A Simple Reflection (Procrastination as Well)

Today is the last day of March. In a week’s time, I will have been in Europe for three whole months. Since then, I’ve come to appreciate many things I hadn’t before while in the United States, and I felt it necessary to point them out:

Looking back, this was my first look at London.

I first appreciate living in your own country. I’ve run into a few problems like being sick or trying to manage money issues from across the pond and it’s quite a hassle. Londoners know how this country works and how to survive, but I find myself realizing how awkward it is not to know the unwritten rules and regulations. It’s actually somewhat unnerving to just not feel comfortable because you know it’s not technically your home. Then again, it is… for now.

Another wonderful thing is either homemade meals or meal plans. Cooking for yourself on a small budget sucks. I’m not used to it enough to plan anything snazzier than pasta or maybe a bowl of soup. My mom could always whip up a full-course meal even while working two jobs and not really having the time to do so. In comparison, having a meal plan at college is a god send. Oh man, to just be able to walk into a building and eat immediately… I never thought I’d miss the questionable food from the dining hall, but there you have it. I could eat my fill there without worry and after half an hour just go back to my studies or what have you.

A nice set of pots and pans are also fantastic. I’ve been using a cheap mess kit because it was easy to pack, but let me tell you now, you should probably only use those for the off-chance you may go camping and nothing else. They don’t last very long if you try to use them daily. My one flatmate has a nice pan, and we all used it once to make pancakes (English pancakes, which are more like crepes, not American pancakes). I can’t tell you how many of us making the pancakes remarked, “Wow, this is a nice pan…” Yes, nice cutlery is officially a luxury.

Still on the note of food, dishwashers are beastly. I always hated having to do the dishes when I was younger, but now it’s just a pain. Fortunately, I’m only doing my own dishes, but if I had a handy little dishwasher, I’d be a very merry Mary (and I now apologize for the terrible pun).

Other wonderful machines would be a washer and dryer. I miss being able to do all of my laundry in about two hours at school. At home, it’s a tad bit more of a challenge because I’m washing everyone’s clothes, but then everyone has fresh outfits and it really doesn’t take that long. The whole setting up the machines and pressing GO is easy; I have more of a problem with folding clothes because it’s tedious. Here though, I’ve been washing all of my clothes by hand because I would otherwise be paying ₤15 every time I want clean clothes. I’m a capable youngster though, and have found it much easier to just wash all my clothes in my room (I have a washbasin, which comes in handy more than I could ever imagine). Some people hand-wash them and then go for a dryer, but I’m even too cheap for that and just hang my clothes up in my room. I can’t help but feel resourceful about that. Then again, it takes a good deal of time to wash them and then let them dry, so I really have to plan which loads I do and so on. I miss being able to just throw all my clothes in the wash and let the machine sort it out.

It's not this empty anymore, but my room when I first moved in...

Reading over this, I realize how my first point seems very serious and the rest of this… eh, not so much. To be fair though, what you miss of home usually consists of little things. I miss my tablet for my computer and my iHome as well, but not as much as the things I’ve already mentioned. I also miss being in the same time zone as everyone else, but that’s to be expected.

I would do things I love about London, but I think after all of this is done and I return to the States (as in, after I experience some backwards culture shock) I will write another post similar to this about what I miss about Europe. I probably can already think of a few things, but it should become more apparent when I’m back on my home soil… which is in about two months, I’ll have you know. That’s it… hm… wait. How did that happen again?

Off to Wales!

For over a week now, I’ve been ill with a sore throat that has made my life slightly unbearable. I have decided that of all things to happen, simply being sick is one of the worst experiences while abroad. I’ve had days where I can barely get out of bed, and nights where I cry in vain, hoping only to get at least an hour’s worth of sleep.

That aside, it did not stop me from going to Wales.

I'm standing next to Cardiff Castle in Cardiff.

I went on Saturday, the 26^th of March. It was a day trip set up similarly to when I went to Stonehenge and Bath, but this time I went by myself. Most of the trip was spent driving there and back, but I still loved the trip.

Welsh countryside

First off, Wales is beautiful. It has rolling hills and mountains as far as the eye can see, and since the weather was so perfect, that’s pretty dang far. Our tour guide explained how Wales had been conquered by the English, and therefore why there’s quite a bit of tension between the two countries. We came to Cardiff (the capital), where a football match between Wales and England was being held. The streets were full of proud Welsh waving their bright flag in the air and painting red dragons on their faces. There were old people, young people, and children everywhere. Other than the whole match thing, I thought it made sense so many people were out to enjoy the lovely weather. It was in the 60’s and sunny.

There were quite a few signs like this...

The best part of my visit was seeing the daffodils. I learned that daffodils are the country’s flower, and this time of the year, they’re everywhere. I went into one of the many parks of Cardiff and found them all around me. They’re such beautiful flowers; I can’t help but enjoy spring. It’s also much better than the leek, which I guess was Wale’s flower (er well, plant, actually) until the queen changed it. I’d say good choice, except saying you are represented as the leek is kind of a better conversation-starter if you ask me.

In the park

From there we went to Caerphilly Castle, which is the second largest castle in the United Kingdom, after Windsor. Now I had always heard of castles having moats, but I never actually saw one… until that day! Not only did Caerphilly have a moat, it had two. There are technically five bodies of water around the castle for protection purposes. The walls were thick and covered in slots for archers and ways to pour steaming hot something onto enemies below. On the top level, I saw all of Caerphilly and was able to see miles into the distance. Truly, when people built Caerphilly Castle, they were pretty smart about the whole thing. I doubt anyone could have defeated it; especially if Oliver Cromwell had tried to destroy a part of the castle with gunpowder, only to make the tower lean to the side.

Caerphilly Castle

Wales to me felt like a durable country. The people and the buildings all felt sturdy and confident. It was a pleasant attitude, but at the same time, I’m quite glad I’m not English. I don’t think I would have enjoyed it as much to be from the country that conquered them so long ago…

Welsh pride

I Find Dead People

One of the main focuses I have while in London is learning about London writers. To be fair, I know a lot about them from studying English literature for about three years now, but actually seeing where they lived gives them a whole new life. I feel that a lot of people don’t like literature because they feel it’s old and they can’t relate to it. Billy Shakespeare was such a hit though, because his stories are timeless. Sure, no one talks like that (they didn’t even back then, that’s just how theatre was), but what Billy’s trying to say is what matters. People can still understand pure, innocent, irrational young love, so when Romeo and Juliet go cold, we totally get it. He wrote that centuries ago; does it not say something that we can still make sense of those crazy love birds?

21 Fitzroy Rd. Primrose Hill: Yeats first residence

Other writers are no different. W.B. Yeats, an Irish poet, lived in both Ireland and England. He’s one of the few poets who the Irish and English fight over. Yeah, he’s so awesome that depending on the class they’ll either call him Irish or English. I’d say he’s Irish though, just because he was pretty pro-Irish. As I was saying, though, I decided to set out on a mission. On March 17, 2011 (St. Patrick’s Day, for those not as familiar to the holiday as I am), I explored London for traces of Yeats. Turns out there are two places marked where Yeats has lived. The first is in Camden, where he grew up for a time. It’s really close to Regent’s Park, but of course I got lost a few times on the way. I didn’t mind; the weather was fantabulous. He also lived in Central London, near Charlie Dickens’ house (if you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m a little dorky when it comes to what to call writers). It was on a street called Woburn Walk, and was a hop-skip away from King’s Cross Station. Both places were modest and quiet; perfect for writing.

5 Woburn Walk, Bloomsbury: Yeats lived up on the right.

Now to most people, I suppose seeing where Yeats had lived doesn’t matter. Then again, it proves that he had really lived. Sure, we may know of Beowulf from his epic, but he was a character and that doesn’t mean he actually went around killing monsters and dragons (this may be a bad example, seeing as I don’t know how many people know Beowulf… too late). Yeats on the other hand, had been a person. He lived and breathed and wrote his poems. His actual existence brings so much more to his work than any explanation of the text could.

The Charles Dickens Museum

And I’m not done yet! Today I went to The Charles Dickens Museum, which is where Charlie lived for a decent amount of time. To be fair, he lived all over London because he grew up there, but because his family lost all their money, times were tough. He moved around a bit, but fortunately his grandma croaked and her money helped pay for his education, which later lead to his success. Going to the museum, I actually saw how he lived, and had an insight to his personality that I never knew. For instance: did you know he was an actor and could also draw? Some of the portraits in the house are of Charlie as different characters in plays and then they also have a few of his illustrations. He got an illustrator later on though, so I think he liked writing more than etching.

This room looks exactly like when Charlie lived here.

I am aware I am a literature dork, and therefore find these sort of things terribly fascinating, because it is my passion. At the same time, I think if more people understood that there are humans behind works, it makes them come to life. Even if you just know a little about J.K. Rowling, and how she always wanted to be a writer, but it wasn’t until her life was in shambles did she find Harry Potter… I think that gives depth to the tale.

I don't think Charlie would have a bust of himself next to his desk, but okay...

I’ve always had to read biographies before reading a certain piece for class, and I love reading the “About the Author” at the end of books. There are so many different stories out there, don’t you ever wonder what compelled the person to write it?

Attention, Attention!

Yes, I am aware I just posted, but I need to address an issue that does not involve any traveling. Put simply, I’ve been only doing homework for the past week or so, thus nothing really to post, except for one thing…

BREAKING NEWS!! 

The British can cook! I know, I know, I didn’t really believe it at first either, but it’s true. It’s actually a little bit of a challenge to find English food because they hide it in their pubs. I think they’re a little embarrassed since the stereotype says it’s out of their comfort zone. But that’s the thing! They’re beastly at comfort food! Give them a potato and they will make you a fabulous meal. I thought American french fries were delicious, but then I came here and had their chips. Oh man, talk about heaven drenched in salt and vinegar. Crisps (i.e.: potato chips) is another story. I like their Cheese and Onion idea, but when potatoes start having flavors like chicken and prawn, I draw the line. I’ve tried a chicken kind before, and it almost made me sick. The ketchup’s not bad, and I know we have that in the States, but I think it should be more common. Good stuff.

But wait, there’s more! The English have a dish called Jacket Potato and Beans, which is just what it sounds like—if you know what a “jacket potato” is, I guess. Put in American terms, this is a baked potato covered in baked beans and cheese. Genius, yiss? I think so. Tonight for dinner, I tried making this myself, and found it to be the best meal I’ve made so far. Granted, I haven’t been too complicated when it has come to my adventures in the kitchen, but still. The longest part was waiting for the potatoes to bake, but I took that time to do some art work in my journal. It reminded me of when I was in elementary school and used to do all of my homework at the kitchen table so that when I got stuck, I could call to my mom and ask for help. The meal filled me up in seconds and now hours later, I still feel happily satisfied.

I guess I should also mention their meat pies. I’ve had a few, but not in a restaurant setting—yet. As far as I can tell, I quite like savory pies, and wish people didn’t think of Sweeney Todd when they’re mentioned (if you don’t, maybe you will now. I apologize, but that’s what I think of first). Both chicken and beef are delicious, and a nice change from pasta. Once again, it’s very comforting food, and I don’t think eating such hearty meals all the time is such a good idea. Maybe that’s why they have so many Vietnamese and Thai restaurants all over the place? Makes sense to me.

Moral of the story: If you go to England, don’t fear the food. It’s fantabulous and a half.

My Own Pilgrimage to Canterbury

Long long ago, I went to Canterbury… but am now just telling you about it. I apologize. Anyhoo, onto my tale!

Ah... English countryside...

We hopped on a train at St. Pancras station, which turned out to be a little bit of a challenge because St. Pancras is in the same area as King’s Cross, and we honestly had no idea which station we needed. After asking around a bit and feeling like silly little Americans, my friends and I made the right train. It only took us an hour go to south of London and into Canterbury.

Canterbury

English countryside is gorgeous, as I think I’ve mentioned before when I went to Stonehenge. This time though, I got to see it while it was sunny! The weather was absolutely perfect, and made walking around the town a breeze. Quite literally, actually, seeing as there was a slight breeze reminding us it was still February.

It had been a Thursday, but the main street of the town was decorated as if for a festival. The old buildings loomed over us, whispering their history, as merchants sat next to their vendors, selling wigs, souvenirs, and snacks. Tavern signs reading things like The Black Griffin and Bishops Finger. Most of the shops said when they were established, and they ranged from the 1500’s to the 1700’s (note: all older then the United States).

Signs like these were all over the place. I like them.

Pretty, no?

We then headed for the Canterbury Cathedral, where pilgrims have traveled to for centuries. It felt odd to think of all the people who came to visit this place, but as I entered the enormous cathedral, I must say it all made sense. My jaw dropped to the floor within seconds as my head tilted ever farther back to try and look up at the ceiling, which seemed miles over my head (yes, this is an exaggeration). The cathedral never seemed to end, and took almost as long to walk around as did Westminster Abbey. We went down into the crypts and saw where Archbishop Thomas Becket had been originally buried and looked up at the creepy sculpture of nails making the human figure hanging eerily over our unprotected heads.

The inside. I felt like an ant.

As a quick history lesson, the cathedral was first built in 597 AD, but didn’t really get much attention until 1770, when Archbishop Thomas Becket was murdered in the center of the cathedral. They set a candle where he had died, and it’s pretty much dead center. In all honesty, it was a pretty thoughtful place to die. I’m getting off topic… After he was murdered by the British because of his thoughts against the king, miracles started to happen in Canterbury. People then flocked to Canterbury to try to get their own miracles because it had now been dubbed a holy place, and Thomas Becket later became a saint.

Where St. Thomas was murdered.

Which brings us onto the Canterbury Tales! Oh yay, what a great transition! I’ve read Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer at least three times now, and to finally be in the place where the pilgrimage was headed just brought everything to life. I was literally bouncing up and down as we headed for the Canterbury Tales exhibit down the road from the cathedral (we had gotten a deal from the cathedral which made our tickets only £5, but we were going anyway). The exhibit was well done, if not a little creepy. It pretty much went through the whole book—or well, how much Chaucer ended up writing... and I think for people who don’t really like reading epically long stories written in verse, I would suggest this as an alternative. Don’t worry, they spoke in Modern English, which obviously isn’t accurate at all, but since they had the smells of the 18^th century, I guess we can let it slide. Just so you know, I’m very glad people bathe now and that our stables are not as foul as they once were.

The entrance to Canterbury Tales. Unfortunately, no photography inside.

Back streets of Canterbury

All in all, it was a perfect day. My friends and I simply relaxed as we travelled about the town, not only seeing the touristy part of it, but also wandering off to more regular areas as well. After walking around for a good hour or so, we grabbed some tea from a cafe called West Cornwall Pasty. The sign had a pirate eating a pasty on it, and I felt the absolute need to go into it. My friends agreed good-naturedly. They had already seen me at my silliest about the whole Canterbury Tales thing, so I guess they were used to my crazy antics by then.

My most successful picture while on the train. We were heading back as the sun set.