A Trip through Time

It worked! It turns out the secret to controlling weather is to ask blog readers to cross their fingers for a sunny day; I bet farmers wished they’d discovered that years ago, huh? Normally, I have a few choice words for English weather, but on Sunday, I couldn’t complain. Aside from some showers while I was on the bus, it was as bright a day as can be, and I didn’t even have to worry about frostbite.

The morning began early, with a 7:30 a.m. departure from Sussex, along with the rest of the exchange students. I had a window seat, an ipod and a book to read, so naturally I fell asleep straightaway. Three hours later, I noticed a big bunch of stones on my left cleverly deduced that we were at Stonehenge. I was issued an audio guide and free to wander around. Whoever runs the site didn’t trust me as much as they do archeologists or Wiccans, so I couldn’t get too close, but I was no more than a stone’s throw away. Haha, “stone’s throw away,” get it? (Crickets chirping.)

Moving right along, there are many things in life that photography cannot accurately portray, but Stonehenge is not one of them. It looks exactly like it does on millions of photographs and postcards, although it has more sheep. I acknowledge the great feat that its builders accomplished when they lugged the huge stones from Ireland to southern England thousands of years ago, but although I feel like a bad person as I write this, I’m going to say it anyway: The site and the stones were not as big as I thought they would be. Still, Stonehenge is one of those quintessential English tourist spots that I have to see before I leave, and I was duly impressed by the sense of prehistoric history, so I’m glad to check it off my list.

After that, I was back on the road for another hour. The beautiful English countryside made an interesting contrast to the Anchorman DVD playing inside the bus, but it was sort of nice to have a little cultural taste of home. (Is it really sad that I just called Anchorman a taste of American culture? Don’t answer that.)

Finally, we arrived in Bath, and I felt like I had just stepped (er, been driven) 200 years into the past. (That, or walked into a period piece movie. Either option is acceptable.) The Georgian (Neoclassical) style was everywhere, and it conjured up all those silly, romanticized images I have about the turn of the 19th century. I had Mr. Darcys and Scarlet Pimpernels running through my head all day. I was figuratively transported even further back in time when we toured the Roman baths. For people who didn’t have trucks and cranes and, you know, modern construction equipment, they are really impressive. Despite a quick stop in the gift shop, it took a full two hours to walk through the multiple levels, and I was impressed at how each room’s design took into account every little detail.

After a quick lunch at a little bakery stand, I struck out on my own to explore the town. I only had time for one tourist attraction before the bus left at 5, and is anyone really surprised to hear that I chose the Jane Austen Centre? As expected, I walked right past it on my first (and second) attempt to find it, but I didn’t mind. Instead, I wandered into a part of town I otherwise would not have had the chance to see. I strolled through a (dead) Georgian garden (although I’d bet it’s worth a visit in the spring) and saw the Royal Crescent and the Circus, the fashionable neighborhood for the rich and famous 200 years ago. I looked all over, but alas, there were no open ballrooms to pop into.

After a little bit of backtracking, I found the Jane Austen Centre, and I don’t know how I could have missed it the first time around. A gentleman in full Regency dress was stationed by the entrance, and as he opened the door and tipped his hat to me, he said in a charming British accent, “Good day, madam.” Let the swooning begin. He let me take his photo, and I only wish there had been someone else there with me so I could have taken a picture with him. But all is not lost since I’ve decided we’re getting married in June, and there will be plenty of time for pictures then. Just as soon as I learn his name…

After poking around the gift shop and seeing every Jane Austen-related book in existence (including Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, which I suppose is now a sanctioned part of the Jane Austen canon), I bought my ticket and attended a fifteen-minute talk about Jane’s life in Bath. It was slightly depressing (turns out she wasn’t much of a city girl) but interesting nonetheless. I saw the main exhibit after that, which was primarily about life in Bath in the early 1800s, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. After tearfully bidding farewell to my future husband, I wandered back to the city centre for a cup of tea before getting back on the bus to 2010. It was a very full day, but I feel like I didn’t even scrape the surface of Bath, so I hope to go back there someday.

On Tuesday, I had another one of those fun and stereotypical American-abroad conversations. I ran into a classmate at a campus café, and we interrogated each other for an hour about British and American culture, politics, stereotypes, lifestyles, attitudes, and dental hygiene. (Not really. I’m just checking to see if you’re still reading!) He had some surprising things to say. For instance, I knew that Obama was popular all over the world during election season, but from his description of election night in 2008, he might as well have been in America. Lots of students here at Sussex had viewing parties and stayed up until the middle of the night to watch the results come in live. And I thought I went to bed late on election night…

On Wednesday, the painter came by to put the last coat of paint on my window and (hopefully) on my mold problem. As he left, he said “cheerio,” which is the first time I’ve heard a British person actually saw something stereotypically British. It made this entire experience worth it. Incidentally, the lecturer at the Jane Austen Centre claimed that the term originated in Bath in the 18th century when the rich would call for their sedan chairs (“chair ho!” or something like that). I’m not convinced…Anway, as if that wasn’t enough happiness for one day, after dinner, my friends and I watched Beauty and the Beast, and I just might have enjoyed it more this time around than I ever did years ago. I’m pleased to report that I could still sing along to every song. I clearly did not know what I was talking about when I received the VHS for Christmas a very long time ago and cried “but I didn’t want this!” (I’m still sorry, Aunt Patty! I promise I love it now!)

Finally, I had an essay proposal due for my WWI research paper today. Imagine my surprise when I discovered (a few weeks ago, not today. My study habits haven’t gotten THAT bad.) that I don’t turn my work into my tutor, the one who will be marking (grading) it, but to the history school office, which will do something with it and forward it to him in a week. And I have to fill out a cover sheet, and print two copies, and God help me if it’s even a sentence over 500 words…Everything academic here is very standardized, very centralized and very bureaucratic. It seems just a little ridiculous to me, and it’s no wonder British transcripts take so long to get back to American universities.

That’s all for now, folks! Good night!

Culture Shock

It was my understanding that a semester in England would expose me to British culture and enlighten me as to the inner workings of British society; silly, silly me. Obviously, I should have known that actually, it’s Italian culture that one travels to England to experience. And what an experience it is. I have previously extolled the virtues of having lovely friends, who happen to be mostly (but not all) Italian and are willing to let me eat their delicious food. This week, I learned that Italian friends are great, but Italian friends’ families are even better.

Last weekend, Martina’s mother, sister and aunt visited, and I was told that when Martina opened a large suitcase they had brought, instead of clothing, toiletries, and all the other things people typically pack for international trips, it was full of fresh food for her (and by extension, us). That was my first clue that food is kind of important in Italian culture, particularly in the south. On Tuesday night, they came to the dorm where Francesca and I live, carrying bags of food and cooking utensils, and spent the next two hours cooking a wonderful meal for Martina and friends, a total of nine people. That is love, and parents, I hope you’re taking notes (but you don’t actually have to cook for me. Just send peanut butter, jelly, Chicago-style pizza, and apple pie. And maybe some ice cream while you’re at it. You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to find here.) We ate fresh pasta (I seriously did not know such a thing existed) with mushrooms and sausages, and then cheese, which apparently is a dinner course in and of itself. Her family brought homemade mozzarella and another type of cheese, which I can neither prnounce nor remember. I previously believed the only type of mozzarella cheese was the kind that was shredded and found next to the Velveeta in the grocery store. This mozzarella might as well have been from a different planet. The texture was some sort of a cross between eggs, bread and jello, and although it goes without saying that it was very good, it was among the oddest looking foods I’d ever seen.

In addition to studying the cheese, I was also really interested to see how everyone interacted at the dinner table. (And considering most of the conversation was in Italian since not all of Martina’s family spoke English, I had plenty of time to observe.) Although her family had just arrived a few days earlier and probably hadn’t spent more than a few hours getting to know her friends, you wouldn’t know that we all weren’t one big family. As far as I could tell, there were no awkward silences, no formalities, not even the “getting-to-know-you” questions that normally characterize dinners where my family and friends meet. There was just conversation, laughter, and most surprisingly of all, even a fair amount of light teasing. The Olive Garden commercials (“When you’re here, you’re family”) suddenly make so much more sense…At the end of the meal, I took my friends aside and learned my first Italian phrase (I’m as smart as an Italian toddler, yay!). At the right moment, I attempted to say “grazie, era delizioso” (thank you, it was delicious). I have no idea if I said it right, but I’m going to assume that I didn’t offend anyone, because everyone clapped and made a fuss over me. :)

Even though the largest slice of culture I’m absorbed into here is Italian, I at least have a front row seat to British culture, from the outside looking in. Back in November, I was put on the Student Union mailing list, and I started getting outraged messages about the university cutting staff and lecturers to save money. Many students were clearly upset, and it was an issue people were talking about. I understand students do, from time to time, latch onto an issue, write editorials for the newspaper, start Facebook groups and then, after a few days or weeks, they forget about it and move onto something else. At least, that’s the American pattern; British students, apparently, have better long-term memories. Last week, (mind you, a few months after this uproar began), some students organized a protest (not the first that I’ve seen since I’ve been here) and marched from the library to a campus building, where 70 of them literally occupied the building overnight, forcing security to evacuate and seal off the building. All of this over measures that students are barely batting an eyelash to in the U.S. A few years ago, there was a similar situation at Wash. U., but since I’ve been there, I haven’t seen anything like this. I admire their dedication, and I’m surprised they have the organization and passion to pull something like this off; I’m even more shocked that the university administration allows it.

It’s hard to say how many students on campus support the activists, because they are so vocal. One of my classmates and her friends seem to think that most of the activists are overly-privileged students with too much time on their hands, and if they really wanted to improve education at Sussex, they would stop taking over classrooms and forcing lecturers to cancel class. Incidentally, that’s one of the few occasions I’ve heard anyone in either country upset about class being canceled. If you’re interested, check out an account of recent events: The Badger.

As if Sussex students didn’t have enough campaigning to do, Student Union officer elections were held last week; the level of dedication these candidates have for the process is completely befuddling to this Wash. U. student. We had particularly cold and damp weather that week, but it didn’t deter the candidates and their supporters from standing around Library Square, handing out flyers and educating anyone who made eye contact about their platform. (Yes, they had supporters and platforms. It's like they actually care about the quality of student experience or something...) It was all so serious and professional! I doubt most Wash. U. students (myself included) even bother to vote in our student union elections. That, however, was hardly an option here since on the last day of elections, students stood at the entrance to campus and asked everyone who came or went if they had voted. Talk about peer pressure…However, it remains to be seen if this student government is any more effective and involved with the student body than Wash. U.’s. Stay tuned!

I should probably get to bed now, since I leave at 7:30 tomorrow morning for a day trip to Stonehenge and Bath. Keep your fingers crossed for me that the weather cooperates and that city maps of Bath are very, very clearly marked, since I’ll have a good three hours to get lost…er, independently explore the area!

My First International, International Trip

It was a whirlwind weekend across a much smaller pond, but before I launch into that, I have a little unfinished business from last week to catch you all up on. I had two more presentations to give, and after the first one a few weeks ago (the one we don’t talk about), I was understandably nervous. The presentation for Transformation of Contemporary Europe could have been better, but no one really takes that seminar seriously, so I’m not going to stress about it.

I feel funny/arrogant/silly using this blog to brag, and I apologize in advance, but I don't feel bad enough to not do it all the same. While the other presentation was mediocre at best, my presentation for 1916: The Somme, my WWI class, went extremely well. There's a sentence I never thought I'd write. My task was to argue the extremist position that the war had no positive political consequences. I took my tutor at his word and came up with outrageous arguments linking the war to the collapse of the Liberal Party, the rise of Nazism, the Holocaust, WWII, the Cold War, death and destruction, and essentially the downfall of civilization as we know it. It was a much easier presentation to give than any of the others because in some sense, I was acting and playing a ridiculous character. Halfway through the presentation, the entire class (even the opposing side) was laughing, as they were meant to. I probably should not have cracked up myself in the middle of it, but besides that, it was a success. Afterwards, I was e-mailing with a classmate who is organizing a class trip, and they wrote back “well spoken today during your presentation. I was very impressed at your argument” and “you have set the bar high so we will do well to be as convincing.” :D

In general, this class is in contention for my favorite (still not "favourite") of the semester. The lectures are fine, but the seminar portion is one of the best I've taken at either school. It's not simply a repetition of lecture information, nor is it 100% discussion, which so often results in long, awkward silences. There are small-group activities, in addition to full-class discussions, and they're actually fun and interesting, which is a very difficult balance to obtain. Future teachers, take note.

This next piece of news is more depressing than exciting if you think about it, but I’m happy anyway. After five weeks of complaints, I finally found the right person to contact, and my building manager sent someone to deal with my roommate, the black mold. It’s unclear to me what exactly was done, but I can’t see it anymore, and they at least did a little something more than slap some paint over it. Problem (more or less) solved.

As much as we all enjoy reading about the intricacies of black mold, let’s move onto more fun topics. I left campus on Thursday afternoon, and my train from Brighton to Gatwick airport was almost delayed by thirty minutes. It ended up being only three minutes late, but there goes my faith in British transportation. Still, I arrived at the airport in plenty of time, enough in fact to take the earlier flight. It’s too bad easyJet doesn’t have standby lists…But I amused myself by reading and eating chocolate, so it was all good. easyJet is by far the most peculiar airline I’ve ever flown. They don’t announce what gate a flight is departing from until thirty to forty minutes before departure, and the gate technically closes exactly thirty minutes before takeoff. Consequently, as soon as the gate number appears on the board, there’s a huge rush of people streaming to the gate, all jostling for a good position in the queue since they have an open seating policy. It’s not exactly how I would run an airline.

By accident, I was hanging around the right area and ended up in the front of the line, so I had my choice of seats. The flight from Gatwick to Amsterdam’s Schiphol airport was very easy and almost identical to a Chicago-St. Louis flight. Customs was a joke, and Gwen, my old friend, fabulous hostess and knowledgeable tour guide, was waiting for me right past the sliding glass doors, although I ruined our touching reunion moment by exiting through the wrong doors.

We took a twenty-minute train ride to her house in Utrecht, a nearby Dutch city. I couldn’t see much of anything, but I was excited to discover double decker trains. Europeans really know how to get around. Before I knew it, we were there, and I felt very much at home in Gwen’s cozy and pink room.

It was a little late to start sightseeing, but it was the perfect time for culinary exploration, and I fell in love with stroopwafel (literally, syrup waffle), a yummy Dutch treat that needs to get on the first plane back to America. A generous amount of gooey, buttery, caramel goodness (the syrup part) is squished between two thin, cookie wafers (the waffle part), which results in pure bliss with every bite.

The next day, we woke up early (for students anyway) and took a bus and train to the city centre of Rotterdam, nearby where Gwen grew up. (Everything is really close together in the Netherlands, at least by American standards.) Our first stop was the Kunsthal, a museum where Gwen used to work. It’s unusual in that it doesn’t have any permanent exhibits, but I suppose that’s why people keep coming back.

We saw the “Made in Holland” exhibit, featuring all sorts of Dutch inventions, including windmills, obviously, some type of videogame, indoor plumbing, and basically everything since sliced bread. There was a very enlightening display about Syrian lingerie, which is apparently the only way for a woman to keep her husband from finding a younger and prettier second (or third) wife. We looked at miniature cars after that, and then an awesome exhibit showcasing a huge number of paintings that are normally stored at another museum, whose warehouse is under construction. Rather than simply hanging the art, the Kunsthal created an exhibit about how art is stored, so parts of the collection were randomly placed with other paintings behind fence-like constructions, and there was no distinction between 15th century masterpieces and modern “art” (and we all know how I feel about modern art). A disturbing collection of “Skin and Hair” sculptures were next, and we ended our visit at the Kunsthal with a collection of photographs taken in Istanbul.

Our next stop was the Euromast, Rotterdam’s version of Seattle’s Space Needle. The very top floor was closed, but we took the lift to one of the upper floors and took as many pictures on the deck as we could before our fingers went numb. Then, we had lunch at the Euromast’s café, surrounded by the gorgeous view. Rotterdam is the most modern-looking city in the Netherlands because huge parts of it were rebuilt after it was bombed during WWII. It’s the only Dutch city with skyscrapers, and the tallest building in the country is located there.

At this point, I have an important announcement to make: I like tea! It took twenty years, five weeks in England and a weekend in the Netherlands, but I now appreciate flavored hot water and will consume it of my own free will. I had some sort of a spicy blend at lunch, and paired with an egg and cheese sandwich, it was one of the highlights of the trip. (Weak pun completely intended.)

We decided to have a leisurely afternoon and slowly meandered towards the city centre. It was very chilly but sunny, which I am told is almost as rare there as it is in England, so I guess the weather cooperated. I beg to disagree with all of those people who told me that Europe has no American-style shopping malls. What else am I supposed to call the huge collection of stores located within a one-block radius in the “shopping gutter?” I’m pleased to report that I bought my first fun purchase since I’ve been here, a new shirt from Zara, an affordable Spanish store somewhat similar to Gap.

We took a train into the suburbs of Rotterdam, where Gwen’s family lives. I met her parents and her brother, all of whom were so nice and welcoming. Her dad outdid himself and cooked five delicious Indonesian dishes; I haven’t been so stuffed in ages! In an attempt to make up for lost time, I drank more tea after dinner. I know some of you reading this will be very proud of me. The dinnertime conversation reminded me of meals with my family, and I thoroughly enjoyed the evening.

The next morning, we took a bus to the centre of Utrecht and walked around for a bit. It’s a really neat and old city, dating back to Roman times. Many of the buildings are either over a hundred years old or look it, and I couldn’t get enough of the lovely canals that seem to be everywhere. It’s a very dense, walkable city, and at the center is the Dom Tower, the oldest church tower in the country. It’s very tall and very Gothic. We didn’t go inside, but you can see the tower from almost any point in the city, and I heard the bells ring a handful of times throughout the day.

We walked to the Centraal Museum, and the first thing we saw was an old Viking (?) ship from 900 A.D. I was instantly grateful that warm, enclosed airplanes are the preferred means of travel these days, even if they’re a major hassle. The next exhibit was all about a particular fashion designer, and I don’t pretend to understand any of it, but it was fun to look at. For something a little different, we moved onto Dutch Italianists, 17th century artists who were inspired by Italian art. Next up was a huge and peculiar display linking art and social issues. It required too much thinking for a Saturday morning, and I happily moved into another room to look at ancient Roman artifacts found in Utrecht.

It was then time to go meet Chris, another friend I knew while he was an exchange student at Wash. U. during my freshman year. It was great for all of us to be reunited, and I drank more tea. I’m not sure which of those statements is the most important one…

After lunch, Gwen and I went to the University College Utrecht campus, where she was an undergrad. It’s unique since it’s the Netherland’s only college campus, and even though it’s significantly smaller, it reminded me of Wash. U. Little did I know just how much Wash. U. was in store for me that afternoon.

We walked through a beautiful park that Gwen assures me is an excellent place to picnic in the summer, and then we had a lovely afternoon tea (!) with Rachel, a friend from Wash. U., in a café (not a coffeehouse, for those of you that know the difference). And then, because we are Wash. U. students, Rachel and I took the obligatory picture with “The Bunny.” There’s a notorious statue of an anorexic bunny thinking deep thoughts on Wash. U.’s campus, and as I discovered, there are eight or so identical sculptures all over the world. One of them just happens to be in Utrecht, so I saw another familiar, if unexpected, face.

On our way home, Gwen and I stopped at the grocery store to pick up supplies for dinner, and I was surprised to learn that big, American supermarket chains are something of a foreign concept there. She explained that most people don’t drive to the store and aren’t accustomed to doing a month’s worth of shopping at once. Instead, they usually walk or bike with their bags home, so it’s just not practical to buy an XXL bag of chips or the value size package of toilet paper rolls that wouldn’t fit in the backseat of a car anyway. Neighborhood grocery stores are the norm, and although I would not be able to buy a year’s worth of peanut butter, I would be able to find smaller packages of chocolate spreads. You may remember that chocolate spreads are my new favorite food, and in the Netherlands there was white chocolate spread, dark chocolate spread, more nutella flavors, and combinations thereof. I was briefly in heaven, and next time I visit, I’m bringing a suitcase and filling it with chocolate spreads to bring back.

If I had any doubts, I knew I was in the right country that night when we made pancakes for dinner. I have been having pancakes for dinner my whole life, and while they’re good at breakfast, dinner is the way to go. I was delighted to discover that the Dutch are creative when it comes to pancake toppings and have options far beyond traditional syrup. We had apples, bananas, chocolate sprinkles, and just for emphasis, let me repeat, chocolate sprinkles. It was a very nutritious dinner. I had to be an American at one point and tried a peanut butter and jelly pancake, which was just as good as I thought it would be.

For a nice conclusion to my trip, we had cocktails with two of Gwen’s friends, both of whom were really cool. I was excited to see an “AppleFunk Martini” on the drink menu, and with visions of JD’s signature “appletini” drink floating in my head, I wanted to try it. (For those of you that have never seen the best sitcom in the world, that was a Scrubs reference). So I ordered it, and that is the last time I let a fictional television character pick my drink. Still, I pretended to be mature while sipping my martini, and it was a fun night.

The next day, Gwen was kind enough to take me to the airport, and after a predictably long day of travel full of misadventures, I was back in good ol’ England. It was a fantastic trip, and I’m so lucky I had Gwen to show me around. Wikipedia is not exactly an ideal travel guidebook, and a there’s no substitute for a local. (And I swear I’m not just writing this because I know she’s reading! SO much fun, and I can’t wait to go back!)

An Afternoon in the Life of Jane Austen/My One Month Anniversary

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a sunny day in England must not be wasted inside studying. (I know I’ve used this line before, but how else do you expect me to start a post like this???) In light of this truism, my friends and I, after a leisurely cup of tea, some needlework, and “taking turns” around a room, donned our bonnets and decided to take a stroll through the countryside. Or that’s what we would have done if we were characters in a Jane Austen novel, and after yesterday, I’m half convinced that we are.

In truth, Martina, Francesca, Heddy and I heard about a cute café in Stanmer, the tiny village next to the university. See Stanmer for more information. After I threw on jeans and a tee-shirt, a far cry from a dress and bonnet, we set off. Alas, we didn’t encounter any dashing heroes to save us when our carriage was stuck in mud, but aside from that, it was a picture perfect afternoon. We spent a good thirty minutes roaming up and down green hills, half-heartedly searching for the village, and when we found it, it didn’t disappoint. We were warned that there’s not much there, but the little that is there is charming.

We walked along an old road into town, and at the end of it was a seemingly ancient church surrounded by a beautiful and peaceful cemetery with moss-covered gravestones, some of which I like to think are centuries old. Beside it was an old manor house that I’m determined to infiltrate before the term is over. After snapping pictures (some of which I promise will make it onto Facebook one day!), we kept walking into what appeared to be the “busy” part of town, which consisted of stables full of cows, a handful of quintessential English cottages, and our long-sought-after café. We ordered hot beverages and pastries, and even though I drank hot chocolate instead of tea, it felt like a very English thing to do. It was warm enough to sit outside, and in addition to enjoying the nice weather, we amused ourselves by taking pictures with the stereotypical red telephone box next to our table.

When the warm beverages ceased to protect us against the chill (after all, it’s still winter, even if it was sunny), we walked through the rest of town, which was filled with small and muddy children crowding around the stables. English children are kind of adorable, just in case anyone had any doubts. I wondered if the families live in Stanmer, because someone has to occupy those cottages, but somehow, I doubt it.

We meandered back to uni (the university; I still speak like an American, but these British terms are slowly creeping into my vocabulary), and because I was present, we had to get a little bit turned around. Fortunately, it appears that all roads lead to Sussex, so despite nearly ruining my new black boots with mud, we made it back (I accidentally wrote “home” there…you can call it a Freudian slip, but I’m not consciously ready to call this place home yet). It sounds ridiculously sappy, but the walk and the afternoon in general took my breath away. The scenery is gorgeous, almost on par with Galena, and this is truly how I imagine some people, including Jane Austen, have occupied their time for centuries. It’s a silly thought, but there it is. It was a peaceful and delightful afternoon, and it was one of the rare moments where my long-ago created expectations matched up with reality.

That night, I ate mushroom risotto and aubergines (eggplants) with turkey and cheese, deliciously prepared by Francesca and Martina, and then we watched Sliding Doors. It was a great end to a great day.

In other news, it has been exactly a month since I dazedly stepped off the plane at Heathrow and began this little adventure across the pond. Despite many of your warnings against comparing my expectations to reality, this seems like an appropriate time to take a preliminary look at how the semester abroad in my head matches up to the semester abroad in the real world.

Because you know how much I love to complain, let’s start with the negatives:

-I did not expect to have so much trouble integrating with British students. I’ve been friends with exchange students at Wash. U. for two and a half years, and after observing them, I thought I knew what worked and what didn’t. I decided to live on campus, where British students live, and join lots of extracuriculars, where British students congregate. I assumed that with these efforts, things would fall into place. But the fact of the matter is, like in America, everyone already has their groups of friends, and so far, I haven’t found an opening.

-I didn’t expect to have to grow up quite so fast to deal with all the problems I’ve had with my dorm. From a black mold growth that my porter won’t get rid of even after four weeks, to problems with the internet service that take an eternity to get resolved, no matter how crappy my first apartment is, I don’t think any sort of repair will ever phase me again.

-I didn’t expect to have to work so hard in my classes. It's not that I'm lazy or not used to working hard (really, I promise, I'm going to grow up to be a workaholic!) but everyone told me that a semester in England was, academically at least, going to be the easiest semester of my life. Maybe it’s just my type A personality, but that is not what I have found at all. There is a ton of reading to do, and even though all of my exams are in May and June, I have massive papers to write, and I need to start at least planning them now. So much for a break from the Wash. U. workload…

-I didn’t expect to feel so cut off from my friends back home. For those of you reading this, please don’t take that as a criticism! It just means I miss you, a lot. Skype, e-mail, and Facebook are all great and make my life much, much better. However, the fact is, we’re all extremely busy, and there just aren’t enough hours in the day for any of us to keep in touch to the extent that we would like. It turns out there’s something really important about actually being on the same continent as friends; who knew?

But I like to end things on a positive note, so let’s take a look at all the pleasant surprises that have come my way:

-I didn’t expect strangers to be so helpful. I (and probably you) have lost track of the number of times I’ve gotten myself lost and have needed to ask for help, and each and every time, whoever I have talked to has turned out to be a kind Samaritan. This extends to most of the people here at the university, who have been happy to answer my many questions and literally or figuratively point me in the right direction.

-I didn’t expect to find such a welcoming group of friends so early. I met a lovely group of Erasmus (European) exchange students a few weeks ago, and despite the fact that most of them have been here since September and knew each other long before I arrived, they have included me in everything from outings into Brighton, to parties and nights out, to daily lunches and dinners. Hanging out with them has been so much fun so far, and I’m looking forward to even more good times!

-I didn’t expect to have the opportunity to visit so many places. Sure, I hoped I’d be able to do my share of country-hopping on the continent, but it looks like I’ll travel to Germany, Italy, the Netherlands and France before I leave. This completely justifies my choice of study abroad locations, if not the decision to study abroad itself.

-I didn’t expect the food to be so good. Stop laughing, I’m not joking! I haven’t eaten out too frequently, but everywhere I have eaten has been pretty good. True, I’ve mostly gone to Eastern-type restaurants, but even the little pub grub I’ve tried hasn’t been bad. And of course the chocolate here is far superior to American chocolate. My new favorite food is Cadbury’s milk chocolate spread. It’s like peanut butter, except it’s chocolate, quite similar to nutella, which is VERY popular in Europe (in fact, there’s a nutella commercial playing on the radio right now). You spread it on bread and eat it, although I’m happy to report that it’s also very good on cookies, cereal, Special-K bars and with peanut butter. In fact, I have yet to discover a food that isn’t improved with chocolate.

In summary, I didn’t expect the experience to be this difficult, and I didn’t expect to be able to actually handle it. But it is, and I am, and I’m learning a lot about myself and the world in a way that I know I couldn’t have back home. It remains to be seen whether I will happily count down the days until I come home or sadly mark off all the days that have already passed, but time is flying by, it will be June before I know it, so get exited, since I know you can’t wait for an even longer list of positive and negative experiences…

Windsor Castle, a.k.a. My New Home

In case any of you missed my announcement on Facebook, I’ve decided to leave my wonderful room in York House and move into Windsor Castle. I admit, I don’t like it as much as Chenonceau, a French château I toured a few years ago, but I’m not spoiled, and somehow I’ll make due. It’s very spacious, so despite the tiny problem of the Queen already living there, I think we can coexist as roomies and make it work. She probably won’t even notice I’m there. And if she turns out to be a bathroom hog or throws loud parties when I’m trying to study or sleep, I’ll move into Queen Mary’s dollhouse. There’s plenty of room there too.

Despite a late night at a pub in Brighton (The Queen’s Head--nice atmosphere, but I still prefer Pav Tav), I woke up bright and early Saturday morning to go on the International Office’s trip to Windsor. It was just under two hours away by bus, and I would have enjoyed the scenic drive through the countryside, if the windows hadn’t kept fogging up in spite of my best efforts not to breathe.

We arrived in the car park (parking lot) and walked up a hill to the castle. After going through security (I already feel safe in my new home!), we ran into a warden in full uniform who was happy to show our large group around. The castle is humongous. From the outside it looks very much like a larger version of a stereotypical castle, with the stone, the towers and the moat, which was drained long ago. We must have been walking around outside for at least an hour, but I didn’t so much mind the cold both since the sun decided to make a rare appearance and because the warden’s information was so interesting. Not that I remember even a tenth of it now, but at the time, I really enjoyed the tour!

Unfortunately, we weren’t allowed to take pictures inside of the castle, but by the time we finished touring the outside, I was only too happy to put my camera away if it meant I could warm up inside. Our first stop was Queen Mary’s Dollhouse. The only word to describe it is: wow. I adore miniatures as much as the next person, but some people have too much time and money on their hands. The dollhouse is built on a 1/12 scale, and everything inside of it is “real.” The books in the library are actually printed in, the faucets in the mini bathrooms turn, and if it was hooked up to water, a doll could actually take a bath. The detail in every room was exquisite; I think even the maid’s room is a step up from my current accommodations. It was never meant to be played with, which is a shame, because I know that if I had gotten my hands on it when I was six, I could have come up with all sorts of stories…

My next stop was an exhibit celebrating the 500th anniversary of the coronation of my dear old friend Henry VIII. I picked a good year to study in England. It was really cool to see all sorts of books, paintings and jewels from the Tudor period, and I’ll admit, I enjoyed feeling a little bit smug since I already knew the information posted on the signs scattered throughout the room. It was only when I passed by the gift shop and saw the Henry VIII and wives ornaments, which I received for Christmas a few years ago, that I remembered what a nerd I am, and I quickly moved onto the next part of the castle.

For the rest of the visit, I wandered through the state rooms open to the public, some of which are only open during the winter. It was these rooms that made me fall in love with the castle. They’re all so beautifully decorated, and there’s so much history in each, subtly conveyed in part through the portraits of long-dead royals that are guaranteed to hang in every room. Those of you that knew me throughout my obsession with the Tudors and royalty can imagine my delight. Even the rooms that were damaged by a fire in 1992 have been restored so masterfully that you’d never know anything was modern. I couldn’t pick a favorite room if I tried, but I do know that I need to tour some more castles while I’m here.

I ran into some other girls from Sussex, and we explored St. George’s Chapel together. Try as I might, I couldn’t find Henry VIII’s tomb, but a funny story about that: our guide said that after King Charles I was executed during the English Civil War, his supporters needed to bury him quickly and without fanfare. After sewing his head back on to his decapitated body, they decided to quietly toss him in the grave Henry VIII shared with his third wife, Jane Seymour (the one who was lucky enough to have a son and unlucky enough to die a few days later). Unfortunately, none of Henry’s children or descendents had gotten around to marking his grave in any way, shape or form, and consequently, he was just lying somewhere under the huge chapel. I can feel the family love, even all these centuries later…So, the supporters had to crawl on the floor in the middle of the night, tapping on the ground until they found a hollow area which they correctly assumed was Henry’s grave. They chucked Charles in there, and that is where the three of them rest today, although now there’s some sort of marker, to help the next person who has to hastily bury a deceased monarch.

We were all starving after such a full morning, so we walked through the town of Windsor in search of a café. It’s a charming place, and what I imagine the British equivalent of Galena would look like. All of the houses and stores look ancient and adorable, and I could definitely get used to walking on cobblestone streets. We eventually found a promising restaurant, and after deciding the prices were reasonable (our sense of reasonable only slightly distorted by hunger), we went in. Big mistake. We had hoped to eat quickly and get on our way, but the service was incredibly slow. None of us ordered anything complicated (really, even I could make a bacon and cheese sandwich in under thirty minutes), but we waited an hour for our food. We were on the brink of walking out but reluctantly decided the quickest way to get food was to stay put. It wasn’t a bad sandwich but definitely not worth the wait.

Our next stop was Eton College, about a fifteen minute walk from Windsor. Most of it was closed to the public, but I took a few pictures and can now say I visited Eton. Yay? We meandered back to Windsor, popped into a few shops and drank hot chocolate before returning to the bus. It was a busy day, and a really fun trip. I definitely need to plan to visit another castle soon.

The rest of the week has been pretty ordinary. Last night, after catching the first hour of a funny Bollywood movie, I went to a Turkish/Persian/Lebanese/generally Eastern restaurant for a dinner organized by the International Society. The restaurant is apparently well-known in Brighton, and I liked my chicken kebab with yoghurt sauce (it tastes better than it sounds). It was nice to chat with some new people. I have no plans thus far for the weekend, but after traveling to London and then Windsor, I’m honestly looking forward to a break from the tourism and a more relaxed weekend here in Brighton!