The End

I apologize for the long lapse since my last update, but considering my previous difficulties with blizzards and volcanoes, I thought it would be prudent to enter the Natural Disaster Victim Protection Program well in advance of my departure date. However, I’ve been safely back in the States for more than a week now and so far no earthquakes, fires or tornadoes have found me, so I think the coast is clear.

Let’s catch up on my last few days across the pond, shall we?

Do you ever notice how you never seem to have time to visit that castle in the town next door, so you just keep putting it off because you can see it anytime? No? It must just be me. Seven minutes away from Brighton by train, there is a little town called Lewes, which is home to your run-of-the-mill medieval English castle, and somehow, I never made time for it. Fortunately, Giulia G. and I scheduled a trip for the Friday before I left, and this was one of the best decisions I made in the last few weeks. I won’t bore you with my standard “awesome sense of history” spiel, and instead I will just give a round of applause to whoever manages the property. The main attraction is the castle’s exterior because there isn’t much left inside, but the grounds are beautiful, and when you stand on top of the tower with a beautiful view that extends for miles, you can pretend for just a moment that you’re not carrying a cell phone in your pocket and that a horse, rather than a train, will take you home. And if you need some extra help getting into that frame of mind, Lewes Castle has you covered. Quite literally. Two floors of one of the medieval towers have been turned into large, walk-in closets filled with medieval dress up clothes for the young and the not-so-young. Giulia and I spent the largest chunk of our visit trying on funky hats and robes and taking ridiculous pictures, and it was one of the highlights of the day.

I picked a good summer to be in England, because how else would I have discovered how patriotic the English can be? A few weeks ago, English flags started popping up everywhere. Cars, windows, you name it, there was a flag. Being the political science student that I am, my first thought was that it was some sort of symbolic support for the British National Party, an extreme right party that is sometimes identified with the flag. However, the term “World Cup” kept floating around, and I put that fine university education I’m supposed to be getting to work to connect the two. The England vs. USA match just happened to be on the Saturday before I left, and fortunately, I stumbled upon a small enclave of familiar American, Iranian and non-English faces in the middle of the crowded and very patriotic English pub. The stares we received when we cheered at the English goalie’s fumble? Priceless. I couldn’t have had a better introduction to this strange sport called “football,” and I’m officially hooked on the World Cup.

I took my final exam on Monday, and after a frenzy of shopping and packing, I had my last supper in Brighton with my friends at the Asian buffet I mentioned a few weeks ago, and then we met up with more friends for drinks on the beach. I almost cried when my friends presented me with going away presents, including a UK flag with all of their signatures, a cute book about this unique town that I’ve called home for the past few months, and a new travel journal (even though none of them knew that I kept a travel journal or that it had recently run out). Thanks again, guys! <3 I couldn’t dream up a better sendoff.

The next day, we gathered one last time for coffee and cake, and many hugs later, I lugged myself and 50 kilos of luggage to London, where I came full circle and stayed over at Riki’s flat. We had a delightful evening at a Caribbean restaurant (people who knew me when I refused to eat anything other than pizza, hotdogs and grilled cheese sandwiches, did you ever imagine I would write such a thing???), and I was awake and out the door the next morning probably before most of you back home had even gone to sleep.

Despite the stack of books, the three complete meals and the extra clothing I stuffed in my backpack, there were no travel disasters. Not one. The plane took off on time, I had a window seat, and despite an unpleasant neighbor, I caught up on chick flicks. Without further drama, my European adventure came to a close.

I’ve had almost two weeks’ distance from England, and I’m far from done with processing and reflecting on the experience, but since I like lists, here are some preliminary thoughts:

Things I’ve learned:
-What zucchinis look like.

-Volcanoes are public enemy #1.

-Karaoke is actually fun, even if I sound like a dying ground squirrel. (Trust me, I’m writing this from Galena, I know what a[n alive] ground squirrel sounds like.)

-Chivalry is really sexy. I’m talking to you, American guys.

-Italians do almost everything together. Laundry, cooking, grocery shopping, bus ticket shopping…and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

-Europeans kiss. A lot. “Hello” and “goodbye” aren’t European unless they are accompanied by a kiss (or two, or three, depending on nationality). I’ve been kissed more this semester than in my entire life (on the cheek anyway…)

-I can survive and thrive in a foreign country, albeit one as easy linguistically and culturally as England.

-I know what it feels like (I think) to be an adult. At Wash. U., I never really feel like a grownup (probably because I still use that word). Yes, I live away from home, but I have the cafeteria a few steps away, my parents are easily accessible by phone 24/7, and I’m insulated from the real world in the people I see, the place I live and the things I do. At Sussex, I cooked for myself, I unclogged my sink, I paid for my groceries (it’s not as convenient as just swiping my student id!), I went off campus multiple times a week (as opposed to multiple times a year, if I’m lucky, at Wash. U.), and I figure out how to get myself from one building/city/country to another. While those responsibilities come with their share of stress and frustration (does anyone remember my rants about black mold?), it also comes with a healthy sense of independence, and I truly hope that is a feeling I can transfer to my life here in the States.

-My mother won’t be happy to read this, but if I had to, I could live there. A few people asked me if I would ever want to leave the States to settle in Europe, and up until mid-May, the answer was always been a resounding “no.” It’s not that I don’t appreciate some of the perks of living in Europe (like efficient public transportation), but in general, I find quality of life to be better in the U.S. (I’m sorry Europe, I just love my air conditioning too much) and of course the most difficult part of the last few months has been being away from all the family and friends that I love. None of that is likely to change, so my preference right now is to stay in America. But I discovered that it’s the people I surround myself with who make all the difference in the world, so if I knew I would be living with people as amazing as the friends I’ve met here, I could do it.

Things I don’t miss:
-Anything and everything about York House (except the porter who almost cried when I left, and while giving me the tightest bear hug in the history of the universe, said “I wish that everything you touch turns to gold.”)

-Windows without screens (but not the cute guys who show up shortly after incidents involving screen-less windows).

-Sinks with two faucets, one for lukewarm water, one for scalding hot water.

-Scrimping and saving for weeks to have enough pound coins for laundry. You wouldn’t believe how difficult they are to come by.

-Being turned away from the gym I pay a fortune to use when I forget a sweat towel.

-Sussex bureaucracy. If it’s not a hassle to get done, you’re doing it wrong.

-Sitting on a bus (even a double-decker) for an hour to get to and from Brighton.

-Unintentionally smoking a pack a day just by breathing.

-Queuing. For. Everything.

Things I miss:
-British English. When I use words like “biscuit,” “revise” and “queue,” I get all of the accomplishment that comes from speaking a foreign language without the difficulty of actually learning one.

-Sinks in bedrooms.

-The BBC iPlayer. Every show that airs on any BBC channel is available for the next week online. For free. I love it.

-Primark. Think Wal-Mart prices, department store quality. What’s not to miss?

-Having conversations like: “What are you doing this weekend?” “I’m going to Paris/
Amsterdam/Berlin/Venice. No big deal.”

-European dinners. I have been fortunate enough to experience mealtimes in a variety of countries, as well as on a regular basis with my friends on campus, and the contrast to American dinners is striking. While I may not have witnessed “typical” European dinners because I was often a guest in friends’ homes, I don’t think I can be accused of being too naïve if I make a few generalizations. The length of the meal is the first hint that you’re not eating in the country that invented fast food. European meals are long and leisurely, and even longer if you’re eating with people you don’t like. At home, we may gobble down our food in under thirty minutes, just in time to catch a Scrubs rerun, but there, dinners can easily last 1 1/2 hours or more. Part of the difference is due to the absence of tv watching and because of the multiple courses; sometimes, there’s an appetizer, a main course, a cheese course depending on the country, and dessert, with plenty of wine throughout. I’m still trying to figure out how Europeans don’t top the list of the world’s most obese people. Perhaps it’s only the presence of food and drink that I wasn’t used to, but European dinners often feel a little more special than American dinners. They’re a perfect ending to any day, and they’re an event, not just another scheduled activity. It’s not that I never have nice and special meals in America, but they’re less frequent than in Europe.

-the English attitude towards alcohol. It’s much more relaxed than the American perspective. The English may drink at inappropriate times, and they may drink in inappropriate places (buses, beaches, theaters…you name it, you can drink there), and yes, they may drink ever so slightly more than the doctor-recommended one glass of wine a day, but they’re much less dramatic about it.

-Hand in hand with the last point, being legal. For about a month anyway.

-Rock beaches. Despite my initial misgivings, I found that they are superior to sand beaches in every way.

-The international community in Brighton. It took me longer than it should have to really tap into this fine group of people, but I’m glad I found my way to them in the end. There’s a sizeable population of foreign students studying in Brighton, some just for a few months, and some for a full degree, but no matter where they’re from or what they’re doing, what sets them apart from other groups is how inclusive everyone is. The dominant mentality is “the more, the merrier,” and this applies to dinners, picnics, parties, clubbing and outings of every kind. If a few people are going out, no one thinks twice about texting or messaging their friends (or people they just met, which benefited me a few times!), with the expectation that friends of friends will come along. In this way, almost everyone knows each other, if not by name than at least by face. From my experience, this is not an American attitude at all. It’s not that Americans tend to be purposefully cliquish, but it just doesn’t occur to most people here to include those outside of their circle.

-My social life, especially in the last few weeks. I had my core group of friends who I saw almost every day for dinner, dessert or a study break throughout my time at Sussex, and then there was the larger group of friends and acquaintances who I often went out with. The only time I was alone in the last two months was when I wanted to be.

-I’ve alluded to it, but just for emphasis: my wonderful friends. Even though I was barely there for five months, I found some amazing people who made the ups and downs that come with starting over in a new place more than worth it. They are the largest reason this was such a good experience for me.

-Waking up with a purpose every day. This is tough to explain, but I’ll try. A lot of time, money, and opportunities were sacrificed for me to have the experience of living and studying in England for the semester, and the only way to make it all worth it was to embrace the experience and everything it could teach me. In a weird way, I gave myself permission to make the here and now the center of my world; not my studies, my social life, others’ expectations, my past or my future, but the present. Sometimes I succeeded, other times, I failed, but I never doubted that I was there for a reason, to learn and enjoy my time to the utmost. It felt like a long vacation from my real life. Although just to be clear, I should point out that this isn’t an absolute truth. Of course I paid attention to my classes, of course I applied for internships in the interest of my future, and of course I didn’t forget about my life in the U.S. It’s just that these issues lost some of their intensity with the physical distance, and now that I’m back home, it’s hard to feel that same sense of purpose with all of these concerns back in focus.

-Lastly, blogging. Constantly writing a summary of my time there forced me to reflect on this journey as I went along. This was valuable in so many ways, and in the process, I created a (novel-length) document that I will look back on in five, ten, and fifteen years to remember this exciting period of my life; in addition, I think it has made me a better writer. Perhaps even more importantly, I’ve gained confidence in my writing from all of your compliments and just knowing that someone other than my parents thought this was worth reading. So, a big thank you to all of you for bearing with me through exams, volcanoes, clubbing and everything else over the past few months. And if anyone has suggestions for any future blog topics, let me know! There’s no topic I enjoy writing about more than myself…

I’m no good at writing conclusions, mostly because as you’ve seen over the past few months, my writing goes on, and on, and on... I don’t know what I would do with myself if I wasn’t typing. So, I will lamely conclude that if you’re reading this, chances are I want to hear from you, so I look forward to seeing and catching up with you soon!

The End

I’ll always have Paris

This may be hard for some of you to believe if you’ve read about my previous travel adventures, but maybe, just maybe, my luck is changing because I made it to Paris last Tuesday without any issues. It’s amazing to think that with only three trains, I can get from Brighton on the island to Paris on the continent, in just a few hours. Guillaume was waiting for me at the station, and I was soon reacquainted with the Paris Metro, which I used much more than I did four years ago, when I was in Paris with my grandparents. The Metro is impressive, right on par with the London Tube. It took one or two transfers to get anywhere from Guillaume’s home, but there is nowhere in the city that the trains can’t take you. I was also impressed with how efficient the system is; we rarely waited more than two minutes for a train. CTA, please take note.

We set off for Napoleon’s tomb soon after dropping my suitcase at his parents’ flat. (Yes, suitcase. Normally, I would just take a backpack for such a short trip, but after the volcano fiasco, I’m afraid to not bring every charger for every electronic I own and minimally five extra pairs of socks and underwear. So much for learning how to pack light while I’m here.) I thought I had seen just about every variation on the “beautiful dome” theme that seems rather prominent in most of the European cities I’ve been to, but I have to give Paris credit, because this building was a work of art. It was obviously built in the neoclassical style (no self-respecting emperor would be buried in any other way) and from the outside, the dome was golden and ornate. I distinctly remember admiring it from afar last time I was there. The inside didn’t disappoint; it felt open and “breathable” compared to some of the other architectural wonders I’ve seen. Around the sarcophagus, there was a wall full of tablets with French inscriptions. Guillaume was obviously not being a good translator, because an American tourist walked by, and with a smug look of satisfaction, told us what the tablet said. “Thank you very much” Guillaume replied, and to both of our credits, we managed to stifle our laughter until he was out of ear range.

Our next stop was a French military history museum. Guillaume complained that many Americans he talked to were under the impression that France has never won a war, and the museum did its best to correct this impression. I am not going to go so far to say it was a biased account of history, but the displays presented a very French point of view. Still, the collection of war artifacts was huge, especially when it came to clothing. I haven’t seen so many uniforms since my days at Catholic school.

For the rest of the afternoon, we walked around a ritzy neighborhood in the city that vaguely reminded me of Michigan Avenue—lots of high-end stores with names I’ve never heard of. We passed by cafes that famous authors once frequented and a beautiful old church called St. Germain des Prés. (Don’t be too impressed with my knowledge of Paris, Guillaume had to remind me of its name!) We stopped by Science Po, the university Guillaume and Mary attend, and it was a shock to see students wearing suits, heels, and mascara, just to take finals. During finals time at Wash. U., sweatpants, tee shirts and messy pony tails are the norm. Different strokes for different folks, as someone once told me (many times)…

I met Guillaume’s lovely parents that evening, and my family will be proud and perhaps a little disgusted to hear that I ate foie gras, which is a fancy French specialty, according to Guillaume’s mom. She had five different flavors for me to try, including fig, grapefruit, and spices. The spices kind was my favorite, and then we moved onto the main course, followed by a cheese course and pastries for dessert. I’ve decided I’ve fallen in love with European dinners, but more on that another time.

The next day, we went to Cité des Sciences et de l'Industrie, the French version of the Museum of Science and Industry. It was pretty awesome. There were exhibits about genetics, astronomy, physics, mechanical engineering and just about every other field of science.
Some interesting tidbits I learned:
-1 out of 1000 neuro-somethings is responsible for all the differences between people.
-Scientists are compiling the medical histories of people in Iceland to study inherited diseases because the community has been relatively insular and stable over generations.
-In the future, clothing could regulate our body temperatures.
It was definitely one of my favorite parts of the trip.

We took the Metro to the Buttes Chaumont neighborhood and ate at a Chinese restaurant. It was a very multicultural week for me, and this counts as culture #2. We then met up with Mary, and after many hugs, we spent some time wandering around the Parc des Buttes Chaumont. It’s a gorgeous green retreat, and for a while, I forgot I was in one of the biggest cities in the world.

Because we hadn’t quite been out in the rain enough (it was like Irish weather—ten minutes of sunshine, ten minutes of rain), we visited the very crowded Père Lachaise Cemetery, which is the largest cemetery in Paris and where Jim Morrison is buried. We didn’t actually go visit his grave because we found a large tree to shelter us from the rain, and that was much more interesting than getting soaked walking around.

We enjoyed delicious hot chocolate across the street and then parted ways for the evening. Guillaume’s mom cooked delicious chicken tortillas (culture #3!) and we had another nice European dinner, and then we watched a South African movie (#4 too many cultures…I’m going to stop counting now). Like I said, it was a multicultural week.

The next day, I felt like I was back in England. We agreed to meet Mary at the Catacombs, but when we arrived, we discovered they were flooded. I guess I used up all my good luck on the trip there. It started to rain just as we missed a bus, and it didn’t stop until the evening, which was unfortunate since all of our plans involved walking around outside. We were troopers for a while and decided to ignore the rain, and for once, our timing was good because we observed a march of striking garbage collectors. It was a truly French experience, so I felt cultured. We walked around for a while, and our experience was characterized by Guilluame getting splashed by a bus and laughed at by an Italian couple. Then, we decided warm drinks were in order, so we regrouped over hot chocolate and tea.

Our next plan of action took us to the Eiffel Tower, where we snapped a few photographs and retreated to the very indoors Musée Guimet, where I successfully impersonated a British student to gain free entry. It turns out EU students in France can get into museums for free, but not American students, so that British accent I’ve spent five months perfecting came in useful. (And when I say “British accent,” I mean Sussex student id card. I knew that piece of plastic would be good for something, someday.)

The museum’s collection of Asian art is extensive. Unfortunately, walking around in the rain had taken its toll on me, and I couldn’t appreciate it as much as I should have. Our next stop was a very French McDonald’s. Now, before you make all sorts of snotty comments about me eating McDonald’s in Paris, you should know one thing: French McDonald’s are classier than American Mickey D’s. How do I know this? Well, the portions are smaller, the menus are larger (they have mini croque monsieurs), and they serve potato wedges in addition to fries. How much fancier can you get?

In the spirit of experiencing as many cultures as we could in three days, we decided to see the movie The Prince of Persia for a taste of Hollywood. I was pleased to see that going to the movies in France does not involve half as many queues as cinemas in England.

We wandered around after the movie, snapped pictures of the Tour Montparnasse, one of the most hated buildings in Paris, and then went to one of Guillaume’s favorite traditional Breton crêperies. I had a delicious egg, ham and cheese crepe with special Breton cider. My only regret is that I wasn’t hungry enough to try a dessert crepe. We bid a fond farewell to Marie and then headed home to watch a French comedy. I didn’t know they even made those, but I appreciated it more than South African humor!

The next day, the weather was of course gorgeous. I’m beginning to think Paris was trying to tell me something. It was a morning full of sad goodbyes, first to Guillaume’s mom, who was so warm and hospitable, and then of course to Guillaume, who was a perfect host. It's unfathomable to me that it may be years before we see each other again. He took me to the station, and we had time for a quick cup of tea before my train left.

Final thoughts on Paris: I am so lucky not only that I have such wonderful friends to show me around, but also in that I saw most of the Parisian touristy sights four years ago. It freed my friends and me to check out places “off the beaten track” as my idol for everything Rick Steves would say, and we could focus on catching up and enjoying our time, without the pressure of checking attractions off of a “must see” list. Thanks again, Grandma and Grandpa! Also, I’m happy to report that just as my childhood cartoons taught me, French people do indeed walk around carrying baguettes, especially on the Metro after work. My faith in stereotypes is restored. This was undoubtedly one of the best three days of my time in Europe, but I’ve been having a good time back here at Sussex as well.

It was good to see my friends here again on Friday night, and I spent probably too much of Saturday observing how “football” (soccer, for those of you reading from across the Atlantic) is played on Playstation. Eventually, it occurred to the guys I was hanging out with to teach me how to play, and a few moments later, I was holding a controller. I haven’t felt so helpless since being stranded by a volcano. Before I knew it, the game was in motion and “my team” somehow ended up with the ball. I started randomly pressing buttons, and then all of the sudden, I apparently scored a goal. The guys I was playing with were kind of impressed. And by kind of impressed, I mean they watched the replay five times, and hours later insisted on showing another friend. However, lest you get the wrong idea, I should probably mention at this point that it was the only goal I scored all evening. Beginner’s luck is a fickle thing.

The weather was lovely the next day. A beautiful day anywhere is a great thing, but in England, there’s something truly special about a warm and sunny day. Maybe it’s because I don’t expect them, or maybe there’s a genuine change in people’s attitudes, but you can almost touch the happiness in the air. Obviously, the day had to be enjoyed outside, so friends and I took a bus into town, listened to live music and hung out on the beach. It was a perfect afternoon, and to top it all off, we went clubbing that night. I met some other really friendly international students as well as a creepy Austrian, who was hanging out in a club alone (warning sign, anyone?) to “find inspiration” for his rock band. A likely story… It was getting light out when I returned home, and this is quickly becoming the mark of a good night.

You might notice that for the first time, I have intentionally referred to this place as home. When I’ve written these blog posts in the place, I often slipped up and wrote “home” to refer to York House or campus, but I always tried to change it, because I never wanted England to be home. “Home” was for years the place I was raised and surrounded by family, or more recently, a specific location at Wash. U. where I was comfortable, happy and close to friends who knew me inside and out. For most of the past four months, England hasn’t met all of these criteria. I had some great experiences and I’ve met some wonderful friends here, but it always felt like too far from my real homes to count. And York House? It’s a far cry from even my freshman dorm at Wash. U. But it’s not so simple anymore. I don’t know whether it’s the generally nice weather, the lack of academic stress, or the knowledge that this all ends in less than two weeks, but all of the sudden, I find myself happy here. I’m finally secure in my friendships, I’m meeting cool people I want to get to know better, and I’m not done finding new experiences. I’m more torn than I ever thought I would be about leaving.

In retrospect, January to June was the very worst amount of time to come to Sussex. If I had been here for fall term and only stayed three months, I would have been more than ready to leave in December, which is sort of how I felt during the spring. But five and a half months is just long enough to truly feel adjusted and comfortable, and if I had stayed for the whole year, I would have had a few more months to enjoy being settled and happy here. Still, I can’t regret my decision because I wouldn’t trade my fall semester at Wash. U. for anything, and I’m lucky that I can still make the most out of the short time I have left in England.

And that starts….now. Yesterday was a girls’ night out and involved an all-you-can-eat Asian buffet, including literally a wall of desserts, as well as Sex and the City 2. It turns out that buying movie tickets online ahead of time reduces the trauma involved in going to the cinema in England. Now if only all of this “carpe diem” stuff would involve studying for my final exam, maybe I could maintain my low stress level…unfortunately, studying too hard anytime soon does not appear to be in the forecast!