12 May 2010, behind St. Paul's Cathedral, London, England
London, I am sorry for doubting you. I am sorry for not giving you the chance you deserved. It's been a great four months, and I should have treated you better during that time. You didn't have to introduce me to delicious things like Innocent smoothies, flapjacks, and Ploughman's sandwiches (especially Pret's take on the delicious lunchable). You didn't have to put a pretty park right next to the buildings I studied in. You didn't have to make it so easy for me to reach European countries to and fro, but that one especially, you delivered well on. I'm sorry for thinking that one of the best parts of London is how easy it is to leave London. I'm not saying I don't still believe that, but it's kind of a jerk thing to say so I guess I'm mostly just sorry for being a jerk. In my defense though, you've not been totally accomodating. I won't dwell, since that would be counterproductive, but you could have done a little better on the weather front. I mean, coldest winter in 20 years, that was a bit much. And the fact that it is still winter today, May 13; also a problem. I've become entirely too close of friends with my umbrella, but in your defense my umbrellas have somehow managed to last much longer than they do in New York. So, great work on that, I guess.
Long story short, though you don't hold a candle to the city I'm about to return home to in two short days, you don't suck. I'm sorry for saying you did. Thanks again for having me, it's been great fun and hopefully I'll see you around again soon. I'm so glad I met you this semester; it's been so fun getting to know you. Let's hang out this summer; HAGS, KIT and LYLAS! (Not really, on any part of that last bit. Maybe HAGS.)
Welcome back to the series I like to call "ketchup", where I apologize for being the worst blogger ever and leaving you hanging with no updates on trips I take until months after the fact. I promise I worked SO hard to get this one up before I jetted off for Spring Break, I was literally inserting pictures up to the very last minute I had to leave for the airport but I just did not meet my deadline! I hope you will forgive me and will keep paying attention. Mostly because I don't want to do real homework so I am going to be doing lots of this instead.
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WHERE: Lincolnshire, England
WHEN: 19 March 2010 – 21 March 2010
WHAT: weekend with a host family
I was able to spend a few days with real English folk, via a host program that NYU-London is a member of. On Friday, I took a train about an hour and a half away to Newark (not New Jersey, not even Old Jersey actually), where I switched onto a tinybaby train (literally it was like a bus on tracks!) and rode for another 30 minutes or so to Lincoln. The Cushnies live about a half-hour’s drive from Lincoln, so I explored Lincoln’s High Street (composed almost entirely of tandoori restaurants and nail salons) before my host poppa got off work and drove us home. Once we arrived and I met host momma, we had tea (=dinner) and then went to a nearby town hall for Game Night, organized by the Cushnie’s church. Our team failed miserably at the faux-quet (it would be wrong to call it croquet, but it was close) and the bocce ball and the Connect Four, but we redeemed ourselves with a survival quiz at the end; it was so fun and just so comfortable! I was in bed by 11pm, getting to quickly meet the Cushnie’s youngest daughter before cuddling up in a real bed, worlds more inviting than these Nido torture boards.
Saturday morning started with my first full English breakfast – and I am so glad my first was homemade! No one really eats this much food for breakfast anymore; full Englishes are kind of like hot dogs in terms of the iconic-but-not-realistic stereotype. Which is probably good since I found myself in a food coma following this yummy plate of food.
I managed to get myself away from the kitchen table and my host momma took me for a walk around Caistor, the small town the Cushnies officially call home. We managed to catch the tail end of the regular market in the town square, and my favorite part was how natural it was. This wasn’t a farmer’s market teeming with hipsters who were being so totally earth-conscious by buying local; this is just the way it works in Caistor. This is the way people live. It’s quaint, but not because it tries to be quaint. I loved it.
Caistor Town Hall
The White House, built in 1682; it’s now a bed-and-breakfast sort of establishment. Host Momma and I peeked in the windows to see all the antiques lining the walls of the front room.
The Anglican church in Caistor; it was so pretty! I’ve noticed that people are usually buried right outside churches here in England, it kind of freaked me out at first but I am sort of down with it. Graveyards are weird because we just stick everyone in them and then only visit them a few days out of the year, if even that often; here, you see them every week and they aren’t just tucked away for safe keeping.
Driving out to Barton, where Host Daddy planted a hedge (the lesson was a Christmas gift from Host Momma – so cute right?!). This area was flat like west Texas (but really about a million times more rolling) but SO green! And apparently other parts of England are even greener; holy moly!
England why are you always so bright and sunny
I guess we can’t say the clouds didn’t warn us they were about to cry big fat cold tears all over us in about 10 minutes.
Walking through the wilderness
The infamous hedge! I usually skip over HGTV when it’s gardening shows, but I was impressed.
The Humber Bridge, over the River Humber. You can’t tell it but at this point we were all drowned rats. We popped into a little café right next to this, to dry off and warm up and enjoy one of the best (and sweetest) hot chocolates I’ve ever had.
This building is not this long just for the fun of it; it used to be a rope factory! There was a short exhibit about how rope was made, which we opted to pop into once it, of course, recommenced pouring upon our emergence back into the world.
And then we were just really cold and wet and so we went back home, drank hot ribena (my favorite drink ever now! Blackcurrant juice mixed with water, all warmed up and delicious), read novels in the cozy front room and Host Pops taught me all about rugby, which I firmly believe is a million times better than American football. Continuous play, rough-looking men with bubble butts, and good accents? Count me in. Then we got hungry again later so Host Sister and I made this cake fully from scratch! It was also yummy, and the perfect finish to our roast beef dinner and it went great with the Keira Knightley version of Pride and Prejudice – who says I don’t stay on top of my schoolwork even when I vacation! (PS English humidity does awesome things for my hair) (and I have not been impregnated by a charming Brit, my cardigans just fall weird)
The next morning I grabbed a hot cross bun and we mozied our way to church, where we sang lots and were privy to a baptism of two adorable little ones. After that we ate even moooore food, and then the Cushnies dropped me off in Lincoln with time to spare, so I was able to check out the GORGEOUS Lincoln cathedral after bidding them goodbye and thanking them profusely for all of their hospitality.
Pretty homes right across the road from back of the cathedral. The blue one is so cute and eye-catching!
Just a smattering of the 1.3 bajillion shots I took as I walked all the way around
Just a (larger) smattering of the 4.79 quadrillion I took inside
The front of the Cathedral; it’s huge!
View of Lincoln as I walked down Steep Hill, which didn’t earn that name for nothin’, let me tell you. In fact, I had to stop and buy some Belgian chocolates in order to recover from my workout. I eventually made it back to the station and got myself back to London just in time to let some wonderful friends into my communal kitchen so that they could make fried chicken and roasted vegetables. Man, my life is so tough, you know!
21 April 2010
17 April 2010, Champs-Élysées, Paris, France
The ash situation didn't turn around in time for B to join me in Paris last weekend, but rather than spend time sad about it (except for a little tear-up on the RER) I resolved to have enough fun for the two of us. I'm head over heels in love with Paris and can't wait to share it with y'all, but in the meantime there's so much to catch up on! I'm apologizing in advance for the influx of activity that's about to occur around here - plan to set aside some serious reading time in your future because there will be lots. And I'm also thanking you lovelies in advance for spending time here with me, I hope you all enjoy my stories as much I enjoy writing them!
UK airspace finally opened up late last night, so assuming Iceland keeps its jets cool, my jet (well, American Airlines') will be making the scheduled trip back to JFK on May 15 (23 days, but who's counting?). Unfortunately, all the craziness meant that the grandparents' trip over here was sent into a tailspin; they're in New York right now visiting my aunt but will probably not be making the next leg across the ocean blue. Iceland, I love you with all my heart but this is seriously going too far. I'm trying to find silver lining in every (volcanic ash) cloud though, so at least now time has opened up for me to write papers and read books and most importantly (and more likely than the academic to-dos), get things up to speed around this joint!
But all of the above can be done late at night in the lounge (to escape my claustrophobic, never-clean room). For now, I'm heading to the park with some reading and enjoying the (finally) wonderful London weather! This city has grown on me exponentially now that I am reacquainting myself with the sun (and getting a solid set of freckles in the process!)
More of my NYU virtual budget pilfered away on old English fortresses. This time, it was Windsor Castle, the largest castle IN THE WORLD. Hotdamn. The Queen wasn’t in residence, so unfortunately no Lizzy run-ins or fawns over William/Harry (like I’ve said, I’m getting less picky as my days in Britain become numbered). But I managed to have myself a pretty good time and miraculously kept myself composed in the face of things like massive Waterloo Chambers and luxuriant sitting rooms and and doll houses so ornate they included miniature versions of the Crown Jewels, as I traversed a mere fraction of the castle’s 484,000 SQUARE FEET. (I guess here is where I allow myself to lose my composure).
We took the hour-long train trip from Waterloo station here in London out to Windsor, a small English town which has managed to find room not just for Windsor Castle but also for Eton School, where da boiz did their learnings back in the day. I’m referring primarily to William and Harry but I guess also one or two others have called themselves Etonians, since the school was founded in 1440. Nothing is young here (except me - 19 years I'ma comin'! See you soon). We never managed to hunt down the school grounds, but I bet they were really plain and small and probably ungilded, like everything else related to English aristocracy. (Actually, I just Wikipedia’d it (credible journalism at your service) and the Eton College Chapel looks quite a bit like King’s College Chapel, the other school founded by little ol’ Henry VI – so I should stop being a jerk, since KCC was top 5 experiences ever).
The town of Windsor is pretty and just as English as every other small town I’ve seen…
..and all right up in the grill of Windsor Castle! (that’s the castle on the right)
This statue of Victoria welcomed (or maybe not, given her pose) us up Castle Hill and into her old stomping grounds.
We got our handy-dandy audio guides and away we went! This is the Round Tower. So descriptive. Thanks, audio guide.
Eventually we found a ginormo gate…
…and peeked through it to see the exteriors of the State Apartments…
…and the Private Apartments and the South Wing and lots of green grass known fondly as the Quadrangle. Look at that, you get housing and protection and magnificence with a side order of geometry lesson.
We loped around and ran into these kids along the way.
We let them walk past and totally paparazzied them. It’s all just practice, you know. (Of course, I also pap’d a few kids, just because practice makes perfect).
Then we got to take a break from all this trudgin’ to stand in line waiting to enter the room with Queen Mary’s Doll House, which was absolutely insane. It took intricacy to a whole new level, because God forbid a royal should get a new Little Tikes and call it a day; experts in each field were called in to make miniatures of their work, so that professional painters did the walls (and ceilings, in some cases) and the tinybaby dishes were made by the same person who did the fancypants china for the real people (and trust me they had SO MUCH china, but I found it actually pretty – OHMYGODWHOAMIBECOMING?).
Unfortunately, pictures were a no-go here and in the rest of the Castle, but my favorite parts were:
- The Waterloo Chamber. A huge dining hall where dinners still take place today; it was incredible to imagine coming out here to Windsor and having a dinner in a room covered in portraits of nobility and coats of arms everywhere and just so much… regal.
- One of Henry VIII’s last suits of armor. He really let himself go.
- Just seeing all this stuff that actual kings and queens just used on a regular basis like it was kind of no big deal. It didn’t sicken me like such opulence usually does, but probably because I just could not for the life of me fathom such a lifestyle.
After an hour or two of castle traipsing, we went back outside to the lovely day and got glimpses of backward British logic: it is not palm trees --> sun, try again. I’m no scientist (I’m not even from Florida) but I know a few things.
We stopped along the way and learned the delicate transition from stalker to friend.
Then into St. George’s Chapel, chapelly as can be.
NO BIG DEAL. It’s full of tombs, but this was the one I was huntin’ for, and when I found it I literally shrieked, “Here they are!” in the middle of the church, and scared the pants off a poor Asian tourist. No-camera-rules, take this. NO BIG DEAL. I think that should be the subtitle of this album, at the rate I’m going.
Disclaimer: I write essays – nay, novels – and if you read them you are the best. And, I’d like the think, the intellectually better for it. Oh, who am I kidding.
Today started with some housekeeping (the real kind and also the way professors use the word when we go over syllabi), a too-hot shower (partly my choice and partly because the water supply decided it needed to be scorching), and finally, sitting on my bed for a little, naked and peeling oranges (seriously, having the room to myself for a week while my roommate is off on Tisch’s Spring Break will be AWESOME). But buckle in, kids, because the day just got more wild from there.
I talked myself into pants and even a shirt and set out around 2pm. First of all, I took a bus - OMG Shannon, I know, freak-out max – to Primark. Okay, before I go on, I should go back and clarify that the bus over tube decision was actually not out of necessity; it was just too gorgeous and I wanted to be above ground to take advantage of the sun! I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I’m glad I took the bus because I had a much better feeling of where I was, once I got off. (But Shannon, it’s not over until I voluntarily get on a NYC bus, so don’t go thinking you’ve won.) Anyway, Primark, for those of you who don’t know, is similar to Forever 21 but huger and more amazing and literally dirt-cheap, like scary, Chinese-children dirt cheap – I am not PC and never will be, not sorry. My goals were a bag to be used for weekend trips, and a cheapo towel for said trips. Impressively, only one other item managed to sneak its way into my bag, so chalk that up as a win. From there, I headed over to Hyde Park, which is literally around the corner from the end of Oxford Street.
I walked down Park Lane, just inside the east side of Hyde Park.
Pretty purple with some fallen leaves; I liked the way it shows that spring really is coming but the leaves remind us of all the fall and hard winter we’ve been through, so we can appreciate the spring that much more! I love this time of year, when we all start coming out of our winter coats and blossoming into bright colors again, and the whole city is full of human flowers. It’s cheesy, I know, but that’s totally what it feels like to me and it’s beautiful.
Seriously look at the sun reflecting off these beauties! If these flowers, whatever they are, were NYU’s mascot, instead of violets, I could totally get behind having a flower as a mascot. (Which I keep typing as “mascat”, LOL since NYU’s fake-out mascot is the Bobcat.)
Judging from my light studying of the “You Are Here” map just inside Hyde Park, I think this might be the Fountain of Youth, but if that’s the case, I’ll pass. If that’s the water you have to drink to stay young forever, I will just take option B and age with grace, thanks. Your fountain doesn't even spit.
Sorry, more plant life. I took so many plant pictures today. I was just so excited to have pretty flowers to take pictures of!
I can’t promise this will be the last one. But these flowers were just sitting on the bench, no one around to claim them or anything! Just such a pretty moment. And it makes you want to know how they got there and why they didn’t go home with someone.
I took a break and plopped down on a bench to consult my Not For Tourists guide just to make sure I wasn’t about to walk myself to Wales or anything crazy like that. I’ve got endurance like you wouldn’t believe, you know, so I have to check myself every once in a while.
The bench was super comfy so I whipped out little ol’ Middlemarch (all 785 pages of it) for some reading. And by reading, I mean taking pictures of my book and playing around with the color settings on my camera.
This gate is at Hyde Park Corner, the end of my stint in Hyde Park. I took this to point out that even when England does modern/post-mod with child-drawn unicorns and intricate molded-write gates (a la Jinnifer Koger, no?), they still somehow manage to make it a little gaudy. I don’t think it translates into the picture as well as it appears in real life, but just take my word for it.
Then I walked under the Wellington arch – for the Duke of Wellington, blahblahblah, we’ve been here before – and down Constitution Hill and made a puppy friend along the way!
You know how I had to check and make sure I wasn’t headed to Wales? Well, (Wales,) I passed that test, but apparently managed to get myself to Canada. And I must be Jesus because I didn’t even notice the water. This here is a memorial to the Canadians who fought in the World Wars on Britain’s side. Constitution Hill was big on thanking people who had done this: at the beginning were some pillars addressed to the Indian subcontinent for the same favor. I guess I shouldn’t be so facetious; I am really working on gratitude so maybe I should take a page from England’s book and erect monuments for all you awesome people in my life. But I call this Canada because of this pretty memorial (that’s water rolling down it, and maple leafs embossed into the stone on the bottom), and then this massive gate with Canada’s name on it. It seemed a little random, but I let it slide.
Oh yeah and then I turned around and there was Buckingham Palace.
Super-zoom, you are too good to me.
The front doors reminded me of the front doors to some of the houses in Nana & Papa’s subdivision. I remember I used to fantasize about owning some of those houses and getting to live in them. I also would not say no to living here. So William (or even Harry, I’m starting to be open to any option), just want you to know I’m still here.
The top of the Queen Victoria memorial right in front of Buckingham Palace. Okay, England. You win. Fine. Victory is yours. Gild everything and eventually something will turn out pretty. Yes, you’re right. But a) your win comes from an assist from the super-blue, super-beautiful sky, and b) your method relies solely on probability and concepts I should remember from Statistics but don’t, so I will instead stress the importance of quality over quantity when it comes to gold crap.
Defeated, I set off down the Mall. But not before the monarchy rubbed salt onto my smarting wound and got me off in circles trying to just get across the freaking street. Eventually, I threw a metaphorical middle finger and snuck through the short rails along the sidewalk, like the trashy American I am. But I figure that was less trashy than getting maimed by a taxicab and leaving my bleeding innards in the Queen’s front lawn.
[Side note: the other flags are South Africa’s; their president Jacob Zuma had been chillin’ with Lizzy the night before at the Palace and that girl knows how to welcome a guest.]
Took another one of my edge-of-the-park jaunts through St. James Park during my walk down the mall; here are some more plants in case you were worried that we might have had a cold snap in the past two hours or anything. Don’t worry, they’re still here and I’m still a rabid plant photographer!
This is the point where I really started to think, “This is Stupid.” It’s Stupid (with a capital S, to signify the "synonyms: silly, unbelievable, ridiculous" usage) that I can just leave my dorm, shop on Oxford Street for a second, walk through Hyde Park and stop by Buckingham Palace, and catch glimpses of Big Ben through the trees. Who do I think I am to be living this charmed life? I am so, so lucky; I am so, so fortunate. I want to shout my gratitude from the roof-tops every day, and I really don’t say thank you enough. So I just want to give a big shout-out to everyone who has been a part of my life, supported me in all the ways you have, gotten me to where I am today. I owe each of you so much more than one sentence in a measly blog post, but for now I hope you know how much you all mean to me!
You do yo’ thang, England. I am totally cheesy, or maybe it’s just the AMURRICA in me, but flags waving get me all patriotic inside.
I made it to the end of the Mall, and to the massive Admiralty Arch. For some reason, it’s been love at first sight for me and this behemoth. Getting a view of the other side from Trafalgar Square is pretty much the only reason I comply with having to go to the National Gallery basically every, single, week for British Art.
Finally back to familiar territory, I got myself past Admiral Nelson’s statch (statue, not moustache) and across Trafalgar Square. But once I had deftly maneuvered this circle (there was to be no trashy gate-hopping here) I was pretty much operating on “I need to be on the other side of the river and I didn’t bring a swimsuit so let’s do this.” I turned down the first street I found, which happened to be Villiers Street, which happens to (after today) be one of my favorite streets. I chitchatted with a corner-stander and acted SO UPSET when turns out I wasn’t going to be over here long enough to help her with her charity, then travelled down the narrow street and came upon a cute natural health store and lots of restaurants that whispered sweet nothings about how all my walking had probably burned off my one slice of bread and two oranges breakfast. As if I wasn’t in love with Villiers Street enough I happened then upon PriceWaterhouseCoopers’ offices and you know how accounting gets me all hot and bothered, so I was sold.
I was missin’ my George Eliot so I took another break at a park right across from PwC and half-read but again mostly tooted around and just looked at the London Eye across the river and thanked my lucky stars that I was in that moment.
I spied my final destination (the suspense is killin’ I’m sure) so I decided to head that way, but not before happening upon a building with a pretty clock and an American flag, and a statue of Robert Raikes. I always did like Sunday School, with the snacks and coloring and Bible stories, so thanks for your contribution, Mr. Raikes.
I finally found a bridge (Waterloo) and made my way across, and found myself in Lambeth. Which means I can cross yet another off my 31 Boroughs Project list (more about that project later, aka once I actually do research about it and confirm that London even has 31 boroughs and not 62 or something). Most importantly though, I got a chicken & mushroom pie and chips (fries) at, wait for it... Fishcotheque. I couldn’t make up something that good. I love Britain.
And the finish line! I closed out my night with Stravinsky, Tchaichovsky, Wagner, and Shostakovich* (they actually couldn’t make it tonight, but the London Philharmonia showed up and they did a pretty good job of standing in for the old guys) at the Royal Festival Hall. Which are the blue words you can’t read since I didn’t discover my “night snapshot” setting until during intermission. I guess the pay-off being an orchestra is really not incredibly awesome in its own right (according to usual definitions of "awesome") which is why I had to build that suspense. You know, like a cliffhanger. Except it’s only a cliff-hanger if you stop reading halfway through, which you probably did since I write epics. I’M SORRY, I LOVE YOU.
* My favorite of the night, especially this section - maybe I am biased (what up 7th grade trumpet class) but the brass are killa.
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