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.
Wednesday 30 January 2008
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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