Among Good Company

(Terribly dated)
With the 19th of February come and gone, I present to you (nearly two months later) an Oxford report! A special thanks to IES for arranging transportation, a Blue Badge walking tour and admission to multiple colleges and the Ashmolean.

Once arriving in the collegiate town, the group was split in two, and I tooted along behind self-proclaimed “Mad Debbie”. This here was a woman in the know, and factoids included:
-Oxford College is an umbrella term for 38 universities
-Oxford collective is one of the oldest universities
-Gown decorum: above the knee denotes undergrads and just below the knee are worn by those there on scholarship (aka the longer the robe, the higher up the individual)

Christ Church, both college and cathedral, was first up and seemed familiar. Reasoning? Professor Minerva McGonagall had walked one staircase, and the college’s Dining Hall, with some technological assistance, was the very Great Hall.

Next door, the interior’s significance was more of the past. A Pre-Raphaelite rainbow took up the back wall, glass panels demonstrating the guild’s appreciation of textiles, color. The group, "formed in 1848 [...] intended to restore to English art the freshness and close study of nature." -Ashmolean Museum
Art education in one of the world’s leading universities? I like it!

But what of the exterior? All colleges could be summed up as a cross between gothic church (gargoyles) and castle (turrets). Outside academia’s walls were complimentary, pasteled buildings.

After getting to know Christ Church, we breezed by the library, where desired book is served up via conveyor belt to the lazy student, and a scaled down Bridge of Sighs, connecting two colleges.

Tummies started to rumble, and break wasn’t far away. Determined to dine among the greats, my fellow travelers and I opted for the Eagle and Child, an Inkling (J. R. R. Tolkien and C. S. Lewis among them) haunt back in the day. Stomachs sated (thanks to pub fare: meat pie and sparkling lemonade), we met with the rest of the IES-ers at the designated spot and paid a visit to bricked Keble College. Inside was another reference to the Pre-Raphaelites: "The Light of the World" showing Jesus backlit by the moon.

Before heading back to Londontown, we took on the Ashmolean Museum, home of many, many Pre-Raphaelite ‘scapes, portraits and so forth. It was easy to see the Italian Renaissance's influence.

G-G-G-G-Get Out Of London

The first week of February saw me purchasing tickets left and right. Roundtrip to Paris and Rattery…my bank account took a substantial dip. In this spirit of travel, I also agreed to a trip down south departing on the 5th. What were a few pounds next to breaking from the city (even if only for a night and a day)?

Cardiff was our destination, though this was not reached until nightfall (due to a series of mishaps starting with a missed bus). The locals wouldn’t have us in frowns, though. A waitress went so far as printing us departure times for the Newport train; train security advised against roundtrip purchases; and a gent on said train carried my carry on to the front of the station. Gotta love the Welsh!

Though it was getting into the wee hours, the Queens Hotel’s showers provided an incentive to stay up. Now, I promised honesty, and much as I love my dorm-like setup, all of us find the showers lacking. Not only does the nozzle shoot a stream of chilly water every which way, should you try and turn the temperature up, the shower (more often than not) shuts off completely (for fear that we might burn ourselves). To echo the colorful sentiment of a fellow sufferer: “Dear Dinwiddy showers, everyone that lives here is in college. If the water gets too hot, we know how to turn it down. Fuck you and your anti scald technology.”

Thus, the hotel’s perfect pressure and steady warmth made the trip worth it right there.

The next morning came too soon, but grumbles that usually accompany such a time of day were silenced. Why? Big Pit. The mine tour was the reason for the Cardiff stop off in the first place. Though no one else left the bus with us at Pontypool, we were quickly assured we made the right choice once strapped into mining belt and helmet (complete with bulb). In no time, we were 300 feet underground with a former miner as guide. His humor would do the Disneyland Jungle Cruise operators proud and made the dim chambers (when we turned off our headlamps, it was dark as pitch) metaphorically lighter. His tales, however, made the humanitarians of us queasy. Statements like horses were kept in the shaft to pull the carts and eventually went blind (poor lighting) and children were tied up by their arms so as to let in horses and the right amount of airflow were met with grimaces. Still, I’d highly recommend a walk in a coal miner’s hat and belt (though the latter is rather heavy on the hips).

With a bus ride back and a suitcase collected, we doubled back to Cardiff. A pub style lunch later and another bus (this time the hop on, hop off) was missed. Not to despair! I played troubleshooter this time and had us to the Bay in 10 minutes. Boats bobbed near us on water turned quicksilver, and the Bay itself made a suitable substitute for the ocean I had been missing. Ducks inquired about handouts but soon left, dissatisfied. The highlight was a beaut of a swan (pictured) less than an arm's length away, seeking like the ducks had. It may have been unhappy with our lack of crumbs, but its presence enabled many up, close and personal shots.

The day was brought to a close at a favorite chain of ours: Café Nero. Chai for me, mochas for others…all in all, coming from California to Cardiff, I was charmed (contrary to what the local boys warned!).

Nautical Nonsense

Last weekend’s gallivanting took me from Borough Street to Greenwich (through the course of two days). The first held yet another market, but one to tempt the stomach. Costco style samples of gourmet sausages, cheeses, olive oils and so forth tickled my tummy in the best sense of course. My browsing buddy and I settled on soup (she: a vegetable brew and me: tomato basil), and we ate in the shadow of an ornate cathedral, topped with many stylized crosses.

The following day, for a change of pace, was museum centered. Greenwich offered both the Royal Observatory and National Maritime Museum. I was also fortunate enough to have a local chap narrate what it was that I was seeing (his descriptions made the museum plaques’ pale in comparison). First up was Flamsteed House, a brick building sporting a Rudolph nose aka “one of the World's earliest public time signals” according to the Visitor Map. Bordering the House, which was "built for the purpose of finding longitude at sea," were examples of technological advances in telescoping. And as a side note...also set foot on Longitude 0 degrees 0'0'', Prime Meridian of the World. No big deal!

Next up me mateys was the nautical themed museum. Inside were scraps left over from a beauty of a vessel, the Implacable, the Upper Deck Collection (sailors dined in style as evidenced by the silver and gold platters, saucers, etc.), propellers and displays articulating the sea’s hold on man. The highlight was a navy coat worn by “[Horatio] Nelson when he fell at Trafalgar, with the fatal bullet hole clearly visible." He was deservedly a decorated fellow, and Trafalgar Square commemorates Nelson.

Rounding off the day, we stopped at the Trafalgar pub, and I had myself a cider, whilst lit coals warmed my side and Thames aglow captured my eye. Come nightfall, we boarded a river cruise and marveled at central London’s landmarks. Their illumination made for an electrical parade.

Fruit n' Veg

Already I have fallen behind in my blogging duties, and for that I apologize. You’ll be happy to know, however, that I’ve been getting much out of London. Last weekend was the city’s market side, and each had its own charm. Portobello Market had the benefit of location, location, situated in Notting Hill’s pastel district. Items being sold ranged from fruit and veg to old time-y cameras. The market specialized in antiques, and many collectors combed the stalls, in search of housing accents. As for me, I was content with capturing what I could with my point and shoot.

The following day was an East End Markets Tour courtesy of IES. The catch? What an early ‘morn it was! I also traveled in the opposite direction to hook up with the greater group, but managed to make friends along the way. Local guides split us into two, and ours was bursting to tell the history behind every building. (Yet, she was ever mindful of whether or not we wanted such information. Indeed, we did).

First up was Petticoat Lane Market since renamed (shocking to name a market after lady undergarments!) to Middlesex Street (not much better, might I add). Packs of Calvin Klein whitey tighties dangled from a line, and signs promising that nothing was over a £ tempted the passerby. I myself managed to secure a lined, camel colored pea coat for £10 or $16 (at the time).

Spitalfields was next up, but we detoured through Jack the Ripper territory. The story goes that many women, with only a penny to their name, would stay in dormitories and drape themselves over a laundry line to sleep. Better than being victim! As for the market, items were enticing but came with a price. Clothing seemed to be offered the most, and I contented myself with the equivalent of window-shopping.

Last was Columbia Road Flower Market, where sunny “daffs” and flushed tulips stood out in the London grey. A prequel to springtime twenty ten?

Sunscreen On The Nose

I find the 17th of January to have been quite blog worthy. During the week, Sunday was set aside as tourist day. The biggest challenges to our expectations of taking in the sights, however, were walking and waking. We soon found that 11 a.m. was a rather ambitious start (all of us being occupied the night before with flat parties or clubs). Still, we were on our way at half past.

First stop? Buckingham Palace. Mind you that none of us went into the following attractions, being on student budgets and all, but I will backtrack and add facts (if not from the attraction’s website, then from Wikipedia, I’m afraid) that I am learning now along with you, Reader. The following is a tidbit on the Palace: “Buckingham Palace is the official London residence of the British monarch.[1] Located in the City of Westminster, the palace is a setting for state occasions and royal hospitality. It has been a rallying point for the British people at times of national rejoicing and crisis” (Wikipedia). I have visited the site before for the Changing of the Guard, but due to the crowding the spectacle brings, only now was able to appreciate intricacies that come with royalty. The tip tops of the fence had at one time been dipped in gold and still today had a luster about them. Lions and unicorns adorned entryways and posts, probably signifying nobility.

After posing for the folks back home, we wound our way across a pond (much smaller scale, of course), which was FROZEN! Never had I ever seen this phenomenon, and one of my companions pointed out that the residents (or freeloaders?) of the pond were standing as opposed to floating.

Once across, we ended up in Big Ben’s shadow. Not to say that the sight was imposing. Rather, it was a joy to be reacquainted with the clock tower. And for some concrete facts as opposed to my musings: “Big Ben is the nickname for the great bell of the clock at the north end of the Palace of Westminster in London,[1] and is often extended to refer to the clock or the clock tower as well.[2] Big Ben is the largest four-faced chiming clock and the third-tallest free-standing clock tower in the world.[3] It celebrated its 150th anniversary in May 2009 (the clock itself first ticking on 31 May 1859),[4] during which celebratory events took place[5][6]” (Wikipedia).

Cross the Thames and in no time we were passing the Millennium Bridge (the opening scene of the latest Potter film…it was intact, so we can assume that there is no truth to Rowling’s yarn). But at this point, our stomachs made their state known, and we settled down to soup and sammies at EAT (where we did just that).

Revitalized, we turned at St. Peter's Cathedral and ended at the famous Trafalgar Square, which plays host to "rallies and demonstrations, filming and photographic shoots and promotional and performance based events" (http://www.london.gov.uk/trafalgarsquar). The focal point of the square was guarded by disproportionate lion statues. All of us cooed at the British children atop the brass(?) beasts, as they had three things in their favor: smallness, accents and fashion sense.

The rest of the journey included us making our way home. Detours: Anthropologie stop off and bubble tea refresher. In total, we walked more than eight miles, and I’m still feeling that fact.

Feeling Like Amy Adams...

I've joined the blogging world! Rather than pester the lot of you with status updates about my becoming British (hey, it could happen!), I've decided to let you opt to hear the ups and downs of studying abroad. I promise to pen er type my thoughts in a style to keep the reader semi-entertained, and I do strive for an honest account. This is as much for me as it is for you!

To catch you up, I arrived in London on 6, January, 2010 (must adapt to this way of date writing), bags, which have to sustain me for the next six months, and all. Then, miracle of miracles, I was able to navigate myself to Chelsea by plane (NOT!), train (Heathrow Express) and automobile (taxi) in the midst of jet lag.

Don't get me wrong. Chelsea is ritzy, and if you have a pocket full of £s, then have at it. Do note: it is not, I repeat, NOT student friendly. A £10 mac and cheese? Downright robbery.

I only moved to SOAS on the 11th, and in waiting to move in, kept myself free from the seduction of Lady Chelsea's storefronts by touring the Victoria and Albert FREE (in Chelsea?!) museum and taking long walks (at a slow pace so as to "mind" the ice) with my camera for companion.

But more recently, I have settled into the hat of student yet again. My classes at SOAS, that are set in stone, are Japanese Art, THE ANTHROPOLOGY OF AFRICAN AND ASIAN COMMUNITIES IN BRITISH SOCIETY (forgive the caps) and

REPRESENTATIONS AND TRANSFORMATIONS: SOUTH AFRICAN DRAMA AND FILM LECTURE. Socially speaking, a flatmate has cooked me pasta, and I've made the mile trek to campus with Junior Year Abroad students. Commonalities have been struck over the oddest of things...the strongest of which is a mutual addiction to "digestives". Be warned! The deceitful name is for the tea-side biscuit wrapped in chocolate (in other words, dessert), and it stands for all that is guiltily good. William shared this fact with me about the cookie: "In the UK alone, the annual sales of chocolate digestives total about £35 million. This means that each year, 71 million packets of these are sold - and each second, 52 biscuits are consumed." And I should also mention that in my downtime, I've found myself watching Jane Austen's works turned films. Needless to say, my postings, for a time, may be littered with "agreeable," "indeed" and other such Austen-isms. Just a phase? We shall see! All for now! Stay tuned for my adventures in tourist-y London, THE one and only Oxford and other UK hotspots.