redhead in LONDON

The End... Or Is It?

2008-05-20T10:32:00.003-04:00

I don't know how exactly it happened, or why it did when it did, but at some point in the last month or so, my whole study abroad experience changed. Somehow, I stopped being "the American" and they stopped being "the crazy Brits." We got to know each other-- everyone's sense of humor, each person's distinct style, what made each person tick. I got to see through this whole veil of cultural difference and get to them, the real people behind it.

I think I really started to let my guard down with them when I got back from traveling. Maybe interacting with so many different British/Australian travelers abroad made me miss the familiarity I had with them, I don't know. But when I got back, it was different. I didn't just meet up with them for nights out at clubs or a few pints at the pub. We'd grab meals or have tea, go to the movies or sunbathe in the park. We'd make fun of each other until no end, about anything and everything, and I would laugh for entire afternoons and nights. We'd devise elaborate plans for how I could swindle my way into staying for the summer, for forever. I'm pretty sure I promised to clean their house twice a week in exchange for sleeping on their sofa. They promised to come visit, I promised to come back. We promised to keep in touch.

On my final night, they surprised me with dinner out at the 02 Arena. I think I laughed for two hours straight. They harassed me for a speech, and when I finally relented, I got the chance to tell them how incredible it was getting to know them. From surface level-- just getting to understand what they were saying-- to really getting them, and more, really really liking them. It's still unbelievable to me that I fell into this already-formed group of British friends, and slipped into place, and ended up fitting in perfectly. What are the chances that we'd all actually really like each other? But, we did. We do.

It will be weird, from here on out, knowing I have friends 3,000 miles away. But I always will. They won't become memories or figures from my past-- faces that make me smile when I look at pictures of my time abroad. They'll be the first people I call when I find myself in London, and I am absolutely sure they'll do the same in America. When we realized, sometime in the past few weeks, that we were all really real friends, something changed. I knew I didn't have to be devastated that study abroad was ending; we all knew that somehow we would see each other again soon.

Maybe I'm being delusional, or optimistic. But maybe I'm right. All I know is that when I had my final cider at the Hayfield last night, and I was the only American in the place, I was surrounded by friends. Real, genuine good friends. And I don't need a souvenir for that.

Addictive Afghani Tea and Medieval Marching Bands

2008-05-09T14:22:00.004-04:00

Well, I'm wrapping up my month in London. I leave in just about ten days to head back home, and I'm so, so looking forward to it. Not only to the pizza, pork roll, and beach, but to everything familiar. Sometimes I forget how strained and difficult it is doing the cross-cultural thing; while it's interesting and rewarding (that's what they tell us, right?), it's exhausting. I can't wait to go home and say things that are immediately understood and hear jokes that I immediately find funny. Or even to introduce myself as "Colleen" and have people know what word I just said. It will just be nice to going back to doing things easily.

With only 10 days left here, nothing is "easy" yet. I just met another new flatmate in my United Nations of an apartment. Ackbah, from Afghanistan. I couldn't understand much of what Ackbah was saying, but he studies some kind of engineering, and was surprised I knew where Afghanistan was. I, close-minded American that I am, was surprised he didn't hate me when he heard where I was from. In a city where I get a lot of heat from a drunk Frenchman on a public bus for being American but only friendliness from an Afghani flatmate, life is never simple here.

So that's Ackbah from Afghanistan, Veronique from Mexico, "Owen" from China, Silent Asian Roommate (now gone... but to where?) and Evil Roommate from the Netherworld. Ackbah offered me some Afghan tea and promised me I would be immediately addicted; friendly offer, but unfortunately I was busy stealing Owen's pots and pans in one of my covert cooking schemes and I couldn't relax for a cup of tea. Maybe I should have just broken down and purchased the 5-pound cookware set. Probably not. Maybe I will miss life in Flat 23. But probably not.

What has been fantastically enjoyable in these final two weeks of my London life is the weather. This I did not expect. It has been and (supposedly) will be sunny and in the high 70s everyday. And so, we've done our fair share of lying out in Hyde Park, drinking midday at outside tables at our favorite pubs, going on picnics with the Brits, and organizing campus barbeques. My favorite moment, by far, was a few days ago in St. James' Park, the park practically adjacent to Buckingham Palace: I brought my laptop to finish writing a paper, and found a really hidden picnic table in the shade overlooking the lake. Discounting a lot of noisy and seemingly-mating birds, it was quiet and great. Until a drum and fief band began playing. Or, actually, the official Royal Drum and Feif Band, or whatever they call themselves, in their red uniforms and furry hats. And I sat there, as a partially-deaf grandma and I basically ignored a band practically from the 1600s as they gave us a private concert. And no joke, I sat there and wrote about what I found to be "everyday living in London." To steal from my much-missed Cindy Adams, only in London, kids, only in London.

Now off to penultimate Friday night in London; I guess it's time to make it really count. Cheers.

2008-05-02T17:24:00.002-04:00

i can't believe i got to go to italy.

Eastern European Updates on the Fly: Vienna

2008-04-29T14:52:00.003-04:00

Okay, so technically Vienna isn't really Eastern Europe, but who ever considers Austria when you think of European countries? Not me, that's for sure. But PRAISE GOD- Austria is as Western Europe as it gets, for the most part.

The whole city is reminiscent of other cities I've been to over the past few months-- Parisian in architecture, German in feel. And, though a much-disputed point among idiot hostelers (yours truly included), it was never hidden behind the Iron Curtain. It was, however, a major player in World War II-- which I guess you could have figured based on Sound of Music (though that was Salzburg)-- but even more so than just in that context. For example today we ate at the Central Cafe, which is reputedly the sight where Hitler wrote Mein Kampf. Besides being a major player in the Nazi takeover, it was also bombed to death during the war. A lot of buildings were wrecked. The cool thing that came out of it, though, was a burst of modern architecture that contrasts with the old architecture of the Hapsburgs and Austro-Hungarian Empire. So its actually an eclectic little city that has progressed throughout the ages. All that knowledge is courtesy of the Architecture Museum of Wien, a worthwhile 6 euro.

My other favorite thing we did in Vienna was go to the Spanish Riding School, where they train white stallions to do cool dance moves. It was 6 euro to get into morning exercises, and while it wasn't as cool as the performances, it was fun to watch. I definitely missed my calling in life by quitting horseback riding at age eight.

Tomorrow we head off to Milan, then Venice, and finally back to London. It's been the coolest trip ever, and I think my parents will be upset to hear I've acquired quite a taste for the travelling life. Anyhow, more updates to follow. Hope you all are well!

Eastern European Updates on the Fly: Prague

2008-04-27T07:01:00.003-04:00

Our journey from Budapest to Prague started off in traditional Colleen fashion: our coach bus got a flat tire before we were even out of Hungary. Being stuck in the middle of Hungarian farm fields was something I never thought would happen to me, and as I began to imagine what the walk from Hungary to Czech Republic might be like, I think I started to grasp how much I love my Cabrio.

After a tumultuous ride through industrial Eastern European bus stops (really, not the prettiest way to see the world), we arrived at 11:30 at night in Prague. Greeted by Rob and McDonald's meal #5, life in Prague was clearly going to be better than life in Hungary.

And that it is. Prague is B-E-A-UTIFUL! It is quaint and charming and pretty and interesting. We got one day of rain and two days of sun, and saw the entire place. The buildings are stunning-- including the biggest castle in Europe. While I don't think anyone ever told Budapest the Berlin Wall came down, Prague looked around in 1990 and decided to move into the next century with the rest of the world. There are cafes, restaurants, bars, courtyards, boat rides up and down the river. It was like a charming part of Disney World, but real.

My favorite Czech-ian thing we did was go see Don Giovanni. I've never been to an opera and never really thought I would go to an opera, but Mozart lived in Prague for a bit in the 1800s, and they locked him in a room until he finished Don Giovanni. So they show it all the time here. So we went! We got standing room seats for something like $1.50-- you had to read the subtitles and stuff but it was so cool.

Also, because Sinead and I are major scammers, we not only managed to ride the public transportation around the city free all weekend, but get our hostel for FREE, too!!

Now we're off to catch a bus to Vienna, which should only be about three or four hours. I'm excited to eat Austrian food and sing things from the Sound of Music. It's weird going to all these places I never really knew anything about or thought I would go to-- apparently there's a whole other world out there! Ah, anyway, I'll keep you updated!

Eastern Europe Updates on the Fly: Budapest

2008-04-24T04:55:00.003-04:00

So I owe a major update with pictures and stories for the whole parental vacation-- which, despite rumors of near-death experiences and "attacks," was really really great-- but I just can't post about that right now. I'm sitting in a hostel in Budapest and its sunny outside for the first time since we got here and we leave in five hours to get to Prague, so this has to got be short and to the point:

HUNGARY IS THE WEIRDEST COUNTRY IN THE ENTIRE WORLD.

First of all, I never thought I would actually be in Hungary, or Eastern Europe, so I guess I never gave much consideration to what it actually was like. Too bad about that, too, because it the flippin' strangest, creepiest, most Eastern-European like place on earth. That said, it has its...charm.... and we've actually had a blast so far.

To give you an idea of what Eastern Europe is kind of like, think about the Tower of Terror at Disney World, and then think about it being completely real, and you being the only people walking through it at any given time. It is dingy, decrepit, bleak, covered in graffiti, strangely abandoned in every single place, and with an incessant flickering of lights no matter where you are.

On the other hand, the architecture in the city is absolutely gorgeous (which makes the haunted feeling even more pronounced) and the views from Buda looking over the Danube to Pest are awesome. Its so old and so different from Western things--- just when I was bored of touring old cathedrals and palaces, Budapest swept right in and mixed things up. We had horrible weather the first two days, but I imagine today, in the sun and warmth, the decrepit-ness will be totally downplayed and the city will actually seem really beautiful.

Anyway, boring boring scenery stuff. The real cool thing is that we went out with kids from the hostel to this club in the basement of a huge, stately, gothic building, and then the next day walked by and discovered it was city hall. The sign for the club was just a piece of plastic that they put up in the middle of the night and take down by the next morning. Now THAT is some cool Budapesti clubbing. Although, Budapest is known (to student travellers) for its "speakeasies," or, gatherings of young people with music and alcohol in abandoned buildings and lots. Unfortunately (or probably really fortunately) we didn't make it to one of these famed raves, but I guess I have to save something for my return trip to Budapest (never in a million years or for a million dollars).

Anyway, now we're off to catch a seven hour bus to Prague. Friends from the hostel decided to catch it with us, so we're all heading to Czech Republic, where Sinead and I will go meet up with Villanova friend Rob who's studying there. My knowledge of world history is pretty lacking, so I'm not sure whether Prague was hit as hard by Soviet rule as Budapest, which is why Buda is in such disrepair now. So I'm hoping Prague will be a little bit closer to normalcy, aka the Western World. But if not, hey, that's what travelling Europe is all about.

Time to go czech it out! (haha, sorry, I had to).

Whoa, it's RECAP time

2008-04-09T06:57:00.033-04:00

Boy, I have gotten lax in blogging lately. Maybe because less has been going on, or its all beginning to seem normal and un-blog-worthy now. I will, however, try to recapture some of the fun of the past month or so, and not complain about losing my wallet even once (maybe once).

As I put up a couple of posts ago, when Sinead came to visit we went to a "Glow" themed party, where we had to wear neon things. Here are some more pictures from that night, just because they're so colorful and great:

Sinead hard at work after arriving at 11pm from France. I watched.

Lookin' good!

When we walked in the door and got ushered into the bathroom so Natalie and James could do our make-up, Sinead was ready with the camera to capture James and I arguing about which shade of blues and pinks should go where.

Then Sinead jumped right in and helped Natalie and I paint Jen's pants.

Sinead also made fast friends with Rupert and Ellie- two of the coolest Brits!

But no one is cooler than Carl, winner of Best Costume, not to mention Best Accent and Best Overall Brit when Cassandra and I are in charge.

Look at those tights! Cassandra (far-right) and I with our hosts, Rhiannon and Lauren.

Okay, moving on. After Sinead's visit and St. Patrick's Day (I told you about that, right?), things settled down a bit. Well, more than a bit. The weather turned atrocious for the rest of March, and all of England seemed to hide indoors. One minute it would be sunny and 70 and you'd be venturing outside and then next second the clouds would roll in and you'd get pelted with hail. Literally, look:

Okay, well its not big hail. But it was sunny outside TWO MINTUES before I took this picture, which is why I was in shock and ran to the window with my camera.

Next up was Easter, which was mildly depressing since I was so far away from family (and... since my wallet was stolen the day before). But Cassandra and I made the best of it, and she took me out to Brunch and then we went to Mass and then I feasted on chocolate. The weirdest thing about the day was that no one in England even noticed it was Easter. Sure, we got off school for a week, but honestly, half the kids didn't go home, and just slep till 2 like normal on Easter Sunday and then went to the Hayfield at night. Brunch was almost all Americans, and Church was 1/3 full with no singing, no sign of peace, no one even saying Amen. Besides the huge Cadbury Eggs in the windows at Marks and Spencer, you would never have known it was Easter Sunday.

The week after Easter was fun though, as it brought about the annual Oxford/Cambridge Boat Race. It's been going on for something like 150 years, and the score is roughly Cambridge 79, Oxford 73. Each year the losing team has to send an invitation to the previous winner for a rematch, and so it keeps going. It's a huge event, and students, alumni, and everyone else in London comes out to watch. Even if its pouring out.

We picked the halfway point in the course to go and watch. It was like 15 people deep to get to a place where you could see the river.

The first order of business was buying the official drink of the race- Pimms- from the official bar of the race-- a boat house.

Best pub in London.

Next order was to find shelter. Under a bridge. And warmth, from the Pimms.

All of our taller friends (umm... everyone?) scooted in front of me, but I reached up and managed to take this little shot of the 2-inch part of river we could see. And we were actually in a pretty good position, relatively.

Here they come! All of the boats here are actually just part of the fanfare, but the real ones were coming fast!

And there's the tip of one now! Can't tell whether its Oxford or Cambridge, but everyone was shouting Go Oxford! So we did, too. Look across the river at the crowds there, too.

As soon as the boats pass, everyone makes a hasty retreat to the pub to watch the finish on the big screen. And to drink more Pimms.

Oxford by a mile!! At least we were rooting for the right team. The whole race takes about 18 minutes, and I was freezing just watching it that long. I have no idea how those guys do it.

Emptying out of the pub and celebrating that Oxford won!

The week after that piped up a bit, as the weather broke and it hit 75. The final week of lectures came out of nowhere, and kids wore shorts to their final classes and talked about summer plans. It really could have been June for all I knew. The week brought about some serious work for everybody though, as all of our term papers were due by Friday (we then have a three week break, and then a six-week exam period.... tough life). Since almost all of the kids we hang out with our freshmen English majors, they (and I) had major Shakespeare essays due. So it was a sunny, happy week with everyone putting off work until Thursday night and then killing themselves to get papers done-- just like at home!

Unfortunately, that wasn't all that happened. As I was rushing to finish my essays Friday morning, Cassandra called me and, laughing, told me she was in the hospital. THE HOSPITAL! After my papers and last class were done, I headed over to see her. She was just chilling with some 90 year old women in the ward near the OR, but she looked pretty sick. Turns out she had borderline appendicitis, and almost went in for surgery. She had to stay over night, and Mrs. Stabbert flew here first thing Saturday. I was glad to see the hospital and doctors seemed good, and that in case of emergency, things wouldn't be too bad. Poor Cassandra, though, she was supposed to leave for Stockholm and Oslo Saturday morning, but had to cancel the trip.

As for me, Saturday night meant a big theater night out. My friend Will got four 5-pound tickets to the Royal Shakespeare Company, so I went with him, our other friend Tom, and their other friend (girl whose name I can't remember) to get dinner and go see Henry IV Part 2. It was fantastic. I've only been to undergraduate and graduate performances of Shakespeare; I've never seen it done professionally. It was really astounding. The play was part of a cycle of the history plays, and when the cycle first debuted in Stratford (Shakespeare's hometown) Judy Dench and Ian McEllan starred. Our performance had different actors, but still cool! Then we went out for one of the British kid's birthdays. Here's a pic of Tom, Will, and me that I'm putting up so you can see who they are. They're meeting Sinead and I in two cities on our big travels, so now you can see the riff-raff I'm hanging out with.

On the left is Will, from Miami, goes to Cornell, is living in NYC this summer, and in the middle on the top photo is Tom, from LA and goes to BC.

Unfortunately, I woke up on Sunday morning and, hearing a lot of voices for early on a weekend, looked out my window and found this:

That's right. 74 and sunny on Friday, snow on Sunday. The Brits were so ridiculously excited. Snow! Snowmen! Ahhh!!

And last but not least, last week I got the super VIP treatment and got to take a tour of Parliament. I'm telling you, not just anyone can do this. They screen you to make sure you're really good looking. Yeah.... or, alternatively, you can have a friend named Henry who interned there for the semester and had his security badge for one more week. Either way, I got to take a tour of Parliament! Like, where Big Ben and the Prime Minister are! Look!

The lobby of Poritculis House, where all the Members of Parliament have their offices, and where you enter to take a secret tunnel under the street and into Parliament itself.

This picture is from inside the courtyard of Parliament looking towards the Big Ben part. Over behind that yellow car, the part of the building that is taller than the rest, that's Big Ben.

You can't take many pictures inside Parliament, but I snapped this one because it's where Winston Churchill lay in-state and that's everything from morbid to creepy to cool.

As close as you can get, pretty much!

From the very inside looking out to the rest of the world. When you regular tourists walk by Parliament from the outside, you look in and see this courtyard and walkway. I WAS IN IT.

Like I said, you can't snap many photos when you're actually inside. But we got to go into the House of Lords and the House of Commons. Every Wednesday, the Prime Minister comes to the House of Commons for Questions, and everyone stands and yells and boos and they all are completely ludicrous and inappropriate and great. You can sometimes catch this on C-SPAN at home (I'm not telling you how I know that). Anyway, I got to sit in on all of that, though the yelling and harassing was to a lesser degree because it was a Thursday and Gordy Brown wasn't around. Its also important to note that Parliament has VERY GOOD FOOD, and for a very affordable price.

So that's been my life lately! Some fun stuff, some regular stuff, some not fun stuff (hail & homework, mainly). But now the term is asbolutely finished. Most British kids are home for what they call the holidays, but really is just our break. Most Americans are already off travelling. So campus is quiet and I've been off adventuring through London and seeing the really obscure things still left on my list to do. I bought my first souvenirs the other day-- a mounted picture of the Brick Lane road sign and another one of a Banksy painting. Two things that really were my favorite discoveries and parts of London life. I got them at the Brick Lane Sunday market, which it took me this long to get to, but I absolutely love love loved. If Notting Hill Market was Disney World, Brick Lane Market was Studio 54 in its heyday. But, well, more sober, because it was daytime and all. But seriously so cool- I had Ethiopian and Brazilian food for lunch, with Japanese green tea to finish it off. And saw some realllly cool tshirts I'm going to have barter with someone to get for cheap. Okay, I'm rambling.

Anyway, I'm really just killing time until MOM AND DAD COME FRIDAY, which, clearly, I'm really excited about. I feel like I've been waiting FOREVER for them to come, and wandering around the city going "ooh I can't wait to show them THAT" and now its finally time! So then it's London and Paris with the folks, and back here for two days to say a quick hi to the British kids (they'll be back by then) and then off on world travels with Sinead. Something like five cities in two weeks, and meeting up with 5+ other friends on the way. Study abroad is pretty sweet like that. And then, finally, back here to... well... to finish up? I guess? And my expected date of departure is May 20. So, I'll either update again soon, or see you again soon! Cheerio!

Crime! Violence! Action! Police!

2008-03-23T18:21:00.008-04:00

THAT’S IT, LONDON. I’ve reached my final straw. Oh dear readers, I have been the victim of a VIOLENT CRIME.

Assault? Stabbing? Gunshot wound to the ankle?

NO. WORSE.

On a cold and stormy night in a shadowy town away from the hustle and bustle of the city lights, an innocent and helpless redhead was the victim of a torturous and yet mysteriously painless PICKPOCKET.

Don’t gasp too hard, dear friends, I wouldn’t want the malevolence and shock of such a hate crime to carry over and burden you. Oh, it is enough for one such redhead alone, this is true.

The pain of recalling this incident is great; but the therapist says it will only help to talk my way through this crime. Warning to young and easily offended readers, to women and children and all whose thoughts are easily marred by the threat of such evil in this world, to bluebirds and rainbows and puppies and all whose characters are too delightful to be marked by such hatred: please, do not read the following account of the abhorrence and near-death which I have had to live through. Save yourselves! Save each other!!

(The following will be written in a third-person account to offer the most objective and unbiased retelling of events. There is no exaggeration, no conjecture here. Only, unfortunately, THE HARD AND COLD TRUTH.)

On a cold and stormy night in a shadowy… oh, wait, you’ve heard that before? Okay, fine.

A pretty, smart, funny, young redhead was off on an adventure to see a cutting-edge play in the south of London. It was an adaptation of Poe’s Masque of the Red Death, set in an old house/art center set up to look like a real, old, decrepit mansion (so Poe). The trick was that one went in and wandered about the house while the play went on around you (ooh). It took between 2 and 3 hours, depending on how long you wanted to stay, and promised to be pretty scary and pretty innovative theater-wise. Just up the redhead’s alley. Unfortunately, our bright-eyed young protagonist never got so far as to see those plans achieved, because the night took a dark, scary, unforeseen turn…

As the pretty, smart, funny, young redhead and her comrades put their names on the wait-list and then, ironically, waited, they headed to a local pub just up the street from the theater. While ordering a tall Irish cider to idle the time away, the redhead stood at the bar while the big, surly, American boys (read: scrawny English major #1 and scrawnier Theater major #2) found a table. She craned her neck to see where her bodyguards—er, friends—had gone, and after a minute or two, saw them and met them at the table. The three chatted and laughed about life, love, the pursuit of happiness, and other such worthy subjects (no, not gossip about their British friends or last week’s party, of course not) for a measly 40 minutes or so, at which point the redhead jetted to the restroom, leaving her big intimidating male friends to watch her things, and then returned ready to head to the thea-tah.

All of a sudden, the cheery, loud pub quieted, while dark, thunderous clouds rolled in and bolts of lighting began striking the tables around them. Shrieks of fear could be heard for miles!

The pretty, smart, funny, young redhead whirled around and threw out her arms,

“WAIT!” She cried helplessly. “Help!” She cried, well, even more helplessly.

But it was too late, and she knew it. The purse, which she had kept so carefully hidden on the back of her chair beneath her big, bulky, warm winter coat, was, I dare say it, an embarrasing three pounds lighter than it had been when they walked into that very pub!

The SWAT team was called, the place was searched, the bomb-sniffing dogs were all sniffed-out, but alas, there was no sign of the precious black wallet that was a beloved Christmas gift from just one year ago! The wallet, it seemed, along with our lovely young redhead’s pride, hope, dignity, innocence, and very happiness, were GONE.

Now, the pretty, smart, funny, young redhead sits alone, walletless once again (yes, for the second time in ten days) and awaits the Detectives and Investigators and Secret Service as they comb the European country side in search of her entire identity. “It doesn’t look pretty,” said the President as he phoned from the Oval Office earlier. “I know,” she said with as much cheer as she could muster, “I know.”

The tale of the fair young maiden and the virility of the crimes against humanity that she suffered should serve as a warning to all who seek to believe in the good of the world: when faced with the choice to go to a nightclub dressed in weird Euro clothes, or to go to a groundbreaking theater performance like the nerd you think you are, well, choose wisely dear friends. That choice might just be your last.

Pray for her soul! Praise God!!

ribbon-cutting

2008-03-21T09:44:00.004-04:00

Hey everybody, welcome to the new place. I never planned to invest any real time in what this site looked like, but after today, I couldn't help it...

This being my first day off in awhile, I planned to spend a good part of the day in the Tate Modern. But as I was heading over there, I decided to hang out with Cassandra and Katie for awhile since they were in the area. I met up with them at Tower of London, but we got out of there as soon as we saw the outrageous prices for tourist London. We wandered over Tower Bridge and into some riverside alleyways on the South Bank that had recently been renovated into a pretty cool little area. Still wandering, but now soaking wet from a monsoon, we stumbled upon the Design Museum. It being a) cheap b) warm and dry and c) interesting to Cassandra since she’s in a Modern Architecture class right now, we went in. And then, to your dismay dear readers, I learned everything there is to know about design: industrial design, graphic design, FASHION DESIGN, and, yes, web design.

And so, with my new knowledge and my new boredom (this being the third night in a row I’ve not gone out, partly to give myself a chance to rest after a busy month, and partly to give my wallet one, too), I set off into new lands of blogging. There’s only so much YouTube you can watch after three nights anyway, so web design was a welcome challenge. Besides, I had toyed around with web design once before, and found it incredibly tedious but actually really cool once I got the hang of it.

So anyway, herewith the unveiling of redhead in london v. 2.0. All the old blog entries (and all your old comments) are still here, there’s also a fancy “about me” page you can click on, and I’m hoping to add an entire page of photo albums if I can figure out how Google will let me do that. I’ll try to keep adding fun stuff to ease my boredom and yours. Either that or I’ll be back up to my old tricks this weekend and not have ten seconds free for an update for another month. We shall see.

Lastly, I’ve rescheduled my trip to the Tate Modern for tomorrow, so here’s hoping I don’t come home knowing everything there is to know about modern art…

N.B. I'm still figuring out the whole photo thing. For now, I've uploaded and organized my photos via Google's PicasaWeb (since I use the free Picasa software), and you can go there and look at any of the albums and slideshows. There aren't captions or anything yet, and at some point I hope to be able to embed them more easily on here. But I'm really bad at this stuff. Until then, you can find the link on the left-hand bar underneath my "About Me."

In Like a Lamb… Out Like a Cold, Wet, Scary Lion

2008-03-17T15:39:00.001-04:00

Mid-march has arrived, and life has just flipped upside down. February was a quiet, content, happy little month. It was sunny and we had tons of days in the 60s. I wandered to every part of the city, bought things at every open air market, and got a feel for London life. March, then, spun me right around again. It’s now about 30 degrees every day, with wind and constant rain (thank goodness for the trench!), and not one quiet moment to myself (not necessarily a bad thing!). A flood of American visitors brought a total (and needed) change to my routine, and sightseeing and showing off the past few weeks has been manically fun. Before I get to all that, though….

Happy Happy Happy St. Patrick’s Day!! Hooray! One of the happiest holidays for our kind all year. It’s a bit sad not celebrating with any of the “typical” fanfare for us back home—corned beef, cabbage, soda bread (Nanny’s soda bread, in particular)—and without any Irish family around to understand the true magnitude of the day. But, it’s been an all-weekend celebration here, and it’s not over yet! I’m currently sitting here all dolled up in green wearing a giant foot-tall leprechaun hat as I wait to go to dinner.

Hmm but before I speed ahead to this moment, let me back up a bit, to just after my return from Paris and the exit of all Villanovans from the country. After that, it was time to sleep. To sleep sleep sleep. I haven’t been as tired as I was that week in a loooong time. I slept for 14 hours Sunday night, then for most of Monday, too. I don’t know if I caught up, but I sure made a valiant effort.

Tuesday brought fresh American guests to entertain, though, as Andria (a friend from RBC) was here staying with her aunt for her Spring Break. Eager to show her my London life, we went up to Camden Town for a bit of shopping (I needed a costume that I’ll elaborate on more later) and then she came out to beautiful Mile End for a night of fun.

Well, it was supposed to be a night of fun. We trotted down to the Hayfield for a bit around 9, planning to meet up with the British kids ‘round 11 and head over to a club in East London to meet up with Cassandra and Jordan and the West London crew. We never quite made it. As we left the Hayfield and headed for the club, we realized my wallet was gone. GONE. Not at home, not at the Hayfield, not in the cab. Just gone. Oyyyyy.

Unfortunately for Andria, I was beside myself and decided to just go to bed. The next day turned up no results, so Mom and I went ahead and cancelled every credit/debit card in the wallet (which was, stupidly, all of them). I had no cash on me, so Andria left me a generous 7 pounds to tide me over until…. Well, nobody knew, really.

I stopped back in the Hayfield one more time the next night to check, and sure enough, after cancelling every card, one worker had found my wallet and hung onto it so it didn’t get stolen (ironic). I thanked them profusely, but in the end, it was pretty much the same consequences as actually having lost the wallet as I still sit here waiting for my new debit cards from America to arrive. Except for one working Visa card that banks will use to give me cash, it’s been a rough few days!

But, moving on to brighter things! Sinead arrived on Thursday night for a weekend of St. Patrick’s Day fun. I had told her of a costume party at a flat on campus, and she was so into it! I was so happy. The party was called “Glow” and its theme was “Neon Nu-Rave,” so think early 90s ravers wearing fluorescent colored anything. Sinead and I waited until she arrived Thursday night to figure out costumes, so I greeted her with a couple of bottles of Bulmers and some neon paints I picked up at PoundWorld (dollar-store). We ripped up some Hanes t-shirts and created these:

“Costume? My Hair IS My Costume”
(It’s a big thing for British to make fun of “Gingers” (Redheads) throwing around jokes like…. “What happens if a ginger-kid bites you? You get ginger-vitis!” So we owned it for the night)

Coupled with neon tights, neon jewelry, neon make-up, and some shades, we were ready to roll. That drink in my hand is actually just apple juice, I swear. All in all, a great costume party.

Moving on, then…

Saturday was the start of the St. Pat’s celebration in town, kicked off by the final game of the Six Nations Rugby Championship, a match between England and Ireland. We went to O’Neills, a four story, packed-to-the-brim Irish pub in central London, to watch. Sinead’s aunts Paula (now a Londoner) and Julie (a Dubliner that I stayed with during our Spring Break trip there last year) came to meet us, along with Matt, Sinead’s boyfriend. We stayed for about five hours in the middle of the afternoon and had a blast! Ireland got blown away, unfortunately, but Cloughley relatives are fun enough that you don’t really care one way or another.

After some fish n’ chips and a couple of pubs, we hit the hay early so we could get up for the parade on Sunday. Unfortunately, we woke up Sunday around 11 to an absolutel monsoon. The weather didn’t clear up for the entire day, and the parade and festivities were a bit of a washout. There was still a lot of green roaming around the city (and in and out of pubs), but I suspect the day was a lot tamer than it usually is. Tonight the festivities conclude at, where else, the Hayfield, as we do a bit of a pub crawl around Mile End and end up at the old standby, where I will hopefully remember to bring home my wallet.

Visitors are done for the moment and life might settle back down to a normal pace (thank God!) for a few weeks. It feels good to get back into the rhythm of regular London life and to start hanging out with our British friends again (not that our American friends weren’t just as fun!). As for now, I’m off to our favorite dive restaurant down the street for some chicken tikka (I told you there was no corned beef happening) and to judge how many looks I get from this giant hat (some things/people don’t change, even 1,000 miles away from Kelly’s). Happy St. Pat’s!

P.S. Thanks for St. Patrick's Day cards!! Getting mail is the best! :)

Another crepe for you?

2008-03-12T12:01:00.000-04:00

The past few weeks have whizzed by in a blur--from the moment we got back from Germany until the moment I sat to write this, everything has been zipping by. I admittedly jipped you readers on my account of Germany-- it was written in a span of fifteen minutes and I literally hit "post" and ran out the door to catch the Euro Star to Paris. I didn't even post the pictures to go along with it, which I regret because the pictures of my "heaping piles of meat" are a bit more appetizing than my descriptions.

Anyhow, ce'st la vie...which, as a French phrase, segues perfectly into this better-thought-out post on Paris. PARIS- the city of romance, of writers, of food. Was it everything you picture it to be? That and more. We woke up every morning to a view of a Parisian street flooded with baguette-eaters and girls in dresses riding bicycles with baskets. Sometimes I wanted to pinch myself. It still seems unreal that we were in Paris-- its just such a landmark figure in any American's mind. But I digress...

Sinead was a fantastic tour guide, better than I was with the roommates in London. She had our whole weekend planned out but did it all in a nonchalant and leisurely kind of way, which relaxed everyone. Not only that, but its pretty helpful having a fluent French speaker with you all the time.

Over the course of the weekend we saw impressionist art at Musee d'Orsay, ate at a British pub (home sweet home), saw Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower, and the Seine, ate fresh baguettes with camembert and 1 euro wine, and meandered about through the rest of tourist and non-tourist Paris munching on Nutella crepes. We ate the best falafel I've ever had while sitting on a street curb in the Marais. We climbed a thousand steps to reach the Sacre Coeur on top of Montmarte and take in the most beautiful view of the City of Lights all lit up at nightfall. We had cheap beers in the Red Light District next to the Moulin Rouge. And we (well, Sinead and I) fell deeper in love with books & writers at the storied Shakespeare & Co. in the Latin Quarter (you could practically feel Hemingway and Fitzgerald looming in the background).

One of the most striking things about Paris for me was the stark contast with good ol' London town. Thinking that we were both studying abroad in large European cities, I was sure Sinead and my study abroad experiences were the same. How wrong I was! Paris and London are at opposite ends of the Euro-city spectrum, and by Saturday night I was surprised to be feeling a bit homesick for the hustle and bustle of London life.

It wasn't that Paris isn't hustle and bustle, per se, but it is in such a more refined way. Paris is large and sprawling, compared to the jam-packed London streets I've grown accustomed to. It's also quieter and more neighborhood-y, certainly more serene, and clearly a place for writers to sit and think over a cup or two (or four) of coffee at a sidewalk cafe. London is big and busy; there's no room for sidewalk cafes, and if there were, there'd be no time to sit and sip coffee at them. Its New York-ish in feel, and its that rhythm I've gotten used to. Paris, then, is the most perfect weekend escape from London ever created; the fact that they are 2 hours and less than 100 pounds apart, well...cake.

In all, I'm happy to return to the cheerful busy-ness of London, and to recognize the uniqueness of the happy, crazy little city in which I live. I'm also happy I got to see Sinead soaking up Parisian life just as much, running around the city with her latte and baguette in hand. While I don't know if our roommates loved (or could love/understand) our cities and our city lives quite like we do, I'm glad they came to see it first hand. I really can't say anything else about how great my life is and awesome these four months are, and so I think I'll just leave you with that and some photos. Au revoir!

Eiffel Tower!

Mmm Nutella crepes!

Being Hunchbacks of Notre Dame, of course.

Just like the movie! Except, not really at all...

View from hotel room. Look closely, and there's a man to the left with a baguette and a person right in the center riding their bicycle. Picturesque Paris.

This One's For You, Dad

2008-03-06T07:47:00.000-05:00

I know I've been seriously missing in action for awhile. Life started happening at superspeed all of a sudden and it looks like its not going to stop for awhile, which means I better start savoring this whole thing before I wake up and its May 20th and I'm flying back to NJ.

First of all, Germany was epic. We took a rickety little 2-foot-long plane to Cologne, a trip that lasted maybe 50 minutes. We were greeted by Cassandra's 2nd or 3rd cousin Hans-George, who was about 40 and spoke perfect English. He threw our stuff in his Cadillac (yep) and I jumped in the back seat, right next to a Yankees hat (yep). Then the fun really started.

I had always heard of the autobahn. I never, ever expected to be on the autobahn. All I can say is thank God i could not do the math to conver kilometers-per-hour to miles-per-hour while we were in the car, I would have passed out. Not only that, but Hans-George recently had his license suspended for... speeding on the autobahn.

We walked into a little cottage in the German country side to meet Uncle Hans and Tanta Erna, who were about 207 and spoke almost no English. Cassandra was a champ and jumped into perfect German conversation; I got used to what would become my favorite activity of the week, making people believe you are listening and understanding while you're actually just sleeping with your eyes open.

Throughout the weekend we met every relative from every branch of Cassandra's family tree; anyone under the age of 50 spoke perfect English and couldn't wait to talk about all things pop culture (mostly Amy Winehouse). The weekend went something like this:

- Hans took us to explore some old church (and bought us pastries after!)
- Wolfgang took us into Cologne where we went to the tallest cathedral in Europe and toured a chocolate factory/museum (the best thing that's ever happened to me)
- Uncle Deiter took us to the 65th Anniversary party, which was EXACTLY like any 65th Anniversary in America would be. It was a brunch in a room at a cute racetrack that could have been Monmouth Park. One branch of the family got up and singing traditional German folk songs, which Cassandra and I immediately joined in on as her relatives bought us rounds of "Kolsch", beer made in Cologne.
- Regina and Wolfgang took us to the coolest night club in Cologne, a place called Nacht Flug (Night Flight). We basically just stared the whole time because it was too cool for us. German people are GORGEOUS, all of them. And great dancers.
- And every one, every single person we met, made us eat HEAPS AND HEAPS OF MEAT.

Which is where the title of this post comes in. This one is for you, Dad, because the entire trip all I did was think about how much you would LOVE Germany. We ate between three and five meals every day, which were all basically heaps of sausage or pork or veal covered in the most delicious sauces I've ever tasted, served with giant heaps of potatoes and deliciously fresh vegetables, huge hunks of bread, butter, cheese, and BEER. And for dessert, Dad? What would they have? Giant piles of baked apples covered in vanilla sauce. Or, alternatively, giant dishes of sweetened strawberries covered in vanilla sauce. Dad, this place was made for you. Every two hours I was served your favorite meal in life.

All in all, Germany was nothing short of incredible. What a cool country that I never in a million years expected to be cool. People there just love life. They are all having the best time ever all the time. Eating, drinking, singing, smiling. They're seriously awesome, and I'm so glad we got such an authentic experience.

Upon return from Germany, I had a couple of days of class before my Villanova roommates arrived for their spring break. Becky and Maura got here Saturday morning, and so the past five days have been busy busy busy with sightseeing and reuniting. We did all the touristy stuff, met up with all Villanova kids studying in London this semester, saw a cool concert Monday (Girl Talk-- a dj who just spins on stage and everyone just dances on stage with him, its like a rave), saw Prince Phillip getting out of a helicopter, ate dinner in the crypts of an old church, introduced them to the madness of my british friends (James had on more eye makeup than Becky, I think they were entertained), and didn't sleep AT ALL.

And I am literally finishing this, packing, and going to catch my train to Paris. I'll get there around 7:30 and head straight to the musee d'orsay, which has free student nights on Thursdays (if I can manage to make it there at all, seeing as I know absolutely zero French). I can't wait to hang out with Sinead and see her Parisian life. When I return, I have friends in from New Jersey for a few days (not staying here, thank God), then Sinead and an NJ friend are in for St. Pat's, and then I go to Dublin overnight from the 18-19th, and then, thank God, have a week break before April. Whew.

Alright, well, croissants await. More updates soon!

No Food For You!

2008-02-19T11:48:00.000-05:00

“Last term there was also a boy from New Jersey, he was an Italian-American, and talked about the Shore a lot, too. He was so loud.” – British Natalie, on how I can never, ever escape from the Bennys of North Jersey, even while hiding in London for the winter.

So it has recently been pointed out by some that I might be focusing a bit too heavily on the culinary life of my London adventure. That all I ever talk about is how great the food is. It’s funny, too, because that’s what I absolutely miss most about home- the food. Well, that and the beach, but to me they go hand in hand. Alright, fine, you’ve got me, food goes hand in hand with everything. I’m sorry! It’s the best part of life!!

For serious, though, thanks to everyone for their comments. I had no idea you all were reading this and it’s really nice to have the support & feedback from the homefront. I know all the stories I put up are way out-there, and that is definitely how I would categorize my experience here. But there are definitely a lot of normal things I’ve found to love, too. So here’s an entire post of absolutely normal things and almost nothing about food….fascinating stuff, I promise.

My So-Called Normal Life
Each weekday I get up around 10 (I know, I know) and get ready to meet friends for lunch on campus. Sometimes I have class after that, and those are the days I most look forward to. I like the whole British school system better than ours (though when I tell the Brits, they have no idea why). It’s both more laid back and more educational, which I don’t think US teachers could ever fathom going hand-in-hand. I only have each class once a week, and kids show up 10-15 minutes late all the time. We call our professors by their first names, and while my lectures are all taught by PhD’s, my seminars are led by grad students. At Villanova this would never fly. But here, I absolutely love it.

You have to do the reading because you’re stuck in a class face-to-face with the teacher for two straight hours. The awkwardness of sitting there without having done the work is more painful than just doing the reading, especially with all the free time to do it. Then you really just sit and talk about them and the teacher tells you his/her ideas on it, and then after a few weeks you write a paper about your own ideas. Its so much less nitty-gritty than the 3X-a-week + homework routine at home. It keeps it from becoming a chore, so you actually enjoy literature instead of hating having to read so much of it overnight.

At around 4 everyday, lectures end and all of the first-years return back to their flats. Almost everyone proceeds to have afternoon tea, no joke. I’ll sometimes pop over to any of the British kids’ flats to have a cup and chat for anywhere up to an hour. These are some of the times I like best, as they discuss everything from politics to religion to Amy Winehouse, and you really get a sense for what goes on in the head of a British 19-year-old. At 5 everyone heads off to activities or to do homework, though no one would tell you the schedule like that. It’s just the lifestyle. They would never realize that they have tea everyday at 4 and then depart at 5, no way. It’s just the normal course of a day.

If I happen to run into someone or make plans with an American, we’ll often grab a cheap bite to eat for dinner near campus or at a cool spot in central. A good bite of curry for 5 pounds is really the perfect anytime dinner, and you can get it at any pub or take out place in England. Sometimes we’ll grab a burger or fish n’ chips, but we basically live for curry.

Because everything’s a bit more laid back, plans for that evening never get made until at least 7. I never know whether it will be a crazy night out or a quiet night in until it actually starts happening. They don’t use AIM like we do, so all communication and plan-making is done via text messages or Facebook, which is incredibly frustrating to fast-paced Americans who like to have a plan four days before its set to unfold.

Most weekdays I don’t have lectures, so I do lunch on campus with friends, then go off into the city for a few hours before returning back around dusk. Usually I’ll go do work in a coffeeshop in central, go shopping (or returning), or go to some touristy thing I still haven’t done. Sometimes I’m lazy and do none of these things, and then feel extremely guilty about wasting my time in London. I think everyone probably goes through this; you can’t possibly do something great every single day, but I always feel bad taking a day off.

Weekends are glorious, and though they aren’t much different pace-wise from my weekdays, a lot more happens. My favorite weekend routine is to sleep until 11ish and go meet friends for brunch. Afterwards, go to a market or shopping on Oxford Street, and then part ways. When they go home, I like to grab the big ol’ Sunday paper and duck into a Pret coffeeshop, grab an almond croissant and a cup of tea, and read as much as I can before I feel awkward for taking up their tables. I finally truck home in the dark and have a few hours before going out. Sunday night is always a going out night, so weekends always end on a good note.

So you see there is quite a bit of normalcy to my life right now. But I find it boring to write about and even more boring to read about. This post was supposed to talk about a club in a cave underneath London Bridge with a rock band in tutus covering Britney Spears songs. Well, that and a delicious Mexican dinner I had, a cheap curry buffet we found, and my adventures speaking Spanish to kids from Valencia that promised to make us paella. But again, that’s all food and craziness, and we’ve all had enough of that. : )

Tomorrow I’m off to Cologne, Germany for a five-day stay with 200 year old German folks. They speak no English and I speak no German. Cassandra will act as sole translator. The highlight of our weekend will be the 65th anniversary party of her great aunt and great uncle. Again, all German, no English, 65th Anniversary, 200 years old. If anyone thinks their study-abroad experience is cooler than mine…

And if you think the post immediately following that trip won’t be COMPLETELY AND ENTIRELY ABOUT GERMAN FOOD, well ha! Shows how much you know!

Haha I love you all dearly and hope you keep the comments coming. Miss you too!

Weekend in Pictures

2008-02-10T17:36:00.000-05:00

To all that heard about the big scary fire in north London over the weekend (and all who heard of my ignorance of the fire until dad checked to see if i was alive), good news: I am, indeed, alive. I was nowhere near Camden Markets when the blaze went up, though I have a good friend who lives right there and snapped some photos. It really was a giant fire. I was scared that the markets would be ruined forever, and since I've yet to get up there to visit them, would never get to. Rest assured, the markets are still there, and will still offer some of the coolest up and coming fashions for cheap prices.
(EDIT: Did you all hear Amy Winehouse give that shout out to Camden Town at the Grammy's? She's the greatest!)

After getting yelled at for being an airhead about what's going on around me, I decided to fight back and show you all what a normal (sort of) weekend really is in my life. Remember, I warned you last time, each day gets weirder and weirder here. And so, my weekend in pictures:

SATURDAY MORNING, 10 AM: Street Market, Notting Hill

Portabello Road Market is probably the most famous of the open-air markets in London. It's in Notting Hill. We went Saturday when the sun was shining and the temperatures hit 60.

Notting Hill houses! The happiest place in the world.

Food stands.

Cheese!

Mmmm

Homeless man with dog on his back

Breakfast of Champions!

Circa 11 AM. Mmmm....

Cheap fake leather bags! She got two for 20!

Cool graffiti bridge, tube, and blue skies overhead.

Vats of Paella.

The cutest place in the whole world, Notting Hill.

You would only want to buy these at Notting Hill or Disney World. I'm convinced they're one in the same.

She's a shopaholic. I managed to scoop up a cute spring jacket for 10!

You just want to smile all over the place here.

As we left the market to go home, we found hundreds of people in costumes the flooding tube station, drunk. It was about noon time. These women were dressed as construction workers with painted mustaches on their faces. Others outside this frame were in ape costumes. Unbeknownst to us, it was New Zealand day in London. Drunken revelers accompanied us all the way home. This may seem weird, and it was, but last Saturday was Australia day, which was the same thing but actually even weirder and drunker and less expected. This is seriously why I love London. You just never know what's going to happen, and like really, why the heck wouldn't you dress up like an ape and get drunk at noon for New Zealand? Why the heck not?

The best dinner I've had since getting here, thanks to the glorious Portabello Road Market. Who needs real plates anyway?

SATURDAY NIGHT, 10PM: Flat Party with a Random British Theme

(Mom wanted pictures of my British friends-- these are only a handful but I'll keep posting more, promise!)

Me and British Lauren

The theme was Mighty Boosh if anyone wants to Wikipedia it. Even if this hadn't been a themed party, I would not have been surprised to see someone dress like this at a flat party. That's the British for you.

British Natalie and British James

British Rebecca sideways

SUNDAY, 10:30 AM: Chinese New Year Parade, Trafalgar Square

Queen Mary Chinese Students Association. QM REPRESENT

The parade was pretty underwhelming, to be honest.

Luckily... we had heard of something else going on down the street and wandered over to check it out....

SUNDAY, 3PM: British Academy Awards, National Opera House, Covent Garden

We had heard it was going on, so we wandered over....

We saw them setting up, and thought, hey, we should go to this.

We don't like waiting in lines like normal people, so we found a secret spot and befriended the security guards.

Ryan Seacrest showed up first, and the crowd went wild for him.

Cuba Gooding Jr. came next.

Then Daniel Radcliffe AKA Harry Potter

Harry Potter himself.

Anthony Hopkins with Kate Hudson in the background

Kate Hudson was really cool

Kiera Knightly, who didn't win, but is still great!

Orlando Bloom for the money shot of the night.

Okay, so that was my weekend. Cassandra and I kept marvelling at how we weren't even surprised by a lot of the things because of everything weird that happens every day to us. Overall though, a very cool weekend. So yeah, sorry I didn't hear about the fire, and I only get my news from free tabloids handed out on the Tube on weeknights, but don't you worry folks, I'm living up London every single second. I promise.

And thanks for the concern for my safety, too! :)

One Month Mark

2008-02-07T11:22:00.000-05:00

As I began my second month in London, I had really convinced myself I had gotten over the major hump of excitement, new experiences, and adjusting. This was the exact thought running through my head as I stood on the fifth floor of an unmarked walk-up building on the other side (the other side) of the Thames yesterday. I was standing next to my assigned cushion in a circle of about ten other people; there were two Americans, a few Brits, someone from Germany, one from Russia, one from the Ukraine, and one from South Africa. All were therapists-in-training for Kids Company, the place where I’ll be doing 40 hours of service for my Villanova study abroad program.

The leader of the induction, Yolande, had blonde and pink spiky hair, a hot pink sweatshirt, and platform sneakers much like the Sketchers popular in 1995. She was telling me to relax my body from head to toe and to begin to notice my feelings. My eyes were closed but I was sure she could see the smirk on my face. I wasn’t laughing at the exercise, per se; in fact I was following her directions completely. It’s just that the feeling I was noticing was absolute amusement/bewilderment at what the hell was going on in my life. How did I end up sitting in a Kumbaya-like circle in South London noticing my feelings? Wasn’t I just in Red Bank, like, a minute ago?

After our breathing exercise, we got a short training in how therapy with kids was supposed to work. I tried to protest, explaining that I’m not a therapist in training, I don’t know the first thing about therapy, and I should probably just watch. Bad move. Yolande asked me what I felt about therapy. When I explained I didn’t know enough about it, she looked at me harshly, “But what do you feel!” The pink spikes were flying off her head and right in my direction. I muttered (stupidly) something about it seeming like a good thing for some people, which was met by a knowing nod and an “Oh, I see. Some people. But not you?” I slunk over to the sand box and my partner for the therapy session. We were to pick out two toys, place them in the box, and make up a story about them, as our partner asked us meaningful questions and tried to figure out “what it all meant.” Now I was already amused/confused when I was breathing in and out with my eyes closed, but I'd now found myself sitting on the floor across from a 40 year-old Ukrainian woman and talking about how my fish and my pirate are exploring the world together and why she thinks I have a complex about conquering things. Honestly, God, how did this happen to my life?

As I was recounting my day to a fellow Villanovan over fish and chips later that night, she confirmed what I had suspected: my reaction of absolute entertainment at the weirdness of my life was the only way I was able to keep going. Over the past five weeks in England, this has been proven true again and again. Honestly, the only thing I can do is laugh.

After dinner I took the tube back to Mile End, and received some of the weirdest looks and stares I’ve ever gotten. I kept looking around the train and couldn’t figure out why, until I looked at my reflection in the window: the ashes, of course. Mary (the Villanovan) and I were just about the only people I saw all day with ashes on our heads. Walking home through Kebab/Curry lane, I definitely felt like the minority.

I decided to go out last night even though Cassandra wouldn’t come and Jordan was away, leaving me the only American. It was with our kind of strange British friends too, the hardcore ones into weird British music/clothing/culture more than the others. But I had nothing else to do, so I went. Cut to walking through East London streets for about an hour, ending up at a Brazilian themed night club that was having a “Mardis Gras” theme all week long. Even the British kids I was with said it was the most Eurotrash place they’d ever been in their lives. There was a fifty year old man with a beard down to his chest dancing with an 18 year old girl in hot pink tights. There was a fake sun illuminating the room, a guy in a safari hat behind the DJ table, and 30 year old married couples tearing up the dance floor. I drank a Brazilian beer and wondered how five hours earlier I was playing in a sand box and five months earlier I was sitting in dorm room in Pennsylvania.

The thing about yesterday is, it wasn’t even that abnormal of a day. The weirdest things happen here every single day, and no matter how much of a routine you’ve established, or how much you think you’ve adjusted, it just gets weirder. I’ve talked to other friends that are abroad and are extremely homesick and can’t adjust at all; I understand their pain, it’s a really tough situation to get used to. I’m really glad that I can realize what a joke my life has become, and how all these weird situations will add up to one hell of an experience.

Thinking about all of the strange things I’m encountering here in London makes me think of all of the random things I have done over the years that still make me laugh, still provide great stories to entertain friends with, and still make me the person I am. From warding off pursuant 92 year-olds at a nursing home, to interviewing a crazy homeless man in Woodstock, to sitting on the Oreo at Villanova talking to Sean Penn on the phone. I’ve seen and done a lot, met a lot of people, and learned a lot of things, and they all seemed baffling at the time. Now I can add all of this to the tally.

To wrap up my first month’s experiences here in England, I’ll give you a quick look at photos I’ve yet to put up. Most are from an excursion from this past weekend to York, with all Villanova kids studying abroad in London this semester. As for travels, I think I’m headed to Cologne, Germany in two weeks to stay with Cassandra’s relatives, who only speak German and are about 200 years old. Add that to the tally, then, too.

Herewith, the slideshow:

Travelling plans after brainstorm session with Cass.

Yorkshire Pudding in York!

Bronte Tea rooms in the town where the Bronte's lived! I was the only English major among 30 business majors visiting the Bronte House... it was painful when someone yelled "I've never even HEARD of these novels!"

Bronte's hometown. In the distance are the moors that basically shaped the entire plot of Wuthering Heights. It was like -10 degrees when we visited so I opted out of the walk on the moors, still cool though. This town was adorable.

Me hamming it up in front of the Bronte's house.

Ruins of an old abbey in York. So much colder in York than home sweet home London!

Posing just like Monks would have in the ruins of the abbey.

Afternoon tea in York. Scones and "fat rascals" (scones with fruit in them) and lots and lots of tea. mmm....

The inside of York Minster, the cathedral of the city. It's from the Middle Ages, and as I'm learning about conquests of England from the middle ages to the seventeenth century in my classes, it's pretty cool coming to places where major things happened. Eeeeek nerd moment.

The address of this house is 1 1/2 Whip-ma-whop-ma-gate Road. The owner is soon to be Colleen Curry.

The top picture shows us walking on the city wall that surrounds York. As we were walking, we were all commenting on the mansions that surround the main city but are still within city walls. They had perfectly manicured lawns and ornate gardens. I randomly snapped the shot on the bottom and put it up on facebook with the caption "British Mansions" and within an hour one of my British friends had claimed it as her house. I didn't believe her at all, so I asked someone else, and it is, apparently, definitely her house. HOW WEIRD IS THAT.

Gate surrounding the city. The Romans thought those little men on top were real people so they decided not to attack the city. Dumb Italians.

The outside of York Minster. So old!

Thus concludes your tour of York and the North of England. Now that I've seen non-London parts of England, I'm probably done travelling within this country. I have a daytrip to Oxford coming up which I might go on, and I do want to go on a daytrip to Brighton (a seadside resort town) but as for the rest of England, if you've seen one town you've seen 'em all. The countryside is pretty and green, but nothing compared to the green hills of Ireland.

And so begins month number two! Cheerio!!

(P.S. On the way home from York a friend lent me the book Into the Wild. I didn't think I'd like it because it was all manly Man vs. Wild stuff, but I was so wrong. Its one of those books that just stays with you. So anyone reading this, go out and get it and read it. Really.)

2008-01-27T12:57:00.001-05:00

I just looked at the calendar and realized that January is practically over, which means I have been in London for nearly a month already, which means I only have a few months left! How did that happen?

I haven't been so keen at updating this thing because I always feel like there's so much I should be seeing and doing and I hate staying in my little room for any significant amount of time. So I'm going to give a big recap and probably miss lots of details but hopefully you'll get the gist!

Entering my fourth week in London means I'm pretty settled in and into my routine. I have classes every Tuesday and Friday and every other Thursday, which means lots of free time. But then each class (they meet once a week) is a really intensive two hour block of thinking and talking. We average about a book every two weeks for each class, and I'm taking four classes. So a lot of reading. Thank God I have pretty long tube rides nearly every day, so that forces me to get some of it done. The classes are really great, and I'm so glad I saved my Brit Lit requirements of my major for here. Because I'm not taking typical study abroad classes (walking tours of London, etc.) I'm in class with all British 2nd- and 3rd- years, so it's intense but I'm definitely getting more out of it. Also, I'm reading all British literature for this semester, and it is really cool to see how a poem from 1650 can explain why something is the way it is in London today. So I really am enjoying class, even if it's hard to force myself to do all the work.

For now, Mondays and Wednesdays are completely free. I meet Cassandra for lunch (since she moved, she comes to campus and has nowhere to go, so I'm nice and keep her company as long as it involves food), and then go off on an adventure. My adventures are usually me just getting lost and trying to make sense of London. Sometimes I'll have a really specific task (groceries, checking out hotels for mom and dad) and spend the whole time figuring out how to get to the place and what it's near and how to get back. I'm hoping I become oriented in the city soon, getting lost all the time is exhausting!

British kids go out any night of the week and there's no telling which nights are going to be big nights. Usually Sundays and Wednesdays turn out to be big, and Fridays they like to go to the cool clubs on Brick Lane and in Shoreditch. All of East London is uber hip, and even though its gritty, its the place to be. It reminds me a lot of Williamsburg, Brooklyn, like five years ago. Only a few people knew how cool it was and could see its potential. The lead singer of an awesome British rock band (Bloc Party) lives one tube stop over from me, and Amy Winehouse lives one tube stop the other way. Anyway, Monday nights and Thursday nights are usually spent all the way across the city in Chelsea/South Kensington, a really ritzy area. I have class there for my study abroad program on Monday nights, and our favorite bar there has live music on Thursdays. There's a big group of Americans from a bunch of different colleges that usually meet up there so we know a lot of people each week. Then Thursday-Saturday we try to make an effort to go to the clubs in central London, especially in the Covent Garden area. That's where most young people go out (the ones who don't yet know the coolness of East London), and those are swanky clubs with expensive covers and even more expensive drinks. Another reason East London is the greatest place in England-- we know where to get 1 pound pints three nights a week. Not bad.

Most college students have off on Wednesday afternoons here, so we sometimes group together and do sightseeing things. As for meals, Queen Mary has really cheap and really good food right on campus, so eating here is always a good idea. But everything closes down by 7, so sometimes its tough. Our favorite off-campus spot, Wetherspoons, has meal deals every night of the week geared towards students. You can get two meals for 7 pounds (so 3.50 each), or beer & a burger for 4 pounds, or (my favorite) curry & a beer for 5 pounds on Thursdays (during Curry Club- haha!). On my adventures in the city I usually stop for tea in the afternoon and read a book or the paper for a long time. London papers (tabloids, really) are the most hilarious thing ever and following Amy Winehouse's life is my new favorite pasttime.

So that's my life as it has unfolded over the past four weeks. After talking to various study abroad-ers and advisors, I've decided it will be better to narrow down my travelling to like three top places and really make them good trips, rather than "city collecting" each weekend and not getting to know those places at all. This is a good strategy because I can see/do/spend more here in London. I would regret city hopping all over Europe and missing out on this incredible city I'm living in.

In other news, fingers are majorly crossed right now that a NY-based internship will come through for this summer. Its a communications program, so I'll be placed at a TV station or something, and put up in dorms, and paid a stipend for living expenses. So I can basically continue my cool urban life on the other side of the pond when I return. Keep your fingers crossed too!!

Okay, I didn't put up any pics or tell any specifics about adventures this time, I'm sorry. In short, we see paparazzi everywhere, have met quite a few pseudo-celebs (c-listers), stalk amy winehouse, go to museums but really just for the food, eat at trendy little cafes and pretend to be rich, and avoid large groups of americans at all costs. my two favorite things about london are cream tea (a scone with clotted cream and jam, accompanied by tea, obvi) and british kids. oh and last week i did the london eye and it was just okay (i know, i'm sorry). this week i get to go see wicked for free (score!) and next weekend i'm going on an overnight trip to york.

i promise i'll have pictures and exciting stories for next time!

A Random Essay on Kebabs

2008-01-22T10:04:00.000-05:00

These days, one of our favorite places to end up after a night out is Best Kebabs. Sure, the name is simple and straightforward, maybe because the owners don’t really know much English (even though they obviously know what college kids want at three in the morning).But its cheap: £2-4 for a chicken Kebab (I can’t think in dollars anymore, its too painful), and I like the feeling of a bunch of Americans and Brits eating in a shop right along with Palestinians and Bengali. It’s very United Nations, if half the United Nations wore sequined Euro outfits and sang Justice after clubbing.

I also like the fact that when I chose to study abroad in London, I had absolutely no idea this is what it would entail. I pictured fries from a late-night “chipper” and getting used to the taste of vinegar instead of ketchup. Ending up in East London in 2008 is a strange mix of Harlem’s danger, Bleecker Street’s urban youth scene, and LA’s waves of immigration. When I walk down the street, I can hear the Bengali version of Spanglish—mothers telling their children “No!” followed by a string of indiscernible sounds, or businessmen asking “What do you want?” to a customer whose pointing and gesturing mutely. At Best Kebabs, our regular server Caleb understands only the numbers one through nine that correspond to menu choices; when it comes to a side of chips or a kebab without lettuce, we have to go to the owner (Caleb’s dad), Mori.

The British kids who’ve taken a liking to us—which is really more of a strange mix between friendship and amusement—don’t seem to think much of the East End and the cultural milieu taking place here that I can’t seem to get over. I wonder, and I’m quite convinced, in fact, if at home we notice our Mexican immigrants serving us at McDonald’s as little as they notice the Palestinians serving them at Best Kebabs.

At home, immigration is a big debate. We wonder what effect legal and illegal immigration from South America is having on our country and what we should do about it. In my hometown in New Jersey, our half-white/half-black division has been shaken up by 4,000 new immigrant households. Parents argue over public schools and taxes and the use of the Spanish language, while kids grow up in bilingual classrooms eating peanut butter and jelly one day and taquitos the next. The historically poorer African Americans in my town have been mostly pushed out by immigrants who can pay higher rent after working as day laborers in construction, landscaping, and housekeeping. The town is in a critical state of flux, and I’m not sure any of my friends who eat at Domino’s on Saturday nights have any idea.

In the UK, immigration is also a national talking point. Riding the tube into central, I read a feature article in the Observer on “homegrown terrorism,” the idea that second- or third-generation Brits of Middle Eastern descent are more of a danger to London subways than anyone in Afghanistan right now. The report analyzes tons of figures and testimonies in trying to understand how these British-born Muslims can wage war on the same people they shared a second-grade classroom with. They find no definitive evidence except to say that any of the Eastern-looking people we see on the street at any time could be getting ready to attack us. That is their conclusion.

So I eat my Best Kebab at 3AM on Saturday nights and I make polite conversation with Caleb and Mori. They nod and say “the American” in my direction, which leaves me unsettled. The Brits, they carry on with their talk of seeing Amy Winehouse wandering the streets of central. I think, “this is what studying abroad is,” recognizing the similarities and differences between their idle chatter and our own. But, like the Observer, that doesn’t make it any clearer to me why being “the American” at Best Kebabs could be a danger to me, or how I should view the illegal gardener when I go home to New Jersey. So I’ve landed in East London in 2008 and am more thoroughly confused by the world around me than I was in New Jersey in 2007, but I can promise you this: I never would have eaten a Best Kebab with a bunch of Euro teens ignoring Caleb if I were sitting at Domino’s in Red Bank, New Jersey.

2008-01-14T12:37:00.000-05:00

"And we, the wary pilgrims of the London pavement, were beginning to think of the cloud-shadows on the corn-fields, and autumn breezes on the sea shore."

This quote was on the first page of the first book I have to read this semester. Well, I'm supposed to read it, but due to some scheduling conflicts I think I'm just going to have to skip this one and start with next week's readings. Oh, well. :)

Anyway, it made me smile because I just spent an hour uploading photos of our sea-shore (among other things) to get printed and delivered to me. I need decorations, and what better to look at all day while you're in London than the Jersey Shore?

Just like I remember from my first few weeks at Villanova, the first few weeks here have just been a whirlwhind of highs and lows and excitement and discomfort and everything inbetween. But I am definitely finally settling in. Tonight was the first night I cooked for myself (London was legit breaking the bank after seven days of eating out) and it felt so good to eat a real meal. I had a normal American dinner, but then had English tea biscuits for dessert. Now that I've finally bought real food and started decorating, this place is really feeling more homey.

As for my flatmates, it's been pretty interesting. The first day we got here, the flat seemed completely empty except for an AWFUL stench coming from the kitchen. We thought someone died. After an hour of unpacking, I started snooping around. There was food in the cabinets, so I decided to check the bedrooms. I turned a knob to see if one was unlocked, and walked right in on some Asian boy! I laughed and didn't even know what to do, but he didn't seem to think it was too weird. He tried talking to me for a bit, but really doesn't speak much English, or very clearly, and soon went back to his room. That was one of two conversations I've had with him to date. The other came on Sunday when I saw him outside at the mailboxes and he told me he's not living here for the next four months. So that's Owen.

After a few days of silence and weird Asian food smelling up the apartment (our first purchase was a Glade plug-in), a girl showed up. She was much friendlier. Vera, from Mexico, with pink dreadlocks and a fondness for writing in pink and dressing in pink and just acting very "pink" in general. Her luggage got lost and she had an awful trip, so we didn't see her much for the first week. But last night she finally popped in to chat for awhile (I'm the only one who leaves my door open and walks around like its an actual apartment and not a set of closed-off dorm rooms) and she's actually really cool and hilarious and wants to be friends. So we're going to try and get coffee sometime this week. Yay!

As for the roommate I came with, Cassandra, some of you have heard about the housing drama the two of us have been experiencing. We're basically living in Harlem right now, and for awhile were looking to move to the Upper East Side. But I've had really mixed feelings on the subject, and getting more mixed as the weeks go on. Queen Mary is definitely in the ghetto, but its also allowed us to befriend mostly British kids. I think on Facebook right now I have like 4 new American friends and 15-20 new British friends. And they're really friendly and great. I was walking back to my flat just a minute ago and was looking up at the windows above me and I see this kid Carl I just met last weekend standing flat up against the window waving his arms frantically. He's one of like 20 Brits who is just so ready to be friends with us. That's what I wanted coming here, and I'd be afraid of losing that if I left. Plus, as long as you have fun, good friends, I think you can be happy living just about anywhere.

So, I'm about 85% sure I'm going to stay, even though Cassandra is about 75% sure she is going to move. I hope it works out on both of our ends and it just broadens our possibilities of who we hang out with and where we go.

Other than that, life here has been crazy. The British are another species of human altogether, and I'm still learning their language and how to communicate. You definitely don't need to go to a country that speaks a different language to get a cultural immersion; being offered mushy peas instead of french fries with your burger is culture shock enough.

We've also done some sighsteeing. I went with Cassandra's and Jordan's group to a palace outside of London Sunday, and it was really cool. I'm getting anxious to see everything and do everything and start travelling to other places. I'm ready for the adventures to begin!

Here are the latest pictures:

The gardens outside the palace. Pretty, but very Nintendo/Super Mario Mushrooms, if you ask a group of American college kids to tell you what they think.

There was a maze that the 10-year old King would play in. That's me, lost in it. In the middle is our tour group with the tour guide/Emory contact person, Rachel, who was the smartest person I've ever met. And then a ridiculoulsy huge portrayal of Henry VIII hanging off the castle. Cool!

Partying and clubbing, apparently the same in all cultures. The first one is part of a group of hundreds of young people trying to get into clubs on Brick Lane. It was very Bleecker Street c. 1980s (if I had been around Bleecker St. c. 1980 to know what it was actually like). The next one is a bunch of college kids sitting around a college dorm playing college drinking games. And most of them are Brits. And the last ones: apparently the British dance and take silly pictures just the same as we do, too.

Cheerio!

2008-01-08T05:11:00.000-05:00

"By seeing London, I have seen as much as the world can show."

I've been seeing London for five days now, and I haven't seen 1/100th of London. Here is what I've seen of London so far, and random thoughts to go with it.

Through Tower Bridge you can see Canary Wharf, the new financial district of the city that could have been taken right out of midtown Manhattan with the skyscrapers and lights. The two structures are maybe a mile apart, but centuries apart, and both are used every day by Londoners. I took this picture on the South Bank of the Thames during an Orientation bus tour, and those are in-use barges in the river. Right to my left but out of frame is the Belfast, a British navy ship docked there and used as a museum. The whole city is a museum!

Regent Street is London's Fifth Ave. The curvy buildings in the right picture run all along Regent, which is like a mile long. It goes right from a palace to Regent's Park, and was built by some important guy so he would have a pretty ride for when he went out hunting. The palace, the road, and the park were all solely for the use of the Royals and Lords. It's ridiculous. But it makes for an absolutely gorgeous shopping street for me today. If you duck into any of the sidestreets on the left of these photos you get to SoHo- narrow, windy little streets not unlike our SoHo. We had lunch in a cafe there today for 5 pounds each, which is better than any place I've seen in our SoHo.

We found Buckingham palace accidentally Saturday afternoon when we were looking for Westminster Abby. They're nowhere near each other, but we recognized the long tree-lined road leading up to it because of all those televised processions with the Queen riding in a horse and buggy. When you get there it seems ludicrous that that would actually happen, because there's just tourists and joggers and families wandering around that street and the park next to it. We weren't even sure it was actually Buckingham palace when we got to it because there was no big hoopla. You just kind of get there, and there are some people taking pictures, but no big signs or flags or guards or horses or roal music. The palace is WAY smaller than I expected. I took the picture on the left through the bars because I felt like a poor peasant not allowed into the palace. Or Juliet not allowed in to see Romeo (Harry). In the middle is Jordan (from Emory), Cassandra, Me, and Leanna (Emory) standing in front of the statue in front of Buckingham, and the last one was me standing in front of Buckingham getting the other side of the statue with the London Eye in the background.

London-y things: Big Ben at night. Not that Big, but old and gold and cool. "Look Right" painted on every street- incredibly helpful. During Orientation the one alcohol warning we got was to be extra careful coming out of pubs at night and crossing the street, as one American got hit and broke his leg because he forgot to look Right instead of Left. Curry's electronics stores- everywhere, helpful, and beautiful. Just like the Curry's. Telephone booths- still used today, especially by people like me who can't figure out Euro electricity.

And finally, the homefront: Queen Mary University Flat 23 Room D. Whether it will still be my home next week or not, I'm still not sure. We might be moving to Chelsea. But here is where we live and our first couple of nights out with British friends.

The QM sign that borders our safe-haven from scary Mile End Road. My room fully decorated--not joking. Jordan, me, and Cassandra-- we do everything together. Our kitchen in a rare moment of sunlight. When Cass saw this picture she said "That is NOT what our kitchen looks like." But, all that London rain does lead to some rainbows, like the one out my bedroom window here, which was absolutely huge and a full arc but I could only get half of it. Then on the bottom is our first night out the pub with our British friends. They're freshmen (cause only "freshers" live on campus) so they love to get drunk and make driends. Great! Our favorite is the boy on the left of the last photo- James, the most fabulously posh gay British guy one could imagine.

That is just a peek (though, a long one, sorry) into the past five days of London life. Now that I've finally taken the time to make this thing, I'll try and keep it up to date with photos, stories, and plans. As for now, time to go clubbin'!