Thanksgiving

Have a happy one!

Europe: a Reading Week Extravaganza!

Last Sunday (Nov. 15), I returned from a 10 day journey through England, France, and Germany, accompanied by John and Juliana. In order to spare myself the tedium of relating each day chronologically (we took a train here, then we did this…etc.), I’ll give an itinerary below, then reflect on certain instances and comment on the trip as a whole.

Here’s what we did:

Friday, November 6

--Took a train from Leuchars station to York. Stayed in York Youth Hostel 2 nights.

Sunday, November 8

--Train from York to London Kings Cross. Stayed in Astor Hyde Park Hostel 1 night.

Monday, November 9

--Eurostar train from St. Pancras Station to Paris Garde du Nord. Stayed in St. Christopher’s Youth Hostel 2 nights.

Wednesday, November 11

--Train from Paris Garde de l’Est to Frankfurt. Stayed in 5 Elements Hostel 2 nights.

Friday, November 13

--Train from Frankfurt to Berlin. Stayed in Grand Hostel of Berlin 2 nights.

Sunday, November 15

--Flight from Berlin to Edinburgh. Boarded train to Leuchars. Return to St. Andrews.

OK, here’s what happened:

We started our journey in style, traveling first class to York. The tickets were actually a couple pounds cheaper than the regular coach seats. We were served tea and coffee, and it rocked. On the whole, our experiences on the train were great; all the trains were more or less on time, we encountered no problems with overbooking, and the compartments were clean and comfortable.

We arrived in York in the early afternoon, so we leisurely made our way to the hostel booked by IFSA Butler for the weekend. On the way we stopped by the river to eat a picnic lunch of the food I had been saving all the previous week expressly for this trip. Food became part of my accoutrements, it seems, for the entire trip; I could always be counted on to carry at least 3 pieces of fruit, biscuits, rolls, peanut butter, and anything else I could save from breakfast, if it was served in the hostel. I was introduced to the term, “opportunivorism,” by Juliana; it summarizes well how we lived for the week, shaving costs by eating out of grocery stores and hostel breakfasts.

York was a blast, really exceeding my expectations. After checking in at the hostel, John, Juliana and I headed for the National Train Museum, which was both free and located relatively close to the hostel. With childlike zeal we wandered through locomotives, giant steam engines cutting impressive profiles in the dark hangar. The following day was filled with more sightseeing (part of the York weekend included a York pass, giving us free admittance to many of the popular sites). We did York Minster in the morning. Spectacular. Larger than I expected, with a history dating back to the ancient Romans. They also had a great set of gargoyle heads on display and impossibly large and intricate stain glass windows.

We visited the Jorvik Viking Center (smelled of Viking. We took a ride in blue capsules that moved past animatronic Vikings at .5 mi/hr.) Went through the Shambles (inspiration for Diagon Alley of Harry Potter) and grabbed a sandwich at Mr. Sandwich. Took a boat ride on the river; it was freezing. Warmed up at the York Castle Museum. It was the most eclectic collection of exhibits I’ve ever seen housed under one roof. You walk from an exhibit on death motifs in Victorian England into a gallery of English fashion into a collection of children’s toys throughout the ages into a replica of a Victorian prison into the 60s. Literally. My memories of the place are a little out of joint. The lack of coherence definitely kept you on your toes, though.

We struck out from York, pleased to be blazing our own trail now. Negotiating London proved a little difficult, as we didn’t have a metropolitan map and relied largely on our intuition (and the occasional help from a metro map or random stranger) to find our hostel. We found it, only to be told that we couldn’t check in for another half an hour. While we waited in the lobby, Nathan showed up (we had agreed earlier to meet that afternoon), and he and I got sandwiches to eat in Hyde Park. Walked to the Victoria and Albert Museum (equally eclectic, but perhaps more dignified?). Walked back to the hostel. I met up with John and Juliana and we did a walking tour of the London sites: Big Ben, Parliament, London Eye, Trafalgar Square, 10 Downing St., Buckingham Palace.

I woke up in London on Monday morning feeling nauseated. I knew something was wrong, but not wanting to admit anything, either to my companions or myself, I packed up and set out with John and Juliana for St. Pancras Station, which is about a 4 mile walk from our hostel. The cold air felt good, and I thought maybe I’d get over my nausea. I took some ibuprofen and focused on getting one foot in front of the other. We got there, picked up the Eurostar, and set out for Paris. That ride was a nightmare for me. John and Juliana assured me that it was the most dignified vomiting they had ever seen.

We arrived in Paris, and I was feeling a little better, so we walked to our hostel, which was another bit of a hike. After checking in, I told the both of them that they should go see the city, and I would sleep for the rest of the day, in hopes that I would be better by tomorrow morning. I did get better, it turned out, but not before I got much worse. I can honestly say hands down that that night was the worst I’d ever felt in my life.

Sparing you, dear reader, unnecessary details, suffice it to say that I was surprised and happy to recover from this flu with such expediency, and I was able to join my companions the next day for a great walking tour of Paris. Pere LaChaise! The cemetery was one of my top highlights of the trip. We visited Chopin’s and Oscar Wilde’s graves, and besides, it is a beautiful, disquieting, grey, quirky, grandiose, marvelous place. The sepulchers sparkled with strange workmanship and amusing fad fashions. American cemeteries are positively Puritan compared to the Pere lachaise. The sky was atmospherically a pearlescent grey and the air dry and crisp. Fabulous.

Then, we walked and walked and walked, stopping occasionally to eat a bit out of our bags. We saw the Louvre (though it was closed on Tuesdays, and we couldn’t get in), the Eiffel Tower, and Notre Dame. Notre Dame! Another highlight, and possibly my favorite of the trip. A Mass had begun when we arrived, so we were able to participate in a French Mass! In Notre Dame! Ah, I can’t get over it. Although I couldn’t understand the readings or the homily, the Mass was textbook, and I followed along well. I received communion in Notre Dame! Whoa!

After, we waited outside for Juliana’s Smith friend, who arrived and took us to the Latin Quarter for dinner. Her friend was delightful, with a subtle sense of humor, derived from her articulation and mastery of vocabulary. And she spoke French, which we were all grateful for. John and I walked back to the hostel, and Juliana joined her friend at her host family’s house for the night.

The following morning, John and I walked/ran to the Louvre, walked/ran through a wing in the Louvre, then ran back to the Garde de l’Est to catch the train that would take us to Frankfurt. We were in the Louvre! You can get in free with a student ID, which is a good thing, as we only had an hour to see a museum that can probably house 5 Smithsonians. But wow! What a mind-boggling collection! We saw part of the Mediterranean ancients, some of the Americas and Africa, and some of the early Renaissance Italians. I wanted to see the Dutch, but we couldn’t find them.

The train to Frankfurt was far more pleasant for me, having made a full recovery. The German countryside and mountains are beautiful, shrouded in mist and punctuated by tiny mountain towns of timber-frame houses and church steeples. Frankfurt is such a wild contrast to Paris, which is positively flamboyant and aesthetically radiant. German cities are far more sober and sensible, with their grid layouts and modern skyscrapers. We arrived in the evening, well after sunset, and navigated the “strasses” with a little anxiety, none of us educated in German. We found our hostel without too much trouble, however, nestled among the neon signs advertising “SEX Inn” and “Babes babes babes!” We were in the red light district of Frankfurt!

John set out to find the WWII airfield the following morning, leaving Juliana and I to explore the city (on foot, once more). In the afternoon, we visited the Frankfurt Architecture Museum, which was quite interesting, particularly the Ben Willikens exhibit. He is a German artist who depicts rooms emptied of all colors and contents. His most famous (that’s relatively speaking) work is DaVinci’s Last Supper. There was also an exhibit on TV towers and their (largely political) significance throughout the world, and a pretty basic exhibit on architecture through the ages, with models.

The hostel was probably my favorite thing about Frankfurt, and that’s mostly because of our roommates. The first night we shared a room with a quiet, male student from Berlin and a late-20-something Colombian man. The student kept to himself, but Fernand was interested in talking to us. He had spent the year working in England to improve his English, and he was taking a month-long tour of Europe before returning to Colombia. He was relieved to leave England, he told us, because he missed amiability and fresh fruit, both of which are in short supply in the UK. So we joked for awhile about the shortcomings of the British, and he told us about his childhood in Colombia and his girlfriend. He was really curious about us as well, so we all got along very nicely.

Fernand checked out the next morning, and he was replaced by this American black man, who lived in Malta with his Maltese wife that he had met on his travels while in the Navy. Tim was a riot; we spent our second evening talking about American fast food, his travels (particularly his experiences in Dubai), family, high school, Obama, and the intensifying powers of the f-word. Oh man, he was so funny. I wish we had gotten his contact info, just for the sake of a Christmas card or two.

Berlin was strange. We arrived a few days after the anniversary celebrations for the fall of the Wall. I don’t know if there was any necessary correlation, but the city was practically empty. Well, there were people meandering about, and some traffic, but the city is so sprawling and modern, with wide sidewalks and streets, that there was never a concentration of people anywhere. It was a surreal sensation; it felt a like walking around a movie set.

We saw a portion of the Wall that remains standing. It now serves as a gallery of murals, by artists all over the world, largely peace-, overcoming-, unity-, international cooperation-themed. We visited a couple of museums, wandering through exhibits largely in German, and walked the dark, misty city. When recalling Berlin, that’s what I envision: darkness and mist. Even our hostel was impermeably dark; the fluorescent lightbulbs didn’t do much to dispel the sense of unending night. I realize this is a very unforgiving review of Berlin. I think by this point, we were tiring of travel, of living out of backpacks and eating cold food and making exchanges in languages we didn’t know. I exaggerate; we did have a great time and learned a good deal, but I think our experiences in Berlin would have been far more enjoyable if we had had a guide, someone from the city who could reveal the vitality of the city. As it was, we were at a loss for what to do.

The flight back to Edinburgh was uneventful, though it was my first experience with Ryanair. It was perfectly fine, excepting perhaps the incessant voice over the intercom, offering sales of food, drinks, cosmetics, perfumes, etc. We were a captive audience for 2 hours to a steady stream of consumer goods. I suppose they have to make their money somehow; a 20 pound flight is a little hard to come by.

Now, I’m back at St. Andrews, attempting to cram 6 weeks of classes and exams into 4, so that I can get back to Ohio for Christmas and the start of spring semester at Kenyon. I will be returning to Kenyon in the spring, for all those whom I haven’t told. My reasons for leaving are numerous, but primarily I am returning because I see no further benefit to staying for a full year, and as I have a higher estimation of a Kenyon education than of St. Andrews, I am saving myself some stress and some money by coming home. For now, I’ll enjoy the Christmas season here in the UK, and spend as much quality time with the friends I’ve made here as I can. Thanksgiving is this week, and I’m crazy excited. All of my friends, including the British ones, will contribute to a feast of epic proportions.

I hope all is well, and enjoy the holiday. I’ll be home soon.

"Pithy" is Modern

Continuing the theme of short, pithy posts, I will now take a page from Phloem and Xylem*, and do a good ol' Horns Up/Horns Down.

Horns Up:

"Freedom to Roam" laws
Adventure runs
Curious Livestock
Ankle-deep mud
McVitie's "Digestive" Biscuits
Poetry and Cake Sessions
Respite from essay writing
Quiet on D Floor
Pride and Prejudice

Horns Down:

Heavy rains and bad drainage
The continuing postal strike
Ankle-deep mud
Awkwardness
Wet clothes

*For those of you who aren't familiar, Phloem and Xylem is the MVS newspaper. Horns Up/Horns Down, featuring our beloved Ram, was a regular piece acting as a kind of barometer for school affairs.

Hallowe'en

Juliana, Aaron, Claire and I prepared Halloween dinner, consisting of butternut squash and carrot soup, homemade bread (Claire), apples, roasted pumpkin seeds, and lots of chocolate and Haribo gummies. I played at Beowulf, with Juliana as Grendel. Aaron put on a last minute Monopoly Man.

Because sometimes you have to remember that these things do happen.

It's 3:32AM. I'm sitting on the sofa in Dover 12, listening to the Postal Service and keeping watch over a violently intoxicated friend. My partner-in-care is taking a nap, and I'm at 1st watch. I should be doing homework, something productive with my night vigil, but sometimes, every once in awhile, you have to leave behind a little bit of evidence, if only as a reminder that college wasn't always so great. A pillar of honesty to keep yourself grounded in yourself.

Happy All Saints Day!

Homestay + Fire

This post will concern two things:

1) Homestay in Stirling

2) Juggling Fire!

So part of the IFSA Butler program is to spend a weekend in the home of a Scottish family. I was paired with Juliana (complete coincidence; we didn't have any choice in the matter) and sent to Stirling by bus, which picked us up in St. Andrews. The ride was, by all accounts, uncomfortable, due to the bus driver's erratic driving habits and the winding roads of midland Scotland. I enjoyed a conversation with Aaron for the duration of the trip, and luckily we were seated at the front of the bus, with a view out the windshield, so neither of us were motion sick. Unfortunately I can't speak for everyone...

We arrived in Stirling and waited in a cold, dark, empty car park for about 45 minutes. We decided to call the coordinator of the program, and we found out that our families were told differently, and were waiting in a park about a 10 minute drive away. Our bus driver, already disgruntled by various events, turned downright nasty and yelled at the coordinator, a tiny elderly woman, when we arrived at the right car park. She put him in his place, however, and he drove off. We didn't have to negotiate with him anymore, which was a relief. We were met by our families, and some were driven off to the homestays. Juliana and I rode a taxi to our host mother, because she didn't drive. When we arrived, she was standing in the doorway, and told us immediately to take off our shoes. The house was immaculate, but I don't want to give the wrong impression: she was very hospitable and encouraged us to make ourselves comfortable.

Our host mother, Mary, is at least 80 years old, with a bad leg and widowed. She has 3 grandchildren, their pictures proudly displayed in her bay window. She had recently moved to Stirling from London, where she had lived all her life, to be close with her sister and nieces and nephews. The neighborhood she lives in now is a little rough, but she completely updated and redecorated the house, with upscale kitchen appliances and very comfortable, new furniture. She's very fond of air fresheners (she had those little contraptions that *puff* freshener every few minutes. It took awhile to get used to their little exhalations) and she loves trifle.

That's about all I found out about her, unfortunately. We did our best to draw her out and talk with us, but she seemed to think that we would prefer to keep to ourselves, and was surprised that we wanted to spend time with her. The TV was on constantly, and since there was a TV in the living room, dining room, and her bedroom, she was never without it. Her bad leg kept her from going out much, though she said that she occasionally walked into town with her sister. She wasn't lazy, per se. Like I said, the house was immaculately clean and organized, and she insisted on cooking for us and doing the dishes (towards the end of the weekend, she didn't insist as much; I was allowed to make lunch on Sunday and load the dishwasher). Every time we entered the house, she offered hot drinks. I really didn't know what to make of the situation, and did my best to encourage conversation. We were there, after all, to get acquainted with Scottish culture. Unfortunately, she couldn't tell us much about Stirling (having only lived there a few months), and I think the only thing I learned about UK households is that television plays a big role.

Ah, it feels cruel to tell it this way. She really was a sweet woman, and I think she really appreciated our company, for what it was. She had us give her our addresses, so she could "send Christmas cards." I thought that was incredibly sweet, an indication that she liked us, even if she wasn't expressing it in curiosity about us.

On Saturday, we were picked up by the taxi service hired by the homestay program, and were taken to the William Wallace Monument. Built in the late 19th century, the monument is a essentially a stone tower, topped with gothic-style spires. It was raining, but the setting was still beautiful: the monument is set on a hill, overlooking the town and the autumn colors, with mountains in the distance. After listening to a William Wallace reenactor, we climbed the steps to the top of the tower. It was like entering a different level of the atmosphere (though in reality, we weren't incredibly high; only high enough to be a danger to low-flying airplanes): very high winds, very fast, pelting rain. The wind really was incredible, which is kind of a theme for Scotland. Definitely rivaled the gale force winds in Anstruther.

We then got back into taxis and drove into town, to see the Stirling Castle. Unfortunately, we only had 15 minutes to see it, an no one wanted to pay the 5 pound charge to get in, so we wandered around the gift shop.

We then walked down the hill to the Old Town Jail, now a museum with a theatrical tour. Fairly self-explanatory; the Scots apparently pride themselves on their history of reformative prisons.

After the prison, we were set loose into the city; though, as we had no map and no tour book, we had no way to direct ourselves. Unfortunately, we ended up at the Stirling mall, wandering aimlessly and vaguely hungry. We hailed another taxi, which took us back to our homes. Juliana and I ate chicken curry with Mary, then watched the British equivalent of Dancing with the Stars, called Strictly Come Dancing.

On Sunday, I made Skyline chili for Mary and Juliana. It was more or less a success; Juliana liked it and Mary was happy not to cook. Around 3:15, we were picked up again, and we boarded the bus back to St. Andrews.

Now, fire juggling! The St. Andrews JuggleSoc has fire nights every month or so, on Castle Sands, and last night was the first I was able to attend. I was pretty nervous (never juggled fire before), but incredibly excited. Juliana came with me, acting as my official photographer. It was 8pm, well after sunset, and my biggest worry was the fact that I wouldn't be able to see the torches, only the flames. So I arrived, some people gave me vague advice on how to do it, I soaked the torches in paraffin, and gave it a try. At first I was failing miserably, dropping them over and over again. But then I got the hang of it, got used to the sound of flames twirling in my face (it's quite loud!), and figured out where the torch handles were in the dark. It was so fun! I singed the hair off my hands, but I'm none the worse for wear. The paraffin doesn't burn that hot, really.

I originally was going to leave it at torches, but I was feeling brazen and decided to try fire poi. I'm not a great poi spinner, but I did all right. I think it has more of a spectacular element than juggling anyway. Juliana took pictures, Aaron showed up after a while, and John took his mother down to see it. Others were doing fire poi, staff, and these fire fan things, which were pretty cool. I'm glad I got the chance to work with fire, and I'm psyched about getting a fire show going at Kenyon when I get back.

Now, I just need to write my Montaigne essay, and then I can enjoy Halloween. Juliana and I are thinking of dressing up as Grendel and Beowulf, respectively. I'll be sure to get pictures!

Signing off,

Your fearless explorer

"Pomegranates bring out the worst in me."

A guy studying here from Middlebury takes his pomegranates very seriously. He's also a very talented pianist.

This past week I've focused on getting two essays prepared for their due dates next week, so forgive my absence, dear reader. I still haven't started the second essay, but it will get done. It always gets done.

Last week was a bit of a let down after Inverness, I'm afraid. I expended a lot of time and energy trying to digest and package the Highlands weekend into pictures, journal entries, etc. I've also been a bit sleep deprived, the result of having very exuberant neighbors and paper-thin walls. Combined with a spike in workload, my demeanor has been rather gray.

BUT my life has taken a pretty interesting (and I hope meaningful) turn in the last week or so. For one, I've rediscovered my love of running. Sure, I've been running on and off for years, but I'm really enjoying my runs now, even look forward to them. I have a goal to run the half-marathon on Earth Day in the spring, and I'm drawing from a deep-well of resolve and positive energy at the moment. I've decided to make running my therapy; it calms me in a way that no other activity can.

Secondly, I know what I want to do after graduation. I've played around with the idea of the Peace Corps for years, but I've never really committed my mind to it. I always thought I'd go to somewhere in Eastern Europe, where I could use my Russian. But I don't know much about Eastern Europe, and all I have to go on is a vague interest and affection for the place, probably born out of watching Fiddler on the Roof. But it never took hold, never assumed any greater meaning than an inclination. But now, I think I know where I want to go: the Philippines. It hit me when I received an email from my mother, telling me that much of our family over there had to be evacuated after the typhoon and flooding earlier this month. They're all ok, but the situation is dire for the country, with shortages of clean water, food, sanitation, etc. I'm not in a position to help them, and I feel terrible about that. I want to make it up to them. Going there for two years, learning the language, engaging in my culture in a way that I never have before would, and helping, finally giving back after all my years living in privilege in America, would be a meaningful, worthwhile devotion of my time after college. I'm really, genuinely excited about graduation in a couple years now. I've never felt that before. Having purpose is so fortifying.

Anyway, Scotland. I haven't left St. Andrews since Inverness, so I've had a lot of opportunities to get to know people better. Last week I attended Poetry and Cake (!) with Brennon, and we met up beforehand to make puppy chow (great success with the British students, by the way). We had a blast, and stayed for over 2 hours. It's such a simple thing, but when implemented well, very enjoyable. There was this guy from Maine who recited at least 10 pages of Kipling poetry by heart. Amazing. Another read some Russian poetry. I shared my favorite John Montague poem ("Uprooting"). I plan on making Poetry and Cake a weekly thing.

I also went to my first "JuggleSoc" meeting. I...was a little surprised. I was expecting the St. Andrews crowd to have the edge on talent, but they're all pretty amateur, I guess. I was one of the best jugglers there, and I don't think that's ever happened. I tried my hand at juggling knives, but I lost confidence and didn't do more than 2 (they're really heavy). I was also a little disappointed with their equipment, which was a little shoddy (though they have a lot more than Kenyon). I guess Nathan really knows what he's talking about when he orders from Dube. But there's a fire meeting this Monday, out on Castle Sands, and I'll definitely be there.

Right now, everyone is planning their Reading Week travels in November. I spent last night talking to Aaron, the Amherst guy, about Rome, where he will be spending the week. Oh, I really want to go back! But I'm not bowing to temptation; I need to see more of Europe. So, I will be traveling with John and Juliana from York, to London, to Paris, to Frankfurt (to see an airfield that John's grandfather helped build during the War), and end in Berlin, taking a flight back to Edinburgh. It's fast-paced, but I think we can do it. Paris! So excited.

The Royal Post is on strike, so I have no idea what will happen to this next batch of postcards that I'm sending out. Wherever you are, I hope you are getting my mail.