so you see it from practically everywhere. That first day we also made it to the Scottish National Gallery. Like the British National Gallery, it is free and has a very good collection of renaissance art and a lovely exhibition devoted to Scottish artists. While I enjoyed the art, I found it a bit lacking in impressionism which, if I had to choose, would be the art movement that most feeds my soul. However, several lovely neo-classical marble sculptures which are always a treat. That night the hostel fed us a filling dinner and most went to bed early. Scotland is a tiring place.
The next day we had breakfast at 7:30. The hostel served "Full SCOTTISH breakfast" which, if it diverged from "full ENGLISH breakfast" I have no idea how. It consisted of bacon, sausage, baked beans, bread, and a tomato. Oh, and tea. ALWAYS tea. As horribly unhealthy as it sounds it is actually one of my favorite breakfast styles now. My future roommates should be prepared for a new Saturday morning tradition. Anyway, on the schedule of events for the day was the High Kirk (I think that was the name) which is the large Catholic Cathedral-turned Presbyterian kirk in the city. It has a fairly extensive history and it was interesting to learn about the rift between the Church of England and the Presbyterians of Scotland, led my John Knox. I'm not sure I'd favor either side (john Knox being kind of a downer and old school Anglicans being kind of legalistic) but all in all it makes for a very interesting church history. After the tour we went to the Scottish Museum. To be honest I spent most of my time searching in vain for William Wallace and Robert the Bruce. I felt cheated to discover that their only mention in the whole museum took the shape of a small display of artifacts and a few blurbs about the wars of independence. I then promptly ate my crisps to show the world my dissatisfaction.
After that, Martin gave us free time consisting of about 3 hours if memory serves. He gave the option of taking the train with him to Linlithgow palace or doing whatever the heck we liked. Being of the castle hunting breed, I opted for Linlithgow as did about 14 others. I think it was one of the best decisions I have made here. Fully expecting a smaller Kensington or Hollyrood, I was ecstatic to discover that Linlithgow is not a "living" castle. Its a skeleton of James IV old residence. It was once a handsome and luxurious home on Loch Linlithgow. Now, its standing stone in the shape of rooms, courtyard, dungeon, ramparts minus roof and all signs of hospitality (excepting a small gift shop near the entrance). Not believing my eyes when we approached, I took Martin's advice to explore (on my own) the area. Giddy as I haven't been since I was 9 and I found out they were making more Star Wars films, I ran immediately across the courtyard, avoiding the ascending steps and heading straight for the ones that went DOWN. I squealed with delight when I realized their was no hand rail, nor helpful lights to illuminate the palace kitchens or other rooms. And there were rooms. So many. Most with dark, small passageways leading to more dark rooms. At times I pulled out my cellphone flashlight to see if that thing in the corner was another passageway, a hiding hole or the ghost of some murdered Scottish lord. It usually was one of the first two. Some of the lower rooms had these enthralling and romantic window seats (there were some windows down there) that were straight out my early imaginings of forgotten princesses and greedy barons and their Magna Cartas (I was a bit of history geek as a child). I think all of this would have made me cry if I had not been so eager to see what else the castle offered. Tears would only obscure my already horrible vision. I won't bore you with further details. I will say that the view of the locks was straight out of stevenson's "Kidnapped" and that I don't think I'll ever forget this experience as long as I live.
After returning from Linlithgow we ate dinner and the night ended. The next day was short as most of the class was heading back to London. We did get a tour of the Scottish parliament. I fully expect that in 10 or so years Scotland will have full independence. Shocked? Don't be. There won't be a war and it ma take some getting used to but I feel most scots want and are ready for a country of their own. Anyway, after the parliament Emily and I said goodbye to our classmates and headed to our own hostel. The plan had been that the next day we would take a train to Aberfeldy and make our way to the Menzies castle from there as I had made a promise to a friend to check it out. Unfortunately, Scotland in the winter is like Russia in the winter: It likes to keep out invading forces. So, as the lines were closed and we were afraid of being stuck up there if we went by coach, Emily and I opted on a different day trip. But before I get to that, I'll talk about The Elephant House. For you Harry Potter fans, this should be a nice volt of jealousy. For you that could care less, now is a good time to get a cup of tea and check your stock portfolio. JK ROwling first (I think, anyway) began to pen the Harry Potter series in a cafe in Edinburgh called "The Elephant House". Aside from this fame, the Elephant is just a darn cool place. There are pastries and tea, hotdogs and soup and all sorts of tasty others. I had a scone and it was deliscious. Sitting at a table next to the window with the view of the castle, I have no doubt in my mind where the idea of hogwarts came from. earlier in the trip (I went to the cafe twice) I had even been inspired to write a bit of something. When I was with Emily, I soaked up the atmosphere and let my mind be a piece with the fact that I had touched someone's muse.
After a decidedly sleepless night (bring earplugs when staying in a dorm room hostel) Emily and I got up early and got our tickets for Stirling. Being disappointed with the Scottish museums display, we had made the early decision to seek out William Wallace and Robert the Bruce on their own turf. Stirling is a beautiful town, right on the edge of the highlands. Emily and took our time getting to the Wallace monument and ended up stumbling on the ruins of an old cathedral where one the James' was buried. We then walked (as Emily would say in the boonies) around until we found a road that took us up the steep incline to the monument which was a tall tower with a great view. Granted, this was made for tourists. But it felt pretty good to walk the 246 steps past all of fake tartans and plastic bagpipes to the tippity-top. We got some very nice posed pictures and headed back down for an early tea. Right after that we walked to the other side of the town to Stirling Castle. Although smaller, Stirling was still pretty cool. The tour guide was a character, if a very distinguished pointy nose, long white hair, a propensity for saying "yay" at the end of statements and long, bony fingers. I of course fell in love with him. We had an unfortunately light lunch and then headed back to Edinburgh. We were both exhausted and ready for bed. When we got to the city, we stopped at Marks and Spencers for sandwiches and whatever else would fill our stomachs (which turned out to e a lot) and made our way back to the hostel. The next day we left Edinburgh for London, better for the experience. I am going back one day. That's not a hope, or goal. Its a fact.
And now for something COMPLETELY different. Like Scotland, Birmingham was also a planned excursion through my study program. I suppose going there had a good deal to do with a better sense of the industrial revolution and the British Emprie and what not. In all honesty, I just wanted some chocolate. We did see a nice gallery ith some Pre-Raphaelite painters. It was nice.
Now, to the good stuff. Cadbury World. Really, a place for kids and kids at heart. But can you imagine a more magical place than an entire complex devoted to the entertainment of chocoholics from around the world? I don't think I can. Yes the staged welcoming videos were as corny as corn gets. Sure, I'm not really sure what an animatronic gorilla drumming along to Phil Collins has to do with coco. But hey, its chocolate. It doesn't have to explain itself. What i wanted I got. Within an hour of our arrival had a small cup of warm, melted chocolate in my hands and that was enough to justify the whole trip. Of course, there were more samples but there's something undeniably appealing about eating straight melted chocolate. Of course, I also discovered a new favorite candy- Cadbury's Turkish Delight. Its Turkish Delight. Its chocolate. Its INCREDIBLE. In future, if someone were to ever need a gift for me, this is it. I could devote volumes to my new found passion for Cadbury's Turkish Delight.
Well, now that I've exposed what a gluttonous fiend I am, I'll end my note. Next weekend is Bath. I have the option of staying over a night. I'm not sure if that'll happen. We'll see.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Pilgrimage Part 1: Bredfield and Hampton Court
I'm exhausted. I say this, not for your pity, or for admiration but as a simple warning. I'm pretty much writing this on the fly. Grammar won't be checked (has it ever been?) and I may or may not say things that sound just plain (as my host mother would say) contrary. Well, I don't and care. Take it or lave it.
As I've said, time and time again, London is a large, dirty, compressing city full stinky, loud, gawdy things that really overstimulate a person of my *achem* sensitive nature. Previously, I've done quite a bit to relieve myself of the big city by hiding in parks. Well, within these past few weeks I've actually left it for brief stints of time and that's been nice. However, I feel I've done a lot more in these trips aside from recharging my introverted batteries. So, I'll start from where I left off.
On friday, February something or other (I'm too tired to remember) I woke up at 5:45, got dressed, and headed out the door towards Liverpool Street train station. My equipment: 1 wool sweater, 1 rain jacket, leather boots, camera, Lonely Planet great Britain Guide Book, Google maps of Ipswich and Bredfield, Waterbottle, 2 scones, 1 carrot, 2 apples, and an assortment of cheese (non-dairy, of course). My destination: Bredfield, Suffolk, England. Why, you ask? Well, about 2,000 years ago two Americans, a man named Robert Middleton and a woman named Dorinda McKnight, in the airforce stationed in England decided they just might like each other enough to spend the rest of their lives together. There was some sort of archaic ceremony involving appeasing the volcano god (as Suffolk is FULL of Volcanoes) and (here the details get a little vague) they some how got a house in Bredfield. Around this time they also bought a bought a changling baby from Queen Titania for five shillings and a basket of oysters. Why they wanted I'm not sue. It had something to do with a deal they made with a warlord and the rites of primo geniture and so forth. I'm not really an expert on ancient Middletonian customs. But I digress.
Anyway, I wanted to find the house they lived in in Bredfield as, they are, in fact, mis padres. The house even had a name. I say had as I discovered a little later the house no longer exists. But back to the story. So, I took a 9:00 o'clock train from London to Ipswich. The train was lovely. Fast, clean and there was even a woman who pushed a food trolley up and down the aisle. Once I got to Ipswich, I knew vaguely where I needed to go as I had researched the area previously. I knew I needed to find the bus station on Cameron road and take the 12:38pm bus to bredfield. I knew it. Well, apparantly Ipswich didn't know it as the bus station turned out to be a sign next to a pub and casino. Not only that, but it being half term for school children, the bus schedule was all off kilter. So, my plans changed. Instead of 12:38, I would wait for the 2:09 bus. This gave me ample time to roam around Ipswich. Its a very normal, British town. Its not a bustling, cosmopolitan city like London. There was a lovely state home where cardinal Wolsey (head man for Henvry VIII), a nice church and tasty pasties so I enjoyed myself. When the time came I was able to leave Ipswich, on my way to Bredfield. I could not believe I had actually done it. Pride really does not cover how impowered I felt at having succesfully navigated the transportation system on my own without getting lost. It was a great moment in my life.
Now, I feel I should say something about the English roads system. All-in-all, its an excellent system that's been around since the Romans who were darn good planners. However, what has also been around since the days of ox-carts and horsemen is the road size. Seriously. One mini can drive down the road and either side will be touching hedgerow (the bushes that line pretty much all roads). Imagine taking a regular sized city bus down what your imagination has now conjured. Scared? Yeah, so was I. When I wasn't biting in my hand to keep from gasping every time we "passed" another car, I was watching my fellow passengers. There were probably five in all heading outside of Ipswich and not one was under the age of 70. What was really great was that they all seemed to know not only each other but the bus driver who in turn knew exactly where each of his patrons needed to go. He even stopped seemingly in the middle of no where to pick up an old lady and take her to the Tesco (a cheap grocery store) in the next town. One woman even got to talking with Nigel (such was the bus driver's name) about his recent knee surgery and how her cousin Helen was about to get her hip replaced. I liked listening to this particular woman, who was probably in her mid-seventies, had brought along her mother who she always made sure to repeat everything that Nigel said to. Or she'd ask her questions like "i'n't bwight muvah?" When we got to a town that i thought might be my stop I asked her what stop it was. I love how she turned to, as if it was the most absurd question she'd ever heard and said, "why, this is Bwedfild, dawling."
"Bwedfild" or Bredfield as the town sign says, is a small village. Really, you don't get much smaller in England. But its peaceful and quiet and there are tees and fields everywhere. I took my time walking around, tying to find mom and dad's house but I didn't have any luck. Of course, I'm notorious for not finding things so it may very well be there. I really did enjoy the town, but it being small and having no working businesses I didn't really have a reason to stay after I'd finished searching. I was especially eager to get back to Ipswich as it was about 3:30 and would be dark soon. So, I headed back to the bredfield bus stop and waited. and waited. and waited.
About 4:30 I decided I should have planned how I was going to get back better. I had no bus schedule but I was pretty sure one was not coming in the near future. I was also waiting right in front of a house where the mother kept peaking out her window and looking at me like I was some kind of creeper. So, not wanting to be thought a stalker, I decided I had two perfectly good feet and I'd walk somewhere with a better bus service. I had a vague idea that Woodbridge was pretty close and my google map of Bredield had a road that led somewhere that i thought was woodbridge. So I walked. If your remember, the roads are very thin which left me about 5 inches of sod between the road and the hedge to walk on. Sometimes I jumped into a field to keep out of the way of the cars. Eventually I got the the A12 or something like that which is a fairly popular road. This turned out to be a good thing as it had something resembling a sidewalk which took me to by Sutton Hoo (anglo saxon treasure trove), some other towns I don't remember, Melton, and finally Woodbridge.
Now, by this time I was in what I like to call a state. As bold, brave, and brash as I like to think I was, in reality I was an internal wreck. Being lost in the middle of East Anglia is not my idea of a good time. In fact, on the scale of time quality, 10 being a good time and 1 being a bad one I'd say this ranked about a 3 which only got its points because, well, I was lost in ENGLAND which just doesn't happen every day. However, I was good and truly lost without a tube station or friendly face in sight which is kind of nerve racking. I got the point of seriously considering flagging the first bus I saw down and demanding the driver take me where I wanted to go when i saw the familiar sign that meant rail road. I had not planned on taking a train back to Ipswich but as I was, as you can imagine, desperate, I didn't particularly care. When I tried to buy my ticket I discoved that the ticket window was closed and nearly cied. However, a friendly woman in the gift shop told me I could buy my ticket on the train, which would leave at 6:07. This gave me about a half hour to calm myself down. I gave my dad a call, which helped my state of mind quite a bit and finished off my food stuffs which I had been nibbling on for most of my day. When the train finally came, I was tired, a bit shaky but extemley happy. I didnt even have to switch trains at Ipswich to get back to London. I got into London about 8 and decided I wanted a good strong meal to carry me home. That finished, I got on the tube. Then I realized I had a few phone messages from my host family making sure I was, you know, alive, and checked the time which was around 10:30.
The next morning I slept in. I love stating the obvious so I'll indulge myself and say it was very nice. Then I got it into my head that what I really needed to comabt my recent slightly traumatic but very fulfilling experience was another one. So, I invited a few of my new friends Sasha and Annie to Hampton Court- the famous home of cardinal Wolsey, Anne Boleyn and henry VIII as well as other english monarchs.
Like bredfield, i had to take a train from Waterloo station to Hamton Court. Unlike Bredfield it was a rather hoping place with tourists galore. This left a rather sour taste in my mouth- especially all the rubbish in the gift shop. That day i realized that when I go to a castle I don't want dress up Henry and Katherine Parr and newly remodeled state rooms and wax-works in period costume. My imagination doesn't need help getting an idea of what castle life was like nor do I want to see the fifteenth state bedroom decked out in full regalia. I suppose its nice to see the rich fabrics, tapestries and paintings but really, I'd jsut as soon put those in the British museum and see them separately. What I want in a castle is evidence of how time has left it. I don't want carpet I won't worn down stone. I don't want safety rails- I'd just as soone trip down the stairs like Thomas Moore might have. I don't want a cafe or gift shop I want the hollowed out corpses of the royal court apartments. In my mind I think a castle is a kind of tribute to the past in a sad way. They're all gone (when I say they I mean the old kings and queen and nobility) and a castle should kind of leave a haunting impression, like a cemetery. I want to touch the same stone's that two-year old Elizabeth I touched and I want to look out the same windows as Jane Seymour.
Now, in all fairness Hampton Court is a very well preserved depiction of Tudor and Stuart achitecture and for anyone interested in that history I'd recommend seeing it. Its vey beautiful. However, Hampton court lacks something my heart desperately wants- a solid presence of death. That sounds morbid. sorry? I don't mean to be a weirdo but really, I can't put it any other way.
Well, I'm exhausted. I've said that already but its still true. I'm not entirely sure what I just wrote but I have the vague idea that I forgot scotland. well, I'll wirte somethine else on that later. When I've slept and don't have an 8 o'clock train to birmingham the next morning.
good night.
As I've said, time and time again, London is a large, dirty, compressing city full stinky, loud, gawdy things that really overstimulate a person of my *achem* sensitive nature. Previously, I've done quite a bit to relieve myself of the big city by hiding in parks. Well, within these past few weeks I've actually left it for brief stints of time and that's been nice. However, I feel I've done a lot more in these trips aside from recharging my introverted batteries. So, I'll start from where I left off.
On friday, February something or other (I'm too tired to remember) I woke up at 5:45, got dressed, and headed out the door towards Liverpool Street train station. My equipment: 1 wool sweater, 1 rain jacket, leather boots, camera, Lonely Planet great Britain Guide Book, Google maps of Ipswich and Bredfield, Waterbottle, 2 scones, 1 carrot, 2 apples, and an assortment of cheese (non-dairy, of course). My destination: Bredfield, Suffolk, England. Why, you ask? Well, about 2,000 years ago two Americans, a man named Robert Middleton and a woman named Dorinda McKnight, in the airforce stationed in England decided they just might like each other enough to spend the rest of their lives together. There was some sort of archaic ceremony involving appeasing the volcano god (as Suffolk is FULL of Volcanoes) and (here the details get a little vague) they some how got a house in Bredfield. Around this time they also bought a bought a changling baby from Queen Titania for five shillings and a basket of oysters. Why they wanted I'm not sue. It had something to do with a deal they made with a warlord and the rites of primo geniture and so forth. I'm not really an expert on ancient Middletonian customs. But I digress.
Anyway, I wanted to find the house they lived in in Bredfield as, they are, in fact, mis padres. The house even had a name. I say had as I discovered a little later the house no longer exists. But back to the story. So, I took a 9:00 o'clock train from London to Ipswich. The train was lovely. Fast, clean and there was even a woman who pushed a food trolley up and down the aisle. Once I got to Ipswich, I knew vaguely where I needed to go as I had researched the area previously. I knew I needed to find the bus station on Cameron road and take the 12:38pm bus to bredfield. I knew it. Well, apparantly Ipswich didn't know it as the bus station turned out to be a sign next to a pub and casino. Not only that, but it being half term for school children, the bus schedule was all off kilter. So, my plans changed. Instead of 12:38, I would wait for the 2:09 bus. This gave me ample time to roam around Ipswich. Its a very normal, British town. Its not a bustling, cosmopolitan city like London. There was a lovely state home where cardinal Wolsey (head man for Henvry VIII), a nice church and tasty pasties so I enjoyed myself. When the time came I was able to leave Ipswich, on my way to Bredfield. I could not believe I had actually done it. Pride really does not cover how impowered I felt at having succesfully navigated the transportation system on my own without getting lost. It was a great moment in my life.
Now, I feel I should say something about the English roads system. All-in-all, its an excellent system that's been around since the Romans who were darn good planners. However, what has also been around since the days of ox-carts and horsemen is the road size. Seriously. One mini can drive down the road and either side will be touching hedgerow (the bushes that line pretty much all roads). Imagine taking a regular sized city bus down what your imagination has now conjured. Scared? Yeah, so was I. When I wasn't biting in my hand to keep from gasping every time we "passed" another car, I was watching my fellow passengers. There were probably five in all heading outside of Ipswich and not one was under the age of 70. What was really great was that they all seemed to know not only each other but the bus driver who in turn knew exactly where each of his patrons needed to go. He even stopped seemingly in the middle of no where to pick up an old lady and take her to the Tesco (a cheap grocery store) in the next town. One woman even got to talking with Nigel (such was the bus driver's name) about his recent knee surgery and how her cousin Helen was about to get her hip replaced. I liked listening to this particular woman, who was probably in her mid-seventies, had brought along her mother who she always made sure to repeat everything that Nigel said to. Or she'd ask her questions like "i'n't bwight muvah?" When we got to a town that i thought might be my stop I asked her what stop it was. I love how she turned to, as if it was the most absurd question she'd ever heard and said, "why, this is Bwedfild, dawling."
"Bwedfild" or Bredfield as the town sign says, is a small village. Really, you don't get much smaller in England. But its peaceful and quiet and there are tees and fields everywhere. I took my time walking around, tying to find mom and dad's house but I didn't have any luck. Of course, I'm notorious for not finding things so it may very well be there. I really did enjoy the town, but it being small and having no working businesses I didn't really have a reason to stay after I'd finished searching. I was especially eager to get back to Ipswich as it was about 3:30 and would be dark soon. So, I headed back to the bredfield bus stop and waited. and waited. and waited.
About 4:30 I decided I should have planned how I was going to get back better. I had no bus schedule but I was pretty sure one was not coming in the near future. I was also waiting right in front of a house where the mother kept peaking out her window and looking at me like I was some kind of creeper. So, not wanting to be thought a stalker, I decided I had two perfectly good feet and I'd walk somewhere with a better bus service. I had a vague idea that Woodbridge was pretty close and my google map of Bredield had a road that led somewhere that i thought was woodbridge. So I walked. If your remember, the roads are very thin which left me about 5 inches of sod between the road and the hedge to walk on. Sometimes I jumped into a field to keep out of the way of the cars. Eventually I got the the A12 or something like that which is a fairly popular road. This turned out to be a good thing as it had something resembling a sidewalk which took me to by Sutton Hoo (anglo saxon treasure trove), some other towns I don't remember, Melton, and finally Woodbridge.
Now, by this time I was in what I like to call a state. As bold, brave, and brash as I like to think I was, in reality I was an internal wreck. Being lost in the middle of East Anglia is not my idea of a good time. In fact, on the scale of time quality, 10 being a good time and 1 being a bad one I'd say this ranked about a 3 which only got its points because, well, I was lost in ENGLAND which just doesn't happen every day. However, I was good and truly lost without a tube station or friendly face in sight which is kind of nerve racking. I got the point of seriously considering flagging the first bus I saw down and demanding the driver take me where I wanted to go when i saw the familiar sign that meant rail road. I had not planned on taking a train back to Ipswich but as I was, as you can imagine, desperate, I didn't particularly care. When I tried to buy my ticket I discoved that the ticket window was closed and nearly cied. However, a friendly woman in the gift shop told me I could buy my ticket on the train, which would leave at 6:07. This gave me about a half hour to calm myself down. I gave my dad a call, which helped my state of mind quite a bit and finished off my food stuffs which I had been nibbling on for most of my day. When the train finally came, I was tired, a bit shaky but extemley happy. I didnt even have to switch trains at Ipswich to get back to London. I got into London about 8 and decided I wanted a good strong meal to carry me home. That finished, I got on the tube. Then I realized I had a few phone messages from my host family making sure I was, you know, alive, and checked the time which was around 10:30.
The next morning I slept in. I love stating the obvious so I'll indulge myself and say it was very nice. Then I got it into my head that what I really needed to comabt my recent slightly traumatic but very fulfilling experience was another one. So, I invited a few of my new friends Sasha and Annie to Hampton Court- the famous home of cardinal Wolsey, Anne Boleyn and henry VIII as well as other english monarchs.
Like bredfield, i had to take a train from Waterloo station to Hamton Court. Unlike Bredfield it was a rather hoping place with tourists galore. This left a rather sour taste in my mouth- especially all the rubbish in the gift shop. That day i realized that when I go to a castle I don't want dress up Henry and Katherine Parr and newly remodeled state rooms and wax-works in period costume. My imagination doesn't need help getting an idea of what castle life was like nor do I want to see the fifteenth state bedroom decked out in full regalia. I suppose its nice to see the rich fabrics, tapestries and paintings but really, I'd jsut as soon put those in the British museum and see them separately. What I want in a castle is evidence of how time has left it. I don't want carpet I won't worn down stone. I don't want safety rails- I'd just as soone trip down the stairs like Thomas Moore might have. I don't want a cafe or gift shop I want the hollowed out corpses of the royal court apartments. In my mind I think a castle is a kind of tribute to the past in a sad way. They're all gone (when I say they I mean the old kings and queen and nobility) and a castle should kind of leave a haunting impression, like a cemetery. I want to touch the same stone's that two-year old Elizabeth I touched and I want to look out the same windows as Jane Seymour.
Now, in all fairness Hampton Court is a very well preserved depiction of Tudor and Stuart achitecture and for anyone interested in that history I'd recommend seeing it. Its vey beautiful. However, Hampton court lacks something my heart desperately wants- a solid presence of death. That sounds morbid. sorry? I don't mean to be a weirdo but really, I can't put it any other way.
Well, I'm exhausted. I've said that already but its still true. I'm not entirely sure what I just wrote but I have the vague idea that I forgot scotland. well, I'll wirte somethine else on that later. When I've slept and don't have an 8 o'clock train to birmingham the next morning.
good night.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
London: A Day in the Life of a Directionally challenged Uni Student
So, I've said a lot of what I've been doing in my free time in this blog: National Gallery, Kew Gardens, getting lost, British Museum, British Library, getting lost. However, I have yet to fully brief you on my host family, my classes, activities, and other day to day stuffs. What follows is a rough depiction of a semi-average day plus several observations of cultural differences.
So, my days usually begin around 7ish when my alarm goes off. I use my new mobile and it has a rooster for the alarm sound. I find it ironic as London is possibly the last place on earth to find a live animal that is not a Tube rat, a pigeon, a fox or a zoo animal- roosters probably least of all.
I get up, go through the normal hygiene procedures, with some variances. In England (Possibly Europe as a whole) energy and water prices are rather high. Because of this, things like daily, 10 minute showers are a luxury that I really can't indulge in. So, I've gotten used to the every other day 6 minute shower. You probably didn't want to know about my bathing habits but, hey, these are my experiences in a foreign place and how a nation views their energy resources is an important part of how their culture.
I make a sack lunch. London is expensive, in case you hadn't heard. The dollar's favor-ability varies daily, but even so food prices in a restaurant aren't cheap. So, tight-wad-Hannah has a PB&J (Yes, there's peanut butter here in Canaan) sandwich, usually with some sort of fruit and whatever else Sainsburys has on sale. Sainsburys is the local grocery store. They've got decent prices and 1 pound sausage rolls which, believe me, is a good thing.
Breakfast is toast, tea and usually a banana. I'll discuss tea later. My breakfast habits seem to terrify my host parents. I'm not sure why, but English people seem to have larger portioned meals, which baffles me.
Anyway, at around 8:30 I walk the 15 minutes to the local tube station. I go through a small, residential area which could be mistaken for the Dursley's neighborhood in Harry Potter. I also go a bit through the town. It has a significant Muslim/ Sikh/ Indian population so I generally walk past two kebab stands, three fresh beg/ fruit venders, a vegetarian deli, at least two halal butchers (that's like kosher for Muslims), and various other shops. Oh, English people call stores shops. it's not a huge change but I like saying it. Pubs are surprisingly few and far beaten in the area around my house. I expected a bunch but I guess it's sort of a dying art now.
I actually enjoy my tube experience, all-in-all. During peak-times (7-9am, 4-8 pm) It's a bit of a, well, a bad word. However, its fast, generally reliable for the area it covers, clean and safe. Yes, there can be delays and the odd person will throw-up and cause the whole system to get shut down, but really, its not too bad. Usually there's a newspaper lying around, and the views are nice when the tube runs above ground. I suppose it suits my introverted personality. There are people around, but I don't have to, nor, indeed, am I expected to talk or interact with anyone. I can day dream, listen to music, read, or people watch to my heart's content. The people watching is probably the bets you'll get anywhere, anyway. I've got material for probably five different characters by now.
My schol ,which is in fact not really a school but a building with classrooms where we hear lecture, is about an 8 minute walk from the station. Its in a Georgian (early 18th century) building with "new" Victorian (late 19th century) editions. Sometimes I really love living in London.
I may have already given my class list, but here it is again. I'm taking Shakespeare "The Dramatist"(literature), 19th and 20th Century English novel(literature), Empire: the British Experience(History) , and Britain today (political science). I'm really enjoying my classes. In shakespeare, we're studying the Scripts (not texts) in the context of them being plays. That's it. As my professor would say "I don't give a #@$% about a Marxist-Feminist-post modernist- perspective. We're going to get our hands dirty with the verse." It's real meat and bones analysis which i think is my strength. I do better in literary analysis with things like meter, sound, rhythmic devices and so on to limit me. Anyway, right now we're studying jane Eyre in my 19th and 20th c class. If you know me , you should already be smiling and winking and making whatever sorts of visual recognition that shows that you understand how INDESCRIBABLY HAPPY studying this book, HERE, makes me. AH! I LOVE IT! Today, we spent a good 4 minutes discussing whether we like the Rochester/ Jane romance. I KILLED. ok, sorry. My pride is getting in the way. I just get so gosh darn excited about this book. But you don't want to here my defence for Rochester....
History has been fascinating. We did a bit of the American Revolution from the British perspective. Did you know that we lost? Yup, we sure did. If we had stayed with the empire we would have been much better off. Oh well. I'll be doing a study on the Gallipoli campaign in WWI and the role of the Australians in securing "victory". great stuff.
Britain Today is also great. We're going through nationality and politics and pretty soon we'll do some history. As its "Britain" today, we also get some scots, Wales, and Irish stuff. Hence our class trip to Edinburgh next week. I'll let you know ho my own personal adventures in Scotland go next time.
So, on average I have two classes a day: 1 in the morning, 1 in the afternoon. in between, I east lunch. If its thursday, I have a six hour break between classes. Today I filled that time by buying a youth railcard and getting lost somewhere around Holborn. I ended up going through Covent Garden, Trafalgar Square and leicester Square. To be honest, all of the tourist stuff is kind of grouped together. It was fun, though because I got to go t=down a few sketch alley ways that, probably 1 hundred years ago, had laundry lines between windows instead of trendy bar signs and Pizza Express shop fronts. I get all misty-minded when I think about it. Someday I don't get lost, and I have another agenda. I've also used the time to catch up on class reading and visit the British Museum, which if it was less crowded would easily be my favorite hang out spot. Curse you crowds!
After my last class I usually get to the tube station around 5:45. It takes about 1 1/2 hours to get home so I usually get dinner around 7:30-8. Dinner. Well, as I said earlier, proportions just aren't the same here, at least for me. For myself, I usually like a fist sized portion of my main and double that of vegg. Well, on average I get a plate full of main (like, a platter) which may or may not involve something green. Not to say that what Mary cooks is not delicious. I'm usually really excited to get home and eat as her food is pure comfort. I think I've had potato-something for dinner every night. Its always hot, and as I get home late Mary always cooks mine specially for me. With four busy kids plus myself my host mom serves dinner in shifts. Myself and my host dad usually eat together later at night. Sometimes the oldest boy, Ritchie, eats later, sometimes not. Whether Mary herself eats I have no idea. All in all, everything is quite tasty, but super-dee-duper filling. Like, my head swims with how much food she feeds me. And then it's time for desert! I don't think I have ever in my life eaten desert EVERY night, right after dinner.
Well, after such a filling dinner I try and get whatever homework I have done before falling asleep. And that's my day.
Now, tea. From what I understand, its not as widespread a love in England as we Americans think. I know several fellow students have host families who do not drink or even like tea. However, with the Butlers, tings are probably as stereotypically English as far as tea is concerned. First of all, I'm always offered it. If I look thirsty, "would you like a cuppa?", if I'm studying "would you like some tea, Hannah?", if I'm watching tele, "tea, Hannah?", if I've just gotten home, "Have some tea to warm you.", if I'm going out, "Have a quikk cup before you go," if I make the mistake of staying in one place for too long, "want some tea, Hannah?" Seriously. I kid you not. I like tea, as most should know. Ok, that's not true. I LOVE tea. So, I enjoy not having to ask. I can help myself, of course but generally I don't have to. All I have to do is look like I'm going to the kitchen and bam. Kettle boiling, tetley out and ready to go. Another thing is that i have apparently committed a mortal offense by not taking my tea with milk and sugar. My hot parents are tolerant but Granny (mary's mom) I think may be seriously offended. Now, I'm not syaing this a s a critique. I'm actually in love with the proliferation of tea in this household. I just was not expecting something so stereotypically english to be so prolific in this otherwise very Irish household. It's GREAT!
Well, that's all for now. Tomorrow I'm testing myself by making a trip to Bredfield. I'm trying to find the house my parents lived in in the 80's. Its a test as when i got to Scotland I'll be on a similar quest to find a castle for a friend. We'll see how my directional skills go. Oh, and I'll be going it alone. Hurray for personal growth!
Cheers!
So, my days usually begin around 7ish when my alarm goes off. I use my new mobile and it has a rooster for the alarm sound. I find it ironic as London is possibly the last place on earth to find a live animal that is not a Tube rat, a pigeon, a fox or a zoo animal- roosters probably least of all.
I get up, go through the normal hygiene procedures, with some variances. In England (Possibly Europe as a whole) energy and water prices are rather high. Because of this, things like daily, 10 minute showers are a luxury that I really can't indulge in. So, I've gotten used to the every other day 6 minute shower. You probably didn't want to know about my bathing habits but, hey, these are my experiences in a foreign place and how a nation views their energy resources is an important part of how their culture.
I make a sack lunch. London is expensive, in case you hadn't heard. The dollar's favor-ability varies daily, but even so food prices in a restaurant aren't cheap. So, tight-wad-Hannah has a PB&J (Yes, there's peanut butter here in Canaan) sandwich, usually with some sort of fruit and whatever else Sainsburys has on sale. Sainsburys is the local grocery store. They've got decent prices and 1 pound sausage rolls which, believe me, is a good thing.
Breakfast is toast, tea and usually a banana. I'll discuss tea later. My breakfast habits seem to terrify my host parents. I'm not sure why, but English people seem to have larger portioned meals, which baffles me.
Anyway, at around 8:30 I walk the 15 minutes to the local tube station. I go through a small, residential area which could be mistaken for the Dursley's neighborhood in Harry Potter. I also go a bit through the town. It has a significant Muslim/ Sikh/ Indian population so I generally walk past two kebab stands, three fresh beg/ fruit venders, a vegetarian deli, at least two halal butchers (that's like kosher for Muslims), and various other shops. Oh, English people call stores shops. it's not a huge change but I like saying it. Pubs are surprisingly few and far beaten in the area around my house. I expected a bunch but I guess it's sort of a dying art now.
I actually enjoy my tube experience, all-in-all. During peak-times (7-9am, 4-8 pm) It's a bit of a, well, a bad word. However, its fast, generally reliable for the area it covers, clean and safe. Yes, there can be delays and the odd person will throw-up and cause the whole system to get shut down, but really, its not too bad. Usually there's a newspaper lying around, and the views are nice when the tube runs above ground. I suppose it suits my introverted personality. There are people around, but I don't have to, nor, indeed, am I expected to talk or interact with anyone. I can day dream, listen to music, read, or people watch to my heart's content. The people watching is probably the bets you'll get anywhere, anyway. I've got material for probably five different characters by now.
My schol ,which is in fact not really a school but a building with classrooms where we hear lecture, is about an 8 minute walk from the station. Its in a Georgian (early 18th century) building with "new" Victorian (late 19th century) editions. Sometimes I really love living in London.
I may have already given my class list, but here it is again. I'm taking Shakespeare "The Dramatist"(literature), 19th and 20th Century English novel(literature), Empire: the British Experience(History) , and Britain today (political science). I'm really enjoying my classes. In shakespeare, we're studying the Scripts (not texts) in the context of them being plays. That's it. As my professor would say "I don't give a #@$% about a Marxist-Feminist-post modernist- perspective. We're going to get our hands dirty with the verse." It's real meat and bones analysis which i think is my strength. I do better in literary analysis with things like meter, sound, rhythmic devices and so on to limit me. Anyway, right now we're studying jane Eyre in my 19th and 20th c class. If you know me , you should already be smiling and winking and making whatever sorts of visual recognition that shows that you understand how INDESCRIBABLY HAPPY studying this book, HERE, makes me. AH! I LOVE IT! Today, we spent a good 4 minutes discussing whether we like the Rochester/ Jane romance. I KILLED. ok, sorry. My pride is getting in the way. I just get so gosh darn excited about this book. But you don't want to here my defence for Rochester....
History has been fascinating. We did a bit of the American Revolution from the British perspective. Did you know that we lost? Yup, we sure did. If we had stayed with the empire we would have been much better off. Oh well. I'll be doing a study on the Gallipoli campaign in WWI and the role of the Australians in securing "victory". great stuff.
Britain Today is also great. We're going through nationality and politics and pretty soon we'll do some history. As its "Britain" today, we also get some scots, Wales, and Irish stuff. Hence our class trip to Edinburgh next week. I'll let you know ho my own personal adventures in Scotland go next time.
So, on average I have two classes a day: 1 in the morning, 1 in the afternoon. in between, I east lunch. If its thursday, I have a six hour break between classes. Today I filled that time by buying a youth railcard and getting lost somewhere around Holborn. I ended up going through Covent Garden, Trafalgar Square and leicester Square. To be honest, all of the tourist stuff is kind of grouped together. It was fun, though because I got to go t=down a few sketch alley ways that, probably 1 hundred years ago, had laundry lines between windows instead of trendy bar signs and Pizza Express shop fronts. I get all misty-minded when I think about it. Someday I don't get lost, and I have another agenda. I've also used the time to catch up on class reading and visit the British Museum, which if it was less crowded would easily be my favorite hang out spot. Curse you crowds!
After my last class I usually get to the tube station around 5:45. It takes about 1 1/2 hours to get home so I usually get dinner around 7:30-8. Dinner. Well, as I said earlier, proportions just aren't the same here, at least for me. For myself, I usually like a fist sized portion of my main and double that of vegg. Well, on average I get a plate full of main (like, a platter) which may or may not involve something green. Not to say that what Mary cooks is not delicious. I'm usually really excited to get home and eat as her food is pure comfort. I think I've had potato-something for dinner every night. Its always hot, and as I get home late Mary always cooks mine specially for me. With four busy kids plus myself my host mom serves dinner in shifts. Myself and my host dad usually eat together later at night. Sometimes the oldest boy, Ritchie, eats later, sometimes not. Whether Mary herself eats I have no idea. All in all, everything is quite tasty, but super-dee-duper filling. Like, my head swims with how much food she feeds me. And then it's time for desert! I don't think I have ever in my life eaten desert EVERY night, right after dinner.
Well, after such a filling dinner I try and get whatever homework I have done before falling asleep. And that's my day.
Now, tea. From what I understand, its not as widespread a love in England as we Americans think. I know several fellow students have host families who do not drink or even like tea. However, with the Butlers, tings are probably as stereotypically English as far as tea is concerned. First of all, I'm always offered it. If I look thirsty, "would you like a cuppa?", if I'm studying "would you like some tea, Hannah?", if I'm watching tele, "tea, Hannah?", if I've just gotten home, "Have some tea to warm you.", if I'm going out, "Have a quikk cup before you go," if I make the mistake of staying in one place for too long, "want some tea, Hannah?" Seriously. I kid you not. I like tea, as most should know. Ok, that's not true. I LOVE tea. So, I enjoy not having to ask. I can help myself, of course but generally I don't have to. All I have to do is look like I'm going to the kitchen and bam. Kettle boiling, tetley out and ready to go. Another thing is that i have apparently committed a mortal offense by not taking my tea with milk and sugar. My hot parents are tolerant but Granny (mary's mom) I think may be seriously offended. Now, I'm not syaing this a s a critique. I'm actually in love with the proliferation of tea in this household. I just was not expecting something so stereotypically english to be so prolific in this otherwise very Irish household. It's GREAT!
Well, that's all for now. Tomorrow I'm testing myself by making a trip to Bredfield. I'm trying to find the house my parents lived in in the 80's. Its a test as when i got to Scotland I'll be on a similar quest to find a castle for a friend. We'll see how my directional skills go. Oh, and I'll be going it alone. Hurray for personal growth!
Cheers!
Monday, February 8, 2010
London: The Art of Getting Lost
So, London is an easy place to get lost in. Really easy. You see, the city was never really planed- not since the Roman times anyway. So, there are no square blocks. It could be a hundred feet to the next street or one hundred yards. Also, the streets have this funny habit of changing names as they go- for NO REASON. Case in point-
Kensington gardens would be much easier to get to if Kensington Road (its street placement) was not also Kensington High Street or Kensington Gore.
Needless to say, I've spent a good deal of my time getting lost in London this past week or so. I've also done my best to LOSE London as it is a city and I am not a city girl. Nature is far more appealing and restorative to me than th hustle and bustle of the tube at peak times or city skylines.
I ended up making it to Oxford the Saturday before last. It is a lovely place but a city nonetheless. My uncle told me I could not call the first five minutes of town we saw "Oxford" as it really was not that pleasant. But, once we got closer to Christ Church College it became much clearer why he loves the area. Oxford University is broken up into many colleges, spaced around the city. Some, maybe even most are in really old buildings. The area we toured had a good deal of gothic architecture which was brilliant. I love the carved detail and the ornate spiers.
We tried to have lunch at the famous "Eagle and Child" but, unfortunately it was a Saturday and everyone in London seemed to have the same idea. So, no pint next to Tolkien's favorite spot. But, we did get sandwiches and ate them in the park where a group of guys were playing rugby. It was kind of chilly, but quiet which I appreciated. Pubs are great but they're crowded and noisy in general and I'm a person who revels in open, solitary spaces. We also got banana-nutella crepes in the park which were probably one of the most fabulous things I've ever tasted. In. My. Life.
After Oxford came Sunday- church. Needless to say I was a bit anxious about this church of my uncles.
"It and evangelical-charismatic-anglican sort," he told me.
Well, for someone trained to know what all this means there might not have been a n issue. But I have no idea what "charismatic" means. Evangelical is a term that can be applied to a whole lot of different denominations and anglican, to me, just means Catholic without a pope. Of course I had no need to be worried. In actuality, the church was very similar to where I when in Spokane. It's a bit different from my dad's style but not in huge ways. I mean, the guy who sat in front of me was wearing pink corderoy trousers and his wife did have on a rather shaggy fur coat but, they're British! They also had bacon sandwiches and biscuits which was great too. All-in -all, I found it really encouraging to see that Jesus doesn't have cultural boundaries, biscuits or not.
Monday I had the day to myself. I went to the British museum. Well, I should say I got lost twice on my way to the British museum and then I went. As I said earlier, London is tricky. And I have no sense of direction. None. Whatsoever. But I loved the museum. I saw the Rosetta Stone, the Elgin marbles, great Greek statues and some other wonderful things. I aslo went to the National Portrait Gallery. That was my haven. It was awesome! Instead of pieces of abstract or landscape art, it's just portraits of kings, queens, writers, and famous people. It was my element. I got to stand next to a life sized portrait of Henry VIII. He's taller than me, FYI.
The next day Uncle Tom and I went to Kew Gardens. It was wet and rainy but there wee no crowds which was exactly what I needed. Although it has some lovely green houses, Kew Gardens also has a bit of untended park which means I can get my tree fix quite easily. I spent a good 70 minutes by myself which was essential to my sanity.
Wednesday I went to the British Library to write a few postcards and see the magna Carta. Which I did. Its huge and old and terrific. I love old things. I also saw the Gutenberg Bible, Jane Austen's Manuscript of Persuasion, Charlotte Bronte's manuscript of Jane Eyre, a very old copy of Beowulf, and some older copies of Shakespeare's plays. Pretty terrific stuff for a public library.
Thursday I took the day off to play Mario Cart with my cousin Janae. I literally did nothing but that all day. It was great.
Friday I went to Portobello Market. That place is the best. No joke. You can literally by anything there. Cleaning products, army surplus, records, jewelry, antiques, vintage clothing, books, hair dryers, food, bags, rugs... even police call boxes if you have the quid :D I bought a sweater (jumper), a green scarf and a bague rain coat. I could've spent all of my money there. Silver tea pots! Fist press copies of bleak house! GAGH! But I resisted temptation. I also tried to walk to Kensington Park. I say tried because I got lost again and ended up somewhere near SOHO. I got back to Kensington by tube and did a walk before going home.
Saturday I attempted the Natural History Museum. That was a mistake. Apparently, on cloudy, likely to rain Saturdays all London Mums and Dads decide to go to the Museum too. So, there were lines everywhere. It was packed. I got a pretty good look at the mechanical t-rex (he didn't eat me, in case you were worried) but I got fed up with the crowds and rboke fro Kensington park. This time I found it quickly, ate my lunch on a bench (I had packed one) and decided to spend the 10 quid for axes to Kensington Palace. This turned out to be a smart move as no one was there so I spent the rest of my day relatively crowd free. Kensington Palace in itself is alright. It's the sort of place my Granny might enjoy as they have a lot of exhibits on Princess Dianan's fashions and mid-century debutantes. There was a bit of history and a few reenacters- Sir James Holbrook and Mrs. Garrison. It was really cool to be in the older, late-seventeenth century bits because they were no most ornate. As there were very few people there besides myself I got to explore in piece. I have to say, my overactive imagination was crafting up all sorts of stories to go along with my setting and I had more than one Beauty and the Beast flashback. I discovered that, if there aren't tourists around, even the most touristy palaces and castles can be pretty cool.
Sunday I came to the Butlers home. Dave, Mary and their four kids plus Granny for a bit. They are a lovely family. The kids are all polite and active, if a bit boisterous at times and Granny is probably the easiest person to talk to on earth. She's Irish too which makes it extra fun. I love how Dave and Mary are so attentive to their kids. They don't spoil them, but they keep track of what their kids eat, their time on tv and help them with their homework. They even read a story to their youngest, Asiling (Ash-leeng) before bed.
I've had my first day of Orientation and have one more tomorrow. wednesday I start classes. I'm tired. I'm going to bed.
Kensington gardens would be much easier to get to if Kensington Road (its street placement) was not also Kensington High Street or Kensington Gore.
Needless to say, I've spent a good deal of my time getting lost in London this past week or so. I've also done my best to LOSE London as it is a city and I am not a city girl. Nature is far more appealing and restorative to me than th hustle and bustle of the tube at peak times or city skylines.
I ended up making it to Oxford the Saturday before last. It is a lovely place but a city nonetheless. My uncle told me I could not call the first five minutes of town we saw "Oxford" as it really was not that pleasant. But, once we got closer to Christ Church College it became much clearer why he loves the area. Oxford University is broken up into many colleges, spaced around the city. Some, maybe even most are in really old buildings. The area we toured had a good deal of gothic architecture which was brilliant. I love the carved detail and the ornate spiers.
We tried to have lunch at the famous "Eagle and Child" but, unfortunately it was a Saturday and everyone in London seemed to have the same idea. So, no pint next to Tolkien's favorite spot. But, we did get sandwiches and ate them in the park where a group of guys were playing rugby. It was kind of chilly, but quiet which I appreciated. Pubs are great but they're crowded and noisy in general and I'm a person who revels in open, solitary spaces. We also got banana-nutella crepes in the park which were probably one of the most fabulous things I've ever tasted. In. My. Life.
After Oxford came Sunday- church. Needless to say I was a bit anxious about this church of my uncles.
"It and evangelical-charismatic-anglican sort," he told me.
Well, for someone trained to know what all this means there might not have been a n issue. But I have no idea what "charismatic" means. Evangelical is a term that can be applied to a whole lot of different denominations and anglican, to me, just means Catholic without a pope. Of course I had no need to be worried. In actuality, the church was very similar to where I when in Spokane. It's a bit different from my dad's style but not in huge ways. I mean, the guy who sat in front of me was wearing pink corderoy trousers and his wife did have on a rather shaggy fur coat but, they're British! They also had bacon sandwiches and biscuits which was great too. All-in -all, I found it really encouraging to see that Jesus doesn't have cultural boundaries, biscuits or not.
Monday I had the day to myself. I went to the British museum. Well, I should say I got lost twice on my way to the British museum and then I went. As I said earlier, London is tricky. And I have no sense of direction. None. Whatsoever. But I loved the museum. I saw the Rosetta Stone, the Elgin marbles, great Greek statues and some other wonderful things. I aslo went to the National Portrait Gallery. That was my haven. It was awesome! Instead of pieces of abstract or landscape art, it's just portraits of kings, queens, writers, and famous people. It was my element. I got to stand next to a life sized portrait of Henry VIII. He's taller than me, FYI.
The next day Uncle Tom and I went to Kew Gardens. It was wet and rainy but there wee no crowds which was exactly what I needed. Although it has some lovely green houses, Kew Gardens also has a bit of untended park which means I can get my tree fix quite easily. I spent a good 70 minutes by myself which was essential to my sanity.
Wednesday I went to the British Library to write a few postcards and see the magna Carta. Which I did. Its huge and old and terrific. I love old things. I also saw the Gutenberg Bible, Jane Austen's Manuscript of Persuasion, Charlotte Bronte's manuscript of Jane Eyre, a very old copy of Beowulf, and some older copies of Shakespeare's plays. Pretty terrific stuff for a public library.
Thursday I took the day off to play Mario Cart with my cousin Janae. I literally did nothing but that all day. It was great.
Friday I went to Portobello Market. That place is the best. No joke. You can literally by anything there. Cleaning products, army surplus, records, jewelry, antiques, vintage clothing, books, hair dryers, food, bags, rugs... even police call boxes if you have the quid :D I bought a sweater (jumper), a green scarf and a bague rain coat. I could've spent all of my money there. Silver tea pots! Fist press copies of bleak house! GAGH! But I resisted temptation. I also tried to walk to Kensington Park. I say tried because I got lost again and ended up somewhere near SOHO. I got back to Kensington by tube and did a walk before going home.
Saturday I attempted the Natural History Museum. That was a mistake. Apparently, on cloudy, likely to rain Saturdays all London Mums and Dads decide to go to the Museum too. So, there were lines everywhere. It was packed. I got a pretty good look at the mechanical t-rex (he didn't eat me, in case you were worried) but I got fed up with the crowds and rboke fro Kensington park. This time I found it quickly, ate my lunch on a bench (I had packed one) and decided to spend the 10 quid for axes to Kensington Palace. This turned out to be a smart move as no one was there so I spent the rest of my day relatively crowd free. Kensington Palace in itself is alright. It's the sort of place my Granny might enjoy as they have a lot of exhibits on Princess Dianan's fashions and mid-century debutantes. There was a bit of history and a few reenacters- Sir James Holbrook and Mrs. Garrison. It was really cool to be in the older, late-seventeenth century bits because they were no most ornate. As there were very few people there besides myself I got to explore in piece. I have to say, my overactive imagination was crafting up all sorts of stories to go along with my setting and I had more than one Beauty and the Beast flashback. I discovered that, if there aren't tourists around, even the most touristy palaces and castles can be pretty cool.
Sunday I came to the Butlers home. Dave, Mary and their four kids plus Granny for a bit. They are a lovely family. The kids are all polite and active, if a bit boisterous at times and Granny is probably the easiest person to talk to on earth. She's Irish too which makes it extra fun. I love how Dave and Mary are so attentive to their kids. They don't spoil them, but they keep track of what their kids eat, their time on tv and help them with their homework. They even read a story to their youngest, Asiling (Ash-leeng) before bed.
I've had my first day of Orientation and have one more tomorrow. wednesday I start classes. I'm tired. I'm going to bed.
Friday, January 29, 2010
London: Part The First
1/28/10
So, here I am. It's been a long time coming, but at least Hannah Middleton has set her feet in the goopy moistness that is London city. I'm not really sure where to begin. It's my second day here and already I feel like it has been weeks. The thing about London is, no matter where you are there is a good chance it's been there for awhile. Like, a couple of hundred years. As a history buff and English literature major, the translates as "don't blink or you'll miss something." Seriously. Even the McDonald's was in a building older than the state of Oregon. With all of this info, my mind has had little time to adjust and think. So, I'll process while I write.
I flew from Minneapolis. The plane was new and shiny with a state of the art entertainment system and lots of room. I had a row to myself! The food was terrible but hot which is nice. I had the misfortune of choosing a book to read that did not hold my interest so I took advantage of the movie selection and watch the "Time Traveler's Wife" which was a disappointment. I won't give away the ending but if you're interested in time travel, like myself, leave it alone. I slept over the atlantic and before I knew it we were gliding over cloudy Ireland and on our way.
Flying over London was wonderful. As soon as I laid eyes on the Thames I knew exactly where I was and I'm afraid my excitement disturbed my fellow passengers. From above, London looks like a model city with orange rooftops, soccer fields (football pitches), and a long snake-like river to divide it into two. I wanted to shout "Get ready! I'm here!" Of course I didn't, but I pressed my forehead against the window for so long that it left a rather ugly smudge.
Baggage claim was hectic. I could not find my bags! I searched and searched and grew a little frantic as the selection dwindled. And then I looked up and saw the reader board overhead. Rome. Oh. Not Minneapolis. Once I located the proper claim I found my bags easy-peasy and was off to customs where I was happy to discuss my literary taste with the agent (Bronte is a bit heady for him).
Uncle Tom was there right outside waiting which was so welcome. I don't think I would have liked the idea of taking a cab so early on.
We drove to his home. It's beautiful. London, like most cities I suppose, has very little room. Europeans in general seem to live in much smaller, more compact homes than Americans. Uncle Tome lives in a lovely little Edwardian house in the Kilburn area. Small, yes. Uncomfortable, no. He even has a garden and a hatch that allows us to go and watch the city from his roof. From up there, we can take our glasses of wine and see the lights on the London eye, St. Paul's Cathedral, the Gurken, and lots of other things. Gorgeous.
We had time to pop out and take the tube to see the outsides of Big Ben, the Houses of Parliament, 10 Downing Street, and Westminster Abbey as well as the Thames close up. It was alot to see and we did not even go inside!
1/29/10
Today was another busy one. We went and toured around the National Gallery. It's big and beautiful. I wish I knew more about art history but I still enjoyed it. We saw Can Gogh's Sunflowers, many Lautrecs, Cesannes, Pissaros, Titians, Belinis adn all sorts of names that I'd like to tell you about but in fact know nothing about. I did enjoy the enormous life size portrait of King Charles 1 (the one that got ousted and then beheaded after the civil war) on his charger (war horse). It's really striking.
We had lunch there. I'm enjoying the fun flavors of chips (crisps) they have here. SO far, I've seen chive and sour cream, salt and vinegar and smoky bacon.
After lunch we walked through Trafalgar square and took the tube to Borough Market. Unfortunately, it being winter, the market was not at it's best. However, it was still loads of fun. It reminded me a lot of Pike's Market in Seattle minus the non-perishable goods sections. There's cheese, olive oil, wine, fish, poultry (like pigeon and pheasant) sausages, breads, ethnic foods, beers, and fresh veggies. I tried hot mulled wine there for the first time and it was pretty good. I bought some really good tea and turkish delight (rose and Date & walnut) and Uncle Tom bought some Coffee beans.
On our way home we decided to walk along the river and take Tower Bridge back to the North side. As we went we just so happened to stumble across Sir Francis Drakes ship, the Golden Hide, moored along the river and the remains on Winchester Castle. To be frank, I kind of freaked out. It's just so amazing how things of such historical importance are left, seemingly half forgotten amongst the modern buildings like Caffe Nero (nice fast food) or and office building. We walked across Tower Bridge I had half a heart attack when I at last saw the Tower of London. "It's a bi short for a tower," my Uncle says. Well, yes. But we don't measure this building's importance by its height. We could also see Canary Wharf from the bridge which reminded me of Doctor Who. Strangely enough I have not been thinking about that much here.
We had home on the tube. We took a quick break to see the Bank of England the the British exchange and then made the full trip home. My feet are tired. My eyes sting from the dust in the Bakerloo line (so dirty) and my hair is a bit greasy. But I'm happy. London has not really turned out like I thought it would but that's alright because it's still awesome.
Tomorrow is Oxford. On the agenda- The Eagle and Child, a park with trees for hide and seek and the Natural History Museum.
Next week (February 7th) I move in with my host family. I'm excited and nervous. Having my Uncle prep me for the English experience has been great but I'm still a bit nervous. However, I still have loads of time for adjustment.
So, here I am. It's been a long time coming, but at least Hannah Middleton has set her feet in the goopy moistness that is London city. I'm not really sure where to begin. It's my second day here and already I feel like it has been weeks. The thing about London is, no matter where you are there is a good chance it's been there for awhile. Like, a couple of hundred years. As a history buff and English literature major, the translates as "don't blink or you'll miss something." Seriously. Even the McDonald's was in a building older than the state of Oregon. With all of this info, my mind has had little time to adjust and think. So, I'll process while I write.
I flew from Minneapolis. The plane was new and shiny with a state of the art entertainment system and lots of room. I had a row to myself! The food was terrible but hot which is nice. I had the misfortune of choosing a book to read that did not hold my interest so I took advantage of the movie selection and watch the "Time Traveler's Wife" which was a disappointment. I won't give away the ending but if you're interested in time travel, like myself, leave it alone. I slept over the atlantic and before I knew it we were gliding over cloudy Ireland and on our way.
Flying over London was wonderful. As soon as I laid eyes on the Thames I knew exactly where I was and I'm afraid my excitement disturbed my fellow passengers. From above, London looks like a model city with orange rooftops, soccer fields (football pitches), and a long snake-like river to divide it into two. I wanted to shout "Get ready! I'm here!" Of course I didn't, but I pressed my forehead against the window for so long that it left a rather ugly smudge.
Baggage claim was hectic. I could not find my bags! I searched and searched and grew a little frantic as the selection dwindled. And then I looked up and saw the reader board overhead. Rome. Oh. Not Minneapolis. Once I located the proper claim I found my bags easy-peasy and was off to customs where I was happy to discuss my literary taste with the agent (Bronte is a bit heady for him).
Uncle Tom was there right outside waiting which was so welcome. I don't think I would have liked the idea of taking a cab so early on.
We drove to his home. It's beautiful. London, like most cities I suppose, has very little room. Europeans in general seem to live in much smaller, more compact homes than Americans. Uncle Tome lives in a lovely little Edwardian house in the Kilburn area. Small, yes. Uncomfortable, no. He even has a garden and a hatch that allows us to go and watch the city from his roof. From up there, we can take our glasses of wine and see the lights on the London eye, St. Paul's Cathedral, the Gurken, and lots of other things. Gorgeous.
We had time to pop out and take the tube to see the outsides of Big Ben, the Houses of Parliament, 10 Downing Street, and Westminster Abbey as well as the Thames close up. It was alot to see and we did not even go inside!
1/29/10
Today was another busy one. We went and toured around the National Gallery. It's big and beautiful. I wish I knew more about art history but I still enjoyed it. We saw Can Gogh's Sunflowers, many Lautrecs, Cesannes, Pissaros, Titians, Belinis adn all sorts of names that I'd like to tell you about but in fact know nothing about. I did enjoy the enormous life size portrait of King Charles 1 (the one that got ousted and then beheaded after the civil war) on his charger (war horse). It's really striking.
We had lunch there. I'm enjoying the fun flavors of chips (crisps) they have here. SO far, I've seen chive and sour cream, salt and vinegar and smoky bacon.
After lunch we walked through Trafalgar square and took the tube to Borough Market. Unfortunately, it being winter, the market was not at it's best. However, it was still loads of fun. It reminded me a lot of Pike's Market in Seattle minus the non-perishable goods sections. There's cheese, olive oil, wine, fish, poultry (like pigeon and pheasant) sausages, breads, ethnic foods, beers, and fresh veggies. I tried hot mulled wine there for the first time and it was pretty good. I bought some really good tea and turkish delight (rose and Date & walnut) and Uncle Tom bought some Coffee beans.
On our way home we decided to walk along the river and take Tower Bridge back to the North side. As we went we just so happened to stumble across Sir Francis Drakes ship, the Golden Hide, moored along the river and the remains on Winchester Castle. To be frank, I kind of freaked out. It's just so amazing how things of such historical importance are left, seemingly half forgotten amongst the modern buildings like Caffe Nero (nice fast food) or and office building. We walked across Tower Bridge I had half a heart attack when I at last saw the Tower of London. "It's a bi short for a tower," my Uncle says. Well, yes. But we don't measure this building's importance by its height. We could also see Canary Wharf from the bridge which reminded me of Doctor Who. Strangely enough I have not been thinking about that much here.
We had home on the tube. We took a quick break to see the Bank of England the the British exchange and then made the full trip home. My feet are tired. My eyes sting from the dust in the Bakerloo line (so dirty) and my hair is a bit greasy. But I'm happy. London has not really turned out like I thought it would but that's alright because it's still awesome.
Tomorrow is Oxford. On the agenda- The Eagle and Child, a park with trees for hide and seek and the Natural History Museum.
Next week (February 7th) I move in with my host family. I'm excited and nervous. Having my Uncle prep me for the English experience has been great but I'm still a bit nervous. However, I still have loads of time for adjustment.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Getting There
So, here I am. Eight days to go. I figured I would be bored these last few days. I predicted I might be a bit nervous and have too many things to do and not enough time to do it. I believe I deluded myself.
I am bored, anxious, and a bit snappy with the family. Sometimes I just ant the whole thing to be over and sometimes I want it never to come. But it will. I will get there. Everything will be fine. Until then, I just have to get through these gray days.
So, what am I doing to prepare? Quite a bit. I got confirmation from my host family, the Butlers. They seem very nice and I am excited to meet them. There are four children, which should be like home. Right now I'm looking at gifts. I made the mistake of asking my host mom what her daughters would be interested in and got a very curt but very polite response that gifts would not be necessary. I hope she was just being polite and it is not some British custom to never receive gifts or something. I suppose this is part of the cultural exchange.
Aside from that, I've also confirmed my flight reservation, bought a very handy travel pack, photocopied my passport, insurance cards and my flight information. As this is my first time flying alone, I plan on getting maps of the Minneapolis and Heathrow airports. I need to file my tax returns now as it will be difficult to do in London and mom and dad will want a copy. Like I said earlier, tons to do.
Well, that's all for now. I hope your days go as promising as mine seem to be.
I am bored, anxious, and a bit snappy with the family. Sometimes I just ant the whole thing to be over and sometimes I want it never to come. But it will. I will get there. Everything will be fine. Until then, I just have to get through these gray days.
So, what am I doing to prepare? Quite a bit. I got confirmation from my host family, the Butlers. They seem very nice and I am excited to meet them. There are four children, which should be like home. Right now I'm looking at gifts. I made the mistake of asking my host mom what her daughters would be interested in and got a very curt but very polite response that gifts would not be necessary. I hope she was just being polite and it is not some British custom to never receive gifts or something. I suppose this is part of the cultural exchange.
Aside from that, I've also confirmed my flight reservation, bought a very handy travel pack, photocopied my passport, insurance cards and my flight information. As this is my first time flying alone, I plan on getting maps of the Minneapolis and Heathrow airports. I need to file my tax returns now as it will be difficult to do in London and mom and dad will want a copy. Like I said earlier, tons to do.
Well, that's all for now. I hope your days go as promising as mine seem to be.
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