Getting caught up is still happening. I uploaded all my photos on my photo page though. They are not necessarily in order yet, nor have they been commented or captioned. Give me time.
http://picasaweb.google.com/RossDMcKinney
The SB stands for Spring Break. The albums are about 60 photos each. My mother ought to be proud of the amount I have used the camera she got me.
Tuesday, 15 April 2008
Tuesday, 25 March 2008
So much to say, so little time
Internet time is limited. Sophia brought her computer, and that Alice has an i-touch I-pod, so that is the internet we get when we can get a wireless signal. And that is not necessarily often, I assure you. So I have it now while Sophia is in the shower. We are in Avignon, and we just got here. The nice folks of the train industry are on strike, apparently, and nobody decided to tell us when we were on the train from Bordeaux to Arles, then Arles to Avignon. This is important because the Arles to Avignon was cancelled due to the strike. We had to rush to try to get reservations on a night train to Strasbourg, Germany that happened to have a brief stop at Avignon two hours later than we expected to be there. So we played Euchre, the Indiana speciality, and waited for the train. We are now in Avignon, seat of the Papacy for some time in the medieval ages.
Yesterday in Bordeax was okay. I only say this because Peerman booked our hotel extremely outside the city limits of Bordeaux. We stayed in a hotel about 25 Euros in a taxi only worth away from the train station, Gare de St. Jean. Also, we were there on a Easter Monday, a holiday that the French apparently hold as dear as their right to strike, because nothing was open until 6pm, where we found a French pizzeria that was open for 3 hours on holidays. It was pretty good, with more selections of pizzas than I could have dreamed of. Also, we got to walk through a couple of miles of the countryside in search of this place, and it was thoroughly beautiful. I can only imagine how utterly gorgeous it is during the spring, when the acres upon acres of vineyards are in bloom.
Today, however, and the reason for Peerman and I nearly missing the only train to Avignon, is that we sought a sight in the city of Bordeaux. We knew from my guidebook that there was a gothic Cathedral that had a bell tower that reached 66 meters to the sky, and we had 1/2 and hour to find it. Since there was only one train at 2:30pm, and by the time we got to the train station and had our tickets it was 12:3opm, we had two hours to explore the city (again thanks to Peerman for the great locale on the hotel, at least it wasn't too expensive) The girls (Sophia and Alice) took the first shift of exploring, whilst Peerman and I guarded our luggage. When it was our turn, we had 40 minutes until the train left, and high ambition. We saw the spire from afar, and he and I started walking toward it eating the kebabs the girls had purchased. We found it in 20 minutes. We spend maximum of 2 minutes at the church, pictures to follow. We had to run back. We got on the train, after frantically finding the platform (the girls had already gone there, without telling us) we jumped onboard as the conductor's whistle blew. They were mad at us, and we were sweating and laughing at our luck. If we had turned down one of the wrong winding medieval streets, we would have been sulking in Bordeaux all night. Luckily, Peerman and I are the masters of adventure. And also, luckily, the girls were responsible enough to carry our bags for us to the platform and load it to the train and allow us to jump on at the last possible second. Much more to come. Nice, Venice, Poland, and Greece to follow.
Wednesday, 19 March 2008
Perugia, Rome, Florence, Paris
The internet has been hard to come by in a free manner, so now that I have a moment of free internet via the Hotel Balladins (a very not in Paris Parisian hotel), I'll take a few to write some updates.
I flew into Perugia International Airport, which consisted of 2 gates. We were the only plane for the day, so it wasn't too crowded. I had my passport inspected, then went on to find the airport shuttle had told me about previously. The man spoke no English, which made it interesting. There was a very crazy looking pseudo-hippy going too, I am fairly sure he talked his way out of paying. He was thickly and longly bearded, and spoke English and Italian, so he made sure I got to the Piazza Italia. Jay was waiting for me, and we were on our way.
The city of Perugia is the capital of the Perugia region, and it is on top of a very large hill. The streets are very winding and narrow. There seems to be no easy way to get anywhere, and after three days I was always surprised when we ended up back at Jay's flat. The views were beautiful, the buildings very old, and the food was delicious. Jay picked a very good place to live for 4 months.
The next day, Saturday, Jay and I went early to Rome to pick up Sophia. She didn't want to make the 3 hour train-ride by herself, and understandably so. On our way up, there were roughly 12 drunk and still drinking (at 9am) soccer fans. They were wearing various hats and wigs, and did not stop singing Italian songs for the duration of the journey. The entire 3 hours. Seriously.
Sophia says we have to go see Paris right now. Right now. So I'll get back on later tonight and write some more about it all. Leave me a comment.
Thursday, 13 March 2008
My Spring Break Plan
14. March: Fly to
15.
16.
17.
18.
19.
20.
21.
22.
23.
24. Renne to Bordeax
25. Bordeux to
26. Nice
27. Nice
28.
29.
30. Venice Sophia leaves for
31. Poland Poland night train to
- April:
- Ferry to
- Fly back to
whoops
Extreme business has prevailed for the last few weeks. I have had Jay and Peerman over for a while, we had adventures, then they left. Then I had two sizable papers to complete, which I naturally procrastinated on due to the presence of my dear guests. But alas, the time for my wicked awesome trip to Italy, France, Poland, Germany, Belgium and Greece starts in 3 hours. That is right folks. I leave from Swansea to London at 8:30pm, arrive in London at 11:50pm. I walk two miles to the bus station, where I take the bus to Stansted airport at 2am. I arrive there at 3:30am, then wait for 3 hours to board my plane for Perugia, Italy. That is where Jay is studying for the semester. So at 11am, I will meet him in the city's center and start my spring break. Sophia will have her computer, so I will do my best to keep you posted. Also, let it be known that all my clothes and supplies fit into a common ordinary backpack and a small collapsible duffel bag.
Sophia and I will meet up with Peerman and Alice in France in about a week. I am eager and slightly nervous. But isn't nervousness simply specific excitedness? I should think so. Sleep for the next 36 hours will likely be neglected, but if Wabash has taught me anything, it is how to function on little or no time in bed. Cheers!
Sophia and I will meet up with Peerman and Alice in France in about a week. I am eager and slightly nervous. But isn't nervousness simply specific excitedness? I should think so. Sleep for the next 36 hours will likely be neglected, but if Wabash has taught me anything, it is how to function on little or no time in bed. Cheers!
Thursday, 28 February 2008
Cardiff
Yesterday I ventured to the capital of Wales: Cardiff. I have been twice before, but not for a whole day. The Swansea University Real Ale Society made the annual trek via train for the Cardiff University Beer Festival. It was a blast. When one would think of the debauchery and wickedness of a Beer Festival, let alone at a University, the actual event would likely surprise you thoroughly. It was chilled out. It was held in the student union building, in a room that looks like a huge cafeteria. One wall of the large room was lined with 70 casks of delicious British brewed ales and lagers. It was a beautiful sight. When you picked from the gourmet list, you could go to the casks and have the staff fill your souvenir pint glass. Then you just sit down and chill out with your friends. That is what I did anyway.
Furthermore, the Swansea Real Ale Society has a tradition of dressing up for the occasion in 'fancy dress.' The theme for this year was 'what did you want to be when you grew up?' I didn't have much in the costume department, so I donned my bow tie, shaved down to a goatee and wore a sport coat and called myself a professor. Other members had a bit more fun with the concept. I leave the pictures to speak for themselves (coming soon).
I must say that it has been a bit of a rough week. I was very ill on Monday, but Sophia took the opportunity to give her maternal instincts a go. She came by and gave me Sprite and some food. She is a good girlfriend. She's probably going to read this, maybe I'll get some points for it.
Peerman is coming this afternoon via plane and train. Should be just in time to go to the weekly Real Ale meeting, this time at the Railway again. I am going to see if the brewer there will let us have a tour and maybe a job. That would be a good thing, we'll see though. I got some more good news, too. I may or may not have some of my writing in the Wabash Magazine. Either way, they already paid me, so it is a win/win. If they don't, I'll just post the entry on here. It was about the inspirational trip to Capriole Goat Cheese Farm. Trust me, it was inspirational.
Jay is heading our way tomorrow evening too, so the fun will likely be high in supply. I hope to head up to a castle that my Dad recommended via one of his colleagues. Should be a good time. I'll keep you posted.
Tuesday, 19 February 2008
A Small World After All
Valentine’s Day was fun. Sophia and I found a very nice Indian restaurant, well maybe Bangladeshi, but it was still really good. It is called the Viceroy. For a set price they bring a series of dishes and curries for your meal, and it was delicious. I am not sure what most of what I ate was, but I liked it all, except this sort of pumpkin or squash concoction. The prawns (shrimp to we Americans) were tasty and not too rubbery, which is often the case in many of the restaurants I have found. The service was quick and precise, and it wasn’t too taxing on the wallet. I insist that the rose they gave Sophia was of my own instruction and wasn’t just a Valentine’s special, but she doesn’t believe me. Just because all the other women received one is hardly evidence.
On a different note, a trip to Mumbles made Saturday more eventful than normal. Mumbles, you may be asking, is a town west of the city of Swansea, still on the sea, and not even that far, indeed only about 3 miles. We walked the way there, and the seaside wind was brisk and chilly. We did not wear coats, a mistake I take full credit for. But once we arrived, finding a restaurant and warmth was a top priority. Settling on “La Casa Nostra” was one of the best decisions of the trip yet.
We saw the menu in the window and the prices were very agreeable. More so than most of the places we have seen, and it was Italian. Anything but Fish ‘n’ Chips for a while. A waiter popped his head out of the door to greet us, and it was all uphill from there. We essentially had the place to ourselves. Another family was heading out when we arrived and on our departure another arriving, and it was awesome. The menu offered many a pasta dish, appetizers, and lots of drinks.
I had a severe hankering for some calamari, which was satiated with a delicious platter quickly brought from the kitchen. It was very tender and not at all over cooked. The batter was not over-spiced either, which let the subtlety of the young squid come through. It was also served without a sauce, which was new for me. I liked it though.
I asked for help from the waiter discerning what I ought order. I was very curious about the Pasta Mediterreana, featuring prawns, squid, and mussels. He said it was good, but it is always tricky recommending dishes, but I assured him I would place no blame on his judgment. It was then that we learned a great fact of our waiter. When I asked if he was from Italy, it turned out I was close, but not quite far enough east. This fellow was born in Greece. Sophia’s face lit up, and I immediately pointed out that she too, was of similar of heritage.
After many sentences and exchanges that are well beyond my rudimentary understanding of the language (I can successfully name 3 parts of the human face, not to mention hello, thank-you, and you’re welcome) it was determined that Dimitri’s village was no more than 6 kilometres from Sophia’s mother’s. Wow. What a coincidence. I decided this was certainly an instance of Divine intervention and this was to become my new favorite restaurant. Thankfully, the pasta was equally amazing, and will certainly warrant our prompt return.
Sophia couldn’t wait to call her mother and tell her the news. This resulted in my listening in many more minutes of Greek, which may someday result in my learning the language through pure constant exposure. I hope so.
Thursday, 14 February 2008
"Stonehenge Rocks!"--popular Stonehenge t-shirt saying
We left at 8 in the morning. We were told to anticipate a long drive and not many opportunities for food. So I brought some banana bread. I was at the little convenience store that is roughly 200 feet from my room and they had several bunches of old bananas for free. I don’t know about you, but even when something seems old or useless, free is hard to leave behind. Naturally I grabbed 3 bunches. I bought flour and baking soda and vanilla and all the other stuff I needed to make the bread. Let me assure you that making banana bread with one ceramic bowl that also served as the actual baking vessel and no whisks, spoons, or measuring devices is no easy feat.
Anyway, the banana bread was a hit on the way to Avebury. The girls were heartily impressed. I have requests for future loaves already. To the trip though: Avebury and Stonehenge. Surely you have all heard of the latter, but I found the former to be far more interesting. Avebury is actually the largest stone circle in the world. It is over a mile in circumference with a series of concentric layers. The stones vary in size, and indeed many are missing. The guide kept going on about the mystical powers of the place, which was very interesting. The area, they have found, has very high amounts of magnetic energy. It is speculated that the ancients, some 5,000 years ago used the area to cure and help abate arthritis. The magnetism supposedly helps, so if it ails you, Avebury is very pretty and has a couple of pubs and a lovely church and village.
Sophia was ecstatic about the whole thing, after all, she wants to be an archaeologist. She wanted to see everything and walked faster than I have ever seen her walk. It is usually me that has to look back and wait, but the role reversal was fun and to me, funny. I was interested in stopping to see a pub and talk to some natives, she wanted to go see the churchyard. We split up for a while to satiate our different thirsts, mine of course quite a literal one. I even ordered a goat cheese dish with my ale, and fortunately the cheese was the saving grace of the Lionsgate Pub in Avesbury. The ale was way too hopped and bitter for its own good, and its head was more similar to bathwater foam than the creamy froth I have grown to know and love here. The cheese, battered and fried, was served with pineapple chutney, which really helped because the
cheese was quite fresh and ‘goaty.’ A good experience in Avebury, I would say.We all climbed aboard the charter bus to travel the 45 minutes to Salisbury, the home of the famous Stonehenge. From the first glimpse from the bus, I was surprised at how small it was. Don’t get me wrong, the stones were very big, and at closer inspection in fact huge. However, the size of the circles in which they were arranged was much smaller than I anticipated. The audio devices told of the various stages in the development and use of the henge, but getting close to the stones proved impossible. Ropes and a few guards kept us at least 20 feet from the stones
themselves. This still permitted quite a few good pictures, but I had no idea how popular the attraction was. Hundreds of people aside from the 50 students on my particular trip were there, slowly milling about the circumference of the ancient site. In typical fashion, there was a herd of sheep in the pasture directly across the site too. The tour around was fun, but short. We then walked to the barrows. They are huge mounds of earth with one person underneath it all. There is actually stone structure to each of them, they occasionally excavate one at a time. They find daggers, gold earrings, shields, clothing, and all sorts of ancient goods in the tombs. Pretty cool. It was fun to see kite flyers and kids running around, though they were somewhat loud and obnoxious for the “polite English” I was told to expect. Unruly little boys, it seems, are not limited to my house alone, despite my mother’s rants to the contrary from my youth. Ha. Friday, 8 February 2008
Real Ale Pals
I would first like to thank my readers. I have been reading all of the comments, and I appreciate them all. Please leave more, feedback is good. I also appreciate those who take the little time to visit the sites of my sponsors above. Don’t forget, the more help you give me, the more I can go out and afford various adventures to blog about. It is a winning situation for us all.
I recently posted new pictures of my trip to Bath:http://picasaweb.google.com/RossDMcKinney/BathJanuary262008
And an evening on the beach right across the street from the University campus: http://picasaweb.google.com/RossDMcKinney/SwanseaBayBeachWithSophia
My friends, I think I am considering another blog, this one dealing exclusively with my encounters with the many and fine pubs of good ol’ Wales. I’ll keep you posted on that too.
Today was rather uneventful, really. I had an absolutely horrible lecture in history. The lecturer was extremely hard to understand, I think she is from The Netherlands or something, definitely not somewhere where English is spoken regularly. And she reads directly from a prepared speech with little inflection or audience engagement. Trying to learn about the Ottoman Empire with names like Suleiman the Magnificent is hard enough without a language/acoustic barrier. She promised lecture notes online though, so hip-hip-hooray.
I think I want to go to Constantinople or somewhere exotic though. Somewhere where my dollar will buy me more than a small bag of potato chips (crisps over here). Maybe Northern Africa. Peerman will go with me, I’ll be sure to avoid looking quite as foolish with him around. He’ll take care of that department.
Yesternight was another Real Ale Society meeting, a true gem of a time, too. Gwyn went
with me, this time to the Queens Hotel, near the marina. To be honest, I didn’t enjoy the bitter I had too much, I only tried it and luckily didn’t have to pay for the whole pint. I did however enjoy the distinct privilege of many a pint of “Old Peculiar.” The gents of the society, who I am getting to know very well and enjoy the company of, spoke very highly of it. One went as far as to claim that “it is consistently the best ale around.” And it was very delicious. It was dark, but didn’t have the bitter/acrid taste often accompanied by the heavily roasted malt that gives dark ales their color and taste. It was smooth and had a great mouthfeel. The finish wasn’t too longlasting, but it did give a nice end to the satisfying sip.
Gwyn and I stayed and talked to the guys for a very long time, so long in fact that we were required to walk back to campus as the bus service had ended for the night. It was worth it though. My new English and Welsh mates are teaching me a lot about the culture and how we Yanks often have got it all wrong.
Some sample items of discussion:
How American Football players are hardly athletes due to their ridiculous amount of resting time between plays.
How Rugby is far manlier, due to the constant running and non-stop action, complete with just as much hitting and virtually no helmets or other protections.
Whether Bare-ick or Mrs. Clinton is more suitable for the job.
The peculiar pronunciation of the numbers 7 and 11 by a Welsh member of the society: sort of like Ss-heh-ven and Ee-hleh-ven.
These guys are great. They laugh a lot and know how to have a good yet reasonably responsible time. More on that later, I’m sure. Oh, and Stonehenge tomorrow. That just leaves crop circles, Loch Ness, and Bigfoot on my list.
I recently posted new pictures of my trip to Bath:http://picasaweb.google.com/RossDMcKinney/BathJanuary262008
And an evening on the beach right across the street from the University campus: http://picasaweb.google.com/RossDMcKinney/SwanseaBayBeachWithSophia
My friends, I think I am considering another blog, this one dealing exclusively with my encounters with the many and fine pubs of good ol’ Wales. I’ll keep you posted on that too.
Today was rather uneventful, really. I had an absolutely horrible lecture in history. The lecturer was extremely hard to understand, I think she is from The Netherlands or something, definitely not somewhere where English is spoken regularly. And she reads directly from a prepared speech with little inflection or audience engagement. Trying to learn about the Ottoman Empire with names like Suleiman the Magnificent is hard enough without a language/acoustic barrier. She promised lecture notes online though, so hip-hip-hooray.
I think I want to go to Constantinople or somewhere exotic though. Somewhere where my dollar will buy me more than a small bag of potato chips (crisps over here). Maybe Northern Africa. Peerman will go with me, I’ll be sure to avoid looking quite as foolish with him around. He’ll take care of that department.Yesternight was another Real Ale Society meeting, a true gem of a time, too. Gwyn went
with me, this time to the Queens Hotel, near the marina. To be honest, I didn’t enjoy the bitter I had too much, I only tried it and luckily didn’t have to pay for the whole pint. I did however enjoy the distinct privilege of many a pint of “Old Peculiar.” The gents of the society, who I am getting to know very well and enjoy the company of, spoke very highly of it. One went as far as to claim that “it is consistently the best ale around.” And it was very delicious. It was dark, but didn’t have the bitter/acrid taste often accompanied by the heavily roasted malt that gives dark ales their color and taste. It was smooth and had a great mouthfeel. The finish wasn’t too longlasting, but it did give a nice end to the satisfying sip.Gwyn and I stayed and talked to the guys for a very long time, so long in fact that we were required to walk back to campus as the bus service had ended for the night. It was worth it though. My new English and Welsh mates are teaching me a lot about the culture and how we Yanks often have got it all wrong.
Some sample items of discussion:
How American Football players are hardly athletes due to their ridiculous amount of resting time between plays.
How Rugby is far manlier, due to the constant running and non-stop action, complete with just as much hitting and virtually no helmets or other protections.
Whether Bare-ick or Mrs. Clinton is more suitable for the job.
The peculiar pronunciation of the numbers 7 and 11 by a Welsh member of the society: sort of like Ss-heh-ven and Ee-hleh-ven.
These guys are great. They laugh a lot and know how to have a good yet reasonably responsible time. More on that later, I’m sure. Oh, and Stonehenge tomorrow. That just leaves crop circles, Loch Ness, and Bigfoot on my list.
Thursday, 7 February 2008
The Real Ale Society
Friends, I must offer my distinct apologies for not sooner writing. Class, it seems, is a necessary evil of this whole “studying” abroad process.
But my adventures have been growing in number and fun levels while here in Swansea. I have become an official member of the Swasea University Real Ale Society. For those not in the know, a real ale is this: a traditional ale served from the same container from which it was fermented. This means no extraneous carbon dioxide is used, only the natural carbonation from the still live yeast in the firkins, from which this blog is named. A firkin is really a measurement, but it is commonly associated with a 9-gallon barrel or cask. This means the ale is kept in the cellar and must be hand pumped from the cool depths to one’s pint glass.
The Society meets on Thursdays, and I am verily due for another meeting on this very eve. Last Thursday, the e-mail called for a meeting at “a particularly nice haunt” called the Railway at
Killay. The pub was certainly a house at one time, due to the small rooms and setup. It advertised a ‘live fire’ in a fireplace, and several local real ales. Upon entering the ‘haunt,’ I was met with the glances of many an old man. They were sitting around the perimeter of a small room, and all with pint glasses in hand. I had to walk past them to another long hall where the rest of the society was. About 15 chaps and 2 ladies were present at the meeting, and it was soon underway. I asked for a recommendation from the president. He then called to middle aged gent, grey and balding, with the exception of his impressive and prodigious sideburns, who turned out to be the brewer of half of the ales tapped that evening. “What ought the gent from America try first?”
“I should think he ought to try a beer, hmm?” he said in a loud and slightly slurred response which was met with the laughter of everyone in the pub. I could tell this was to be an interesting and fun evening.
I introduced myself to my fellow enthusiasts, explaining my role as officer and cofounder of the Wabash College Brew Society. I was welcomed to the ranks, having several discussions with the club members and the regular patrons of the pub. Hearing Tory Tom (“They call me Tory because I’m a bloody conservative, right of center you see.”) battle wits on knowledge of the Second World War, particularly in the European Theatre with an older gentleman at the pub counter was truly an amazing spectacle. Not only was he on his was to inebriated, and still going strong with pints in hand, Tory Tom could quote troop movements, the order of the D-Day beaches, many of Hitler’s sub-officers, and when they were replaced. Tory Tom claims his status as an historian proudly at University. As well he ought to be. I couldn’t tell you where Juno was in relation to Sword, much less with Omaha, Utah, and Gold in the mix as well. Now, I did know the beaches and even plan to visit them, but I was very impressed with the intellectual combat before my eyes. This and the British banter in the arguments was hilarious and intriguing.
Aside from this, I’ve been up to cooking various forms of chicken, which I plan to discuss later, due to my ingenious methods, and searching for a job. I’ll keep you posted.
Wednesday, 30 January 2008
Swansea
After reading Jay’s exceptionally well written stories of his time in Perugia, I feel a response is calling me. The trouble with some of his friends, feeling culture shocked and a bit out of place unfortunately seems to beckon me too, at times.
While I am not sad to have left home, nor am I sad to have chosen Wales, I am not afraid to admit my initial disappointment with Swansea. Swanzee, as it is said here, is not the quaint seaside town I had envisioned. As I learn more and more about it, it was the result of the industrial revolution, particularly the copper mining industry here and the coal mining in the rest of South Wales that brought it up from its meager and humble beginnings. My having to walk the 2 miles to class everyday was a point I initially tried to bargain off as good for me, and even better economically, as it is cheaper to live up here in the Hendrefoelan Student Village. I hated the first week of it.
I would work up a sweat just walking down the two mile long hill. Not because it was a hard or even fast walk. The persistent drizzle forced me to wear a jacket unless I preferred to be wet for the entirety of my classes. The jacket kept me too warm, especially with the brisk walk.
Then there were my flatmates. I first didn’t believe I had any. I hadn’t seen any of them, or heard them for the first 3 or so days. It turns out I have at least 3 Asians (all from different parts of Asia, one confirmed from Hong Kong), one very kind fellow from somewhere in the Arab speaking world, and another American. But I didn’t know that for the better part of a week. They all pretty much keep to themselves when they aren’t cooking in the communal kitchen. Relations are improving from our initial awkward silences. I like them all, but still need to get to know them.
What is worse is that most of my American comrades all love the drink. All of them had tales of the last weeknights debauchery before our seminar started. One fellow was kicked out of a bar for being so belligerently drunk that he attempted to fight the bouncer. He then proceeded to Tesco, like our Wal-Mart, and shopped at 3 in the morning. When he was finished, he walked the cart and his groceries back to the student village. That is over 3 miles uphill. Needless to say, the rest of my peers found this hilarious, and it indeed is. However, living that lifestyle every night as it seems they do, does not keep me interested in developing friendships. Perhaps that is my own shortcoming, but I think I would rather do other things than spend ridiculous amounts of money on ridiculous amounts of alcohol every night.
It is here that I declare that my first week or so here was disappointing, lonely, and certainly unexpected. But I can honestly say this place is growing on me. I have had to already take a hard look at myself.
At home I realize that I try to be the master of my dominion. I control what I do, when I do it, and generally with whom I do it. I know this is often not for the best for others, likely not even the best for me. I can’t be that person here. I don’t have the resources, the set of reliable friends that I miss dearly, and a system I understand. It is a powerful feeling knowing that this place worked fine without me, and will keep doing just that when I leave. That feeling is not what I am used to, and that is due to my own hubris.
I have to, and hopefully have started to humble my position in the world. I rely on others far more than I realized and I thank those who have been here already. Sophia, of course, keeps me in check at home, and she is lovely here. Gwyn, my new friend from Massachusetts, seems one I can enjoy my time with, and without a shot glass in hand.
Thankfully, I have grown to love the walk. I get to think about it all then. I have nothing else to do. Seeing the butcher here too, and the baker, and the kids playing soccer in the parking lots after their school is out, shows me a different world that I am becoming a part of. Slowly, though. And unfortunately not to last. Thankfully, the market of Jay’s story has a cousin here. It too has a cheesemonger who helped me pick out some good cheese for pasta, though I got a delightfully spicy and piquant version of provolone, I think it might have even been a pecorino. I’ll be sure to ask him tomorrow. He’ll give me a deal on the next 100 grams, too.
While I am not sad to have left home, nor am I sad to have chosen Wales, I am not afraid to admit my initial disappointment with Swansea. Swanzee, as it is said here, is not the quaint seaside town I had envisioned. As I learn more and more about it, it was the result of the industrial revolution, particularly the copper mining industry here and the coal mining in the rest of South Wales that brought it up from its meager and humble beginnings. My having to walk the 2 miles to class everyday was a point I initially tried to bargain off as good for me, and even better economically, as it is cheaper to live up here in the Hendrefoelan Student Village. I hated the first week of it.
I would work up a sweat just walking down the two mile long hill. Not because it was a hard or even fast walk. The persistent drizzle forced me to wear a jacket unless I preferred to be wet for the entirety of my classes. The jacket kept me too warm, especially with the brisk walk.
Then there were my flatmates. I first didn’t believe I had any. I hadn’t seen any of them, or heard them for the first 3 or so days. It turns out I have at least 3 Asians (all from different parts of Asia, one confirmed from Hong Kong), one very kind fellow from somewhere in the Arab speaking world, and another American. But I didn’t know that for the better part of a week. They all pretty much keep to themselves when they aren’t cooking in the communal kitchen. Relations are improving from our initial awkward silences. I like them all, but still need to get to know them.
What is worse is that most of my American comrades all love the drink. All of them had tales of the last weeknights debauchery before our seminar started. One fellow was kicked out of a bar for being so belligerently drunk that he attempted to fight the bouncer. He then proceeded to Tesco, like our Wal-Mart, and shopped at 3 in the morning. When he was finished, he walked the cart and his groceries back to the student village. That is over 3 miles uphill. Needless to say, the rest of my peers found this hilarious, and it indeed is. However, living that lifestyle every night as it seems they do, does not keep me interested in developing friendships. Perhaps that is my own shortcoming, but I think I would rather do other things than spend ridiculous amounts of money on ridiculous amounts of alcohol every night.
It is here that I declare that my first week or so here was disappointing, lonely, and certainly unexpected. But I can honestly say this place is growing on me. I have had to already take a hard look at myself.
At home I realize that I try to be the master of my dominion. I control what I do, when I do it, and generally with whom I do it. I know this is often not for the best for others, likely not even the best for me. I can’t be that person here. I don’t have the resources, the set of reliable friends that I miss dearly, and a system I understand. It is a powerful feeling knowing that this place worked fine without me, and will keep doing just that when I leave. That feeling is not what I am used to, and that is due to my own hubris.
I have to, and hopefully have started to humble my position in the world. I rely on others far more than I realized and I thank those who have been here already. Sophia, of course, keeps me in check at home, and she is lovely here. Gwyn, my new friend from Massachusetts, seems one I can enjoy my time with, and without a shot glass in hand.
Thankfully, I have grown to love the walk. I get to think about it all then. I have nothing else to do. Seeing the butcher here too, and the baker, and the kids playing soccer in the parking lots after their school is out, shows me a different world that I am becoming a part of. Slowly, though. And unfortunately not to last. Thankfully, the market of Jay’s story has a cousin here. It too has a cheesemonger who helped me pick out some good cheese for pasta, though I got a delightfully spicy and piquant version of provolone, I think it might have even been a pecorino. I’ll be sure to ask him tomorrow. He’ll give me a deal on the next 100 grams, too.
Bath and First Day of Classes
29 January 2008
I have done much in the past week or so. I went on a trip to the city of Bath. This is where the Romans built fortifications and temples and all sorts of nice buildings to house the geothermal vents to make hot baths that were aimed at healing all sorts of ailments. The town was lovely; it looked like what I have expected of a British city. Small flats lining the streets, busy thoroughfares, and quaint shops along the way kept my brief afternoon visit busy and fun. I found a very neat little Book Exchange. The room was no bigger than a typical dorm room, and books lined the walls and table. It smelled strongly of old books, the slightly dank musty odor found in old novels and catalogs. An extremely ancient man emerged from the back when the bell was struck by the opening door. He commented on the lovely weather and asked if we had any needs. Gwyn and I were just looking, but we looked for nearly a half hour in his tiny shop.
I walked away with a copy of “the first modern compendium on the art of homebrewing” as well as a copy of Casino Royale, Ian Flemings first novel on James Bond. I was happy to buy from the old gentleman, and would be quite happy to go make some exchanges from my own collection, if it were not some 3,000 miles away.
The week has been interesting. Trying to sign up for classes was a real mess. I am used to receiving a schedule listing class names, departments, professors, and most importantly times. Classes started Monday. I got a course module packet Friday. And there were no times or professors listed. We had to walk to each department’s office to seek their approval for entering the class. We then found out when the class was offered. So naturally, when my second class interfered with my first class, I had to go back and amend the first class. The class I really wanted to take, Medieval Castles in Peace and War in Wales conflicted with three other classes I wanted to take. So I gave that up to take a psychology class, which I need to graduate from Wabash, and a class on Renaissance Venice. I also enrolled in World History 1500-1800 and a class on Wales from 1800 to present.
The first day of classes was fine. The Renaissance Venice class seems like it will be interesting, especially since my knowledge of Venice is extremely limited. And based on my prior prejudice against psychology and my first class in it, I think the subject seems wrought with social construction and inaccuracy. But I’ll try to keep a semi-opened mind.
I have done much in the past week or so. I went on a trip to the city of Bath. This is where the Romans built fortifications and temples and all sorts of nice buildings to house the geothermal vents to make hot baths that were aimed at healing all sorts of ailments. The town was lovely; it looked like what I have expected of a British city. Small flats lining the streets, busy thoroughfares, and quaint shops along the way kept my brief afternoon visit busy and fun. I found a very neat little Book Exchange. The room was no bigger than a typical dorm room, and books lined the walls and table. It smelled strongly of old books, the slightly dank musty odor found in old novels and catalogs. An extremely ancient man emerged from the back when the bell was struck by the opening door. He commented on the lovely weather and asked if we had any needs. Gwyn and I were just looking, but we looked for nearly a half hour in his tiny shop.
I walked away with a copy of “the first modern compendium on the art of homebrewing” as well as a copy of Casino Royale, Ian Flemings first novel on James Bond. I was happy to buy from the old gentleman, and would be quite happy to go make some exchanges from my own collection, if it were not some 3,000 miles away.
The week has been interesting. Trying to sign up for classes was a real mess. I am used to receiving a schedule listing class names, departments, professors, and most importantly times. Classes started Monday. I got a course module packet Friday. And there were no times or professors listed. We had to walk to each department’s office to seek their approval for entering the class. We then found out when the class was offered. So naturally, when my second class interfered with my first class, I had to go back and amend the first class. The class I really wanted to take, Medieval Castles in Peace and War in Wales conflicted with three other classes I wanted to take. So I gave that up to take a psychology class, which I need to graduate from Wabash, and a class on Renaissance Venice. I also enrolled in World History 1500-1800 and a class on Wales from 1800 to present.
The first day of classes was fine. The Renaissance Venice class seems like it will be interesting, especially since my knowledge of Venice is extremely limited. And based on my prior prejudice against psychology and my first class in it, I think the subject seems wrought with social construction and inaccuracy. But I’ll try to keep a semi-opened mind.
Monday, 21 January 2008
Swansea to Cardiff: a Good weekend
Friday and Saturday:
Gwyn, a student and friend from Mt. Holyoke College in Massachusetts, and I decided to give what we had been hearing about all week a go. We went out to Wind (like Wined) St. on Friday night. Granted, we got there at about 5:30 pm, and there was basically nothing going on, but that is well beside the point. We had heard this was were the University students go to unwind, to let it all out (and one girl took that part quite literally), and to basically get drunk and be ridiculous. Gwyn and I had no interest in this part, so we just wanted to get dinner and see what it was all about. After extensive attempts to decide where to go, we decided on a place called Nando. It featured Portuguese fare, and was a very valuable experience. They offered ‘bottomless soft drinks,’ something I had yet to see over here. I had ¼ of a chicken with medium Peri-peri sauce. It was a sort of spicy and sweet concoction slathered on a roasted chicken and it was delicious. The price was right too, for about 6 pounds.
After dinner, we decided it would be good to try a drink at one of these illustrious bars. So we found one what stated “Real Ales” on the window, and quite prominently. Mind you, this same establishment promised “Hot Food” in the same manner, and when we enquired earlier in looking for a place for dinner it turns out they offer no such thing. Nevertheless, we tried it again for a go at their ale. When I asked the barkeep what real ale she had to offer, she replied that they didn’t have any. Real ale, for those not in the know are ones that are cask fermented. The ale sits in a barrel and ferments, so it is quite literally alive when it is hand pumped from the cellar to your glass.
Gwyn and I found this place to be utterly unbelievable. They offered upstairs seating, which was gated off, hot food and real ale, both of which they had none. All of these things made us want to go in and they had none. That is Adelphi Pub for you. Be ye warned.
Gwyn is a very nice girl. She worked in a greenhouse last summer at her college and had similar stories to my last summer on campus. Spending a summer on campus with dear friends seems something that is universally enjoyed and a pivotal point in one’s life. Not to mention the crazy things that one can think up and have the time to do when you research cheese for two months.
On Saturday, we had a field trip to St. Fagan’s living history museum outside Cardiff, and to Cardiff itself. The museum featured a recreated Celtic settlement, complete with thatched roofing and curing meats in the shelters. We also got to see lots of sheep and various stages of Welsh civilization that were taken from their original locations throughout Wales and rebuilt, often brick by brick, on the site. http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/RossDMcKinney/StFaganSNationalHistoryMuseumAndCardiff
There is also a castle, though to me mansion seemed more appropriate. A medieval style wall surrounded it, so I guess I’ll let it slide. The gardens and house is on the site of St. Fagan’s castle, as I understand it. The property was part of the aristocracy’s royal holding until it was turned over to the Nation for its present use as a living museum. Knowing Saints and royalty had once trod the same paths through the gardens was an eerie and exciting feeling.
Cardiff was a repeat for me. I had been before with the Glee Club, and we were afforded about as much time this time as the last, so I did not get to see much. While many of the others toured the castle, I opted out with a friend to explore some stores and hit up a pub. I here learned a valuable lesson. When trying an ale that you have never heard of and that has a name such as Cherry Bombe, it may be best to ask to try it first before ordering an Imperial Pint. Their pints are bigger than ours, 20 ounces in fact. And the beer was terrible. I don’t know if I can adequately describe its murky and syrupy squalor. If you have ever had a cheap chocolate covered cherry that is mostly some sort of thick cherryish syrup, then you know half of it. The other half was beer. I have had Sam Adam’s Cherry, and it is not bad. Because it has a hint of cherry. They had a good beer, and they put in a light essence. Not the liquid leftovers from a score of empty Maraschino jars. So it goes, I guess. It can’t all be good.
Gwyn, a student and friend from Mt. Holyoke College in Massachusetts, and I decided to give what we had been hearing about all week a go. We went out to Wind (like Wined) St. on Friday night. Granted, we got there at about 5:30 pm, and there was basically nothing going on, but that is well beside the point. We had heard this was were the University students go to unwind, to let it all out (and one girl took that part quite literally), and to basically get drunk and be ridiculous. Gwyn and I had no interest in this part, so we just wanted to get dinner and see what it was all about. After extensive attempts to decide where to go, we decided on a place called Nando. It featured Portuguese fare, and was a very valuable experience. They offered ‘bottomless soft drinks,’ something I had yet to see over here. I had ¼ of a chicken with medium Peri-peri sauce. It was a sort of spicy and sweet concoction slathered on a roasted chicken and it was delicious. The price was right too, for about 6 pounds.
After dinner, we decided it would be good to try a drink at one of these illustrious bars. So we found one what stated “Real Ales” on the window, and quite prominently. Mind you, this same establishment promised “Hot Food” in the same manner, and when we enquired earlier in looking for a place for dinner it turns out they offer no such thing. Nevertheless, we tried it again for a go at their ale. When I asked the barkeep what real ale she had to offer, she replied that they didn’t have any. Real ale, for those not in the know are ones that are cask fermented. The ale sits in a barrel and ferments, so it is quite literally alive when it is hand pumped from the cellar to your glass.
Gwyn and I found this place to be utterly unbelievable. They offered upstairs seating, which was gated off, hot food and real ale, both of which they had none. All of these things made us want to go in and they had none. That is Adelphi Pub for you. Be ye warned.
Gwyn is a very nice girl. She worked in a greenhouse last summer at her college and had similar stories to my last summer on campus. Spending a summer on campus with dear friends seems something that is universally enjoyed and a pivotal point in one’s life. Not to mention the crazy things that one can think up and have the time to do when you research cheese for two months.
On Saturday, we had a field trip to St. Fagan’s living history museum outside Cardiff, and to Cardiff itself. The museum featured a recreated Celtic settlement, complete with thatched roofing and curing meats in the shelters. We also got to see lots of sheep and various stages of Welsh civilization that were taken from their original locations throughout Wales and rebuilt, often brick by brick, on the site. http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/RossDMcKinney/StFaganSNationalHistoryMuseumAndCardiff
There is also a castle, though to me mansion seemed more appropriate. A medieval style wall surrounded it, so I guess I’ll let it slide. The gardens and house is on the site of St. Fagan’s castle, as I understand it. The property was part of the aristocracy’s royal holding until it was turned over to the Nation for its present use as a living museum. Knowing Saints and royalty had once trod the same paths through the gardens was an eerie and exciting feeling.
Cardiff was a repeat for me. I had been before with the Glee Club, and we were afforded about as much time this time as the last, so I did not get to see much. While many of the others toured the castle, I opted out with a friend to explore some stores and hit up a pub. I here learned a valuable lesson. When trying an ale that you have never heard of and that has a name such as Cherry Bombe, it may be best to ask to try it first before ordering an Imperial Pint. Their pints are bigger than ours, 20 ounces in fact. And the beer was terrible. I don’t know if I can adequately describe its murky and syrupy squalor. If you have ever had a cheap chocolate covered cherry that is mostly some sort of thick cherryish syrup, then you know half of it. The other half was beer. I have had Sam Adam’s Cherry, and it is not bad. Because it has a hint of cherry. They had a good beer, and they put in a light essence. Not the liquid leftovers from a score of empty Maraschino jars. So it goes, I guess. It can’t all be good.
Thursday, 17 January 2008
Sitting Rock
Thursday 17 January 2008
I’m afraid there isn’t really that much excitement going on. I am enrolled, as are all the other American students visiting here, in a short, condensed ‘presessional’ course on British Politics and Culture since 1945. I have to walk the 2 miles to class in the morning; usually around 9 and either listen to the lectures or take part in rather tedious seminars. I often get a break for about an hour or so between seminar and lecture, or lunch for instance. Here I go to the beach and read on a rock. It is a very nice view, and I can observe the tide changes and the people going out to explore the newly exposed sand and shells after the tide rolls back out of the bay. Here are the photos from today, http://picasaweb.google.com/RossDMcKinney/SittingRock
Class today was on music of the 50's and 60's in Britain. We got to listen to Beatles songs, of course I knew them all already, but he also lectured on Elvis's effect on British music, and the Skiffle style. Naturally, the stereo he chose to employ had a faulty speaker on one side, so listening to All You Need Is Love in mono was a new experience. Hooray.
The weather today was very chilly with occasional rain and lots of wind. This made reading on the beach a bit difficult, but I persevered and got through some great pages of Pollan’s Omnivore’s Dilemma. I highly suggest the read to all, particular the part on Joel Salatin’s Grass Farm. For a quick rundown on this particular man’s brilliance, here it goes:
Salatin describes himself as a grass farmer because his methods are aimed at optimizing grass production and biomass. Just as an Indiana farmer strives for higher yields of corn, Salatin with his grass. But he does not use any petrochemical fertilizers or tilling methods or infusions of anhydrous ammonia. By noting the grass’ natural growth rate and patterns, he optimizes his pastures. Grass grows very quickly and feverishly for around 14 days before entering a slow growth pattern focused on seed production. But if one interrupts the pattern by cutting, it will restart the 14 day fast growth cycle. It also forces the grass to shed its excess roots and start growing new ones as demand over the next two weeks increases. This makes more nutrients and biomass in the soil for all the worms, insects, and microorganisms to thrive on and creates more and more great soil. He doesn’t mow the grass though. Instead, he rotates cattle on the sections of pasture. The cattle eat the grass and also provide rich manure for the ground to reabsorb the nutrients. Every time the cattle return to the site there is more grass to be eaten and the pasture is replenished, reinvigorated, and even more plentiful than the previous time around. Since flies and parasites grow in the manure and can become bothersome and dangerous to the cattle, he sends in chickens after the cows have been through the pasture. The chickens feed on the fly larvae and other insects and parasites while either producing rich, free-range eggs, or roaster meat. They also do their part for the grass by depositing their own manure, theirs however, is rich in nitrogen, only now it is natural and free. So, by taking strides to optimize grass production, farmer Joel Salatin’s byproducts are extremely healthy beef cattle, rich and delicious eggs, and thousands of chickens. All this is without chemicals and agricultural implements, an impressive feat indeed.
There are other important aspects of Salatin’s grass farm which help it run and keep it intriguing, but I don’t want to ruin the rest of the story, which luckily is all true. I’ve been inspired not only by the washing of the Atlantic waves on the Welsh seashore, but also by the works of innovative farmers who decide to use more wit than pesticides and more quality than quantity.
I’m afraid there isn’t really that much excitement going on. I am enrolled, as are all the other American students visiting here, in a short, condensed ‘presessional’ course on British Politics and Culture since 1945. I have to walk the 2 miles to class in the morning; usually around 9 and either listen to the lectures or take part in rather tedious seminars. I often get a break for about an hour or so between seminar and lecture, or lunch for instance. Here I go to the beach and read on a rock. It is a very nice view, and I can observe the tide changes and the people going out to explore the newly exposed sand and shells after the tide rolls back out of the bay. Here are the photos from today, http://picasaweb.google.com/RossDMcKinney/SittingRock
Class today was on music of the 50's and 60's in Britain. We got to listen to Beatles songs, of course I knew them all already, but he also lectured on Elvis's effect on British music, and the Skiffle style. Naturally, the stereo he chose to employ had a faulty speaker on one side, so listening to All You Need Is Love in mono was a new experience. Hooray.
The weather today was very chilly with occasional rain and lots of wind. This made reading on the beach a bit difficult, but I persevered and got through some great pages of Pollan’s Omnivore’s Dilemma. I highly suggest the read to all, particular the part on Joel Salatin’s Grass Farm. For a quick rundown on this particular man’s brilliance, here it goes:
Salatin describes himself as a grass farmer because his methods are aimed at optimizing grass production and biomass. Just as an Indiana farmer strives for higher yields of corn, Salatin with his grass. But he does not use any petrochemical fertilizers or tilling methods or infusions of anhydrous ammonia. By noting the grass’ natural growth rate and patterns, he optimizes his pastures. Grass grows very quickly and feverishly for around 14 days before entering a slow growth pattern focused on seed production. But if one interrupts the pattern by cutting, it will restart the 14 day fast growth cycle. It also forces the grass to shed its excess roots and start growing new ones as demand over the next two weeks increases. This makes more nutrients and biomass in the soil for all the worms, insects, and microorganisms to thrive on and creates more and more great soil. He doesn’t mow the grass though. Instead, he rotates cattle on the sections of pasture. The cattle eat the grass and also provide rich manure for the ground to reabsorb the nutrients. Every time the cattle return to the site there is more grass to be eaten and the pasture is replenished, reinvigorated, and even more plentiful than the previous time around. Since flies and parasites grow in the manure and can become bothersome and dangerous to the cattle, he sends in chickens after the cows have been through the pasture. The chickens feed on the fly larvae and other insects and parasites while either producing rich, free-range eggs, or roaster meat. They also do their part for the grass by depositing their own manure, theirs however, is rich in nitrogen, only now it is natural and free. So, by taking strides to optimize grass production, farmer Joel Salatin’s byproducts are extremely healthy beef cattle, rich and delicious eggs, and thousands of chickens. All this is without chemicals and agricultural implements, an impressive feat indeed.
There are other important aspects of Salatin’s grass farm which help it run and keep it intriguing, but I don’t want to ruin the rest of the story, which luckily is all true. I’ve been inspired not only by the washing of the Atlantic waves on the Welsh seashore, but also by the works of innovative farmers who decide to use more wit than pesticides and more quality than quantity.
Monday, 14 January 2008
Orientation and First Day of Class
I took the bus to campus today, which cost £1.50. I’ll likely walk from now on, it only saved me about 10 minutes after waiting for it in the first place then having to stop 936 times on the way. I could use the exercise too, which I am getting plenty of with just the walk to and from campus. 2 miles uphill is plenty, I assure you.
Anyway, after a very disorganized and tedious orientation, we had lunch break. Gwineth Evans, a student of Mount Holyoke College and of the Arcadia program, and I decided to head to town for lunch. We ate at good ol’ JD Weatherspoons. The food was inexpensive yet delicious and their bar prices are very hard to compete with. I had a great Welsh cask ale called Evans Evans. It was moderately amber in color and had a fantastic head. The taste was at first a bit grainy, but the bitterness of the hops came quite quickly to finish with a creamy, hoppy, and overall great ale.
We then walked back, arriving 5 minutes late. The lecturer is very engaging and moderately comical, which is a relief. We spoke of some differences between America and Britain, specifically on currency, the Queen, and on film. We watched some clips and briefly discussed them.
I then started the dark trek home, it gets dark around 5 after all, and stopped in the market in Sketty, about 10 minutes from the student village. I purchased some spaghetti noodles, some Welsh butter for the Welsh bread I purchased on Saturday, and some small boiling potatoes. I made it home and started catching this blog up. Goodnight.
Anyway, after a very disorganized and tedious orientation, we had lunch break. Gwineth Evans, a student of Mount Holyoke College and of the Arcadia program, and I decided to head to town for lunch. We ate at good ol’ JD Weatherspoons. The food was inexpensive yet delicious and their bar prices are very hard to compete with. I had a great Welsh cask ale called Evans Evans. It was moderately amber in color and had a fantastic head. The taste was at first a bit grainy, but the bitterness of the hops came quite quickly to finish with a creamy, hoppy, and overall great ale.
We then walked back, arriving 5 minutes late. The lecturer is very engaging and moderately comical, which is a relief. We spoke of some differences between America and Britain, specifically on currency, the Queen, and on film. We watched some clips and briefly discussed them.
I then started the dark trek home, it gets dark around 5 after all, and stopped in the market in Sketty, about 10 minutes from the student village. I purchased some spaghetti noodles, some Welsh butter for the Welsh bread I purchased on Saturday, and some small boiling potatoes. I made it home and started catching this blog up. Goodnight.
Trip to Gower
We were offered a free trip to the Gower peninsula, particular to Rhossili which features Worms Head. We were had soak up the beauty and splendor of it all. The cliffs were shear, but the view of the beach and the coastline was absolutely stunning. I definitely refer you to the photo album here: http://picasaweb.google.com/RossDMcKinney/12Jan2008Gower for a better way of seeing the extreme awesome factor of the place. I will definitely be going back.
We then traveled to the City Centre via charter bus where we took the opportunity to shop and gain provisions at the local market, mall, and Tesco. Tesco, for those who don’t know is basically the British Wal-Mart. They have great prices and seemingly fresh produce, but I don’t know the politics that surrounds it. I just know I got some good peanut butter and some Tesco brand Digestive Biscuits (which aren’t medicinal, just a sort of sweetened cracker, I suppose).
The time to return came about and we went back to our respective living units tired from hiking and ready for rest.
We then traveled to the City Centre via charter bus where we took the opportunity to shop and gain provisions at the local market, mall, and Tesco. Tesco, for those who don’t know is basically the British Wal-Mart. They have great prices and seemingly fresh produce, but I don’t know the politics that surrounds it. I just know I got some good peanut butter and some Tesco brand Digestive Biscuits (which aren’t medicinal, just a sort of sweetened cracker, I suppose).
The time to return came about and we went back to our respective living units tired from hiking and ready for rest.
Trip via Train to Swansea
Friday, 11 January 2008—Trip to Swansea
I took a taxi with Brandon, my hotel roommate, to Paddington Station. The driver was very quick and got us there for less than everyone else said they paid. We took the First Great Western train from London to Swansea that departed at 10:45am. We arrived in Swansea at 1:40, a full ten minutes early. The ride was fine, nothing too eventful. However, the train doors in between cars automatically open with a bit of a whooshing sound which is most pleasant and Science Fictionesque. The train was smooth and fast, though there were about 6 stops in between London and Swansea.
Upon arrival in Swansea, the five of us had no idea where to go. So we went to the part of the sidewalk that had a Taxi sign, and we hailed a couple of them. I took off toward Hendrefoilan Student Village. I was given my assignment, House 10, Room 1, and off I went with my key and student pack. The houses are a bit odd. You walk in are immediately constricted. The halls are narrow and the doors are small. There is a bathroom with a shower right next to my room which no-one but me uses, apparently. There is another room in my little hallway, then the kitchen. The rest of the rooms and another bath are upstairs.
The kitchen has a huge booth style table and two sets of sinks and stoves in opposite corners. There is a refrigerator and a separate but equal freezer. They are stuffed with everyone’s food and there seems to be, but not yet affirmed notion of order to their organization.
My room has a desk and a shelf above it. There is only one power outlet, which is troubling, but I was wise and brought a powerstrip. There are two dressers, which seems about 1 ½ too many. That with a wardrobe without hangers and a low, springy bed makes my room. Oh, and there is a sink in the corner. Not too exciting, but it is everything I need.
I took a walk to campus to check it out. It was all downhill and took about 30 minutes. The campus is alright, nothing spectacular. The architecture seems to have no theme or impetus, but it serves its purpose. There is also a lot of construction going on for new buildings which from the looks of it, don’t bother trying to tie the rest of campus together either.
I took a taxi with Brandon, my hotel roommate, to Paddington Station. The driver was very quick and got us there for less than everyone else said they paid. We took the First Great Western train from London to Swansea that departed at 10:45am. We arrived in Swansea at 1:40, a full ten minutes early. The ride was fine, nothing too eventful. However, the train doors in between cars automatically open with a bit of a whooshing sound which is most pleasant and Science Fictionesque. The train was smooth and fast, though there were about 6 stops in between London and Swansea.
Upon arrival in Swansea, the five of us had no idea where to go. So we went to the part of the sidewalk that had a Taxi sign, and we hailed a couple of them. I took off toward Hendrefoilan Student Village. I was given my assignment, House 10, Room 1, and off I went with my key and student pack. The houses are a bit odd. You walk in are immediately constricted. The halls are narrow and the doors are small. There is a bathroom with a shower right next to my room which no-one but me uses, apparently. There is another room in my little hallway, then the kitchen. The rest of the rooms and another bath are upstairs.
The kitchen has a huge booth style table and two sets of sinks and stoves in opposite corners. There is a refrigerator and a separate but equal freezer. They are stuffed with everyone’s food and there seems to be, but not yet affirmed notion of order to their organization.
My room has a desk and a shelf above it. There is only one power outlet, which is troubling, but I was wise and brought a powerstrip. There are two dressers, which seems about 1 ½ too many. That with a wardrobe without hangers and a low, springy bed makes my room. Oh, and there is a sink in the corner. Not too exciting, but it is everything I need.
I took a walk to campus to check it out. It was all downhill and took about 30 minutes. The campus is alright, nothing spectacular. The architecture seems to have no theme or impetus, but it serves its purpose. There is also a lot of construction going on for new buildings which from the looks of it, don’t bother trying to tie the rest of campus together either.
Friday, 11 January 2008
Day 3: London Comparisons
Early start with a shower and some delightful Alpen cereal. It seems to be ground grain and ground granola with some raisins. Orientation was roughly the lamest of possible events, and we five Swansea students were told we wouldn’t be able to do a homestay. Disappointment and boredom abounded, but lunch was good. The three girls of the Swansea 5 and I went to the Tube station and decided on a random stop. We picked Pimlico based solely on the name. There was a pub there, The Gallery, and we ate some paninis. They were fair, but the chips (fries) were the best I’ve had yet. The Greene King IPA was very very good. Though an India Pale Ale, it wasn’t nearly as bitter as I’ve had in past IPA’s. This particular cask ale had a very smooth mouthfeel and a subtle drying bitter finish, but it was delightful. We took the Tube back.
Walking around London, it is amazing how efficient it is. There are no real high-rise buildings or skyscrapers. The London Eye, the aforementioned Ferris Wheel seemed to be the highest. The Tube is heavily used and very crowded in the morning, but the next train comes in about 60 seconds. Navigating is very easy, especially since there is a tube station within 4 minutes walk of everywhere. The buildings are all very closely built and are usually old in appearance, which is very refreshing from Indianapolis or Chicago where everything is a rectangular prism, or some appeal to geometry. London takes style and design into account, and there is much less appeal to modernism, which I deeply appreciate. There are also far more walkers here, particularly with £10.5/litre gas. That is roughly $42 per gallon. And people complain about $3. Of course everyone drives cars the size of my family’s Suburban’s gas tank, so they are not consuming nearly as much as we do. Oh, and most of the police cars here are Mercedes-Benz. I thought it was ridiculous when Cicero’s finest began driving Dodge Chargers. I guess they save a lot not worrying about guns.
Walking around London, it is amazing how efficient it is. There are no real high-rise buildings or skyscrapers. The London Eye, the aforementioned Ferris Wheel seemed to be the highest. The Tube is heavily used and very crowded in the morning, but the next train comes in about 60 seconds. Navigating is very easy, especially since there is a tube station within 4 minutes walk of everywhere. The buildings are all very closely built and are usually old in appearance, which is very refreshing from Indianapolis or Chicago where everything is a rectangular prism, or some appeal to geometry. London takes style and design into account, and there is much less appeal to modernism, which I deeply appreciate. There are also far more walkers here, particularly with £10.5/litre gas. That is roughly $42 per gallon. And people complain about $3. Of course everyone drives cars the size of my family’s Suburban’s gas tank, so they are not consuming nearly as much as we do. Oh, and most of the police cars here are Mercedes-Benz. I thought it was ridiculous when Cicero’s finest began driving Dodge Chargers. I guess they save a lot not worrying about guns.
Day 2 in London: Orientations and such
Day 2
I woke up and took a shower at about 8:30. The shower is an enigma. It has two shower-heads, but only one seems to work. The one that works is the massaging wand sort on a flexible hose, but the other is fixed and in normal shower-head position. It also has its own faucet handle that does nothing. No amount of turning, twisting, pushing, pulling, hitting, or cursing at will force water out of it at all.
We then took the Tube, my first time on it, to the Euston station. It was incredibly busy and cramped. Half the group didn’t even get on at first. And if you leave your arm in the door, as I did on my way in, it will not re-open. It just closes more. And harder. Anyway, the orientation meeting wasn’t completely terrible. The usually drivel about being aware and not getting thieved was anticipated, but the visit from the members of Parliament and a member of the House of Lords was truly interesting. For our asking about 8 questions, they spoke for an hour without notes or pausing. Their quick wit and answers were very impressive. I got to shake their hands before hand and have a brief word too. What was truly surprising, though, happened on the way out. The MPs were on the same Tube as our small group of 5 Swansea students on our way into downtown London. I stood immediately next to them both. Remember that they are the equivalent of a congressman/woman. Last time I saw Dan Burton on the Indianapolis bus was absolutely never.
We went to the London Eye, a 30 minute humongous Ferris Wheel directly across the River Thames from Parliament and Big Ben. We then walked around London trying to develop an appetite, since Arcadia was paying through our program representative, Allison Dudley. She is knowledgeable, having lived in London for 2 years and 3 months, as we found out over dinner. She took us to see Buckingham Palace and where the Prime Minister lives, and Westminster Abbey. Though we didn’t actually go in or really close to these things, we will have time on our free day, Thursday to do just that. And we have the Tube pass to do it.
There was some sort of huge delay that prevented our taking the Tube back, despite our waiting for about 20 minutes outside the station. We took the bus back, and yes it was red double-decker. After checking the e-mail at the internet café, here I am. Watching British TV, bereft with cursing and environmental Nathan Rutz-esque rhetoric, is an interesting change. This evening, a program about a man’s campaign to get a town to go all free range in terms of its chicken consumption was really interesting. More tomorrow.
I woke up and took a shower at about 8:30. The shower is an enigma. It has two shower-heads, but only one seems to work. The one that works is the massaging wand sort on a flexible hose, but the other is fixed and in normal shower-head position. It also has its own faucet handle that does nothing. No amount of turning, twisting, pushing, pulling, hitting, or cursing at will force water out of it at all.
We then took the Tube, my first time on it, to the Euston station. It was incredibly busy and cramped. Half the group didn’t even get on at first. And if you leave your arm in the door, as I did on my way in, it will not re-open. It just closes more. And harder. Anyway, the orientation meeting wasn’t completely terrible. The usually drivel about being aware and not getting thieved was anticipated, but the visit from the members of Parliament and a member of the House of Lords was truly interesting. For our asking about 8 questions, they spoke for an hour without notes or pausing. Their quick wit and answers were very impressive. I got to shake their hands before hand and have a brief word too. What was truly surprising, though, happened on the way out. The MPs were on the same Tube as our small group of 5 Swansea students on our way into downtown London. I stood immediately next to them both. Remember that they are the equivalent of a congressman/woman. Last time I saw Dan Burton on the Indianapolis bus was absolutely never.
We went to the London Eye, a 30 minute humongous Ferris Wheel directly across the River Thames from Parliament and Big Ben. We then walked around London trying to develop an appetite, since Arcadia was paying through our program representative, Allison Dudley. She is knowledgeable, having lived in London for 2 years and 3 months, as we found out over dinner. She took us to see Buckingham Palace and where the Prime Minister lives, and Westminster Abbey. Though we didn’t actually go in or really close to these things, we will have time on our free day, Thursday to do just that. And we have the Tube pass to do it.
There was some sort of huge delay that prevented our taking the Tube back, despite our waiting for about 20 minutes outside the station. We took the bus back, and yes it was red double-decker. After checking the e-mail at the internet café, here I am. Watching British TV, bereft with cursing and environmental Nathan Rutz-esque rhetoric, is an interesting change. This evening, a program about a man’s campaign to get a town to go all free range in terms of its chicken consumption was really interesting. More tomorrow.
London: A tired start
Day 1
The landing was horrendous after a twenty minute circling of London to wait our turn in the landing “queue.” It felt like a rough wooden roller coaster, and after not sleeping or moving for 7 hours, I nearly joined some of my nauseous flying mates in trying out those little paper bags they give out before taking off.
After getting cleared through customs and immigration, I headed toward the group meeting point. Not much happened worth mentioning. We arrived at our hotel, about 15 of us at the Thistle Kensington Gardens at noon. We had one meeting scheduled at 4pm. Finding room 219 through the narrow twisting and meandering English corridors was a treat, but after several turns and doors, I opened the door to find a pleasant room with two beds. Of course, they were about ¾ of an inch apart, but that is beside the point. Brandon, my roommate, was already there and immediately seemed very nice. And indeed he is. He goes to Dickinson College in Pennsylvania, where he is an English major and a cross-country runner. He too is going to Swansea.
Our meeting leader, some woman from Holland, kept it brief and simple. We were given 3 day Tube passes and a £5 calling card. We ate a couple of the wee little sandwiches provided and were free for an evening in London.
I managed to contact Sophia and I walked about 6 blocks to the Tube station. She was naturally extremely talkative and the words of excitement flowed like the live cask ale out of the tap I ordered when we went to dinner at the Black Lion Pub on Bayswater. We exchanged our schedules and planned our next interlude. We took a lovely walk and I saw her off at around 10:30.
The landing was horrendous after a twenty minute circling of London to wait our turn in the landing “queue.” It felt like a rough wooden roller coaster, and after not sleeping or moving for 7 hours, I nearly joined some of my nauseous flying mates in trying out those little paper bags they give out before taking off.
After getting cleared through customs and immigration, I headed toward the group meeting point. Not much happened worth mentioning. We arrived at our hotel, about 15 of us at the Thistle Kensington Gardens at noon. We had one meeting scheduled at 4pm. Finding room 219 through the narrow twisting and meandering English corridors was a treat, but after several turns and doors, I opened the door to find a pleasant room with two beds. Of course, they were about ¾ of an inch apart, but that is beside the point. Brandon, my roommate, was already there and immediately seemed very nice. And indeed he is. He goes to Dickinson College in Pennsylvania, where he is an English major and a cross-country runner. He too is going to Swansea.
Our meeting leader, some woman from Holland, kept it brief and simple. We were given 3 day Tube passes and a £5 calling card. We ate a couple of the wee little sandwiches provided and were free for an evening in London.
I managed to contact Sophia and I walked about 6 blocks to the Tube station. She was naturally extremely talkative and the words of excitement flowed like the live cask ale out of the tap I ordered when we went to dinner at the Black Lion Pub on Bayswater. We exchanged our schedules and planned our next interlude. We took a lovely walk and I saw her off at around 10:30.
Pre-Flight: Preparing for 6 months in the UK
My journey, I suppose, really started with my family deciding some time ago to take me to Chicago for last hurrah before I return almost 6 months from now. We also wanted to see Sophia off, my girlfriend of about 15 months. We stayed in the fabulous and high class Best Western River North hotel in Downtown Chicago. Sophia’s mother, born in Greece, showed us the way to Greektown on Halsted. We ate and ate and ate. The wine was sweet and the lamb was rich while my brothers learned something about eating out aside from pizza and quesadillas.
Sophia flew out on Saturday afternoon. My family and I hugged her goodbye. We tracked her flight, watching her cross over Canada.
The next day, after a meal with the family at the Weber Grill restaurant in Chicago, we took to O’hare. After a lengthy wait in a line without people at the Virgin check-in, it came to be my turn. Naturally, my packing yielded 65 pounds of supplies for 6 months. I had to pull out my spare bag and diversify my packing to make the luggage requirement, but all was well soon. I waited about an hour for boarding, and went to my seat, 63A. I had a window three rows from the back of the plane, and I sat next to a college professor of Art History. She frequented the restroom and brought her own food. She was quite put off once the announcement saying bringing meat into the country was a finable offense, especially since she had two grilled chicken breasts left from her carry-on. Oh well. Perhaps relying on complimentary mashed potatoes and beef-n-gravy would have been a better choice for her, not to mention the free red wine with the meal.
Sophia flew out on Saturday afternoon. My family and I hugged her goodbye. We tracked her flight, watching her cross over Canada.
The next day, after a meal with the family at the Weber Grill restaurant in Chicago, we took to O’hare. After a lengthy wait in a line without people at the Virgin check-in, it came to be my turn. Naturally, my packing yielded 65 pounds of supplies for 6 months. I had to pull out my spare bag and diversify my packing to make the luggage requirement, but all was well soon. I waited about an hour for boarding, and went to my seat, 63A. I had a window three rows from the back of the plane, and I sat next to a college professor of Art History. She frequented the restroom and brought her own food. She was quite put off once the announcement saying bringing meat into the country was a finable offense, especially since she had two grilled chicken breasts left from her carry-on. Oh well. Perhaps relying on complimentary mashed potatoes and beef-n-gravy would have been a better choice for her, not to mention the free red wine with the meal.
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