Stonehenge and Bath

One of the places I knew I had to see was Stonehenge; one reason being that I wanted to use the site for a story of mine, and therefore wanted to go for research, and another reason is because I love ancient mysteries. I also really wanted to get a stone from Stonehenge, just so I could say I have one (but actually I now have two).

It was terribly windy

My adventure began on a cloudy Sunday morning at 6. You know, right after the sun comes up, but somehow some Europeans are still partying and the Tube hasn’t opened yet. My friend and I made it to King’s Cross/St. Pancras Station with plenty of time and easily got on our bus tour. It only took a little over an hour to drive to Stonehenge, which would have taken 2 weeks without the help of buses. Not to mention how it was raining and cold, I really would have hated having to travel in any way other than a vehicle.

First sight from the bus

There are many theories about Stonehenge, from alien landing zone to the place where man was first created. According to Pagan beliefs, the stones signified eternity and the final resting place for many
people. Their remains surrounded the area in small mounds. Stonehenge is not the only henge in the area, it’s just the one that has survived the best. Woodhenge was a similar structure made out of wood (thus why it hasn’t survived) that stood for life. Bluehenge also stood between Woodhenge and Stonehenge, representing death. This lasted better than Woodhenge, but the stones were taken to be used for Stonehenge and other things. They’re still excavating Bluehenge, so not much is known about it.

Stonehenge

Supposedly, as a part of the burial process, the ceremony would begin at Woodhenge, signifying life. The group would then move to Bluehenge, representing death. After that, they would travel to Stonehenge, finishing the journey to the afterlife and burying the departed.

Fascinating, no? Ha, I think so.

Illustrations of how the stones were moved

The stones got there by big burly men pulling them along and lifting them into place. It took them centuries to finish it; first building the center ring and then the outer (if I remember correctly, the outside ring is made of stones from Bluehenge). Even today, it’s beautiful and a true representation of what human can accomplish. I didn’t really mind the rain, although it really tried to mess up my umbrella, and after I got some tea and a stone cake in me, I was soon able to feel my fingers again!

Bath

It took us another hour or so to get from Stonehenge to Bath. The first sights of the city were the best, as our tour guide explained how the whole city was made out of Bath stone, the common stone of the region. Bath was built as a city for kings, because they would come to use the baths and release the stress of ruling a kingdom.

The main bath. Note: there used to be a ceiling...

The surreal water

The Roman Baths as well were fascinating. We first entered and looked down upon the main pool which is still full of the spring water. It was a lime green color and steamed as the cold air played along its surface. The rain drops disrupted the lime plain, giving the whole scene a surreal feel. Not to mention, it was super tempting to touch the water, even though everywhere you looked, you were told not to. The pool was once covered by a roof, and the pipes are ancient now, so the water is terribly contaminated with bird droppings, algae, and whatever else have you. Simply put, the water that once rejuvenated the Romans would kill you now (or at least make you pretty sick).

Just me

See those floors? deadly.

The stones around the pool are the originals, so they were uneven and slippery. One woman fell and it was quite a scene. I also tripped a few times, but to be fair, my eyes were busy looking around and not watching my feet.

Those columns used to hold up the tiled floor

My favorite part was the saunas. There were two of them on either side: one for men and one for women. Now, long long long ago, men and women bathed together, but after awhile, they decided that was indecent, and built a different area for the women. The rooms were still the same. They would make fires (thank you, little slaves) and push the hot air underneath the tiled floors, which were held in place by columns. The floors would get so hot people had to wear sandals to walk on them. If they wanted some steam, all they had to do was pour some water on the floor, similar to how people pour water on the coals in a sauna today. I loved how the stones were still red from the heat from so long ago.

See how all of the buildings are uniform?

I was able to explore around the city a bit, and the only thing I regret is not going to the Jane Austen museum, but I didn’t think I had enough time to do that and walking around in the rain is not something I really enjoy too much. I had stepped in a puddle at some point, so one foot was cold and clammy, making me feel uneven and uncomfortable.

Can we say... adorable?

I did eat some delicious food for lunch at a small restaurant, though. I ordered something called Croque Monsier, which is a ham and cheese grilled sandwich with more cheese melted on top. Of course I had this with some fantastic English Breakfast Tea (I’m officially addicted) and finished the meal with a slice of blueberry cheesecake. All in all, I was quite satisfied with my food choice that day.

Oh, and the sights were amazing as well, I guess.

Until next time!

My Adventure to Harrods

At first, I almost thought it would be hard to find the enormous department store that is Harrods, but after checking online and looking around the Tube station, turns out it’s right there when you get on the street. Seven stories towered over me as I looked up at the letters H-A-R-R-O-D-S going vertically down the corner of the building near the street. I could see through the many windows some of the merchandise, but I still had no idea what I was going to see.

I entered the building and passed the threatening bodyguards before finally getting to the store itself. I wasn’t surprised at the guards, because I knew Harrods to be an expensive place. The merchandise, atmosphere, and the amount of employees… now all of that almost made my head spin. It was all so crazy that I felt like I had fallen into the rabbit hole, but had lost all sense of where the bunny had gone.

The employees seemed to be everywhere. They all wore all black crisp business attire, and usually stood behind small podiums or holding a product they were advertising. Most of them looked bored, as the golden nametags on their breasts glinted in the light. I felt like most of them ignored me, because I probably looked like a little poor tourist. The only places where they would talk to me were in rooms like the Crystal room, where it’s a tad bit dangerous to have a youngster wondering around. You never know what I’ll pick up and accidentally break, I guess. Speaking of that room, of all the places to play Sandstorm (a song known for its crazy dancing whenever it comes on) why would you play it in a room full of expensive, fragile crystal? If you ask me, it sends the wrong message.

Each room looked totally different. As I went up the levels, the rooms became less decorated, but the ground floor had an Egyptian Room, a Luxury Room, and all of the area where you could buy food had its own atmosphere depending on the products. Yes, I did say food. On the ground floor, they had a pantry, a place to buy meat and fish, and a whole area devoted to tea and chocolate. It was expensive, but the prices there were at least decent. As I went to the higher levels and walked through the clothing sections or furniture, the prices became higher and higher with every floor.

Buy your new handbag amongst the pharaohs...

To give you an example, when I first entered the building, I decided to simply get a taste of the prices. I walked over to a section of hair accessories and picked up the smallest clip I could find. Looking at it, I figured Harrods would over price it at maybe £20, £30 tops. I looked at it for a moment and then flipped it over for the price: £74.99 for a clip that could maybe hold 1/10^th of the hair on my head. I put it down as if it had scalded my skin. From then on, I barely ever actually looked at the price tags, simply coming to the conclusion that everything was pricey, even in the “seasonal reductions” sections (lowering it from £300 to £100 is still a lot to me).

The Seafood section.

Yet I did manage to buy a few things. Turns out the souvenir shop has normal prices, which is what I wanted anyway. I got a few souvenirs and was happy to at least look like I was a customer in the building and not so poor as to not afford anything.

I’ve decided I will return to the surreal atmosphere probably to celebrate my birthday. I had tried some Turkish Delight, which is pretty much a sort of gummy sweet coated in sugar, and want to buy some. I also saw some really tasty looking cheesecake, and if it’s my birthday, I’ll need some nice cake, right?

Facebook Birthdays

I know this may seem like a weird thing to ramble about, but being 5 hours ahead of the States can cause some serious confusion. Since I am a college student, and therefore don’t really think of sleeping until at least after one in the morning, there are obviously moments after I’ve finished studying when I go on facebook to chat it up with my buds (you can believe that bit about studying or not, it’s usually true). I will admit facebook has become an amazing source of communication for not only my friends back in the States, but for my new friends here in London as well. Especially since most of our mobiles are pay as you go, using the facebook chat actually saves us a lot of money compared to texting all the time. We also have created different groups and such to help plan events so that we can see more of London and really take advantage of our time here.

On another note, though, birthdays have become a problem. Not those in London, I can say those the moment I notice it’s after midnight here. Yet I’ve realized I find myself fretting over when it changes and tells me friends who are behind me as far as time is concerned. Naturally, I wish to say Happy Birthday to all of my dear friends as soon as possible, but at the same time, I don’t want to seem silly and wish them well five hours ahead of everyone else! It’s just terribly taboo to be ever so early. Instead, I have come to waiting until the next day, when I can check and make sure at least one other person has ventured forward and sent their birthday wish to the special person, and I can then know for certain it’s time somewhere for me to write on the wall.

As I said, it’s an odd thing to worry about, but I suppose you can say worrying about the five hour gap has become a regular occurrence. Every time I chat with any of my friends or family from home, the question of time always appears. It’s almost odd if one of us doesn’t at least ask what time it is there (wherever that may be). I’ve come to the point that the time difference seems more like what is keeping me from my loved ones than the miles, the culture or even that silly ocean thing in the way.  Thanks to the internet, I can still keep in contact with them, especially with Skype, which even allows me to see their faces and gives me the chance to really confuse my dog back home. Yet the time difference hovers over every conversation and every chat like death over someone on their deathbed. It gives certain restraints that don’t really exist when I’m at least in the same time zone.I never would have thought of this when I was getting ready to come to London. Of all the things to make me feel far from home, time is the main culprit.

Super Bowl Sunday (and on into Monday)!

Nothing says American Pride like making sure to watch the Super Bowl even while abroad. It took us a whole week and some serious planning via facebook, but we eventually had a group of over forty Americans (and a couple Europeans awkwardly mixed in) taking over a whole chunk of the bar where they had set up multiple projectors to show the game. Even the ride on the Tube to get to the bar was somewhat of an adventure, simply because of our numbers. I’ve almost grown accustomed to immediately being marked as American in the first seconds of opening my mouth, but there’s absolutely no way to not seem obnoxious and out of place like being a bunch of Americans on our way to watch American football.

To be fair, I’m not a big American football fan. I honestly get bored with all of the tackling and running. I feel there’s also a lot of standing. That doesn’t mean I’m not a Cleveland Browns fan (even though they seem to lose more than anything else, but oh well), and so therefore was rooting for the Packers. I knew I would at least want a team though, because it’s definitely more fun when you have times to cheer.

The whole bar was packed of Americans, so much so that the British people actually seemed awkward in our midst. We also had so much pride for our own sport, that if we found British people (some were in all-out American football padding and uniform… go figure), we looked at them with disdain. We have been surrounded by the British culture for quite a while now, which I believe has made us a little protective of our own culture.

I enjoyed watching the game immensely, mostly because I was among friends. We cheered and groaned as one; a heaving mass of energy and empty Heinekens squished together, the only light reflecting from the projector right in front of us. It had been a good plan to reserve a space, because it made it really easy for us to have a space. Otherwise, we might have been all over the entire building, and where would have been the fun in that?

There was one moment when some creepy old guy suddenly appeared in the middle of our blob of college kiddos. He shifted his way in stealthily, and I watched him behind a safety barrier of my friends. I mostly only saw him from the back, but by the amount of gray hairs on his head, I honestly could tell you no reason for why he appeared between our tables, smack dab in the middle of our group. He tried flirting (or at least chatting) with one of our girls, who then grabbed the arm of the closest guy to her as a buffer. There were a lot of suspicious glances in his direction, and a lot of mouthing inquiry within our group. The buffer guy ended up saying something to him, and fortunately he eventually receded. He also never returned, probably because he found another group of poor unfortunate souls.

Instead of the fantastically expensive commercials (which after watching them today online, did not impress me), we watched a group of three gentlemen from BBC chat about the game. It was too loud to really hear what they were talking about, but what I gathered from the conversation, they didn’t really know much about American football. Granted, they probably knew more than most British people (I mean, it says something when before they start showing the game, they put up a link on the projectors for the rules of the game), but they weren’t very good at taking up the airtime. My friend and I literally noticed a moment when they ran out of things to say. Each man looked at the others awkwardly for a few moments of silence before breaking out in strangled chuckles. We watched them laugh at each other for probably another half minute until finally returning to the game.

We left after the half time show mainly because by then it was already two in the morning. The game had started at 11:30 in the evening, and most of our group could barely stand with exhaustion. From my perspective, I would say it was a successful night, and the next day wasn’t bad at all, seeing as it didn’t even take us a terribly long time to get home. For once, the night buses liked us (*note: night buses are not the Knight Bus from Harry Potter. They’re not nearly that cool, but man, are they handy after the Tube closes at midnight*). It was refreshing to be connected to the States again, because on other occasions, it feels like I’m wading in a pool just barely deep enough to make it too hard to stand, and the water’s a murky brown color, just like the Thames…

Random Ramblings...

(Note: This post is a mix of a couple ideas I’ve had since coming to London. It’s a little random, but I feel all important points. Consider it a little summary of a month long adventure so far.)

Either the British are not very creative, or they simply don’t feel the need to name things excessively. I mean this in the way that things have titles here. Instead of saying Queen Elizabeth, they simply say “The Queen.” As for the monument that was built in remembrance of the Great London Fire, has been named only “The Monument.” I’m not really complaining, seeing as by such accessible names, it’s very easy to know exactly what people are talking about. Yet at the same time, London is full of monuments, so to call one The Monument seems sort of silly.

I’ve been in London for a month now. The weather has warmed by about ten degrees (Fahrenheit), but stays dismal almost all the time. I’ve gotten to the point where I see the sun and I feel like I have to appreciate it, since I don’t know when it will come again.

I’ve come to like my flat mates very much, and appreciate their kindness. The British students are very nice to me, and love to chat about their own country, as well as learn about mine. The American students are easy going (as is the American way), but I have come to notice that I feel like I’m competing against them sometimes. We are all here to travel and explore this wonderful country, and I sometimes feel pressured if they do something I have not. Facebook has become a sort of enemy in this sense. Imagine that someone puts as their status: went to The Tower of London! and I have yet to go (this is not the case obviously, but bear with me and my example). I then feel disappointed partially because either I wish I had gone with them, or furtively try to think of a time when I may catch up with my explorations.

Ah, but at the same time, I must enjoy London at my own pace. Each of us has different desires and plans for the four months left, and I have to keep reminding myself to concentrate on my own wants. I will admit it’s quite freeing to not really have to worry about anyone but myself, yet at the same time it really makes me miss my friends from home and my family. I’m not sure I really like only thinking of myself. It’s odd and shallow, really. I mean, there’s so many people in the world, to only have to care about one seems terribly insignificant to me.

I’ve also decided that five months is definitely a long time to be across the pond, and honestly, I think I would have a hard time studying abroad for a longer amount of time. Similar to when I was in Ireland, I feel like the States are calling me back, and that’s truly my home. As much as I may complain about America and its twisted ways, I’m still proud to be American and want to stand for my country. I don’t want to abandon how I have been raised, nor will I try to pretend to be something I’m not. I am an American, and boo to the yeah I’m going to stay that way!

I Ate Lunch with a Stranger

Whoever decided having class from 10:00am to 1:00pm obviously is not a big fan of lunch. Granted, our lecturer gives us a fifteen minute break to grab some noms before continuing on with the session, but that either involves packing some form of lunch, or rushing out of the building to hurriedly grab some quick bites from the nearest restaurant. Unfortunately, London does not really get the idea of fast food, and I have found will occasionally still wait a good ten minutes before your food will be served. An American such as myself does not have that kind of time, I’m sorry, London, you’ll just have to do better.

In response to this, I’m too lazy to make a lunch prior, because I like just rolling out of bed with enough time to get ready, and thinking about taking the time out to make a lunch is a hassle. Especially since in the morning, I think, well, I can just go after class. This is a very silly thought, and I paid for it today. I did bring myself an apple, but by the time 1:00 rolled around, my stomach would not stop growling. I had no idea how I survived, and I’m pretty sure my classmate next to me heard the growls.

Finally our lecturer allowed us to leave, and I walked out onto the street. My first plan was to ride all the way home and make a meal from the scraps in the kitchen, but then I realized I still had quite a long Tube ride ahead of me, and at that moment, all I could think about was food. Perhaps if I wasn’t so hungry, I would have gone to one of the many foreign (at least to me) restaurants in the area, since there were a lot, but all I could see was the McDonald’s across the street. Put simply, McDonald’s is a genius for putting their store there, and I immediately headed for the golden arches. Yes, my friends, I caved, but you know what? The Big Mac tasted absolutely fabulous and I have no regrets.

I went inside, and as with all stores in London, the place was packed. It took me a bit to finally decide to spend the cash for a meal and soon I had my food in my hot little hands. I somewhat half-heartily decided to eat there, because it really didn’t matter. I figured it would be easier than carrying the food on the Tube in the least.

I found a booth on the side where no one was, which was quite a feat because of how busy the place was. I just made myself comfortable and had placed a few delicious fries into my mouth when a woman came up next to me. Oddly enough, I wasn’t surprised when she asked to sit at the booth with me, because I was actually fancying the thought in the back of my mind. I had almost thought I was selfish to think I should be allowed a whole booth to myself, so of course I let her sit down.

At first, she only read her newspaper, which I think was some sort of Irish paper; she had flipped to some articles too quickly for my eyes to really scan the title. I mostly looked out the window to the street where people were rushing about, but I occasionally found myself looking out of the corner of my eye to the woman. At first glance, I’d say she was in her thirties, but as I noticed, her make-up covered some wrinkles and imperfections that might have made her a little older. Her hair was the color of straw and covered a part of her face as she leaned forward to read. She wore a white jacket that had a sort of red checkered pattern on it and had a scarf around her neck, which I assumed matched the outfit beneath the coat. By how she read her paper and eventually got up to grab a cheeseburger and medium fries, I’d say she was a businesswoman.

For at least fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, we sat in silence. It wasn’t as awkward as it might seem, because it was like we were just in our own bubbles. My mind kept wondering if I should speak to her, especially since I had just come from a class where we talked about interviewing Londoners to help us work on character development, but I had no idea what to say.

In the end, I finished up my Big Mac and stood up to leave. She didn’t even look up as I left. I think this whole situation is proof how so many people can live in a big city and never really connect. Here I had the chance to meet a totally new person, but because of the society, I simply got to enjoy her company for the short time of devouring fatty fast food. In simply one little moment of time, I was connected to woman who I will never see again, and I will never know. We will go on with our lives and probably never think of each other again (OK, that’s a little bit of an exaggeration at least on my part, because I’m obviously writing this post). Still, life is fleeting, and seems even more so in London. My time here as well is now down to four months, and I know before I can even get a grip on living here, I will be back on a plane to the States, with only my memories like the Lady at McDonald’s to accompany me.

Lights, don't fail me now!

Since I feel like the next blog I will be writing may be serious, here’s some of the silly things I’ve been up to in London. I don’t really want to delve too deep into my conscious just yet, and I like being light when I write occasionally.

Now with that fabulous introduction aside, may I just say the lights in my flat are against me. They are motion sensitive, which is nice for the fact that I never have to worry about turning them on or off, but at the same time, they seem to really have a mind of their own. Many times I have walked into the hallway hoping for light so as to see my way, but the lights don’t turn on until my nose almost runs right into my door. I suppose it’s fortunate that I can find my door even in the dark, but then again, the hallway is not that complicated. It’s almost a straight line and my room is terribly close to the kitchen. It’s not a problem when I enter from the stairs, but the sensor is in a terrible place if you’re coming out of the kitchen. Put simply, beware going back to your room with a piping hot cup of tea, because the lights will not help you.