Carol's blog

With 5 days to go until I head home, it's time to evaluate my time here, this course, and the prospect of going home.

Ultimately, I'm extremely glad I took this course. It was a last minute decision after I found out a friend was taking it. I swore over the summer that I would journal and keep a record of my time in London, but that proved to be a total bust. Luckily, I had this to fall back on in terms of reflecting on my experiences and putting my time here in perspective. It forced to look at my 3 months here from different viewpoints and to keep an open mind. Many of the things I have written about would not have occurred to me without the material that I encountered via this class. It helped to make my time here that much more enjoyable, because it was a class that helped me relate to my time abroad better than any of my other classes. If I’ve learned anything from this class, it’s that there’s a whole world out there waiting for me to explore, beyond New York City and even beyond London.
 
Now, even though I’m in the middle of studying for finals, I’m having mixed emotions about heading home in a couple of days. If you had asked me about 2 weeks ago how I was feeling, the first answer out of my mouth would have been “homesick.” Now that home is within reach, I’m already having withdrawal symptoms at the thought of London no longer being right outside my door or surrounding me on all sides. While I certainly will be glad to be back in New York City, it certainly won’t be the same as London. Rather than being homesick, I now want to spend every last waking hour taking in the sights and sounds of London, rather than cooped up in a coffee shop studying. Unfortunately, that’s not possible with the two finals I have remaining. Blah. At least I’ll have a couple of days between when I’m done with studying and when I leave to get in some last minute London fun.
 
I gave spending another semester here (or at a different abroad site) some serious thought a couple of weeks ago, but then circumstances arose that prevented me from making such a decision. I’m jealous of all my friends that have decided to stay here for the spring semester, and I’m envious of all the plans they’ve already come up with to pass their time here in the warmer weather. I have, however, vowed to return to London in the very near future, hopefully within the next 2 years. I’ve fallen in love with this city and all its quirky obscurities, such as driving on the other side of the road and slang that makes absolutely no sense. It’s certainly a place I feel incredibly comfortable and at home in. I think that’s what’s making it so hard to leave.
 
So here’s to a great semester abroad and an amazing last couple of days before the end of the semester. I hope everyone gets home safely and I thank you for sharing such fantastic stories and allowing me to live vicariously through all of you. And oh yeah (as I tried to convey with my festive picture of the ice rink set up outdoors at Someset House), Happy Holidays!!!

For anyone considering studying abroad for a semester, I would definitely recommend London as their site of choice for several reasons:

• The program here offers a wide range of subjects, particularly in the sciences. It also offers many English and Drama classes for those looking to be culturally immersed in the rich theater culture that thrives here. Plus, many of these classes can be used to fulfill MAP requirements.
• The lack of language barrier makes it slightly easier to adjust to any culture differences you might encounter during your stay here. At first, I thought it would be cheating the system choosing a country whose native language was also English, but I found it much easier to settle in and feel at home.
• London is perfectly situated for travel. Paris is a train ride away, as is Brussels and a slew of other major cities in Europe. Plane transport is also very convenient from any of London’s airports, even though it can be a pain to actually get to the airports sometimes, but that’s true for any place.
• Getting around is ridiculously convenient with the extensive Tube and bus system that operates throughout London. There are, however, two major drawbacks that I’ve encounter. The amount you pay for each trip quickly accumulates depending on how far you plan on traveling. And the only for of transportation after about midnight is the night bus that doesn’t run that frequently or follow its usually route. Then you’re stuck either waiting, walking, or taking a cab.

 
Now some words of advice concerning living in London and the NYU program that I wish some one had told me before I arrived:

• Take advantage of the programming opportunities NYU offers. You get a 50pound virtual budget to start off with at the beginning of the year. There’s three phases of programming with a wide variety of events each at a designated price. Events this semester have included trips on the London Eyes, tours of the Houses of Parliament, ice skating at Somerset House, Thirsty Thursdays at Whole Foods, a Jack the Ripper walking tour, and performances by the London Philharmonic. There plenty of things you probably wouldn’t pay to do yourself, so it’s a good way of getting a well rounded taste of London on some one else’s dollar (or should I say pound?).
• Save lots of money as soon as you learn you’re coming. Or start saving even before that. The pound is doing slightly better compared to the dollar than it was a couple of years ago, but it’s still nothing to write home about. Unless you’re writing home to ask for more money. London is an expensive city. I know when I first got here, I thought it wasn’t too bad but that was because I was forgetting to multiply the price I was looking at by 1.5 to figure out its dollar equivalent. I have since gotten smart about managing my money, but that doesn’t mean the city is any cheaper. There are always going to be essentials you’ll need, such as food and toilet paper, but you’re also going to want to set aside some extra money for traveling and having fun.
• Make the most of your time here. After dropping my extra class upon arrival, I have class twice a week, leaving me with plenty of time to explore the city. Even though classes are three hours each, they only meet once a week and you get lovely breaks during them that you normally wouldn’t expect at this level of education. You’re in class much less than you are back in New York City, which leaves you plenty of free time to delve into all the culture and fun London has to offer. Don’t let such an amazing opportunity slip away as you choose to sleep in or travel every free moment. At first, it’s hard to strike a balance between traveling to other countries and finding time to explore your new home, but that all comes with experience and personal preference.

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays. It’s one of the only times of the year that my family comes together and does nothing but indulge in good food, stories, and football. So as Thanksgiving approached, I grew steadily more homesick thinking about all the festivities I was missing out on back home. Luckily for me though, I’ve got great friends here in London that happily organized (albeit with some pestering, poking and prodding) a giant potluck dinner to fill the empty void in our hearts that NYU had tried to plug with make-up classes and excessive amounts of schoolwork. So while some people were unlucky and had class to attend that day, I set about my usual Thanksgiving Day routine of grocery shopping and busying myself in the kitchen. I normally cook at least one dish each Thanksgiving dinner, so occupying myself in the kitchen was a big distraction and relief. This year, I had settled on making a mushroom stroganoff pasta. Not knowing how many people I would need to feed, I settled on making enough to fill a giant turkey roasting tray, which turned out to be more than plenty.
 
After a couple of hours of fighting for burners on the stove, we were finally ready to head over to the festivities around 7PM. Unfortunately for my roommates and me, the dinner was taking place in the other residence hall which would require us to talk 5 blocks in the freezing cold carrying our trays of food; to put it lightly, it was quite unpleasant. When we finally reached Byron Court, we were shocked to see the extent to which everyone had gotten ready for the event. There was cooking going on in three kitchens on the 2nd floor. A long dining table was set up in one of the rooms by lining up desks and grabbing as many chairs as possible from all the rooms on the floor. People were streaming in and out figuring where certain foods were or where to set things. The air was filled with the mingling scents of turkey and roast vegetables and sweets pies. I grew hungrier by the second as I made my rounds saying “Hi” to familiar faces and introducing myself to new friends and family that had made it into town for this very occasion.
 
When it came time to eat, everyone lined up and helped themselves buffet-style to the wide variety of foods that had been brought by all the guests. We had all the traditional foods and then some more obscure ones that people creatively thought to cook up. The process went like this: you went around the table filling your plate in one flat and moved to the flat next door to take a seat at the table. Beer, wine and cider were poured and pass down the line for anyone looking to supplement all their food with alcohol. Food that arrived later with stragglers was passed around the table for anyone wanting to pile on more to their plates. Even with having 15+ chairs set up at the “dining table,” there still wasn’t enough room. People were strewn about the hall and other flats on the floor. Guests came and went throughout the night. Friends popped in to grab a bite to eat before heading off to other Thanksgiving festivities. By the end of the night, our potluck had probably served between 35-40 guests, and there were still plenty of leftovers that I’m sure lasted our hosts for days.
 
I walked home back to my flat that night feeling stuffed and extremely happy to have found such a great group of friends here in London that were willing to go out of their way to help make me feel at home during my first Thanksgiving away from home. It was certainly one of the highlights of my experience here and one that I won’t soon forget.

De Botton closes his chapter, “Oh Habit,” with the sentence, “Xavier de Maistre was gently nudging us to try, before taking off for distant hemispheres, to notice what we have already seen.” I think that this is a very important idea that can quickly be lost on a student when they study abroad; I admit that I am myself am quite guilty of overlooking my home and focusing more on the adventures to be had in foreign lands. When there’s a whole continent waiting to be explored at our fingertips, it’s sort of hard not to focus on covering as much land as possible in the time we have here.
 
Looking back on my time here, I regret traveling as extensively as I did these last couple of months, but I would never trade it for anything in the world. It’s fairly hard to strike a balance between exploring one’s resident city and the exotic locations one has in mind for a weekend getaway. Sometimes, other factors make it easier to decide, such as a particular event taking place in a foreign city (e.g. Oktoberfest in Munich) or pressing matters that need to be settled back home (e.g. a paper due in two days).
 
With a little over two weeks left to my stay in London, this article has convinced me that I need to look at London with new eyes during the course of my remaining days here. Of course, this is made a little easier by the fact that the city has completely transformed into a small Christmas village. Houses have put up lights; shopping centers are decked out in decorations; Christmas music is blasting from the speakers of every commercial building. The scenery and landscape of the city have certainly changed, which I think will make for an interesting comparison between the two Londons I have seen at the time of my arrival and my departure.
 
In all honesty, I probably won’t make that great an effort to refamiliarize myself with this city (or even my neighborhood, at that) as I would like. There’s just always too much on my mind to notice all the minute details that comprise the world around me. After seeing things once, I feel like there’s no need to see them again. When I’m on vacation, there’s time to think about nothing and take everything in. Here, I would have to set out with no goal in mind so that there was nothing to distract me. As pessimistic as that seems, there really is almost no time it the day for something like that, unless I purposely set aside time in my schedule for an attentive stroll or a journey with no destination in mind, similar to what De Button does in this chapter.
 
When I first got to London, that was all I did day after day: explore the city and take every little detail in. Of course, that was also a period in my life when everything felt new and exciting; now, all I can think about is when the next paper is due or when I’m going to have time to study for all my finals. Perhaps I’ll take an hour or two off in the coming days; rather than schedule a bunch of activities to fill my time, I’ll do whatever the city leads me to do. That sounds like an adventure within itself.
 
Oh yeah, the picture I included with this entry is of a piece of street art I found on the wall of building on my walk home. It started out as just that little alien at the top. Then, a couple of days later, going along the same route, my attention was captured by this larger piece. Some one had drawn a cow being abducted. I wonder what the piece is like now. Perhaps I’ll walk by it on my next stroll and check it out again. 

Of all the people I’ve come in contact with and met during my time here, my favorite person is the security guard that mans that desk in our lobby, Richard. He goes by a variety of nicknames and everyone at NYU knows him, regardless of whether or not you live in the building. I’m pretty sure everyone living in Guilford and anyone who has ever stepped through the door while he’s on duty loves him. I’ve never seen him in a bad mood, and he’s always up for talking and joking with students. There have been several occasions where I’ve come through the front door looking frustrated or slightly down, and he’ll know instantly that something is wrong and try to change it. As you depart, he always wants to know what you’re up to, not in an authoritative way, but more so like a friend who has your back. Or maybe it’s because he wants to know where all the best parties are taking place on any given weekend. Who knows.
 
He’s always ready with a “Good morning” as I head out the door for class or “Good evening” when I get back late. Sometimes he’ll even ask if I have any food for him when he sees I’m carrying take away or groceries; perhaps that’s my mistake for once offering him some of the brownies I had just gotten from Tesco. There have been plenty of times he’s offered me some wise words as I head out the door for class, such as asking if I have an umbrella or telling me to bundle up for the chilly gusts. He’s never one to get angry with me when I’ve forgotten my ID, can’t get the darn door open, or don’t have enough handles to juggle my groceries and show him my ID. He’s kept me entertained plenty of times when I’ve headed to the laundry room a couple of minutes too early but am too lazy to walk all the stairs back up to my room and decide instead to pay him a visit at his post. He is extremely understanding and treats the students like real people, unlike some of the other security guards that work downstairs.
 
I think that’s pretty typical of people here in London, at least from the encounters I’ve had. They’re always up to offering a helping hand or giving directions if you look slightly lost while staring at a Tube map in a station. They greet you with a smile and perhaps some small talk at the local grocery store. They smile warmly and wish you “Cheers” as you leave the store. I don’t think I’ve encountered a single British person who has been rude or disrespectful during my time here, at least not on par with the people I would find back home in New York City. People here tend to be much more laid back and have a different sense of humor. Sometimes, I don’t always get Richard’s jokes and it takes me a second or two to realize he’s being sarcastic. I’ve come to realize that it’s just the way British people are with their sarcasm; they say the opposite of what they mean and that confuses me beyond belief.

I love the British Museum. I’ve only been in it a handful of times since moving here, but I’m most definitely in love. Even with only 15 minutes of free time once, I found myself within its protective stone walls surrounded by relics of ancient and modern history. I’ve never been a big museum person, but the Museum of Natural History in New York was always an exception, and I think that love was transferred to the British Museum after my first visit. I never really expected to love it as much as I do. My first visit was with my London history class as a general introduction to the Roman roots of London and how it grew from there into the city it is today. I remember walking through the side entrance, grabbing a map of the floor plan, and being in awe at the number of rooms. The map shows 5 floors containing approximately 90 rooms. I haven’t visited every single room as I originally intended to do, because there’s just too much to see in each room.
 
The museum was founded in 1753 and officially opened on January 15, 1753. The original collection was provided by the will of Sir Hans Sloane to King George II in exchange for 20,000 pounds to his heirs. It claims to be the “first national public museum in the world,” and that’s certainly a tradition it has held up into the present. It is completely free for people to go into and spend as much time in there as they wish, at least until closing time at 5:30pm. The site of the building today is the same spot where the original collection was housed, and the museum has been opened ever since aside from short periods of closure during the two World Wars. Today, the collection houses over 8 million objects from across the globe and expanding throughout centuries of the world’s history. You can see anything from small pottery fragments to pieces of the Greek Parthenon there. Every room contains glass counters and little detailed plaques stating what the artifact is, where and when it was found, and how it was use. Some objects are too big to encased, so they’re put on pedestals in the middle of the room or hung up to cover the expanse of the wall.
 
Of course, it’s not just the history it contains that makes the British Museum such a magnificent place. The building itself is also a sight to marvel at. The current building that the majority of the collection is housed in was designed in 1823 by Sir Robert Smirke and built in 1852. The main entrance that most people recognize is actually the South entrance of the museum. Now I’m not a connoisseur or anywhere close to knowledgeable about architecture, but I’m pretty sure the building was built in the Greek style, with giant columns covering the main entrance along Great Russell Street. I normally go through the Montague Place entrance which is around the corner from the NYU in London building and down the street from the college campus where our classes our help. It’s the perfect getaway with a little time to spare.
 
(All information regarding the British Museum provided via their website, accessible here)

This semester, I’ve become a world traveler. At least, that’s what friends from back home have told me when they look at the ever growing list of cities I’ve visited posted on my blog. It seems that every couple of weeks, a new city or two pops up that wasn’t there when they last checked. They’re not the only ones surprised, however. I’m still in awe every time I reflect back on the places I’ve seen this semester. As of right now, I’ve visited 14 different cities, with 2 more planned for this weekend. Just last week during Fall Break, my friends and I city-hopped through 6 cities in Greece, Italy, and Spain over the course of 9 days. Admittedly, it did feel a little overwhelming and rushed at some points, but I had the time of my life and wouldn’t have done it any other way. I seriously don’t think I’ll be planning anything so hectic and fun again in the near future, so it was definitely a worthwhile experience to share with so many new friends (our group at its peak consisted of 11 people).
 
With classes only twice a week for me, I feel as though my weeks are spent planning for the next trip rather than catching up on reading. Also, everything feels more accessible here. European cities are at my fingertips via Easyjet and Ryanair. All I need to do is book a train, plane, ferry, bus, or any other mode of transportation that comes to mind, and I can be off in days. The timing is always a little obscure, but you’ll find a way to make it work if the flight is only 20 pounds. I can’t even count the number of mornings I’ve gotten up before the crack of dawn to catch a plane; it’s reached the point where I don’t even complain anymore and just accept it as a fact. Finding a place to stay is ideal, but not always necessary. I’ve stayed anywhere from the nicest apartment rentals to the shadiest hotels in sketch neighborhoods. I’ve learned exactly how many people can fit on a certain number of beds. My philosophy all semester: grab some friends and go. That’s really all you need for it to be a successful trip. It’s as simple as that here. I have plenty of friends going abroad next semester, and that’s the advice I’ve given them repeatedly.
 
There is one down side to all these international escapades: spending less time in the city you’re currently calling home. It was hard to strike a balance a first between school, traveling, and trying to do things in London, but I’ve worked out a system. I only travel every other week, leaving half my weekends to spend time with the Brits and become immersed in their culture. I’ve found it to be plenty of time to explore and discover. Regrettably, my time in Europe will come to startling halt soon. I don’t know what I’ll do when I get back to New York and won’t have travel plans every other week. Maybe I’ll have to incorporate traveling more into my life now that I’ve gotten a taste of what it’s like to be a jetsetter. Or maybe I’ll have to hold off for a bit until my bank account is replenished.

Sarah Lyall’s book, The Anglo Files, is probably the closest I’ll get to truly understanding the personalities of British people. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had plenty of interaction with London locals in pubs, stores, on the Tube, and simply on the street, and it’s been enough to note that their sense of humor and mannerisms are much different from those of Americans. But I don’t think I’ll ever truly know enough about their childhoods or culture to understand why they act the way they do; that’s where this book became quite helpful. I think that’s what I like most about Lyall’s book and her personal anecdotes that fill it: she has a very American point of view on viewing the Brits. Having grown up in New York City and moved to London only once she was older, she too viewed their personalities and quirks as eccentric and slightly off. As an American-British writer for the New York Times, I found it interesting how she discussed the way news was presented in newspapers. In my own time, I’ve noticed slight differences, but they didn’t come fully to light until she compared them. In fact, she begins her chapter with, “Just as the U.S. Congress is duller but somehow more respectable than the British Parliament, so American newspapers are generally less amusing but more trustworthy than British ones.”
 
As an avid reader of newspapers back in New York, I found it very interesting when I first got here how there are two separate categories of papers that locals read. There are the broadsheets whose main purpose is to present news to the readers, and there are the tabloids filled with pop culture tidbits and celebrity gossip. I’ve noticed that people really love their paper here, whether it’s the free Evening Standard that is available at almost any Tube station or a more interesting read, such as The Sun. From what I’ve seen, The Sun is incredibly popular here if you want to be entertained for a half hour or so. I think Lyall’s description of The Sun paints a very accurate picture of the type of news many locals want to read about and stay informed on: “Although the paper looks as if it hardly expects to be taken seriously what with all the pictures of celebrities and articles about drunken antics on its front page, it prides itself on being both a reflection and an arbiter of the national mood.” Perhaps the most recognizable feature of The Sun is their Page Three Girls, a picture of a different naked woman daily on their third page. Lyall’s right: “It can take some time to get a measure of [British papers], and sudden exposure can be disorienting, if not alarming.”   
 
There is a much greater variety in the type of “news” covered in the papers here. For instance, in today’s Evening Standard, the cover story is entitled “Mid-Air Explosion,” an article about the jet whose engine blew up during a trip from London to Sydney and was forced to make an emergency landing in Singapore. Such news is presented in their featured news section alongside such other articles such as “Whole Foods set to open second London Branch,” “Ashley enjoys the single life with a little help from friends,” and “Islington to ban lapdancing clubs.” While some of the articles are a far cry from being considered crucial news, I do enjoy the variety this free paper offers. There are 7 pages of sports, at least 5 full pages to the business section, as well as a section titled “London Life” that features everything from restaurant and show reviews to gallery openings. It’s taken some getting used to, but reading the paper here is much more entertaining than any single one I could read back home.

Rather than dashing off to unfamiliar foreign lands the last couple of weekends, I have been spending extra time in this lovely city of London. I decided that with this free time, I was going to do “touristy” things. I know, I know; you’re probably wondering why I would want to do touristy things in a city that has become my home. Shouldn’t I have already done such things during the first weeks I was here? Haven’t I been here long enough to begin trying to fit in and blend in with the locals? That’s the first thing people tell you when you move to a new city, especially one as big as London: don’t stand out, attempt to blend in so as not to draw attention to yourself.
 
But sometimes, in my opinion, it’s just more fun to be a tourist and get lost in a city and do all the typical things a visitor would do if they only had 24 hours to spend there. There will always be time to “blend in,” to get angry at the real tourists that walk too slowly or take up too much room on the curb, or grumble vehemently about how congested your favorite museum or gallery is with hoards of tourist groups.
 
One of the things I had been itching to do since I’ve gotten here is climb atop the lions in Trafalgar Square and take pictures perched at the top. Walking around and looking at the four statues situated in the corners of the small square, I realize that it was going to be a more difficult task than I had anticipated. I had always assumed that there would be a set of stairs or at least a ladder of some kind to help me reach the summit, but I was mistaken. There were plenty of people, including many young children, standing on the pedestals or straddling the lions already, but how had they possibly made it up there? I mean, I am only 5’1”, so getting to the top of almost anything can be quite difficult for me personally.

With the statues being situated approximately a foot above my head, it required lots of arm strength and a helping hand or two or four to provide the necessary boost to launch me up there. I never quite made it high enough to perch on top of the lion’s back, but standing alongside it was good enough. But once I was up on top, it was so thrilling, almost like I had conquered an obstacle that had been standing in my way for some time (well, I guess that was literally the case). I didn’t get to revel in my victory for long, because a small crowd was starting to amass at the bottom of the statue waiting for their turn to clamor up and take their pictures with the iconic beast. I smiled, took my pictures, and carefully began my descent down.


Getting a lift to the top & finally making getting my picture with the Trafalgar Square lion!

After some help getting down, I walked away not feeling like a tourist, but an accomplished visiting student that would be able to return home and cross off item #50 on NYU’s list of “101 Things To Do Before You Leave London!” things to do before leaving London. The Trafalgar Square lions are there for tourists and locals alike; at one point of another, London locals must have climbed atop them as well in the same manner tourists do on a daily basis, so even things that appear “touristy” can be quite fun for all.

It’s not always easy to tell how staged or real an attraction is. I think that’s where I have to agree with MacCannell’s view in “Staged Authenticity: Arrangements of Social Space in Tourist Settings” that “tourist settings can be arranged in a continuum starting from the front and ending at the back” (597). Whether or not what outsiders see is the way local people actually do things is something that runs through my mind all the time whenever I visit a new city or go on a tour of a popular site. I think in my heart of hearts, I want to believe that I am looking at something authentic, but then I must come to grips with the fact that tourist sites are often nothing more than capitalist ploys to help fuel the local economies that rely on tourism to maintain their way of life. It is their job to make visitors believe that what they are looking at is at least partly authentic; they must blend the fiction with reality in a flawless demonstration of local fanfare.
 
Sometimes, even when you know that what you are about to go see is purely put on for show, you can’t help but notice how hard the locals try to please their visitors and provide as much of an authentic experience as is within their power. This past weekend, my suitemate, Stephanie, and I took a single day excursion to Dublin. One of our top priorities for the day was visiting the Guinness Storehouse. I know that might sound cliché and maybe even a little dumb on our part, but we are both fans of the beer and everyone who has already visited has told us that it’s a pretty interesting experience if you care at all to learn about its history. On every list I found on Google of things to do in Dublin, a trip to the Guinness factory was always up near the top. Somehow, it’s become closely linked to the heart of Dublin despite being slightly out of the way.
 
When we arrived, I was shocked to see the lines of people waiting to purchase tickets and get through the gates. What didn’t shock me was the amount of people that were tourists; everyone was except for the staff. People go there thinking they can learn about the making of Guinness and perhaps pick up a little of Dublin’s history along the way. Whether or not the Guinness Storehouse provides much in the way of an “authentic” experience is up to the visitor to decide. Steph and I were both thoroughly engrossed by the exhibits showing off their achievements through the years and how they’ve reached the furthest corners of the world. I kept thinking, "Yeah, I can totally picture Arthur Guinness making his first batch of Guinness here and turning it into a worldwide franchise." At the same time, I noted how everything was put on display for show to give people the experience they had come and paid for. The only real attachment it has to Dublin, aside from its history, is the 360° panoramic views of the city from its sky bar on the top floor.


A finished pint of beer and an overhead view of Dublin from the 7th floor sky bar.
 
After reading the article and thinking back on this weekend, I think I’ve come to the conclusion that Guinness most definitely is putting on a show for its visitors. Everyone “Ohhs” and “Ahhs” as they giddily participate in the interactive demonstrations that are meant to appeal to all your senses, but this feels no different than a museum. In fact, that’s exactly how it was described when we first entered and a guide gave us a quick rundown of the building’s history. Little within the building was actually from the time when Guinness was first stored there aside from the building itself, whose interior has completely been redone to look modern with an aged feel. Looking back, I would describe the experience as authentic in the moment in the sense that I felt myself being pulled along Guinness’ timeline as I explored the 7 floors of the storehouse surrounded by their greatest achievements, but after it was all over and the curtain had dropped, all I could think was what a great show it was.

With the weather starting to settle into autumn and the air starting to acquire its yearly wintry crispness, I decided it should become a top priority to visit Queen Mary’s Gardens in Regents Park before all the flowers had disappeared and all that was left was bare thorns. I had heard much about the English roses and had yet to witness their beauty for myself except when vicariously living through friends’ pictures, which is no appropriate substitute when the gardens are such a short walk away. After completing a paper due the next day, a quick lunch with my roommate, and clearing my schedule for a free afternoon ahead of me, I set out on my own for Regents Park. The skies loomed grey up above with the occasional break in the clouds, but I was confident that the rain would hold off long enough for me to get my fill.
 
I have walked through the park before, but this was the first time I wasn’t rushing off to a different destination or preoccupied with conversing with a companion. Thus I strolled along the dirt paths, stopping occasionally to snap a picture or two or twenty. I didn’t stop to consult the map about how much further I had to walk until I reach the gardens. It seemed a much better idea just to wander, to get lost in the park if need be, only to find my way when I least expected it.
 
After about ten minutes of wandering through the park, I found the gate to the garden. I had expected it to be a small patch of grass and a couple of small rose bushes, but I was mistaken. It was an enormous area filled with grassy fields, wooden benches to sit on, rose bushes of every color and breed, little dirt paths leading through thickets, and natural treasures waiting to be discovered. I had only intended to spend an hour in the garden, but I soon got carried away and two hours had passed before I knew it. I took every winding road I came upon and was always shocked to find there were more flowers just around the corner.
 
While I was in the gardens, it didn’t feel like I was in the city of London anymore. It faintly resembled Central Park minus the towering skyline and with added natural beauty. I couldn’t stop thinking about how much it felt like I was in some sort of secret garden where I was disconnected from reality. Everything felt serene and there were no people around at that time of afternoon to disrupt my tranquility. There were a few intermittent rain showers, but nothing that didn’t pass over in a couple of minutes or that I couldn’t hide from underneath the cover of soaring trees. In fact, it felt more refreshing than annoying. After the showers, there was always an extended period of bright sunshine that warmed the air and illuminated the gardens and amplified its beauty.
 
At the end of the day, I didn’t want to leave the park. Everything inside seemed too perfect and I was worried that the next time I come for a visit, all there will be to see is dark barrenness. It was almost poetically ironic that as I left, the sky started to grow an ominous shade of gray and the winds started to pick up, two signs that the torrential rains I had heard everyone talking about all day were now imminent. I had to bundle up my jacket and tie my scarf more tightly around my neck as the cold settled in and I walked back to campus.

Here are a couple of pictures I took:

One of the classes that I am taking while in London is a course called “The History of London.” I was never a big fan of history and have completely tried to avoid it during my college years, but this course seemed like a good way to get to know my new home better. The main reason why I registered for this class was the walking tours that I knew would be involved; every couple of weeks, my professor takes the class on a tour of a different part of the city and shows us historical sites relevant to the period we are studying in lecture.
 
Our last walking tour began by the Chancery Lane Tube station in front of a rather old looking building with a black and white paneled exterior. I had seen several similar buildings littered around the city on previous explorative journeys but had paid little attention to them except to take note of their unusual exteriors. I was later told, upon the arrival of my professor, that such buildings dated back to the Tudor monarchs or the 16th century. Such buildings are made of wood and usually feature the alternating black and white panel exterior the results from the use of oak and plaster to create the walls. The first floor typically protrudes out and hangs over the street and the ground floor, thus creating more room on the first floor for living space while the ground floor was usually rented out or utilized to set up shops. The façade of the building also features an abundance of windows so as to let in as much light as possible during the day.
 
Few such buildings survive now, as a great deal of the architecture in the city was destroyed during the Great Fire of 1666. After the fire, new building regulations created rules concerning the types of materials and the shapes of buildings that could go up in the city. Wood was no longer a permissible building material as it burned too easily; bricks were the new constructive material of choice. Buildings were also no longer allowed to hang over the streets as they once did, because they obstructed the sidewalks. Even those Tudor buildings that survived required a lot of upkeep to bring them into the 21st century and to maintain the same appearance that they had back when they were first built. One of the more famous ones still standing is Prince Henry’s Room (pictured in my photograph above) on Fleet Street, which is now a museum. And I later learned that the building my class met in front of was Staple Inn (pictured below), dating all the way back to 1586.

Now, whenever I see a classic black and white building, I can’t help but to stand and stare in amazement at the architectural elements that make it such an iconic English building dating all the way back to the sixteenth century. A great deal of them still stand in the outer reaches of the city where the fire did not reach, but once in a while, you’ll stumble upon one of these beautiful pieces of art within the ancient walls of the city. Whether or not it’s an original from the Tudors’ era or was rebuilt as a replica in recent years will be up to the viewer to decipher.

Staple Inn on Holborn (photo taken by me)

Life in London as I know it doesn’t feel much different from the life I left in New York, aside from the lack of color in my room, the persistent cloudy days, and the walk through an actual college campus to get to class. What’s the first thing I see when I get up? The sea of whiteness that engulfed me through the night as I slept. My duvet is white. My sheets are white. My pillowcase is white. Under normal circumstances, my bed would feature an array of stripes, solids, and various shades of pink. Here, I have little choice but to accept what NYU has so lovingly provided to its students in terms of bedding.
 
Rolling out of bed, I make my way from the shower to the kitchen. Mornings aren’t the best time for creating culinary masterpieces, so I usually just grab whatever food I can muster up the energy to prepare and sit at our kitchen table that is almost as tall as me. Climbing on and off the chairs is a slight ordeal, but I’m getting better at it, seeing as how our flat has only had kitchen furniture for the past week or so. Usually, no one else is up or home by the time I arise, so I have the whole kitchen table to myself. If my laptop happens to still be present from the night before, I’ll play whatever genre of music I’m in the mood for to get my day started.
 
My favorite seat at the table is the one that faces the window, as pictured above. Pulling up the blinds, I usually see a sky filled with grey clouds. On the occasional day, there’ll be bright rays of sun; those are the days I like best. Our kitchen window looks down a narrow street that is quite busy with pedestrians in the morning. People watching from my kitchen has become one of my favorite morning activities. I haven’t really seen any people I recognize and enjoy following on a daily basis yet, but perhaps soon I’ll be able to tell the mulling people apart. Without a clock in the kitchen, I usually waste a lot of time just sitting there, which in turn forces me to rush to get to class.
 
I’m not picky about what I wear, so getting dressed in the morning isn’t a big ordeal. I throw on what I think I want to wear or what’s suitable for the weather outside and head out the door. Heading to school from Guilford Street, you make a right, right, left, right, left, and right to get to the Birkbeck campus where NYU London holds its classes. Everyone says that Birkbeck is typically a night school, but then where do all the students and bikes come from during the days? The walk itself isn’t very long, 15 minutes tops if you’re strolling, and there’s usually nothing exciting going on, but on rare occasions, you’ll spot a familiar face and have an excuse to take even longer getting to class.
 
Classes here are probably the biggest change for me compared to what I’ve grown accustomed to. They meet once a week here for three hours. That means, on the days I actually have class, I’m stuck within the confines of a classroom for more time, but on a weekly basis, I have a lot more free time to explore the city and do as I please. Classes here also cap at 25 students, with many of them having fewer than 20 and the smallest one reportedly having just 2. Thus, by the third week, I knew about every one in all my classes already. Even with less time spent in class, I still find myself doing a lot of work and having chapters to read and papers to write. I guess that’s one thing I shouldn’t have expected to change.

For the past two weeks, I've been reading Bill Bryson's Notes From a Small Island to get a better sense of what England is like outside of the metropolis that is London. In his attempt to visit as much of England as possible in the course of approximately six weeks, Bryson takes his readers on a literary journey into both the most obscure and most widely known English areas with a ton of anecdotal and opinionated flair. His views reflect those of a both a foreigner (having been born in Iowa in the United States) and a local (having lived in England for nearly 20 years). He isn't afraid to be honest about his opinions of the places he is visiting, which I find extremely refreshing and much more informative than any summary in a travel guide.   
 
As I've sat in cafes, trains and planes reading about his adventures, all I want to do is hop on the next bus to these places and see if they really are as magnificent, boring, or shocking as he conveys them to be. His narrative has really opened my eyes to the greater English world. Everyone always tends to focus on London and all the aspects of city life it has to offer, but proportionately speaking, there is a much greater amount of England that is made up of small towns and quaint villages. Aside from the few cities the NYU staff has organized for students to see, I have not seen much of the England the majority of its citizens live in. All I have seen are the ancient Roman remains of Bath, the towering churches and cathedrals of London, and collegiate institutions of Cambridge. All the other sights and sounds that I have personally witnessed were from behind the thick panes of glass of the bus as we drive along highways and fields to reach our destination. Aside from the few notorious bustling tourist attractions, the majority of England appears to be fields of grazing cows and small quaint towns.
 
Even within the city of London, I’m starting to notice some of the stark differences in the communities located in the center of town and those in the outskirts. Yesterday, as we passed through the neighborhood of Stratford where the new Olympic stadium is being built for the 2012 games being held in London, we were informed about how the community had been relatively neglected for the past couple of decades and how the administration hoped that the games and the associated developments going up in conjunction would revitalize the area and give it the boost it needed. The buildings in the neighborhood were relatively dilapidated in comparison to the city center; there were few people walking the streets or stores open for business. Construction dominated the area, with machines and empty dirt lots littering the vicinity of the completed skeletons of the stadium and aquatic center. A mere 8 miles outside of the heart of London, things look very different from the sights I’m grown accustomed to seeing.


A live picture of the construction going on in the Olympic Park (source: http://www.formanandfield.com/fisheyeview)
 
Bryson makes many remarks on the changes that have taken place in the towns and cities since he first visited during his time spent in England; some of these changes are slight and insignificant, while others are monumental and life altering. The raising of the Olympic park grounds is supposed to be a monumental change for London, so I’m looking forward to the day when I can revisit that neighborhood and make my own remarks on the changes that have been brought about by this ongoing development. With less than 2 years left (656 days to be exact) until the games begin, things are going to change dramatically in this neighborhood.

In my quest to push my personal boundaries and live freely while in Europe, I decided to dash off to Paris with my roommate a day before the rest of my suitemates got into town with no plan of action in mind. I figured, if people can backpack for months on end without a decisive plan, then I could have one successful spontaneous day in Paris. We were going to hop the 5AM train and just go. The only inkling of a plan I had was in my choice of a travel buddy. I thought things would be fine seeing as how Allie had been to Paris years before. Being the type of person that loves to plan, make lists, and stay organized, this was certainly a new venture for me. All I did was book the train ticket, because the last thing we wanted was to be rejected at St. Pancras station that morning. I was going to leave everything else to chance and see what happens on my first trip to Paris.
 
Getting out of the Gare du Nord, we soon realized we had no idea where we were in terms of the city center, so we wandered around aimlessly until we realized that Metro stations had very detailed maps that could help orient us and guide us to our destinations. We also lucked out and found a map with all the major Parisian monuments highlighted. Our best resource, however, was our unexpected encounter with an Apple store that provided us with the name of a hostel in the neighborhood and access to wifi to communicate with our other travel mates. With our city map and the occasional Metro station along the way, we were set for the afternoon. We walked around with our backpacks for 10 hours to our hearts' content and the dismay of our tired feet and our sore backs.
 
When we figured that we could walk no further, we returned to the area by the Gare du Nord in hopes of settling in at the hostel we had read about in the Apple store. To our dismay, the receptionist informed us that they were book for the night. He recommended that we try another hostel around the corner, but no luck there as well. We didn't panic or anything just yet, because we knew there were plenty of hotels littered around the area, and we were confident that we would find a room in no time. It being only 7PM, we were sure we would find a place to stay.
 
WRONG. We went into 4 hotels, and each time we were greeted by a sign on the reception desk that read "COMPLET" which we quickly learned meant the hotel was full. Now it was time to panic even as we joked about how we could split a hotel at the Ritz on our fathers' credit cards. Then the brilliant idea came to me that we should go into one of seedy internet cafes and try to make a reservation there for the closest hotel or hostel we could find. We lucked out once again and were able to book a room in a hostel right around the corner from our current location and rushed there in 10 minutes to claim our room. The Village Hostel basically saved our lives that night, because sleeping in the park was another possibility we considered. It was one of the last available rooms in the establishment and everyone there was so friendly that we didn't even consider how much extra we were spending for booking the day of. All we could think about at this point was going straight to bed and resting after our 18+ hour journey from the time we had left our flat just that morning. And that's exactly what we did; we slept for 12 hours and woke up late the next morning to pick our friends up from the train station.
 
I don't understand how people are able to backpack around the world and always find a place to stay, but I admire their courage and bravery. My one night in Paris has taught me to leave some elements to chance, but if possible, having some structure to the trip works best. Or perhaps, that's what works best for me.