To commemorate our time together, our trip coordinator planned a big last-night dinner at a Belgium restaurant for our entire group. Although I'd done my fair share of griping (and crying because of my stupid ankle), I knew I was going to miss some of the girls in the group, so I was appreciative of this gesture and the meaning behind it.
I sat next and around some of the people who had made me smile, laugh and think throughout the trip. Amber was a continuous source of inspiration because of her gorgeous smile, great attitude and fabulous fashion sense. Alexa was always the calm during the chaos with a very chilled-out attitude and easy-going smile. Heather started each day with a sweet compliment and a positive attitude. Lesa helped me to look at things from another perspective with her unique views and patient nature. And Becky, my constant travel companion--my sanity when I felt like going insane, my partner in crime and my SAA sister. Good GOD, I can't thank her enough for being there for me.
The environment was low-key and easy-going, which made the conversation and laughter come easy. We savored some inside jokes that had developed over the course of the two weeks, recounted our best and worst moments and tasted each others' dishes. I somehow ended up with a huge bucket of mussels for my dinner, so I was all too happy to share them because there was no way I could finish them all, no matter how much I adored seafood. The night drew to an end too quickly, but we all were feeling the pull and pressure from being abroad for so long. Even though few would admit it, we were ready to go home. But for a few short hours, we were together for one last time, not talking about the implications of education or student affairs, but showing another side to ourselves and enjoying each other for one last time. In the flickering candlelight, on those long wooden benches we bonded for one final time. And though very tired, I couldn't have been more grateful.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Oxford
Our last stop of the day was at Oxford University. The reason I wanted to go on the day-tour was because of Oxford, yet it was the least exciting part of the trip for me. Perhaps it was because we only got an hour or so in the city. Maybe it was because our tour guide didn't really know what he was talking about or couldn't answer our questions. (The guide at Cambridge had set the bar REALLY high because he knew every story, myth, nook and cranny of the city and school.) Or maybe it was because I was burned out by that point, both with the day-trip and my travels in general.
Oxford is a gorgeous city. Much like Cambridge, the town and the campus of the University are fused together. And like Cambridge, bikes lined the streets and people played cricket and football in any open, grassy area. The buildings were beautiful and the town was charming. Yet, I was underwhelmed with my experience. It could have been for any number of reasons. I'm glad that I saw the city and got to snap some nice pictures, but in the battle of Oxford vs. Cambridge, Cambridge kicked Oxford's ass a hundred times over.
Oxford is a gorgeous city. Much like Cambridge, the town and the campus of the University are fused together. And like Cambridge, bikes lined the streets and people played cricket and football in any open, grassy area. The buildings were beautiful and the town was charming. Yet, I was underwhelmed with my experience. It could have been for any number of reasons. I'm glad that I saw the city and got to snap some nice pictures, but in the battle of Oxford vs. Cambridge, Cambridge kicked Oxford's ass a hundred times over.
Stonehenge
Mythical and beautiful, the stones of Stonehenge stood before me. All I could do was gape. I could barely believe that I was here, in front of such a famous monument. I had stayed in a palace, cavorted through a couple of castles and seen countless cathedrals and historical landmarks in the past couple of weeks, yet some oddly arranged stones--that's what left me at a loss for words.
The sheer stature of the stones stunned me. They were larger than I imagined they would be. And I could be so close to them! I didn't think I'd get closer than a few hundred yards from them, yet at times the path was so close I felt that I could allllllmost touch one if I leaned over the rope.
While gazing at the stones I listened to the audio tour, amused. It told the history, most of which I don't remember, except that the stones and land date back over to 3000 BC. What I do remember are the myths and legends associated with Stonehenge. Nobody knows why the stones are here or arranged as they are. Instead there are numerous theories and stories behind the mytical rocks. One legend tells the tale of Merlin the Wizard who was ordered to retrieve the rocks from Ireland. Another story states that the stones are actually giants who were dancing in the field, celebrating, but they were frozen into rock formations when the sun hit them. (I like this tale because if you look at the rocks, they do look like they could be giants dancing. It's charmingly whimsical.) Yet another myth claims that the stones were set up by Satan. An old Irish woman was owner of the large stones and Satan wanted them, so he disguised himself as an old man in possession of much gold and struck a bargain with her: she could have as much gold as she could count while he transported the stones. Of course she agreed, but before she could begin to count, the devil transformed back into himself and transferred the stones to England, leaving her with no gold and no stones.
I loved hearing all of the stories about this magical place. I'm actually glad that it's a mystery because then it can be whatever people want it to be instead of it just being one concrete thing. It can be whatever it wants to whomever decides it is. If people want it to be an altar to worship the sun, it's that. If some believe it's the resting place for medieval kings, it could be that. If it's just a place of inspiration and reflection, then so it is. Things aren't always one way or another. Seeing Stonehenge and hearing the stories behind it's creation and beliefs have solidified that fact for me.
The sheer stature of the stones stunned me. They were larger than I imagined they would be. And I could be so close to them! I didn't think I'd get closer than a few hundred yards from them, yet at times the path was so close I felt that I could allllllmost touch one if I leaned over the rope.
While gazing at the stones I listened to the audio tour, amused. It told the history, most of which I don't remember, except that the stones and land date back over to 3000 BC. What I do remember are the myths and legends associated with Stonehenge. Nobody knows why the stones are here or arranged as they are. Instead there are numerous theories and stories behind the mytical rocks. One legend tells the tale of Merlin the Wizard who was ordered to retrieve the rocks from Ireland. Another story states that the stones are actually giants who were dancing in the field, celebrating, but they were frozen into rock formations when the sun hit them. (I like this tale because if you look at the rocks, they do look like they could be giants dancing. It's charmingly whimsical.) Yet another myth claims that the stones were set up by Satan. An old Irish woman was owner of the large stones and Satan wanted them, so he disguised himself as an old man in possession of much gold and struck a bargain with her: she could have as much gold as she could count while he transported the stones. Of course she agreed, but before she could begin to count, the devil transformed back into himself and transferred the stones to England, leaving her with no gold and no stones.
I loved hearing all of the stories about this magical place. I'm actually glad that it's a mystery because then it can be whatever people want it to be instead of it just being one concrete thing. It can be whatever it wants to whomever decides it is. If people want it to be an altar to worship the sun, it's that. If some believe it's the resting place for medieval kings, it could be that. If it's just a place of inspiration and reflection, then so it is. Things aren't always one way or another. Seeing Stonehenge and hearing the stories behind it's creation and beliefs have solidified that fact for me.
Ch-Cha-Changing (Of the Guard)
Because I hadn't seen enough of the U.K. in the past couple of weeks, I opted to do a day-tour to various areas around London via tour bus. I found out about it through some Bowling Green people, so Becky and I signed up when we found out we'd get to see Windsor, Stonehenge and Oxford.
Our first stop on the day tour was at Windsor. I thought this royal city was a good distance from London, so I was surprised when maybe fifteen minutes out of London our bus rumbled to a stop and we were receiving instructions from our tour guide to be back on the bus by noon.
We arrived around 10 a.m. to the small city and quickly learned that the changing of the guard ceremony would proceed at promptly 11 a.m. Perfect! I'd always missed the guard changing at Buckingham Palace, so this would at least make up for it a little bit.
To kill time Becky and I wandered around some gift shoppes. In one, an elderly man questioned my views on American politics.
Cranky old man: So! Who's going to be your next president?
Me: Haha! That's yet to be seen! At least it won't be Bush! Yay!
Cranky: Well, no kidding. (He got crankier with that.) He's out of office. What I'm ASKING is WHO will be elected next.
Me: Well. I. Don't. Know. Elections aren't for another half year. Anyone will be better than Bush, so I don't really care.
Cranky: You Americans are all the same. You clearly know nothing.
Me: No, I don't and I'm ok with that. But I do know that I don't have to spend money in your store.
To note, he was the first cranky person I'd met the entire time I was in England. But really--who insults people who could be giving him money? That's just bad business.
As Becky pulled me out of Cranky's shoppe, we saw that people were already lining up to watch the changing of the guard. We found a great sidewalk spot near the entrance of Windsor Castle, where we were told the guard would be entering through. As we stood there waiting patiently, a police officer approached us. I immediately became nervous. Oh my god! I'm going to get in trouble for insulting Cranky Shoppe Owner! I don't want to cause an international scandal! Gaah!
I put on my best, most charming smile as he approached while silently praying that I wouldn't be escorted away in handcuffs in mere minutes. The sun glinted off his police helmet as he opened his mouth to talk to us. "The Guard will be coming soon and you're very close to their entrance. Do not go past the sidewalk or the bobbies. Do not try to follow them into the castle and do not try to get close to them." I began giggling, relieved that I wasn't about to be arrested. The officer glared at me. "This is no laughing matter. We are quite serious about the Queen's security." I shut up immediately and promised him we'd be on our best behavior--for the Queen's sake.
He walked away, but I noticed that his post somehow magically was closer to where we were standing than it was before he approached us. It was no matter, though, because soon I heard staccato drum beats and horns blaring a march. Eee! A parade!
It was no parade, though. It was the Royal Band, the prelude to the Guards, marching up to the Castle entrance, high stepping while playing an ornate, fast-tempod march. They were led by a man who twirled a glinting, large baton in a regal manner while high-stepping. I was entranced by his skill and ability to lead the band while twirling such a large object.
Following the Band was the Royal Guard. Rows upon rows of guardsmen and women marched in perfect step with their weapons. Eyes were cast forward and each of them wore a look of serious pride. The uniforms were immaculately pressed and their boots shined in the late morning sun as they marched through the Castle gates. Just as quickly as the Band had appeared, the changing of the guard was over. I was a little sad. I wanted to see the band again! Or have some sort of flamboyant ending!
I shouldn't have been disappointed, though. I hadn't even expected a band. Hell, all I thought would occur was a few men marching with guns. Compared to my original expectations, this was like getting a banana split when all I thought I'd get was an Icee.
I was honored that I got to experience the Changing of the Guard. This was a tradition that had been ongoing since...God knows when. Many generations, I'm sure. This was something that was ingrained into the country's history; it was a part of who the British are and were. It signifies how far they've come and where they've come from and where they're going. It's their past, present and future. It made me think about traditions at home, both in my personal and professional life. There are some things that I do that are ingrained into me and are a part of my identity: Christmas traditions with my family, reunions with college friends, even the prepping I do for papers and projects. These are all small, but important parts of my identity. These are things that are important to me. Each person has things that are a part of who they are, traditions and routines that define parts of them and help them equal a whole person. Perhaps these are the things we should learn about each other and those we strive to help in order to make deeper connections and become better student affairs professionals. And perhaps we should focus on traditions within our institutions and field in order to bring people together and form stronger bonds. Imagine what we could do if we took those extra steps and not only learned these tiny but important details about each other, but helped to define those parts of people as well. And why can't we? What's stopping us? I believe that by witnessing the simple, yet grand tradition in Windsor, my outlook on Student Affairs and what I can do has been altered.
Thank you, British tradition, for helping me to look at things a little differently. Thank you for the inspiration.
Our first stop on the day tour was at Windsor. I thought this royal city was a good distance from London, so I was surprised when maybe fifteen minutes out of London our bus rumbled to a stop and we were receiving instructions from our tour guide to be back on the bus by noon.
We arrived around 10 a.m. to the small city and quickly learned that the changing of the guard ceremony would proceed at promptly 11 a.m. Perfect! I'd always missed the guard changing at Buckingham Palace, so this would at least make up for it a little bit.
To kill time Becky and I wandered around some gift shoppes. In one, an elderly man questioned my views on American politics.
Cranky old man: So! Who's going to be your next president?
Me: Haha! That's yet to be seen! At least it won't be Bush! Yay!
Cranky: Well, no kidding. (He got crankier with that.) He's out of office. What I'm ASKING is WHO will be elected next.
Me: Well. I. Don't. Know. Elections aren't for another half year. Anyone will be better than Bush, so I don't really care.
Cranky: You Americans are all the same. You clearly know nothing.
Me: No, I don't and I'm ok with that. But I do know that I don't have to spend money in your store.
To note, he was the first cranky person I'd met the entire time I was in England. But really--who insults people who could be giving him money? That's just bad business.
As Becky pulled me out of Cranky's shoppe, we saw that people were already lining up to watch the changing of the guard. We found a great sidewalk spot near the entrance of Windsor Castle, where we were told the guard would be entering through. As we stood there waiting patiently, a police officer approached us. I immediately became nervous. Oh my god! I'm going to get in trouble for insulting Cranky Shoppe Owner! I don't want to cause an international scandal! Gaah!
I put on my best, most charming smile as he approached while silently praying that I wouldn't be escorted away in handcuffs in mere minutes. The sun glinted off his police helmet as he opened his mouth to talk to us. "The Guard will be coming soon and you're very close to their entrance. Do not go past the sidewalk or the bobbies. Do not try to follow them into the castle and do not try to get close to them." I began giggling, relieved that I wasn't about to be arrested. The officer glared at me. "This is no laughing matter. We are quite serious about the Queen's security." I shut up immediately and promised him we'd be on our best behavior--for the Queen's sake.
He walked away, but I noticed that his post somehow magically was closer to where we were standing than it was before he approached us. It was no matter, though, because soon I heard staccato drum beats and horns blaring a march. Eee! A parade!
It was no parade, though. It was the Royal Band, the prelude to the Guards, marching up to the Castle entrance, high stepping while playing an ornate, fast-tempod march. They were led by a man who twirled a glinting, large baton in a regal manner while high-stepping. I was entranced by his skill and ability to lead the band while twirling such a large object.
Following the Band was the Royal Guard. Rows upon rows of guardsmen and women marched in perfect step with their weapons. Eyes were cast forward and each of them wore a look of serious pride. The uniforms were immaculately pressed and their boots shined in the late morning sun as they marched through the Castle gates. Just as quickly as the Band had appeared, the changing of the guard was over. I was a little sad. I wanted to see the band again! Or have some sort of flamboyant ending!
I shouldn't have been disappointed, though. I hadn't even expected a band. Hell, all I thought would occur was a few men marching with guns. Compared to my original expectations, this was like getting a banana split when all I thought I'd get was an Icee.
I was honored that I got to experience the Changing of the Guard. This was a tradition that had been ongoing since...God knows when. Many generations, I'm sure. This was something that was ingrained into the country's history; it was a part of who the British are and were. It signifies how far they've come and where they've come from and where they're going. It's their past, present and future. It made me think about traditions at home, both in my personal and professional life. There are some things that I do that are ingrained into me and are a part of my identity: Christmas traditions with my family, reunions with college friends, even the prepping I do for papers and projects. These are all small, but important parts of my identity. These are things that are important to me. Each person has things that are a part of who they are, traditions and routines that define parts of them and help them equal a whole person. Perhaps these are the things we should learn about each other and those we strive to help in order to make deeper connections and become better student affairs professionals. And perhaps we should focus on traditions within our institutions and field in order to bring people together and form stronger bonds. Imagine what we could do if we took those extra steps and not only learned these tiny but important details about each other, but helped to define those parts of people as well. And why can't we? What's stopping us? I believe that by witnessing the simple, yet grand tradition in Windsor, my outlook on Student Affairs and what I can do has been altered.
Thank you, British tradition, for helping me to look at things a little differently. Thank you for the inspiration.
Perhaps My Most Important Date Ever
I needed time to myself. I could feel my muscles tensing and my brain screaming for freedom. I needed to be alone. After nearly two weeks spent with over two dozen girls, traveling, laughing, arguing, not sleeping, talking and processing WAY too much, I needed some time for myself. I could barely formulate a thought that started with the words "I think" or "I am" because I'd been around my travel-mates for so long. The solution was simple: I needed me-time.
Luckily the itinerary left an afternoon open for doing whatever we all wanted to do. And what I wanted was to explore another part of London all on my own. Though some doubts clouded my head about whether I should attempt to navigate one of the largest cities on the globe on my own, I quickly dismissed them. This wasn't about safety or doubt, this was about my sanity and grasping my sense of adventure.
I decided to see if I could find the theater where Hairspray was playing. West End theater productions are amazing and I knew I would kick myself if I didn't at least try to secure a ticket to the musical. When would I have another chance to see it? Probably never.
With that thought in mind I hopped on the tube and headed into the heart of the city. After getting jostled around in the crowd of rush hour commuters, I emerged from the underground excited and a little nervous. I was really doing this--I was taking on London on my own. Around me were theater marquees announcing the latest musicals and straight-from-Broadway plays. Newspaper sellers called out the days headlines. Gorgeous girls sashayed by in groups of three and four. Groups of schoolboys kicked soccer balls and heckled one another. I took in the scene for a minute while getting my barings.
I had to be pointed in the right direction by a newspaper seller with a thick cockney accent. I got the gist of his directions mainly because he was pointing. I followed his finger away from the crowd and hopefully towards the Shaftesbury theater. As I walked I got further from the chaos but began to doubt his directions. Though this was a lovely area of town it didn't feel like I was anywhere near the theater district anymore. Just as I was about to turn into a coffeeshop to get better directions I saw the neon-laden Hairspray marquee. I squealed as I scampered towards the box office.
I said a quick prayer before going in. "Please, baby Jesus, let them have a ticket left. All I need is one. Please?" After taking a deep breath I approached a friendly-looking ticket teller. "Do you have any tickets left for tonight, perchance?" I crossed my fingers as she gave me a smile. "You're in luck. I have an amazing ticket in the eighth row." I showed her my student i.d. She grinned at me. "Honey, you just got yourself an amazing deal." A sixty-pound ticket (roughtly $120) was soon in my hand for twenty pounds (about $40).
My date with myself got a whole lot better when I found my seat a little later--it was eighth row, center with an amazingly clear view of the stage. I arrived at the theater early because I was so excited about the show. Since I had nothing better to do I people-watched. A large group of middle school girls took up many of the rows in the back of the theater. Their laughter echoed throughout the small venue and made me smile as I thought about my friends in Chassell. The elderly couple to my right chatted about world events and their theories on what this show would really be about. When I stood in the queue for the loo I befriended the middle-aged ladies around me because they were equally excited to be seeing the show for the first time. We chatted about our love of musicals and travel. I told them about my travels from the mystical land of Michigan and they told me about their love of American culture.
After my new friends and I parted ways, the lights dimmed and the opening bars of "Good Morning, Baltimore" filled the theater. I got goosebumps on my arms as I witnessed Tracy Turnblad greeting the morning amid technicolor lights and backup dancers. The musical transported me to another world and had me laughing and singing along (only in my head, much to the relief of those around me, I'm sure) throughout the entire production. I identified with the optimistic heroine who wants to follow her heart and do what is right, no matter what those around her may think. The empowering theme, glorious production numbers and happy ending had me waltzing out of the theater with a smile on my face.
Walking back to the Tube Station, it hit me: in a way I WAS Tracy. Being in England, studying in the field that I loved and treating myself to this evening alone--all of these things were ways that I followed my heart. I was in London, I was doing what I wanted to be doing and I was taking a chance by exploring by myself despite some initial doubts and negativity. I was the heroine of my own story, even if I didn't realize it at the moment. As empowering as the message of the play was, coming to that realization made me feel even more proud of myself and happier with where I was, both location-wise and in my life.
It took nearly two weeks to secure some time to myself. But it was well worth it when I finally got the chance to explore, not only London, but myself as well. I find it funny that I had to travel abroad to reach this realization, but I don't think it could have happened without witnessing the city's beauty and another journey that is not so unlike my own in the end.
Luckily the itinerary left an afternoon open for doing whatever we all wanted to do. And what I wanted was to explore another part of London all on my own. Though some doubts clouded my head about whether I should attempt to navigate one of the largest cities on the globe on my own, I quickly dismissed them. This wasn't about safety or doubt, this was about my sanity and grasping my sense of adventure.
I decided to see if I could find the theater where Hairspray was playing. West End theater productions are amazing and I knew I would kick myself if I didn't at least try to secure a ticket to the musical. When would I have another chance to see it? Probably never.
With that thought in mind I hopped on the tube and headed into the heart of the city. After getting jostled around in the crowd of rush hour commuters, I emerged from the underground excited and a little nervous. I was really doing this--I was taking on London on my own. Around me were theater marquees announcing the latest musicals and straight-from-Broadway plays. Newspaper sellers called out the days headlines. Gorgeous girls sashayed by in groups of three and four. Groups of schoolboys kicked soccer balls and heckled one another. I took in the scene for a minute while getting my barings.
I had to be pointed in the right direction by a newspaper seller with a thick cockney accent. I got the gist of his directions mainly because he was pointing. I followed his finger away from the crowd and hopefully towards the Shaftesbury theater. As I walked I got further from the chaos but began to doubt his directions. Though this was a lovely area of town it didn't feel like I was anywhere near the theater district anymore. Just as I was about to turn into a coffeeshop to get better directions I saw the neon-laden Hairspray marquee. I squealed as I scampered towards the box office.
I said a quick prayer before going in. "Please, baby Jesus, let them have a ticket left. All I need is one. Please?" After taking a deep breath I approached a friendly-looking ticket teller. "Do you have any tickets left for tonight, perchance?" I crossed my fingers as she gave me a smile. "You're in luck. I have an amazing ticket in the eighth row." I showed her my student i.d. She grinned at me. "Honey, you just got yourself an amazing deal." A sixty-pound ticket (roughtly $120) was soon in my hand for twenty pounds (about $40).
My date with myself got a whole lot better when I found my seat a little later--it was eighth row, center with an amazingly clear view of the stage. I arrived at the theater early because I was so excited about the show. Since I had nothing better to do I people-watched. A large group of middle school girls took up many of the rows in the back of the theater. Their laughter echoed throughout the small venue and made me smile as I thought about my friends in Chassell. The elderly couple to my right chatted about world events and their theories on what this show would really be about. When I stood in the queue for the loo I befriended the middle-aged ladies around me because they were equally excited to be seeing the show for the first time. We chatted about our love of musicals and travel. I told them about my travels from the mystical land of Michigan and they told me about their love of American culture.
After my new friends and I parted ways, the lights dimmed and the opening bars of "Good Morning, Baltimore" filled the theater. I got goosebumps on my arms as I witnessed Tracy Turnblad greeting the morning amid technicolor lights and backup dancers. The musical transported me to another world and had me laughing and singing along (only in my head, much to the relief of those around me, I'm sure) throughout the entire production. I identified with the optimistic heroine who wants to follow her heart and do what is right, no matter what those around her may think. The empowering theme, glorious production numbers and happy ending had me waltzing out of the theater with a smile on my face.
Walking back to the Tube Station, it hit me: in a way I WAS Tracy. Being in England, studying in the field that I loved and treating myself to this evening alone--all of these things were ways that I followed my heart. I was in London, I was doing what I wanted to be doing and I was taking a chance by exploring by myself despite some initial doubts and negativity. I was the heroine of my own story, even if I didn't realize it at the moment. As empowering as the message of the play was, coming to that realization made me feel even more proud of myself and happier with where I was, both location-wise and in my life.
It took nearly two weeks to secure some time to myself. But it was well worth it when I finally got the chance to explore, not only London, but myself as well. I find it funny that I had to travel abroad to reach this realization, but I don't think it could have happened without witnessing the city's beauty and another journey that is not so unlike my own in the end.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Spamalot!!!
"I have tickets available for Monday evening. Interested?" The ticket teller peered at us through the window. I glanced at Becky and shrugged.
The original plan was to see a musical on Sunday, the night we got into London. What better way to herald our coming into one of the greatest cities in the world than by taking in a grand, production-number-laden musical? We couldn't think of a better way so we headed to Lesicester Square to secure tickets to one of the plays. Only we couldn't get tickets--Sunday night is a dark curtain night for London theater. Meaning our original plan was thwarted.
We were surrounded by ticketing agencies. The original plan was to buy tickets from TKTS but they only sold tickets the day of a show. However we weren't sure we'd be able to get back to get tickets on Monday afternoon. The ticketing booths all around us, however--they had tickets available to shows into the week. I was leary, though. I'd heard they were of ill reputation and that you could end up being bounced from the theater because the tickets might not be real.
Becky rationalized the whole thing. "This one looks reputable. It's not like it's a cardboard box in an alley--there's lots of posters. And look! The guy selling the tickets has a computer and it's in a building. It can't be a bad place, right?" Begrudgingly, I let her lead me into the ticket place. We asked for tickets for Monday night.
"I have great seats for Spamalot." Score! That was one of the plays we wanted to see! A play about Britains! In Britain! By Monty Python Yes! I was still a little leary of the whole operation., though.
"These are real tickets, right? We're not going to get kicked out of the theater after we've forked over money? These ARE real tickets, not fake thingys?" Becky looked at me like I was an idiot. I didn't care! I wasn't about to hand over hard-earned money if I wasn't going to get to see a show.
We were assured they were real and we left the box office, tickets safely secured in Becky's purse. (She's the more responsible one. If they were in my purse, they'd have likely fallen out and some random hobo would end up seeing the show.) I was still hesitant about our purchase. I'd read so much about shady ticket brokers--we were going to be escorted from the theater! I could just tell! Still, it wasn't like there was anything I could do about it, the tickets were bought. I rationalized that if anything, this would make a good story for the friends back home. Though I really just wanted to see the play.
On Monday, we found our way to the theater after a couple of wrong turns and an accidental discovery of Chinatown, which left me craving rangoons and egg drop soup. Cravings aside, I was still nervous as we handed the ticket-taker our tickets. He looked at them and then at us and smiled. "We closed the second balcony for this evening's performance. We'll have to relocate you."
Relocate us, my ass. We were about to be punished! Punished for buying tickets from an unauthorized source! They were looking for a big, burly bouncer weren't they?!?
I was looking for a man the size of a gorilla when we were hurried inside the theater towards another worker. He took our tickets and talked into his walkie talkie. We were SO busted. I gritted my teeth as he opened his mouth to speak to us, expecting to hear some nasty words.
"Since the balcony is closed, we've found you some great seats in the stalls. Eighth row. Towards the center."
Wait...what? Did we just get upgraded? From crappy balcony seats to front and center seats? Really? No mean, nasty lecture? Instead amazing seats? As the nice man escorted us to our new seats I got giddy. Yes! Nice seats! For us! Wheeee! Oh my gosh I bet I could see them spit or drool I was so close!
Becky and I squealed over our good fortune until we were hushed by the dimming lights and tuning up of the orchestra. Then we were transported to the 10th century and the plight of King Arthur's plight of finding the Holy Grail, Monty Python-style.
While I was expecting to laugh, I didn't think I would leave the theater with my sides aching. But they did and my throat hurting the laughing, too. It was that funny. I have a feeling the songs will be stuck in my head for days on end. It was clever, it was creative, it had dazzling production numbers, great costumes and well-developed characters. And the acting! Oh. My. God. The woman who played The Lady of the Lake had the most sultry, smoky, incredible voice I have ever heard live. It sent shivers rocketing up and down my spine. Every actor was incredible. It's true--the West End has acting that can easily take on Broadway's Best.
It was an amazing play and a great end to this parable: take a chance, even if you're unsure what the end result may be. You never know, sometimes you'll get rewarded in great ways. Like, eighth row center seats to an amazing musical.
The original plan was to see a musical on Sunday, the night we got into London. What better way to herald our coming into one of the greatest cities in the world than by taking in a grand, production-number-laden musical? We couldn't think of a better way so we headed to Lesicester Square to secure tickets to one of the plays. Only we couldn't get tickets--Sunday night is a dark curtain night for London theater. Meaning our original plan was thwarted.
We were surrounded by ticketing agencies. The original plan was to buy tickets from TKTS but they only sold tickets the day of a show. However we weren't sure we'd be able to get back to get tickets on Monday afternoon. The ticketing booths all around us, however--they had tickets available to shows into the week. I was leary, though. I'd heard they were of ill reputation and that you could end up being bounced from the theater because the tickets might not be real.
Becky rationalized the whole thing. "This one looks reputable. It's not like it's a cardboard box in an alley--there's lots of posters. And look! The guy selling the tickets has a computer and it's in a building. It can't be a bad place, right?" Begrudgingly, I let her lead me into the ticket place. We asked for tickets for Monday night.
"I have great seats for Spamalot." Score! That was one of the plays we wanted to see! A play about Britains! In Britain! By Monty Python Yes! I was still a little leary of the whole operation., though.
"These are real tickets, right? We're not going to get kicked out of the theater after we've forked over money? These ARE real tickets, not fake thingys?" Becky looked at me like I was an idiot. I didn't care! I wasn't about to hand over hard-earned money if I wasn't going to get to see a show.
We were assured they were real and we left the box office, tickets safely secured in Becky's purse. (She's the more responsible one. If they were in my purse, they'd have likely fallen out and some random hobo would end up seeing the show.) I was still hesitant about our purchase. I'd read so much about shady ticket brokers--we were going to be escorted from the theater! I could just tell! Still, it wasn't like there was anything I could do about it, the tickets were bought. I rationalized that if anything, this would make a good story for the friends back home. Though I really just wanted to see the play.
On Monday, we found our way to the theater after a couple of wrong turns and an accidental discovery of Chinatown, which left me craving rangoons and egg drop soup. Cravings aside, I was still nervous as we handed the ticket-taker our tickets. He looked at them and then at us and smiled. "We closed the second balcony for this evening's performance. We'll have to relocate you."
Relocate us, my ass. We were about to be punished! Punished for buying tickets from an unauthorized source! They were looking for a big, burly bouncer weren't they?!?
I was looking for a man the size of a gorilla when we were hurried inside the theater towards another worker. He took our tickets and talked into his walkie talkie. We were SO busted. I gritted my teeth as he opened his mouth to speak to us, expecting to hear some nasty words.
"Since the balcony is closed, we've found you some great seats in the stalls. Eighth row. Towards the center."
Wait...what? Did we just get upgraded? From crappy balcony seats to front and center seats? Really? No mean, nasty lecture? Instead amazing seats? As the nice man escorted us to our new seats I got giddy. Yes! Nice seats! For us! Wheeee! Oh my gosh I bet I could see them spit or drool I was so close!
Becky and I squealed over our good fortune until we were hushed by the dimming lights and tuning up of the orchestra. Then we were transported to the 10th century and the plight of King Arthur's plight of finding the Holy Grail, Monty Python-style.
While I was expecting to laugh, I didn't think I would leave the theater with my sides aching. But they did and my throat hurting the laughing, too. It was that funny. I have a feeling the songs will be stuck in my head for days on end. It was clever, it was creative, it had dazzling production numbers, great costumes and well-developed characters. And the acting! Oh. My. God. The woman who played The Lady of the Lake had the most sultry, smoky, incredible voice I have ever heard live. It sent shivers rocketing up and down my spine. Every actor was incredible. It's true--the West End has acting that can easily take on Broadway's Best.
It was an amazing play and a great end to this parable: take a chance, even if you're unsure what the end result may be. You never know, sometimes you'll get rewarded in great ways. Like, eighth row center seats to an amazing musical.
High Tea, Feeling High
I've dreamt of doing a proper English high tea for many years. I used to hold tea parties with my Care Bears and My Little Ponies where I served tea (aka water) in plastic teacups and we conversed in very civilized British accents about the queen and jewelry.
Nearly twenty years after I served Funshine and Grumpy bears my special brand of tea, I found myself enjoying a true English experience in one of the most famous places in the world: Harrods. Becky and I chose the location because of it's prestige and the great reviews we had heard about their high tea.
When we arrived it was later in the afternoon, yet many people still packed the sunny, sundeck-like area, sipping tea and chattering. We were escorted to a table by a window, which showed us a view of the cloudy skies and rooftops of the Knightsbridge area of London. The menu was packed with many tea choices, which both delighted and scared me. Why, oh why wasn't I a tea connoisseur? There were mint teas, fruity teas, potent teas, spicey teas--something for every palette. I figured that since I was at such a prestigious place, I should try the Harrods Afternoon Tea. It couldn't disappoint, could it?
Becky and I decided to do tea and pastries, but there was a menu full of options. A full tea option consisted of tea, sandwiches, crumpets and pastries, but you could opt to have just tea or tea and one of those categories. Minutes after we placed our order, our waiter came back with a tray brimming with shining silver items. Each tea pot was brilliantly polished, as were the strainers, silverwear and saucers of milk. Each piece glinted in the afternoon sun and made for an enchanting scene. I was charmed.
Charm turned to delight when our server presented us with the platter of pastries. Each of the six tiny desserts was brightly colored and salivatingly gorgeous. The pink on the fruit eclairs was nearly neon. Plump pecans and nuts filled another shortcake-like bar. Slivers of cheesecake were adorned with white chocolate discs that boasted the name of the restaurant in gold writing. The display was stunning. As we looked on in delight the waiter winked at us, "we upgraded your dessert option. Enjoy, ladies!"
As my tea seeped and I mixed it with cream and sugar I gazed at the pastries. They looked too good to eat! This was art, not food! How could I eat art? I wouldn't dare! Becky would, though. She grabbed one of the bite-sized pieces and tentatively bit it. Her eyes immediately closed and I could tell she was transported to Food Heaven. "This is incredible! You have to try it."
A moral dilemma. How could I eat something so beautiful? I wanted to smuggle them home and schelak them and show them to every one of my friends and ask them: have you ever seen anything this gorgeous? Have you? As the war waged in my mind Becky stopped talking and simply made an "mmMMM" sound as she chewed. I could no longer resist. I grabbed the fruity bar closest to me and nibbled on it. My mouth filled with the taste of exotic fruits and chewy cookie. The mix of the two things was perfect. It was sweet but not overly so. I took another bite, my passport officially stamped to Food Heaven.
We spent a few minutes in bliss, taking in the flavors of our desserts. My tea cooled and I took my first sips. It was strong, but sweet. I was on the top floor of Harrods, sipping an amazing tea while the taste of a fruity dessert lingered on my lips. I was in London, one of the greatest places in the world with a good friend. We were enjoying great conversation and soaking in an enchanting atmosphere. I was in more than heaven. I was in love. In love with a moment. A moment that I know will linger in my memory as one of the best because at that one point in time everything aligned, everything was so simple, so uncomplicated, so enjoyable, so charming. This was the reason I traveled. This was the reason I sought out new opportunities and tried to live life to the fullest: so I could find nirvana, if only for a brief time. On that top floor, with that cup of tea and my good friend, I had that. I even purchased some of Harrod's tea so that when I sip it in my living room I can relive it over again. I didn't expect to find bliss when I set out for our tea date, I just wanted to check this off my life's to-do list. I am so delighted when these simple moments occur, though. They remind why I'm here and what I live to do, both personally and professsionally.
Nearly twenty years after I served Funshine and Grumpy bears my special brand of tea, I found myself enjoying a true English experience in one of the most famous places in the world: Harrods. Becky and I chose the location because of it's prestige and the great reviews we had heard about their high tea.
When we arrived it was later in the afternoon, yet many people still packed the sunny, sundeck-like area, sipping tea and chattering. We were escorted to a table by a window, which showed us a view of the cloudy skies and rooftops of the Knightsbridge area of London. The menu was packed with many tea choices, which both delighted and scared me. Why, oh why wasn't I a tea connoisseur? There were mint teas, fruity teas, potent teas, spicey teas--something for every palette. I figured that since I was at such a prestigious place, I should try the Harrods Afternoon Tea. It couldn't disappoint, could it?
Becky and I decided to do tea and pastries, but there was a menu full of options. A full tea option consisted of tea, sandwiches, crumpets and pastries, but you could opt to have just tea or tea and one of those categories. Minutes after we placed our order, our waiter came back with a tray brimming with shining silver items. Each tea pot was brilliantly polished, as were the strainers, silverwear and saucers of milk. Each piece glinted in the afternoon sun and made for an enchanting scene. I was charmed.
Charm turned to delight when our server presented us with the platter of pastries. Each of the six tiny desserts was brightly colored and salivatingly gorgeous. The pink on the fruit eclairs was nearly neon. Plump pecans and nuts filled another shortcake-like bar. Slivers of cheesecake were adorned with white chocolate discs that boasted the name of the restaurant in gold writing. The display was stunning. As we looked on in delight the waiter winked at us, "we upgraded your dessert option. Enjoy, ladies!"
As my tea seeped and I mixed it with cream and sugar I gazed at the pastries. They looked too good to eat! This was art, not food! How could I eat art? I wouldn't dare! Becky would, though. She grabbed one of the bite-sized pieces and tentatively bit it. Her eyes immediately closed and I could tell she was transported to Food Heaven. "This is incredible! You have to try it."
A moral dilemma. How could I eat something so beautiful? I wanted to smuggle them home and schelak them and show them to every one of my friends and ask them: have you ever seen anything this gorgeous? Have you? As the war waged in my mind Becky stopped talking and simply made an "mmMMM" sound as she chewed. I could no longer resist. I grabbed the fruity bar closest to me and nibbled on it. My mouth filled with the taste of exotic fruits and chewy cookie. The mix of the two things was perfect. It was sweet but not overly so. I took another bite, my passport officially stamped to Food Heaven.
We spent a few minutes in bliss, taking in the flavors of our desserts. My tea cooled and I took my first sips. It was strong, but sweet. I was on the top floor of Harrods, sipping an amazing tea while the taste of a fruity dessert lingered on my lips. I was in London, one of the greatest places in the world with a good friend. We were enjoying great conversation and soaking in an enchanting atmosphere. I was in more than heaven. I was in love. In love with a moment. A moment that I know will linger in my memory as one of the best because at that one point in time everything aligned, everything was so simple, so uncomplicated, so enjoyable, so charming. This was the reason I traveled. This was the reason I sought out new opportunities and tried to live life to the fullest: so I could find nirvana, if only for a brief time. On that top floor, with that cup of tea and my good friend, I had that. I even purchased some of Harrod's tea so that when I sip it in my living room I can relive it over again. I didn't expect to find bliss when I set out for our tea date, I just wanted to check this off my life's to-do list. I am so delighted when these simple moments occur, though. They remind why I'm here and what I live to do, both personally and professsionally.
Wax On, Wax Off
It might seem tourist-y or hoaky or cheesy, but another thing that Becky and I had to do while in London was visit Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum. I wanted to go when I was in London the first time, but time (and, uh, money) kept my friend and I from playing there. I was determined not to let that happen this time, so Becks and I planned and budgeted for it.
We embarked on our journey to the stars (hehe! I made a pun!) on a cloudy Monday, late in the morning. We rationalized that if it were to be busy, most people would go early on in the day, right? Wrong. Well, maybe. Perhaps people had gone early in the day, but there was also many people there around noon. The line to get tickets was a fourty-five minute wait. Normally ADD Me would have gone crazy waiting, but there were some interactive displays that held my interest. I got to compare hand sizes of David Beckham and Michael Jackson and gaze at many glass eyeballs in a display case. (That was creepy.) I also observed the crowd: people from all across the globe seemed to assemble just for the chance for a Kodak moment with Brangelina.
Once we secured our tickets we were transported to another world through interactive displays that showed off the wax figures. The first room was the Red Carpet room, where the most popular celebrity figurines waited for you to snap pictures with them. I rubbed elbows with Julia Roberts, talked smack with the men of Pulp Fiction and crazied it up with Tom Cruise. It was eery how lifelike the figures were. Some of them were spot-on and eerily lifelike. Others were awful. The figure of Jennifer Aniston made her look like a horse-faced man, while J.Lo's behind was roughly the size semi truck.
The Movie Room was a lot of fun, too. Little boys went crazy over the Spiderman figure and everyone was enchanted by the Shrek figure. Becky and I posed by Steven Spielburg and Becky kept giggling because she was slightly creeped out by how real he looked. They also had props you could wear. Like I'd pass up an opportunity to don a pink cowboy hat and feather boa!
Another fun room was the history room, where people can take a meeting with a queen, kiss up to Prince William, debate physics with Einstein and wax poetic with Shakespeare. I did all of those things--I adore photo opportunities!
Something really interesting to me was the World Leaders display. They had figures of everyone from Nixon and Lincoln to Ghandi and the Pope, but they also had a figure of Hitler. I later learned that the figure I had seen was the fourth one of his likeness. People feel compelled to hurt the figurine when they see it. I don't blame them!
Besides the interactive-ness of the figures, there was a fun display where you could type in your name, choose a flag and a theme song and be proclaimed the next world leader. Under a brightly colored flag, with the Spice Girls' "Wannabe" playing, I was proclaimed Queen of the World. I loved that I was able to subject hundreds of people to the Spice Girls for a couple of minutes. I got a couple of dirty looks for it, but it also got some giggles from people and some adorable little girls to dance!
I had a lot of fun at Madame Tussauds. It seemed a little cheesy at first, but once I started posing with celebrities, I got really into it. I figured it would be the only time in my life I'd get to pose with Harry Potter or Will Smith. I'm motivated by Kodak opportunities and this provided plenty of them. It was also a great way to learn about some world leaders and the art of wax sculpting. I unintentionally stepped into a great learning opportunity when all I planned on doing was posing with Johnny Depp. It showed me that learning can occur anywhere and that it should--perhaps we just need to learn how to capitalize on it.
We embarked on our journey to the stars (hehe! I made a pun!) on a cloudy Monday, late in the morning. We rationalized that if it were to be busy, most people would go early on in the day, right? Wrong. Well, maybe. Perhaps people had gone early in the day, but there was also many people there around noon. The line to get tickets was a fourty-five minute wait. Normally ADD Me would have gone crazy waiting, but there were some interactive displays that held my interest. I got to compare hand sizes of David Beckham and Michael Jackson and gaze at many glass eyeballs in a display case. (That was creepy.) I also observed the crowd: people from all across the globe seemed to assemble just for the chance for a Kodak moment with Brangelina.
Once we secured our tickets we were transported to another world through interactive displays that showed off the wax figures. The first room was the Red Carpet room, where the most popular celebrity figurines waited for you to snap pictures with them. I rubbed elbows with Julia Roberts, talked smack with the men of Pulp Fiction and crazied it up with Tom Cruise. It was eery how lifelike the figures were. Some of them were spot-on and eerily lifelike. Others were awful. The figure of Jennifer Aniston made her look like a horse-faced man, while J.Lo's behind was roughly the size semi truck.
The Movie Room was a lot of fun, too. Little boys went crazy over the Spiderman figure and everyone was enchanted by the Shrek figure. Becky and I posed by Steven Spielburg and Becky kept giggling because she was slightly creeped out by how real he looked. They also had props you could wear. Like I'd pass up an opportunity to don a pink cowboy hat and feather boa!
Another fun room was the history room, where people can take a meeting with a queen, kiss up to Prince William, debate physics with Einstein and wax poetic with Shakespeare. I did all of those things--I adore photo opportunities!
Something really interesting to me was the World Leaders display. They had figures of everyone from Nixon and Lincoln to Ghandi and the Pope, but they also had a figure of Hitler. I later learned that the figure I had seen was the fourth one of his likeness. People feel compelled to hurt the figurine when they see it. I don't blame them!
Besides the interactive-ness of the figures, there was a fun display where you could type in your name, choose a flag and a theme song and be proclaimed the next world leader. Under a brightly colored flag, with the Spice Girls' "Wannabe" playing, I was proclaimed Queen of the World. I loved that I was able to subject hundreds of people to the Spice Girls for a couple of minutes. I got a couple of dirty looks for it, but it also got some giggles from people and some adorable little girls to dance!
I had a lot of fun at Madame Tussauds. It seemed a little cheesy at first, but once I started posing with celebrities, I got really into it. I figured it would be the only time in my life I'd get to pose with Harry Potter or Will Smith. I'm motivated by Kodak opportunities and this provided plenty of them. It was also a great way to learn about some world leaders and the art of wax sculpting. I unintentionally stepped into a great learning opportunity when all I planned on doing was posing with Johnny Depp. It showed me that learning can occur anywhere and that it should--perhaps we just need to learn how to capitalize on it.
Tower-ing
While other classmates opted to ride a stinky bus around to see the city, Becky and I had other ideas. We formulated a very specific list of goals we wanted to accomplish while in London. Because we are so Student-Affairs-goal-oriented. And dorks.
We decided to cross a big thing off our list right away, since we figured it'd take nearly an afternoon: Tower of London. I was excited to see the tower because I wanted a photo opp with a Beefeater. Seriously. That was the reason I wanted to see the Tower of London. That, and I wanted to see the Crown Jewels. What girl can resist a bunch of diamonds and platinum objects? Not I!
Touring the Tower was really enjoyable. The currators are to be commended because they made the displays very engaging and interactive. Most rooms had displays with stories or myths behind the royalty that lived there. There were also some polls where you could vote with your opinion and see what others thoughts. The best display told the story of the mystery of the two princes who lived in the Tower. They mysteriously disappeared and were never seen again when they were very young and many suspect their uncle murdered them so he could take the crown. Learning about the legend sent shivers down my spine; I felt I was standing in a place where history had occurred. It was a thrilling sensation that still prickles my skin as I think about it now.
Seeing the jewels was quite the experience. They make it clear when you enter the building that there are to be no pictures taken. I witnessed a couple being escorted from the premises because the guy had snapped a picture at the entrance of the display, not even of the jewels themselves. The rooms leading up the actual crown jewels house other treasures, like golden punch bowls the size of bird baths and baby rattles encased in more jewels than a Tiffanys sells. The amount of wealth displayed was mind-blowing to me. The fact that so many pricey objects even exist seems nearly unbelievable. It almost seems like a waste--it seems very showy and a little pointless. (That's saying something coming from a girl who can't have enough pieces of jewelry.)
The jewels were stunning, though. The display was interesting. The crowns, of course, were under lock, key and thick glass. By the cases were moving walkways, so you couldn't just loiter and gaze at the pretty things. That was sad because there were a couple of gorgeous crowns I could have stared at for hours. Some of the jewels on the crowns were as big as my fist. I didn't know such things existed. And now? Now I kind of want to be royalty because I want to wear a crown that has pretty purple gems on it.
I took a lot from the Tower of London. I learned a lot about the royal family and the history behind it. The stories I heard will stay with me for a long time and remind me that I should make some of my own. And now I have an urge to hunt down a prince so I can become royalty....
We decided to cross a big thing off our list right away, since we figured it'd take nearly an afternoon: Tower of London. I was excited to see the tower because I wanted a photo opp with a Beefeater. Seriously. That was the reason I wanted to see the Tower of London. That, and I wanted to see the Crown Jewels. What girl can resist a bunch of diamonds and platinum objects? Not I!
Touring the Tower was really enjoyable. The currators are to be commended because they made the displays very engaging and interactive. Most rooms had displays with stories or myths behind the royalty that lived there. There were also some polls where you could vote with your opinion and see what others thoughts. The best display told the story of the mystery of the two princes who lived in the Tower. They mysteriously disappeared and were never seen again when they were very young and many suspect their uncle murdered them so he could take the crown. Learning about the legend sent shivers down my spine; I felt I was standing in a place where history had occurred. It was a thrilling sensation that still prickles my skin as I think about it now.
Seeing the jewels was quite the experience. They make it clear when you enter the building that there are to be no pictures taken. I witnessed a couple being escorted from the premises because the guy had snapped a picture at the entrance of the display, not even of the jewels themselves. The rooms leading up the actual crown jewels house other treasures, like golden punch bowls the size of bird baths and baby rattles encased in more jewels than a Tiffanys sells. The amount of wealth displayed was mind-blowing to me. The fact that so many pricey objects even exist seems nearly unbelievable. It almost seems like a waste--it seems very showy and a little pointless. (That's saying something coming from a girl who can't have enough pieces of jewelry.)
The jewels were stunning, though. The display was interesting. The crowns, of course, were under lock, key and thick glass. By the cases were moving walkways, so you couldn't just loiter and gaze at the pretty things. That was sad because there were a couple of gorgeous crowns I could have stared at for hours. Some of the jewels on the crowns were as big as my fist. I didn't know such things existed. And now? Now I kind of want to be royalty because I want to wear a crown that has pretty purple gems on it.
I took a lot from the Tower of London. I learned a lot about the royal family and the history behind it. The stories I heard will stay with me for a long time and remind me that I should make some of my own. And now I have an urge to hunt down a prince so I can become royalty....
Sunday, May 18, 2008
London! Home of my Heart!
Wheeeeeee!!!!
We're finally in London! Which means it's the last leg of the trip! And we have lots of free time! And we're in the city that I adore! Wheeeee!!!
Now! Off to reunite with my long-lost love!*
*And by long-lost love, I do mean the city and not some British dude. Although that would be nice too. These accents! They get to me!
We're finally in London! Which means it's the last leg of the trip! And we have lots of free time! And we're in the city that I adore! Wheeeee!!!
Now! Off to reunite with my long-lost love!*
*And by long-lost love, I do mean the city and not some British dude. Although that would be nice too. These accents! They get to me!
Cambridge, Day 2
Our second/last day in Cambridge was a free day for us. I was excited to see more of the charming city that we toured on Friday, so Becky and I set out early to explore parts we had yet to see.
Our first stop was the Wren Library. I wanted to see it for one reason: Winnie the Pooh. AA Milne was a student of Cambridge, so when Winnie the Pooh became popular, he donated his hand-written script of the first novel to the Wren Library on Cambridge's campus. Upon arrival at the library, we learned that not only was it the home of this classic treasure, but it also housed transcripts and letters of Sir Isaac Newton and an eighth-century illustrated Bible. The collection was vast and each treasure was hidden under a thick velvet covering inside of a locked glass case. The atmosphere was hushed and slightly reverent, as if each visitor knew we were in the presence of things that were nearly mythical.
Towards the outside of the Wren Library are columned halls where Newton discovered the speed of sound by clapping and then measuring how long it took to hear the echo through the marbled hall. This delighted me to no end, so once I was done viewing the books, I stomped and clapped and pretended to be all scientifical. In all reality I probably looked and acted like a crazed toddler, but I'm sure I'm not the first to try it.
After satisfying my need to make noise, we headed to the open air market in the center of the city. There, booths sold everything from shimmering scarves to techinicolor flowers to potent cheeses and fresh meats. There was a myriad of people from all areas of the globe and all walks of life mingling and eyeing the goods for sale. Aromas filled the air as sausages were grilled and pad thai was concocted for hungry market-goers. Becky and I wandered for a couple of hours, fingering the gorgeous scarves (I ended up with, um, 3 new ones--I have no willpower), people-watching and sampling the local food.
It began to drizzle in the early afternoon, so my suggestion to go wander a bookstore sounded good by Becky. We found one and I set about finding a copy of Winnie the Pooh. I figured that I had just seen the original copy, so I shouldn't leave without a copy of my own. I found a beautifully bound copy, so I was happy. The rest of our afternoon was spent out of the rain in a cozy coffeeshop (ok, so it was Starbucks, but that was all we could find), reading and journaling. It all felt very collegiate and homey. I love afternoons spent with a good book, so the fact that it was coupled with the fact that I was in England made me all the more blissful.
Our first stop was the Wren Library. I wanted to see it for one reason: Winnie the Pooh. AA Milne was a student of Cambridge, so when Winnie the Pooh became popular, he donated his hand-written script of the first novel to the Wren Library on Cambridge's campus. Upon arrival at the library, we learned that not only was it the home of this classic treasure, but it also housed transcripts and letters of Sir Isaac Newton and an eighth-century illustrated Bible. The collection was vast and each treasure was hidden under a thick velvet covering inside of a locked glass case. The atmosphere was hushed and slightly reverent, as if each visitor knew we were in the presence of things that were nearly mythical.
Towards the outside of the Wren Library are columned halls where Newton discovered the speed of sound by clapping and then measuring how long it took to hear the echo through the marbled hall. This delighted me to no end, so once I was done viewing the books, I stomped and clapped and pretended to be all scientifical. In all reality I probably looked and acted like a crazed toddler, but I'm sure I'm not the first to try it.
After satisfying my need to make noise, we headed to the open air market in the center of the city. There, booths sold everything from shimmering scarves to techinicolor flowers to potent cheeses and fresh meats. There was a myriad of people from all areas of the globe and all walks of life mingling and eyeing the goods for sale. Aromas filled the air as sausages were grilled and pad thai was concocted for hungry market-goers. Becky and I wandered for a couple of hours, fingering the gorgeous scarves (I ended up with, um, 3 new ones--I have no willpower), people-watching and sampling the local food.
It began to drizzle in the early afternoon, so my suggestion to go wander a bookstore sounded good by Becky. We found one and I set about finding a copy of Winnie the Pooh. I figured that I had just seen the original copy, so I shouldn't leave without a copy of my own. I found a beautifully bound copy, so I was happy. The rest of our afternoon was spent out of the rain in a cozy coffeeshop (ok, so it was Starbucks, but that was all we could find), reading and journaling. It all felt very collegiate and homey. I love afternoons spent with a good book, so the fact that it was coupled with the fact that I was in England made me all the more blissful.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Cambridge, Day 1
I don't know what it is, but for some reason we cannot seem to arrive anywhere on time. Perhaps it's because things seem like they're going in slow-motion in the United Kingdom. Or maybe it's because of a lack of good planning. Whatever it is, again, we arrived late, this time to Cambridge. While annoying (because, trust me, I am very annoyed because aren't we supposed to act as professionals here? How professional can one be when being herded off a bus and told they have to not eat for another few hours? Shouldn't we be preparing to be early and not late? Doesn't this make us look bad?!? But I digress...), it serves as a good reminder for how to act--and prepare--for when I am in the field. A couple of lessons lie within these constant late arrivals:
1.) Always allow enough time to travel. If a website or person says it'll take an hour, allow at least an hour and a half. Maybe that's the neurotic being that I am, but I'd rather be early than apologize for making people wait.
2.) Never trust MapQuest. Never. I've always gotten lost while using it and now? Now it's given our driver faulty time estimates, which goes back to my first lesson of allowing puh-lenty of travel time. Seriously.
3.) Enjoy the ride. While severely annoyed by this, I realized there was nothing I personally could do to make us get there on time. All I could do was breathe deeply, put on some good tunes on my iPod and watch the gorgeous British scenery. I theorized that if I looked at this as a gift, it would be come a gift. And it did.
After checking into our lovely, um, temporary home (see last entry for full details), we all headed into the heart of the city for our visit with a couple of faculty members from Cambridge University. The walk to the campus was lovely, albeit drizzling. Cambridge is exactly what I would picture a university city to be: charming, full of brick and stone buildings and lots of friendly people. The lawns and parks were lush--a shade of green I rarely see. A shade that tells that the city indeed gets plenty of rain and this makes for a gorgeous and picturesque scene.
Nearing campus, I noticed that the roads were narrow and didn't allow for cars to park. Then I realized that there weren't too many cars around. Instead bikes lined alleyways and were locked around anything stationary. I later found out that undergraduates cannot have cars, so bicycling was the preferred form of transportation for most of the student body, even during the chilly winter months. I was charmed and delighted by the rows of multi-colored bikes, which turned up everywhere I went.
The visit with the professors from Cambridge was very interesting and enlightening for a couple of reasons. They were both warm, welcoming and quite entertaining. It was interesting to hear about how this prestigious institution does things. The school is broken into 31 distinct colleges, where students live and learn. Each college has its own faculty and staff who work closely with the students. Our hosts made it very clear that they were tied to the students and that they cared about their progress and success. They all personally know their students and work closely to ensure that they are successful. What I took from the presentation is this: you have to be among the best to get into this school for a reason. Once you're in, though, it's almost impossible to fail because of the amount of support behind you, helping you. The faculty and staff will do anything to help their students. One thing that sticks out to me was that one of our hosts said that no student should have to leave Cambridge for monetary reasons; they'll find ways to help students out no matter what the problem. It was really inspiring to see how devoted they are to them.
After our talk with the faculty, we were taken on a tour around the campus. The school isn't strictly a campus like in America, where there is the campus and then the city surrounds it. Instead, the campus and city coexist and intertwine. One minute you can be walking through one of the schools and the next you'll be strolling down a street filled with shops and cafes. I learned that the schools actually own much of the city's land and rent it out in order to make money to pay for upkeep on buildings and to pay salaries and such. Everything we saw was intentionally a part of the school even if we didn't realize it.
Our guide told us many legends, fables and tales about the school and its history. At one point we were in one of the churches on campus (each school has its own church, so there were 31 different churches) and we found out that Oliver Cromwell's head was buried somewhere in the premises. We left the building soon after that tale was told thankfully.
One of my favorite stories was told outside of King's College. On the top of the entrance there is a statue of King Henry VIII, who funded the school. In one hand is supposed to be a sceptor. One night, nearly a hundred years ago, a student scrambled up the wall where the statue stands and replaced the king's sceptor with a chair leg. It stayed that way for a while and when officials found out the prank, they found it so amusing that they let it stay because they recognize the value of good legends. The school is full of legends and stories like that, which make the school both more real and more magical to me. Cambridge has been in existance since the 1200s, so the stories we heard on the tour have been handed down through many generations of students. To think what that must do for their pride and sense of identity--it's amazing. It makes me value the things that schools do to invoke pride and investment in students. And it's something I believe professionals should always strive to do in order to help students succeed. Between the legends, stories and commitment of the faculty and staff of Cambridge, it's no surprise that it's lasted this long and that it has the prestigious image that it does.
While I may not be fortunate enough to work for this school, I will definitely carry a bit of Cambridge pride with me through life because I can now say that I studied there...if only for a day or two!
1.) Always allow enough time to travel. If a website or person says it'll take an hour, allow at least an hour and a half. Maybe that's the neurotic being that I am, but I'd rather be early than apologize for making people wait.
2.) Never trust MapQuest. Never. I've always gotten lost while using it and now? Now it's given our driver faulty time estimates, which goes back to my first lesson of allowing puh-lenty of travel time. Seriously.
3.) Enjoy the ride. While severely annoyed by this, I realized there was nothing I personally could do to make us get there on time. All I could do was breathe deeply, put on some good tunes on my iPod and watch the gorgeous British scenery. I theorized that if I looked at this as a gift, it would be come a gift. And it did.
After checking into our lovely, um, temporary home (see last entry for full details), we all headed into the heart of the city for our visit with a couple of faculty members from Cambridge University. The walk to the campus was lovely, albeit drizzling. Cambridge is exactly what I would picture a university city to be: charming, full of brick and stone buildings and lots of friendly people. The lawns and parks were lush--a shade of green I rarely see. A shade that tells that the city indeed gets plenty of rain and this makes for a gorgeous and picturesque scene.
Nearing campus, I noticed that the roads were narrow and didn't allow for cars to park. Then I realized that there weren't too many cars around. Instead bikes lined alleyways and were locked around anything stationary. I later found out that undergraduates cannot have cars, so bicycling was the preferred form of transportation for most of the student body, even during the chilly winter months. I was charmed and delighted by the rows of multi-colored bikes, which turned up everywhere I went.
The visit with the professors from Cambridge was very interesting and enlightening for a couple of reasons. They were both warm, welcoming and quite entertaining. It was interesting to hear about how this prestigious institution does things. The school is broken into 31 distinct colleges, where students live and learn. Each college has its own faculty and staff who work closely with the students. Our hosts made it very clear that they were tied to the students and that they cared about their progress and success. They all personally know their students and work closely to ensure that they are successful. What I took from the presentation is this: you have to be among the best to get into this school for a reason. Once you're in, though, it's almost impossible to fail because of the amount of support behind you, helping you. The faculty and staff will do anything to help their students. One thing that sticks out to me was that one of our hosts said that no student should have to leave Cambridge for monetary reasons; they'll find ways to help students out no matter what the problem. It was really inspiring to see how devoted they are to them.
After our talk with the faculty, we were taken on a tour around the campus. The school isn't strictly a campus like in America, where there is the campus and then the city surrounds it. Instead, the campus and city coexist and intertwine. One minute you can be walking through one of the schools and the next you'll be strolling down a street filled with shops and cafes. I learned that the schools actually own much of the city's land and rent it out in order to make money to pay for upkeep on buildings and to pay salaries and such. Everything we saw was intentionally a part of the school even if we didn't realize it.
Our guide told us many legends, fables and tales about the school and its history. At one point we were in one of the churches on campus (each school has its own church, so there were 31 different churches) and we found out that Oliver Cromwell's head was buried somewhere in the premises. We left the building soon after that tale was told thankfully.
One of my favorite stories was told outside of King's College. On the top of the entrance there is a statue of King Henry VIII, who funded the school. In one hand is supposed to be a sceptor. One night, nearly a hundred years ago, a student scrambled up the wall where the statue stands and replaced the king's sceptor with a chair leg. It stayed that way for a while and when officials found out the prank, they found it so amusing that they let it stay because they recognize the value of good legends. The school is full of legends and stories like that, which make the school both more real and more magical to me. Cambridge has been in existance since the 1200s, so the stories we heard on the tour have been handed down through many generations of students. To think what that must do for their pride and sense of identity--it's amazing. It makes me value the things that schools do to invoke pride and investment in students. And it's something I believe professionals should always strive to do in order to help students succeed. Between the legends, stories and commitment of the faculty and staff of Cambridge, it's no surprise that it's lasted this long and that it has the prestigious image that it does.
While I may not be fortunate enough to work for this school, I will definitely carry a bit of Cambridge pride with me through life because I can now say that I studied there...if only for a day or two!
Hostel Hell
Whomever decided to move us from the sweet, amazing, lovely, heavenly hotel to this hostel deserves to be shot. Or incarcerated. Or shot and then incarcerated. Because to go from the hotel to the hell hole I currently am residing is nothing short of a crime.
I am not even kidding. First of all, the place we're in looks NOTHING like the picture on their site. At all. The site made it look like it was a pleasant Bed and Breakfast-type house in the middle of Cambridge. The reality was that it looked like a brick project from 1960s downtown Detroit.
And the beds. Oh my GOD the bed. It would have been healthier for me to sleep on pavement or cobblestones than the two-inch mat they call a mattress. When I woke up this morning I felt like a 95-year-old with debilitating arthritis, I was aching so badly. I hurt.
On the bright side at least now I can say I've experienced a hostel. And I can say that I hate it. But at least I now know. And at least now I know that I will pay the extra money for a hotel. Because my inner 95-year-old can't handle this type of place.
I am not even kidding. First of all, the place we're in looks NOTHING like the picture on their site. At all. The site made it look like it was a pleasant Bed and Breakfast-type house in the middle of Cambridge. The reality was that it looked like a brick project from 1960s downtown Detroit.
And the beds. Oh my GOD the bed. It would have been healthier for me to sleep on pavement or cobblestones than the two-inch mat they call a mattress. When I woke up this morning I felt like a 95-year-old with debilitating arthritis, I was aching so badly. I hurt.
On the bright side at least now I can say I've experienced a hostel. And I can say that I hate it. But at least I now know. And at least now I know that I will pay the extra money for a hotel. Because my inner 95-year-old can't handle this type of place.
Sleeping Sweet in Leeds
After visiting York for the day, we rolled into Leeds, roughly 45 minutes away. Apparently there was some sort of big sporting event around York, so all the hotels were booked up, so we were fortunate enough to see yet another big city of England.
I, for one, was thrilled when I saw Leeds on the itinerary for one reason. The Spice Girls. Or, rather, Scary Spice. Scary was my faaaaavorite Spice Girl of. All. Time. And she happened to grow up in Leeds. (Thank you, SpiceWorld, for that vital tidbit of information.) So when we got there, I was all "hellooooo Leeds! Thank you for giving the world Scary Spice! EEEE!" (Seriously. I have the photos to prove it.)
Besides the excitement of being in the Home of Scary Spice, the other fabulous thing about Leeds was that we got to stay in a hotel. A REAL hotel, complete with internet connections and air conditioning and soft, sweet, mushy beds. And cable. Oh, how I missed cable. Granted, there was nothing good to watch on television, but just having it near felt comforting. I didn't think I would enjoy a hotel after residing in a castle and a palace, but I was so very VERY wrong. I sunk into my bed and did not want to get up for anything. I zoned out and stared at the t.v. for a couple of hours. I relished the air conditioning. I hugged my unbelievably mushy pillow. I used my electronics without fear of it blowing the entire electrical system of the building.
The little things that I had gone without for nearly a week. They felt gooooood. It was a delicious treat. I fell asleep with a smile on my face that night.
I, for one, was thrilled when I saw Leeds on the itinerary for one reason. The Spice Girls. Or, rather, Scary Spice. Scary was my faaaaavorite Spice Girl of. All. Time. And she happened to grow up in Leeds. (Thank you, SpiceWorld, for that vital tidbit of information.) So when we got there, I was all "hellooooo Leeds! Thank you for giving the world Scary Spice! EEEE!" (Seriously. I have the photos to prove it.)
Besides the excitement of being in the Home of Scary Spice, the other fabulous thing about Leeds was that we got to stay in a hotel. A REAL hotel, complete with internet connections and air conditioning and soft, sweet, mushy beds. And cable. Oh, how I missed cable. Granted, there was nothing good to watch on television, but just having it near felt comforting. I didn't think I would enjoy a hotel after residing in a castle and a palace, but I was so very VERY wrong. I sunk into my bed and did not want to get up for anything. I zoned out and stared at the t.v. for a couple of hours. I relished the air conditioning. I hugged my unbelievably mushy pillow. I used my electronics without fear of it blowing the entire electrical system of the building.
The little things that I had gone without for nearly a week. They felt gooooood. It was a delicious treat. I fell asleep with a smile on my face that night.
York, York!
I wish so much that we could have spent more time in York. Although I am glad that we had a chance to see this charming city, so I won’t complain too much. York is completely adorable—following in the footsteps of Edinburgh and Alnwick—but for it’s own reasons. It has a very rich history and many centuries-old buildings that make for an amazing setting. Every direction I turned in had remnants from the 16th century; instead of it looking depressing, it looked magical to me.
We got to the city and had nearly two hours to explore before we had to be at our site visit, so Becky and I set off for York Minster, one of the most famous cathedrals in the world. Walking down a narrow street to get there, I felt transported to another time. Pubs with weathered signs lined the sidewalks, window displays mixed new souvenirs with antiques and cobblestones led the way to the cathedral. The atmosphere was welcoming and it made me feel very fuzzy and squishy on the inside. I was very. Happy. To be in this town.
My happiness rose to elation-level when I saw York Minster. The spirals reached for the sky and seemingly touched the perfectly puffy clouds. On the sidewalk outside the church an artist had rendered a multi-person portrait of religious dignitaries and saints in every color found in a crayon box. The drawing was enough to make me catch my breath. It also made me so excited—if it was this gorgeous outside the church, how much beauty was I to find inside?
My expectations were met and exceeded as I stepped into the cavernous entry way. Surrounding the entrance were high stained glass windows that sparkled in the noon-day sun. I was so entranced by them that I forgot that there was more to the building.
Once past the ticket-takers (because every historical building costs you some cash, of course), I lost myself as I wandered through the statues of saints and holy figures. The details displayed on each figure was exquisite; like each statue had taken the artist a lifetime to get it just right. It amazed me to see the different expressions on the faces, the garment creases that made each one look so life-like. The amount of time that must have been spent on each figure—it blew my mind. And it wasn’t just in one small area. Around the minster, figures could be seen on everything from pews to columns to honorariums of donators. The detail-work surrounded me and left me breathless. To think of the commitment it must have taken each of the artists and architects…it blew my mind.
While wandering, I found a small area at the end of a corridor filled with tealight candles. Inspired by the beauty I saw and love I felt throughout the magnificent cathedral, I struck a match and lit a candle for my family. As I watched it flicker and burn, I felt shivers up and down my entire body, then began to smile as a peaceful, content emotion swept over my being. At that moment I was not another tourist gawking and snapping pictures. Instead I was a part of history, a significant being in God's universe who felt His grace smiling upon her.
At noon, chimes sounded over the intercom and asked each visitor to pause, reflect and spend a moment in silence. A prayer was then said to ease all the pain and suffering in the world and to bless all inhabitants. Again, I felt shivers and a peaceful emotion run through me. Being a part of York Minster cathedral fed my soul, heart and mind. It was truly an amazing experience.
We got to the city and had nearly two hours to explore before we had to be at our site visit, so Becky and I set off for York Minster, one of the most famous cathedrals in the world. Walking down a narrow street to get there, I felt transported to another time. Pubs with weathered signs lined the sidewalks, window displays mixed new souvenirs with antiques and cobblestones led the way to the cathedral. The atmosphere was welcoming and it made me feel very fuzzy and squishy on the inside. I was very. Happy. To be in this town.
My happiness rose to elation-level when I saw York Minster. The spirals reached for the sky and seemingly touched the perfectly puffy clouds. On the sidewalk outside the church an artist had rendered a multi-person portrait of religious dignitaries and saints in every color found in a crayon box. The drawing was enough to make me catch my breath. It also made me so excited—if it was this gorgeous outside the church, how much beauty was I to find inside?
My expectations were met and exceeded as I stepped into the cavernous entry way. Surrounding the entrance were high stained glass windows that sparkled in the noon-day sun. I was so entranced by them that I forgot that there was more to the building.
Once past the ticket-takers (because every historical building costs you some cash, of course), I lost myself as I wandered through the statues of saints and holy figures. The details displayed on each figure was exquisite; like each statue had taken the artist a lifetime to get it just right. It amazed me to see the different expressions on the faces, the garment creases that made each one look so life-like. The amount of time that must have been spent on each figure—it blew my mind. And it wasn’t just in one small area. Around the minster, figures could be seen on everything from pews to columns to honorariums of donators. The detail-work surrounded me and left me breathless. To think of the commitment it must have taken each of the artists and architects…it blew my mind.
While wandering, I found a small area at the end of a corridor filled with tealight candles. Inspired by the beauty I saw and love I felt throughout the magnificent cathedral, I struck a match and lit a candle for my family. As I watched it flicker and burn, I felt shivers up and down my entire body, then began to smile as a peaceful, content emotion swept over my being. At that moment I was not another tourist gawking and snapping pictures. Instead I was a part of history, a significant being in God's universe who felt His grace smiling upon her.
At noon, chimes sounded over the intercom and asked each visitor to pause, reflect and spend a moment in silence. A prayer was then said to ease all the pain and suffering in the world and to bless all inhabitants. Again, I felt shivers and a peaceful emotion run through me. Being a part of York Minster cathedral fed my soul, heart and mind. It was truly an amazing experience.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Castle-tastic!
I fear I'm going to get spoiled because of this trip. For the first three nights we stayed in a palace. A palace. And now? Now I'm residing in a castle a couple of nights. Not just any castle either. Alnwick Castle, which is most famous because of the Harry Potter movies, as it was used in a lot of the exterior shots for the first two of these fabulous movie. It's also in Shakespeare in Love, Robin Hood Prince of Thieves and Elizabeth. Also? It's home to the Duke of Northumberland and his family. This is no chain hotel, my friends.
This could explain why I'm struggling to describe my experience here. Because it is unlike anything I have ever experienced in my life. The castle is hundreds of years old; the weathered look makes me think of the countless historical moments that could have occurred here. There are sprawling grounds surrounding the estate that are both picture-esque and completely intentional. The trees and creek that I can see from certain parts of the Castle were designed by an engineer who made suggestions about where the trees should be planted and how the water should run. The trees were brought from other parts of the UK, they did not magically grow there. Intentionality--it's not just a buzz word in student affairs, I'm finding that it plays a signifcant role in most things in life that I run across.
The quarters that we're staying in as a class are not elegant state rooms drenched in velvet curtains and lush carpet. That's reserved for the Duke. (Oh, more on the State Rooms in another entry.) We're staying in what used to be the servant's quarters, which means I'm in a room roughly the size of a dorm room. There are no consistency with the size of the rooms, because my room is about twice the size of some of my classmates, but then other rooms are even roomier than mine. This makes for some grumpy classmates who are practically sleeping onto of one another while solving the equation of 2 beds + 2 girls + 2 or more big-ass suitcases - a lot of room = wtf?!? I think we're learning a lesson in adaptability. We'll survive for two reasons...
1.) It's only for a couple of nights, and...
2.) We're staying in an EFFING CASTLE. I'd sleep in the open-air courtyard just to have this experience.
I'm struggling to describe how the castle looks. So instead I took a lot of pictures. I will always remember the awe I feel though as I stroll through the courtyard and attempt to not stumble on the inevitably cobblestoned paths. The lawns are lushly green, the skies look inviting and enchanting around the estate, and I feel like a princess as I take it all in. I imagine the grand parties thrown in honor of royalty, the historical bonds forged late at night in the state rooms, the secrets whispered in corridors late at night, trysts beginning in the corners random parts of the castle. The secrets that Alnwick must hold! I'm honored to be a part of history if only for a fleeting moment. And I envy the students who get to stay there for an entire semester as part of a study abroad experience. In the words of Napoleon (Dynamite): Lucky!
This could explain why I'm struggling to describe my experience here. Because it is unlike anything I have ever experienced in my life. The castle is hundreds of years old; the weathered look makes me think of the countless historical moments that could have occurred here. There are sprawling grounds surrounding the estate that are both picture-esque and completely intentional. The trees and creek that I can see from certain parts of the Castle were designed by an engineer who made suggestions about where the trees should be planted and how the water should run. The trees were brought from other parts of the UK, they did not magically grow there. Intentionality--it's not just a buzz word in student affairs, I'm finding that it plays a signifcant role in most things in life that I run across.
The quarters that we're staying in as a class are not elegant state rooms drenched in velvet curtains and lush carpet. That's reserved for the Duke. (Oh, more on the State Rooms in another entry.) We're staying in what used to be the servant's quarters, which means I'm in a room roughly the size of a dorm room. There are no consistency with the size of the rooms, because my room is about twice the size of some of my classmates, but then other rooms are even roomier than mine. This makes for some grumpy classmates who are practically sleeping onto of one another while solving the equation of 2 beds + 2 girls + 2 or more big-ass suitcases - a lot of room = wtf?!? I think we're learning a lesson in adaptability. We'll survive for two reasons...
1.) It's only for a couple of nights, and...
2.) We're staying in an EFFING CASTLE. I'd sleep in the open-air courtyard just to have this experience.
I'm struggling to describe how the castle looks. So instead I took a lot of pictures. I will always remember the awe I feel though as I stroll through the courtyard and attempt to not stumble on the inevitably cobblestoned paths. The lawns are lushly green, the skies look inviting and enchanting around the estate, and I feel like a princess as I take it all in. I imagine the grand parties thrown in honor of royalty, the historical bonds forged late at night in the state rooms, the secrets whispered in corridors late at night, trysts beginning in the corners random parts of the castle. The secrets that Alnwick must hold! I'm honored to be a part of history if only for a fleeting moment. And I envy the students who get to stay there for an entire semester as part of a study abroad experience. In the words of Napoleon (Dynamite): Lucky!
Oh! Little Town of Alnwick!
So far I've been really fortunate on this journey to see some really amazing cities and towns. Dalkeith was tiny and sweet. Edinburgh was gorgeous and welcoming. Glasgow was picture-esque and memorable (I won't say why it was memorable though--make your own conclusions). And now we've landed in Alnwick, which I had never heard about until I saw the itinerary for the trip. To say the tiny town was cute and charming would be a severe understatement.
In all reality, the town is no bigger than my hometown of Chassell. So this is like Chassell! Except with gorgeous architecture that dates back many centuries, shops that I actually like (ie: global markets, french bakeries and adorable bookstores), and cobblestoned streets and sidewalks.
The town has two main roads and a small downtown that consists of the above-mentioned shops, a few restaurants and pubs, and a playhouse that doubles as the town movie theater on Tuesday nights. It is so charming that a thousand children's books and Jane Austin novels could be set here. The big news for Alnwick is that a second grocery store opened up! It's open a whole hour later than the first grocer--until 9 pm! Exclamation points!!!!!
The people of the town are some of the friendliest I've ever met in my life. In each shop or restaurant I've been to, the people have asked how my holiday is going and if I'm enjoying my time in the town. They've asked how they can make it better! That's hospitality! More than that, they geniunely seemed to care about what I thought and where I was from. It was incredible. I had better conversations with the townspeople of Alnwick than I've had in my time in East Lansing. I've lived here for two years--I was only in town for two days!
The charm and hospitality of Alnwick will stay with me for a long time. The people seemed geniunely happy and engaged. This is how I want to be in my life and in my job. I hope the spirit of this beautiful town will stay with me for the rest of my days.
In all reality, the town is no bigger than my hometown of Chassell. So this is like Chassell! Except with gorgeous architecture that dates back many centuries, shops that I actually like (ie: global markets, french bakeries and adorable bookstores), and cobblestoned streets and sidewalks.
The town has two main roads and a small downtown that consists of the above-mentioned shops, a few restaurants and pubs, and a playhouse that doubles as the town movie theater on Tuesday nights. It is so charming that a thousand children's books and Jane Austin novels could be set here. The big news for Alnwick is that a second grocery store opened up! It's open a whole hour later than the first grocer--until 9 pm! Exclamation points!!!!!
The people of the town are some of the friendliest I've ever met in my life. In each shop or restaurant I've been to, the people have asked how my holiday is going and if I'm enjoying my time in the town. They've asked how they can make it better! That's hospitality! More than that, they geniunely seemed to care about what I thought and where I was from. It was incredible. I had better conversations with the townspeople of Alnwick than I've had in my time in East Lansing. I've lived here for two years--I was only in town for two days!
The charm and hospitality of Alnwick will stay with me for a long time. The people seemed geniunely happy and engaged. This is how I want to be in my life and in my job. I hope the spirit of this beautiful town will stay with me for the rest of my days.
The Little Things! They Make Me Happy!
So I was rushing to get to the presentation this morning. (Because we all know I am not a morning person.) As I stepped outside and hobbled across the cobblestones (because having a sprained ankle totally hinders your rushing--good to know) I saw a furry little something loitering on the edges of the property. More than that, the black and white little furry something spotted me.
Before I knew it, a chubby, purry kitty was making me his new friend. And I could not have been happier.
He was so cute! And friendly! And soft and furry! And chubby! And did I mention friendly? Seriously, this cat had no problem with curling up on a stranger's foot. Because that was just what he did. And instead of being annoyed that the purry furry was making me late I squealed and made him my friend. And considered making him my souvenir for a brief second. But then I remembered about the weight limits on the planes. And the fact that I can't have a pet in my hall.
Bummer. He totally made me forget that I missed my friends and family for a second. But hey! I'm staying at a freakin' castle! I gotta get over this.
Before I knew it, a chubby, purry kitty was making me his new friend. And I could not have been happier.
He was so cute! And friendly! And soft and furry! And chubby! And did I mention friendly? Seriously, this cat had no problem with curling up on a stranger's foot. Because that was just what he did. And instead of being annoyed that the purry furry was making me late I squealed and made him my friend. And considered making him my souvenir for a brief second. But then I remembered about the weight limits on the planes. And the fact that I can't have a pet in my hall.
Bummer. He totally made me forget that I missed my friends and family for a second. But hey! I'm staying at a freakin' castle! I gotta get over this.
Emotional, in a Different Way
So. I've calmed down. I'm still completely excited about the fact that I'm sleeping in a castle. Because, seriously, who can say that they've slept in a castle? This girl!
I've kind of, sort of settled into my room. After unpacking a little I decided to unplug with my trusty iPod while writing postcards to the ones I love.
A little note? Don't unplug with your iPod while writing postcards to the ones you love. It'll just make you homesick. And it might make you cry a little. Or a lot. And it maybe, just maybe might make you miss your boyfriend and you might just yearn to be in his arms and you might just consider selling your soul for a moment with him just so he can kiss your forehead and hear him say he loves you.
I'm just saying.
I've kind of, sort of settled into my room. After unpacking a little I decided to unplug with my trusty iPod while writing postcards to the ones I love.
A little note? Don't unplug with your iPod while writing postcards to the ones you love. It'll just make you homesick. And it might make you cry a little. Or a lot. And it maybe, just maybe might make you miss your boyfriend and you might just yearn to be in his arms and you might just consider selling your soul for a moment with him just so he can kiss your forehead and hear him say he loves you.
I'm just saying.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Alnwick! Sweet Alnwick!
Here is exactly my train of though as the bus pulled up to Alnwick Castle this afternoon...
Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod OHMYGOD!!! Eeeeeeeeeee!!!!!! Harry Potter Castle!!!!!!! AHHHHH!!!! Can I live here? It's! So! Prettyyyyy!!!!! And big! WOW!!!!
Alnwick Castle is gorgeous! It's sprawling and the grounds surrounding it are lush and picture-esque. This could be one of the reasons why it's used so often in movies. The thing that excited me the most is that the exterior was used for the first two Harry Potter movies. I saw the courtyard today where they filmed the flying lesson scene and I nearly wet myself. I was standing on the grounds where Harry, Hermione and Ron first learned how to use their brooms! Freakin' awesome!
I'm in a state of sheer bliss at the moment. More later, after I've recovered from my happy-stroke.
Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod OHMYGOD!!! Eeeeeeeeeee!!!!!! Harry Potter Castle!!!!!!! AHHHHH!!!! Can I live here? It's! So! Prettyyyyy!!!!! And big! WOW!!!!
Alnwick Castle is gorgeous! It's sprawling and the grounds surrounding it are lush and picture-esque. This could be one of the reasons why it's used so often in movies. The thing that excited me the most is that the exterior was used for the first two Harry Potter movies. I saw the courtyard today where they filmed the flying lesson scene and I nearly wet myself. I was standing on the grounds where Harry, Hermione and Ron first learned how to use their brooms! Freakin' awesome!
I'm in a state of sheer bliss at the moment. More later, after I've recovered from my happy-stroke.
Hobbling around Holy Island
So. Although I was told it was a long walk to the monastery on Holy Island, I was determined to not let my injury keep me from enjoying my day. It was sunny outside, there was a castle on the outskirts of the island that made me happy just by looking at it and I felt inspired by the scenery. Besides--the entrance fee was paid for already (through the class fees)and I wasn't about to let hard-earned money go to waste!
So Becky and I set out to see the island. And I have to pause here to give her a zillion props. She stuck by my side all day, never batted an eye about my limpy nature and did not complain that I was walking about 1/4 mph. She is an amazing friend--I'm so grateful she was on the trip with me!
The monastery turned out not to be as far as we anticipated. And it was amazing to see because it was built in the 9th century. (I think. I have to recheck my facts.) The hall that the monks stayed at is the first residence hall ever (allegedly), so it was incredible to see the roots and how far residence halls have come. The place is merely ruins now, but it was amazing to see them and imagine how life would have been for the monks-in-training.
The highlight of the ruins was the rainbow arch, which towered above the grass at least thirty feet into the air. It looked to be reaching for the puffy clouds above it, enshrined in red brick.
Around the ruins were the shoreline. From it, I could see sailboats docked. Further in the distance was a castle on a peninsula, sure to be the home of a duke, lucky enough to own the lush land and island. It was enchanting and gorgeous.
Surrounding the ruins were small pubs and restaurants. We decided to pop into one for crab sandwiches. I had heard that the island is famous for them. Being a huge seafood fan, I was not about to let that opportunity pass me by! The place was packed when we entered, mostly with my classmates, all of whom were clamoring to try the same sandwich I was. Though it took a while for the bartender to take our order, the wait was well worth it. The crab was fresh, the bread was crusty--it was like a piece of heaven in my mouth. It's a pity that seafood doesn't hold up because a dozen of those to-go would have made a fantastic souvenir for myself and friends!
The area is also famous for Mead, a sweet honey wine made on the island. After lunch, Becky and I ventured over to the winery to taste it. The wine room was packed with tourists with the same intentions, but it was clear that the workers were pros at handling crowds, as trays of Mead samples lined the counter, tempting customers to try it. We each grabbed a tiny shot, toasted and tasted. It was like liquid candy, warm and sweet as it snaked down my throat. It was gone too soon and I was sold on the idea of purchasing a bottle to share with my boyfriend. Becky also purchased some to share with her friends State-side.
Seeing the sights, sampling the local foods and wine and generally enjoying the day helped me to forget about my ankle. (Although admittedly so did a few Tylenol Fast-Acting Gelcaps.) My determination helped to make my day a memorable one; I'm happy I didn't let a small thing keep me from having a great day.
So Becky and I set out to see the island. And I have to pause here to give her a zillion props. She stuck by my side all day, never batted an eye about my limpy nature and did not complain that I was walking about 1/4 mph. She is an amazing friend--I'm so grateful she was on the trip with me!
The monastery turned out not to be as far as we anticipated. And it was amazing to see because it was built in the 9th century. (I think. I have to recheck my facts.) The hall that the monks stayed at is the first residence hall ever (allegedly), so it was incredible to see the roots and how far residence halls have come. The place is merely ruins now, but it was amazing to see them and imagine how life would have been for the monks-in-training.
The highlight of the ruins was the rainbow arch, which towered above the grass at least thirty feet into the air. It looked to be reaching for the puffy clouds above it, enshrined in red brick.
Around the ruins were the shoreline. From it, I could see sailboats docked. Further in the distance was a castle on a peninsula, sure to be the home of a duke, lucky enough to own the lush land and island. It was enchanting and gorgeous.
Surrounding the ruins were small pubs and restaurants. We decided to pop into one for crab sandwiches. I had heard that the island is famous for them. Being a huge seafood fan, I was not about to let that opportunity pass me by! The place was packed when we entered, mostly with my classmates, all of whom were clamoring to try the same sandwich I was. Though it took a while for the bartender to take our order, the wait was well worth it. The crab was fresh, the bread was crusty--it was like a piece of heaven in my mouth. It's a pity that seafood doesn't hold up because a dozen of those to-go would have made a fantastic souvenir for myself and friends!
The area is also famous for Mead, a sweet honey wine made on the island. After lunch, Becky and I ventured over to the winery to taste it. The wine room was packed with tourists with the same intentions, but it was clear that the workers were pros at handling crowds, as trays of Mead samples lined the counter, tempting customers to try it. We each grabbed a tiny shot, toasted and tasted. It was like liquid candy, warm and sweet as it snaked down my throat. It was gone too soon and I was sold on the idea of purchasing a bottle to share with my boyfriend. Becky also purchased some to share with her friends State-side.
Seeing the sights, sampling the local foods and wine and generally enjoying the day helped me to forget about my ankle. (Although admittedly so did a few Tylenol Fast-Acting Gelcaps.) My determination helped to make my day a memorable one; I'm happy I didn't let a small thing keep me from having a great day.
Crying Out Loud
When I woke up Tuesday morning, I forgot for a split second that I had an injured ankle. So I swung my feet over my bed and as they hit the cold tile floor I remembered. And then emitted a shriek that could have summoned the dogs from around a hundred mile radius. Just a note: a sprained ankle/foot hitting the floor will send jolts of searing pain through your entire body.
At least it woke me up.
Tuesday we had to pack up and bid adeiu to Dalkeith Palace. While I loved the place, Monday night was very cold. Every girl in my room had at least three or four blankets piled on her bed to keep warm. I was no exception to that. Large houses built in the 1800s will be drafty. At least there was a large cabinet filled to the brim with blankets for our own personal use. That was definitely our saving grace.
Before we left Becky and I spent a last couple of minutes in the "Narnia Room." The class nicknamed it that because it's a large ballroom with a few large cabinets. These cabinets could seriously house a person, they're that spacious. So of course we piled ourselves into the cabinets and pretended we were the lucky orphans who discovered a magical land.
Once we left, we headed towards Alnwick. But before we got there, we stopped at Holy Island, thus named because of a monastery that used to be housed there. The Island is unique because it's only an island when the tide comes in. From my understanding it only comes in once or twice a day, but when it does it covers the entire road leading to the island and if a person's car is on the road it will be rusty heap by the time the tide goes back out.
Once the bus rolled up to the island, my ankle was throbbing. I began to get concerned because I knew that it was a decent walk to the monastery and around the island. What was I going to do? I didn't want to just sit at a coffee shop all day while my classmates ate crab sandwiches and had photo shoots around the island. Plus I was frustrated because of the lack of concern from the trip advisors. While one knew I'd sprained the ankle, there was no follow-up or questions asked post-Glasgow. That is no way to treat a student.
After I hobbled off the plane I spoke to both advisors. (Read: I began bawling like a baby. The ankle really effin' HURT!) Here's how the first part of the conversation went...
Me: I'm concerned about the walk. How far is the monastery?
Mean advisor: *snorts and rolls eyes* OH. It's FAR. It's definitely a WALK.
Me: *begins to tear up out of pain and frustration*
A note to all budding professionals or people in the field of student affairs: don't act like that. Even if you dislike somebody, try to show a little compassion or at least patience. And definitely don't snort,roll your eyes or try to dismiss somebody when they have a legitimate question. Unless you want to make somebody cry. In that case? Mission accomplished, mean professor.
To be fair, the kinder advisor apologized and we had a good heart-to-heart after that. I communicated my needs to her and she listened and took them to heart. (And to note: the mean advisor felt so bad about my crying that she made a personal trip into town to get me an ace bandage. So she gets a couple of points in her direction for doing that.)
At least it woke me up.
Tuesday we had to pack up and bid adeiu to Dalkeith Palace. While I loved the place, Monday night was very cold. Every girl in my room had at least three or four blankets piled on her bed to keep warm. I was no exception to that. Large houses built in the 1800s will be drafty. At least there was a large cabinet filled to the brim with blankets for our own personal use. That was definitely our saving grace.
Before we left Becky and I spent a last couple of minutes in the "Narnia Room." The class nicknamed it that because it's a large ballroom with a few large cabinets. These cabinets could seriously house a person, they're that spacious. So of course we piled ourselves into the cabinets and pretended we were the lucky orphans who discovered a magical land.
Once we left, we headed towards Alnwick. But before we got there, we stopped at Holy Island, thus named because of a monastery that used to be housed there. The Island is unique because it's only an island when the tide comes in. From my understanding it only comes in once or twice a day, but when it does it covers the entire road leading to the island and if a person's car is on the road it will be rusty heap by the time the tide goes back out.
Once the bus rolled up to the island, my ankle was throbbing. I began to get concerned because I knew that it was a decent walk to the monastery and around the island. What was I going to do? I didn't want to just sit at a coffee shop all day while my classmates ate crab sandwiches and had photo shoots around the island. Plus I was frustrated because of the lack of concern from the trip advisors. While one knew I'd sprained the ankle, there was no follow-up or questions asked post-Glasgow. That is no way to treat a student.
After I hobbled off the plane I spoke to both advisors. (Read: I began bawling like a baby. The ankle really effin' HURT!) Here's how the first part of the conversation went...
Me: I'm concerned about the walk. How far is the monastery?
Mean advisor: *snorts and rolls eyes* OH. It's FAR. It's definitely a WALK.
Me: *begins to tear up out of pain and frustration*
A note to all budding professionals or people in the field of student affairs: don't act like that. Even if you dislike somebody, try to show a little compassion or at least patience. And definitely don't snort,roll your eyes or try to dismiss somebody when they have a legitimate question. Unless you want to make somebody cry. In that case? Mission accomplished, mean professor.
To be fair, the kinder advisor apologized and we had a good heart-to-heart after that. I communicated my needs to her and she listened and took them to heart. (And to note: the mean advisor felt so bad about my crying that she made a personal trip into town to get me an ace bandage. So she gets a couple of points in her direction for doing that.)
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Trippin'
An email I sent to my closest friends and loved ones after I got home from Glasgow. And to those who don't know me too well? This is SO typical of me.
Greetings from Glasgow!!
So. I'm on this amazing tour of the UK right now and today we were touring the University of Glasgow and the beautiful city. While we didn't have time to pick up any souvenirs, I did come back with something special.
A sprained ankle.
We all know my luck. I am not a graceful person. But really? I couldn't even make it four days into my trip without injuring myself? Does this suprise any of you, though? It shouldn't.
Here's what happened. We had an hour to grab food before our bus left to come back to our Palace (yes! I'm staying in a palace! But don't be too jealous because apparently Palace is another word for drafty and kind of dingy looking. It's nice, but not what I'd think of when I hear the word, you know?) for the night. Being thrifty, my friends and I chose the pub where you could get a cheap burger and free Coke. The place was up a flight of stairs, so as we descended, we are happy and full and generally loving life. As I'm on some random spiel or another, I don't watch where I'm going, my foot slips, my ankle twists and suddenly I'm looking at the cobblestone sidewalk. My friends all gasp and I hear a group of Glasgownians go collectively "ooooh." One nice guy did leap up and try to help me up from my fall of shame.
The sad thing? I didn't even drink! No drinky! And still hurty! Baah!
I swear I'm going to make a shirt when I return that says "I went to Glasgow and all I got was a sprained ankle." Which, really, is more than anyone else got because there was zero time for shopping today.
Greetings from Glasgow!!
So. I'm on this amazing tour of the UK right now and today we were touring the University of Glasgow and the beautiful city. While we didn't have time to pick up any souvenirs, I did come back with something special.
A sprained ankle.
We all know my luck. I am not a graceful person. But really? I couldn't even make it four days into my trip without injuring myself? Does this suprise any of you, though? It shouldn't.
Here's what happened. We had an hour to grab food before our bus left to come back to our Palace (yes! I'm staying in a palace! But don't be too jealous because apparently Palace is another word for drafty and kind of dingy looking. It's nice, but not what I'd think of when I hear the word, you know?) for the night. Being thrifty, my friends and I chose the pub where you could get a cheap burger and free Coke. The place was up a flight of stairs, so as we descended, we are happy and full and generally loving life. As I'm on some random spiel or another, I don't watch where I'm going, my foot slips, my ankle twists and suddenly I'm looking at the cobblestone sidewalk. My friends all gasp and I hear a group of Glasgownians go collectively "ooooh." One nice guy did leap up and try to help me up from my fall of shame.
The sad thing? I didn't even drink! No drinky! And still hurty! Baah!
I swear I'm going to make a shirt when I return that says "I went to Glasgow and all I got was a sprained ankle." Which, really, is more than anyone else got because there was zero time for shopping today.
Cramming
Usually when a student affairs professional hears the word "cramming" he or she thinks of students desperately trying to learn loads of information hours before midterms or finals. However, in this case it means everything that was attempted on Monday for our class.
When I looked at the schedule I knew it would be a rough day. Beginning early and ending over 12 hours later, as a class we would go to not one, but two universities in Scotland complete with campus tours and many lectures as well as a good amount of travel time between the two campuses.
On paper and in theory it worked. However it panned out differently because the amount of travel time between Edinburgh and Glasgow was underestimated. Instead of it taking only an hour, it took nearly two. The climax of the journey came when we all sleepily piled off the bus to hear the instructions "you have ten minutes to grab lunch and find the conference room."
Um, what?
I'm sorry, but it does not seem completely professional to cut into lunch time and have the students suffer because of poor planning. While I tried to remain positive, it was hard, especially when I had no idea where I was or what was available. Additionally, I don't know that the presenters appreciated 28 people hungrily chowing down on various smelly foods while they operated Power Point and waxed poetic about their offices. It all seemed unprofessional to me and I was slightly mortified, both for myself and my class because I don't know that we made the best impression.
While I know that we have to remain open and flexible in this profession, I think that wiggle room must also be allowed in scheduling. Cramming so much into a day made us not only exhausted but late and looking sheepish at best. A good lesson to keep in mind as I go through this journey.
When I looked at the schedule I knew it would be a rough day. Beginning early and ending over 12 hours later, as a class we would go to not one, but two universities in Scotland complete with campus tours and many lectures as well as a good amount of travel time between the two campuses.
On paper and in theory it worked. However it panned out differently because the amount of travel time between Edinburgh and Glasgow was underestimated. Instead of it taking only an hour, it took nearly two. The climax of the journey came when we all sleepily piled off the bus to hear the instructions "you have ten minutes to grab lunch and find the conference room."
Um, what?
I'm sorry, but it does not seem completely professional to cut into lunch time and have the students suffer because of poor planning. While I tried to remain positive, it was hard, especially when I had no idea where I was or what was available. Additionally, I don't know that the presenters appreciated 28 people hungrily chowing down on various smelly foods while they operated Power Point and waxed poetic about their offices. It all seemed unprofessional to me and I was slightly mortified, both for myself and my class because I don't know that we made the best impression.
While I know that we have to remain open and flexible in this profession, I think that wiggle room must also be allowed in scheduling. Cramming so much into a day made us not only exhausted but late and looking sheepish at best. A good lesson to keep in mind as I go through this journey.
Edinburgh Castle
I want to be royalty.
Seriously! I am going to hunt me down a king (or at least a duke or a count) and live happily ever after in a castle. To be more specific, Edinburgh Castle, or one just like it.
It is a beautiful creation. And huge! Massive! Monumental! Insert more words that mean big here!
One of my favorite things about Edinburgh Castle is that a person can see amazing, sweeping views of the city from it. I saw another side of the city from being above it. It took my breath away when I peered over the ledges of the Castle: rooftops of cathedrals reaching for the heavens, vehicles criss-crossing all over the roads, clouds lazily floating through the blue sky. Everything seemed so peaceful, so picture-esque, so perfect. I wanted to stare at those views for hours.
The castle didn't just consist of one building. I think that's the biggest misconception I had about it: that it was a single building. Instead it consisted of many buildings that had many different uses: a jail, a chapel, a weapons house, a garden, living quarters, servants quarters, etc... It was overwhelming to look at the map that showed the layout of the place. Luckily it was easier to navigate than it looked. All I had to do was basically follow the paths.
But the paths! Oooh, the paths! I've come to the conclusion that any princess who lived in this castle had to be one tough broad because the cobblestones that paved the paths were hard and uneven. They were harsh on my feet! I would not have survived back in the day. Or! I would just have buff men carting me around so my feet wouldn't hurt! There's an idea!
One story that I loved from our tour guide was about the gun firing every day. Each day at 1 p.m. the gun fires off to alert everyone in the city and at sea to the time. Why one o'clock? Why not noon, as many people would assume? Because Scots do things their own way! And because if it was fired at 1 p.m. they'd only have to fire one shot as opposed to the twelve needed for a noon sounding. That way they'd save money and use it for more important things "like Scotch and haggis." I love it!
The best part of the castle for me was seeing St. Margaret's Chapel. It was this tiny little unassuming chapel in the middle of the castle grounds. It was named after Saint Margaret, a woman who died of a broken heart three days after her husband passed away. That story broke my heart and truly made me believe in the power of love, so the Chapel was something I felt an instant connection to. Inside it couldn't fit more than maybe 15 or 20 people, but in it's simplicity lies it's beauty. The stained glass windows are intricate in the details and vivid in color. The altar has a couple of religious sculptures and the walls are pure white. Yet something about this tiny building latched onto my memory and my heart. It felt simple, pure, the kind of place where you would confess all your sins and become closer to God. The walls felt like it held secrets and a history. It reminded me of the church I attended when I was young. Because of that I felt connected to it. It was lovely.
I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy seeing the Scottish crown jewels. Because that was huge, too. The jewels of Scotland are older than the British royal jewels--I believe the tour guide said they've been used since the 12th or 13th century. (Note: there is a very good chance I could be WAY OFF, so don't quote me on that.) They were beautiful: sparkling (duh), big (double duh), stunning (I suck at describing pretty, shiny things). The Stone of Destiny lies there as well. The Stone of Destiny is Scotland's symbol and a huge source of pride for all Scots. A royal cannot be crowned without the Stone of Destiny there. If a coronation happens and the Stone is not in sight, it is not considered official.
The interesting thing about the Stone of Destiny is that it's not really that pretty. It looks rather plain--like a big block of sandstone. It isn't adorned in emeralds or diamonds. It isn't shiny. Instead it's sizable block of stone that fits perfectly into the Coronation Throne in London. To hear the Scots talk of it was inspiring. They are so proud of it and the history behind it.
That's what I'll truly take from my visit to Edinburgh and Edinburgh Castle: the passion and pride. The Scottish people I met were very proud of their heritage and their history--both personal and in their country. They had an energy that was contagious; it was hard not to be excited about their stories as they animatedly spoke and gestured. There is so much passion and pride within that city. I hope to carry that with me always. And I hope that I show my passion and pride in my interactions daily. Thank you for that reminder, Edinburgh. You will not be soon forgotten, I promise.
Seriously! I am going to hunt me down a king (or at least a duke or a count) and live happily ever after in a castle. To be more specific, Edinburgh Castle, or one just like it.
It is a beautiful creation. And huge! Massive! Monumental! Insert more words that mean big here!
One of my favorite things about Edinburgh Castle is that a person can see amazing, sweeping views of the city from it. I saw another side of the city from being above it. It took my breath away when I peered over the ledges of the Castle: rooftops of cathedrals reaching for the heavens, vehicles criss-crossing all over the roads, clouds lazily floating through the blue sky. Everything seemed so peaceful, so picture-esque, so perfect. I wanted to stare at those views for hours.
The castle didn't just consist of one building. I think that's the biggest misconception I had about it: that it was a single building. Instead it consisted of many buildings that had many different uses: a jail, a chapel, a weapons house, a garden, living quarters, servants quarters, etc... It was overwhelming to look at the map that showed the layout of the place. Luckily it was easier to navigate than it looked. All I had to do was basically follow the paths.
But the paths! Oooh, the paths! I've come to the conclusion that any princess who lived in this castle had to be one tough broad because the cobblestones that paved the paths were hard and uneven. They were harsh on my feet! I would not have survived back in the day. Or! I would just have buff men carting me around so my feet wouldn't hurt! There's an idea!
One story that I loved from our tour guide was about the gun firing every day. Each day at 1 p.m. the gun fires off to alert everyone in the city and at sea to the time. Why one o'clock? Why not noon, as many people would assume? Because Scots do things their own way! And because if it was fired at 1 p.m. they'd only have to fire one shot as opposed to the twelve needed for a noon sounding. That way they'd save money and use it for more important things "like Scotch and haggis." I love it!
The best part of the castle for me was seeing St. Margaret's Chapel. It was this tiny little unassuming chapel in the middle of the castle grounds. It was named after Saint Margaret, a woman who died of a broken heart three days after her husband passed away. That story broke my heart and truly made me believe in the power of love, so the Chapel was something I felt an instant connection to. Inside it couldn't fit more than maybe 15 or 20 people, but in it's simplicity lies it's beauty. The stained glass windows are intricate in the details and vivid in color. The altar has a couple of religious sculptures and the walls are pure white. Yet something about this tiny building latched onto my memory and my heart. It felt simple, pure, the kind of place where you would confess all your sins and become closer to God. The walls felt like it held secrets and a history. It reminded me of the church I attended when I was young. Because of that I felt connected to it. It was lovely.
I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy seeing the Scottish crown jewels. Because that was huge, too. The jewels of Scotland are older than the British royal jewels--I believe the tour guide said they've been used since the 12th or 13th century. (Note: there is a very good chance I could be WAY OFF, so don't quote me on that.) They were beautiful: sparkling (duh), big (double duh), stunning (I suck at describing pretty, shiny things). The Stone of Destiny lies there as well. The Stone of Destiny is Scotland's symbol and a huge source of pride for all Scots. A royal cannot be crowned without the Stone of Destiny there. If a coronation happens and the Stone is not in sight, it is not considered official.
The interesting thing about the Stone of Destiny is that it's not really that pretty. It looks rather plain--like a big block of sandstone. It isn't adorned in emeralds or diamonds. It isn't shiny. Instead it's sizable block of stone that fits perfectly into the Coronation Throne in London. To hear the Scots talk of it was inspiring. They are so proud of it and the history behind it.
That's what I'll truly take from my visit to Edinburgh and Edinburgh Castle: the passion and pride. The Scottish people I met were very proud of their heritage and their history--both personal and in their country. They had an energy that was contagious; it was hard not to be excited about their stories as they animatedly spoke and gestured. There is so much passion and pride within that city. I hope to carry that with me always. And I hope that I show my passion and pride in my interactions daily. Thank you for that reminder, Edinburgh. You will not be soon forgotten, I promise.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Edinburgh, Oh Edinburgh!
Edinburgh has my heart.
Seriously, I am in love with that city.
We had the entire day to explore the city and see whatever we wanted to see within it. The whole group of us trekked to the bus stop to go into the city. The bus that whisked us to the gray and beautiful town was a double decker, so that made me very excited very quickly. Higher views! Of Scotland! How fun! (Although I'm sure the Scottish people riding the bus didn't appreciate the squealing every three seconds about seeing sheep or cute flowers or cute Scottish boys. I'm sorry, Scots! We were rested and caffeinated and in a new area--there are no real excuses besides being over-excited.)
When the bus (gladly, I'm sure) dropped us off, we immediately headed to the Royal Mile, which is the most famous strip in the city. There, a person can find kilts, wool, funky souvenirs and even funkier people. We were fortunate because we had a personal tour guide who seemed to know more about the city than the tour guide book I'd purchased. So we got some personal insights and history on the city and some amazing buildings. I saw the building where Knox lived. It had some great detailing work on it. Actually, so many of the buildings here are filled with details and delightful artworks. It's really incredible to see. (It also makes for a very long day filled with me stopping every three seconds to go "oooh! LookatTHAT!" while snapping five pictures of it.)
The Royal Mile ends at Holyroodhouse, where the Queen vacations for one or two weeks out of the year. I was all set to go and see how royalty lives when I was informed that it was closing for the day. The occassion? Some royal Duke was visiting, so he had the run of the house instead of willing-to-pay tourists. Boo. Instead I wandered the gift shop and withheld from buying many sparkly souvenirs.
Behind Holyroodhouse is Arthur's Seat, which is this very sharp hill. Apparently it has an amazing view of the city and Scotland in general. I saw some figures on top of it and I'm sure they had a fantastic view. I waved at them and wished them well while snapping pictures of it from the comfy position I had at the bottom of it. Me? Willingly exert myself? Uphill? Steeply. No thanks.
Instead, the walk back up the Royal Mile to Edinburgh Castle proved to be workout enough on it's own. HolymotherofGOD, that is one steep and long climb to the castle. And trust me--it feels like more than a mile, too. My saving grace was that there were many fun souvenir shops to pop into and get distracted by. Becky and I found this adorable Christmas shop where we HAD to buy ornaments. Come on--when else is a person going to get to celebrate the holidays, Scottish-style?
Halfway up the Mile, things began to get very lively. I noticed more people thronging around the street. Booths were set up displaying everything from deep purple thistles (Scotland's flower) to celtic knot jewelry to technicolor photographs of the city from every angle. Street performers awed onlookers. A bagpiper played songs of his country. Children darted around the centuries-old fountains and gateways. A magician called out for brave volunteers, while girls giggled nervously as they got immortalized in charicature format. A woman distracted me with her jewelry and I walked off with a beautiful choker, funky ring and a new friend. The street was brimming with vitality, love and joy. It was vibrant, it was vivacious, it was inspiring.
At one point my friend looked at me and asked why I was smiling. I replied that I didn't have a specific reason--the whole scene, the entire ambience, everything swirling around me and enveloping me--it just all made me happy. Happy to be there, happy to be alive, happy to be experiencing that very moment.
We lingered on that street for quite a while, soaking it all in. When we decided to head up to the castle, it wasn't because we were sick of the festive atmospher, but rather, we wanted to see what else the city had to offer. But that's for another entry, as my time at the internet cafe' is about to expire soon...
Seriously, I am in love with that city.
We had the entire day to explore the city and see whatever we wanted to see within it. The whole group of us trekked to the bus stop to go into the city. The bus that whisked us to the gray and beautiful town was a double decker, so that made me very excited very quickly. Higher views! Of Scotland! How fun! (Although I'm sure the Scottish people riding the bus didn't appreciate the squealing every three seconds about seeing sheep or cute flowers or cute Scottish boys. I'm sorry, Scots! We were rested and caffeinated and in a new area--there are no real excuses besides being over-excited.)
When the bus (gladly, I'm sure) dropped us off, we immediately headed to the Royal Mile, which is the most famous strip in the city. There, a person can find kilts, wool, funky souvenirs and even funkier people. We were fortunate because we had a personal tour guide who seemed to know more about the city than the tour guide book I'd purchased. So we got some personal insights and history on the city and some amazing buildings. I saw the building where Knox lived. It had some great detailing work on it. Actually, so many of the buildings here are filled with details and delightful artworks. It's really incredible to see. (It also makes for a very long day filled with me stopping every three seconds to go "oooh! LookatTHAT!" while snapping five pictures of it.)
The Royal Mile ends at Holyroodhouse, where the Queen vacations for one or two weeks out of the year. I was all set to go and see how royalty lives when I was informed that it was closing for the day. The occassion? Some royal Duke was visiting, so he had the run of the house instead of willing-to-pay tourists. Boo. Instead I wandered the gift shop and withheld from buying many sparkly souvenirs.
Behind Holyroodhouse is Arthur's Seat, which is this very sharp hill. Apparently it has an amazing view of the city and Scotland in general. I saw some figures on top of it and I'm sure they had a fantastic view. I waved at them and wished them well while snapping pictures of it from the comfy position I had at the bottom of it. Me? Willingly exert myself? Uphill? Steeply. No thanks.
Instead, the walk back up the Royal Mile to Edinburgh Castle proved to be workout enough on it's own. HolymotherofGOD, that is one steep and long climb to the castle. And trust me--it feels like more than a mile, too. My saving grace was that there were many fun souvenir shops to pop into and get distracted by. Becky and I found this adorable Christmas shop where we HAD to buy ornaments. Come on--when else is a person going to get to celebrate the holidays, Scottish-style?
Halfway up the Mile, things began to get very lively. I noticed more people thronging around the street. Booths were set up displaying everything from deep purple thistles (Scotland's flower) to celtic knot jewelry to technicolor photographs of the city from every angle. Street performers awed onlookers. A bagpiper played songs of his country. Children darted around the centuries-old fountains and gateways. A magician called out for brave volunteers, while girls giggled nervously as they got immortalized in charicature format. A woman distracted me with her jewelry and I walked off with a beautiful choker, funky ring and a new friend. The street was brimming with vitality, love and joy. It was vibrant, it was vivacious, it was inspiring.
At one point my friend looked at me and asked why I was smiling. I replied that I didn't have a specific reason--the whole scene, the entire ambience, everything swirling around me and enveloping me--it just all made me happy. Happy to be there, happy to be alive, happy to be experiencing that very moment.
We lingered on that street for quite a while, soaking it all in. When we decided to head up to the castle, it wasn't because we were sick of the festive atmospher, but rather, we wanted to see what else the city had to offer. But that's for another entry, as my time at the internet cafe' is about to expire soon...
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Can't...think...proper...
I've been in the United Kingdom, specifically Scotland for a few hours now. And I'm fighting to keep going. I've been awake for about 24 hours. That whole "you can sleep on the plane" arrangement? Yeah, not so much. Instead I was distracted by my personal entertainment system (complete with Disney classics like The Emperor's New Groove!!!) and the teeny tiny amount of leg room allotted to me. I was crammed in the direct middle of the plane and while being smushed between two near strangers could make for some fun dialogues, it just made for some non-sleeping moments.
After a quick layover in Amersterdam (where, note: their security checks are completely backwards and very time-consuming and confusing), we arrived in Scotland, tired but excited. We were wisked away to our Palace--Dalkeith Palace--which is located about 12 kilometers from Edinburgh. The Palace is roomy and has some stunning rooms...but I'll talk more about that in another entry.
Upon arriving there, we were instructed very specifically to NOT go to sleep. Instead we were "highly recommended" to get on the time schedule of the UK in order to make the most of the trip and not feel exhausted for the two weeks.
This would be fine. But sweetbabyJesusIwantsomefreakin'sleepNOW. We had a session right away to get to know one another (note: I remember exactly three names from that lovely icebreaker) and to find out about the abroad program at Dalkeith (which I somehow remember quite a lot about, amazingly enough--go me!). Then we were set on the town to find food and keep ourselves occupied until we can crash at 7 or 8 tonight.
I don't know that I'll make it. I'm wavering between dozing right here, right now and feeling very light-headed and Wheee!-like. I don't know which of these feels worse...or better. All I want is sleep. Sweet, sweet, precious, elusive sleep...
After a quick layover in Amersterdam (where, note: their security checks are completely backwards and very time-consuming and confusing), we arrived in Scotland, tired but excited. We were wisked away to our Palace--Dalkeith Palace--which is located about 12 kilometers from Edinburgh. The Palace is roomy and has some stunning rooms...but I'll talk more about that in another entry.
Upon arriving there, we were instructed very specifically to NOT go to sleep. Instead we were "highly recommended" to get on the time schedule of the UK in order to make the most of the trip and not feel exhausted for the two weeks.
This would be fine. But sweetbabyJesusIwantsomefreakin'sleepNOW. We had a session right away to get to know one another (note: I remember exactly three names from that lovely icebreaker) and to find out about the abroad program at Dalkeith (which I somehow remember quite a lot about, amazingly enough--go me!). Then we were set on the town to find food and keep ourselves occupied until we can crash at 7 or 8 tonight.
I don't know that I'll make it. I'm wavering between dozing right here, right now and feeling very light-headed and Wheee!-like. I don't know which of these feels worse...or better. All I want is sleep. Sweet, sweet, precious, elusive sleep...
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
What I should be doing instead is actually packing
I leave for the UK in less than fourty-eight hours.
What freaks me out the most is not the fact that I have approximately 873 more things to do before I leave, but instead that the count-down is no longer in days, but hours. So each minute I spend not prepping for my trip is a minute less I have to pack.
Oh and? If one more person asks me if I'm packed yet I may just scream and go postal on that unlucky questioner. For the record, no, I have not started packing. Actually, I'm doing a huge load of laundry as we speak and that has most of my stuff I'm going to pack in it. I could be compiling a to-do list file for the places I'm going to, or putting stuff in my super-cute, super-new, super-appropriate purse. Or I could be cleaning. Or working on my pre-independent study project. Instead I sit here freakin' out about the ever-passing minutes.
This is what NOT to do, people. Just for the record.
What freaks me out the most is not the fact that I have approximately 873 more things to do before I leave, but instead that the count-down is no longer in days, but hours. So each minute I spend not prepping for my trip is a minute less I have to pack.
Oh and? If one more person asks me if I'm packed yet I may just scream and go postal on that unlucky questioner. For the record, no, I have not started packing. Actually, I'm doing a huge load of laundry as we speak and that has most of my stuff I'm going to pack in it. I could be compiling a to-do list file for the places I'm going to, or putting stuff in my super-cute, super-new, super-appropriate purse. Or I could be cleaning. Or working on my pre-independent study project. Instead I sit here freakin' out about the ever-passing minutes.
This is what NOT to do, people. Just for the record.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Crisis averted
That loan freak-out? About not having financial aid for the summer? Yeah, I do. I have the school's handy website and a very friendly financial aid agent or two* to thank for helping me.
So. Classes are paid for, my overage came in and Krissy has some money for the UK. Which is good because that's coming up in, like, three days. Gaah.
* Seriously, the financial aid folks in the Student Services building are AMAZING. They're friendly, personable, intelligent and very aid-savvy. They're great at what they do. They inspire me. The world needs more professionals like them.
So. Classes are paid for, my overage came in and Krissy has some money for the UK. Which is good because that's coming up in, like, three days. Gaah.
* Seriously, the financial aid folks in the Student Services building are AMAZING. They're friendly, personable, intelligent and very aid-savvy. They're great at what they do. They inspire me. The world needs more professionals like them.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Loan freak-out
So I got this charming email from the Financial Aid office yesterday. I won't copy it here, but the basic summary of it says that hi, your loans for the summer are cancelled. And why? Because of the sucky economy. Michigan's government and the federal government have decided not to dole out any new loans for the summer because of the economy. (Which makes perfect sense--if the economy sucks, why wouldn't they want to help finance poor people's educations so that they can develop their skills, find a job, make money and inject that money into the economy. Perfect. Sense.) My school goes through the government for its student loans.
What does this mean for Krissy? No loans for the summer, which means no independent study or spending money for the UK.
Lkoueiorelkm lkejreoiuorsei!!!!!
But! According to the email, there is hope! I can take out a loan from a corporation! Because they are kind and want to fund educations....with twice the APR rates of government loans.
But still. Thanks to one loan company, there is hope. I frantically went through the online process today to see if I'd get approved and can do my independent study and have spending money for this trip.
Please, baby Jesus. PLEASE, let everything go through. Because I do not need anything else to stress about right now.
What does this mean for Krissy? No loans for the summer, which means no independent study or spending money for the UK.
Lkoueiorelkm lkejreoiuorsei!!!!!
But! According to the email, there is hope! I can take out a loan from a corporation! Because they are kind and want to fund educations....with twice the APR rates of government loans.
But still. Thanks to one loan company, there is hope. I frantically went through the online process today to see if I'd get approved and can do my independent study and have spending money for this trip.
Please, baby Jesus. PLEASE, let everything go through. Because I do not need anything else to stress about right now.
Monday, April 14, 2008
How NOT To Do Things
The saga of the maybe-funding continues....
I received an email at 2:30 on Friday afternoon from a staff member who works in the department where I'm getting my degree. (I'm trying to be general in order to protect her identity.) She had sent the email a couple hours before I received it. Basically it said that I needed to fill out the form, like, now and get it to her because she needs to turn it in ASAP.
Worried that I wasn't going to receive any funding I called her and asked what she wanted me to do.
Her: I need it today. Because the paperwork is due, like, now.
Me: Ok, are you going to be in your office later this afternoon? (Note: it's 2:30 in the afternoon.)
Her: I'm leaving at 3--can you have it here by then?
Me: No. I'm busy.
Her: Crap....ummm....ok, maybe we can do it over the phone.
Let's recap: I received an email to fill out a form THE DAY IT'S DUE and then when I try to help her out because I really think she's trying to cover her butt, she said she's leaving the office IN HALF AN HOUR even though she needs the paperwork, like, now.
I should also note that I had no idea that I needed to fill out this form. The paperwork! Aaarrgh!
In the future, I'll keep in mind this woman's frustrating actions. So it may have slipped her mind about the form. I'm sure she's busy, too. But still, don't try to heap the responsibility on someone else if it's clearly your responsibility. It's not right. Gaaah.
Note: she was able to get the info she needed over the phone. I went into the office today and turned it in. Now hopefully all will be well with this charming red-tape-fest.
I received an email at 2:30 on Friday afternoon from a staff member who works in the department where I'm getting my degree. (I'm trying to be general in order to protect her identity.) She had sent the email a couple hours before I received it. Basically it said that I needed to fill out the form, like, now and get it to her because she needs to turn it in ASAP.
Worried that I wasn't going to receive any funding I called her and asked what she wanted me to do.
Her: I need it today. Because the paperwork is due, like, now.
Me: Ok, are you going to be in your office later this afternoon? (Note: it's 2:30 in the afternoon.)
Her: I'm leaving at 3--can you have it here by then?
Me: No. I'm busy.
Her: Crap....ummm....ok, maybe we can do it over the phone.
Let's recap: I received an email to fill out a form THE DAY IT'S DUE and then when I try to help her out because I really think she's trying to cover her butt, she said she's leaving the office IN HALF AN HOUR even though she needs the paperwork, like, now.
I should also note that I had no idea that I needed to fill out this form. The paperwork! Aaarrgh!
In the future, I'll keep in mind this woman's frustrating actions. So it may have slipped her mind about the form. I'm sure she's busy, too. But still, don't try to heap the responsibility on someone else if it's clearly your responsibility. It's not right. Gaaah.
Note: she was able to get the info she needed over the phone. I went into the office today and turned it in. Now hopefully all will be well with this charming red-tape-fest.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
With everything that I am
So this is not exactly UK-related, but it has to do with my chosen field and me being a professional...
This past week I went to Atlanta for the ACPA conference. While I can't remember for the life of me what exactly ACPA stands for, I can tell you that it is the association for college professionals. And I can also tell you that I felt like I belonged there every second that I was running around, networking, attending sessions, meeting people and soaking it all in. The entire time I was there I was struck by how friendly people were, how welcoming each individual was, and how committed they all were to helping students excel in college. Everyone was genuinely driven to empowering and helping students.
It was amazing.
Being at the conference reiterated that I am in the right field, that my hopes and goals and dreams are real and that they are realized by many others. I want to empower students, I want to help them succeed and I in turn want to be successful. And for the first time since I've been involved in the field, I really felt that I could be. It was empowering, it was exhilerating, it was amazing. With everything that I am, I know that I am meant for the field of student affairs. Thanks, ACPA!
This past week I went to Atlanta for the ACPA conference. While I can't remember for the life of me what exactly ACPA stands for, I can tell you that it is the association for college professionals. And I can also tell you that I felt like I belonged there every second that I was running around, networking, attending sessions, meeting people and soaking it all in. The entire time I was there I was struck by how friendly people were, how welcoming each individual was, and how committed they all were to helping students excel in college. Everyone was genuinely driven to empowering and helping students.
It was amazing.
Being at the conference reiterated that I am in the right field, that my hopes and goals and dreams are real and that they are realized by many others. I want to empower students, I want to help them succeed and I in turn want to be successful. And for the first time since I've been involved in the field, I really felt that I could be. It was empowering, it was exhilerating, it was amazing. With everything that I am, I know that I am meant for the field of student affairs. Thanks, ACPA!
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
A Good Lesson for a Budding Student Affairs Professional
Ok, so I have an amazing advisor. (And, no, I am not just saying that because he may or may not see this because it is a part of my independent study.) FOUR HOURS after I emailed him with my help-dear-GOD-I-need-a-letter-of-recommendation-and-have-I-mentioned-you-rock? request he had penned a letter and sent it off to the Graduate School.
Four. Hours.
This is a professor who is deeply involved in lots of student affairs research and teaches a few classes a semester and he chairs the committee that admits students into the SAA program. He has a lot on his plate.
And yet? Four hours after my plea, he emailed me my saving grace.
When I emailed him to thank him and ask him if there was anything I can do to thank him (ie: thank him cookies, send him a balloon bouquet full of graphics with smiling teddy bears, etc...), he said something that will stick with me forever:
"Just do the same thing when a student needs your help."
Ah, the pay-it-forward concept. It is something that will stay with me as I navigate the rest of my time at MSU and when I enter the field. And I have my fabulous advisor to thank for helping this concept to truly stand out in my mind.
Four. Hours.
This is a professor who is deeply involved in lots of student affairs research and teaches a few classes a semester and he chairs the committee that admits students into the SAA program. He has a lot on his plate.
And yet? Four hours after my plea, he emailed me my saving grace.
When I emailed him to thank him and ask him if there was anything I can do to thank him (ie: thank him cookies, send him a balloon bouquet full of graphics with smiling teddy bears, etc...), he said something that will stick with me forever:
"Just do the same thing when a student needs your help."
Ah, the pay-it-forward concept. It is something that will stay with me as I navigate the rest of my time at MSU and when I enter the field. And I have my fabulous advisor to thank for helping this concept to truly stand out in my mind.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
MmmGAAAH
Without wanting to jinx myself, there is a teeny, tiny possibility that I may be able to maybe get some help with my last payment for my UK Study Tour. I had a meeting a couple of weeks ago and the woman was very nice. VERY nice. Before our meeting I googled her and found out some information about her and I got afraid because she looked like the kind of person who was very kind, yet very firm--a combination of a Catholic school nun and Maya Angelou. So I was afraid because I didn't want to say the wrong thing to her and have her be all "no money for you!" (In my head she says it like the Soup Nazi does on Seinfeld.) But the meeting went well and she did not holler and instead gave me instructions for how to apply for this magical money.
Step one: signatures. Get your advisor's signature. Simple. I love my advisor, he was easy to get in touch with because he teaches one of my classes. Then get the Chair's signature. Kind of easy but not really because she was out of town for a few days. Through the magic of email, though, she agreed to sign the form if I left it with her secretary. Then get the DEAN OF THE DEPARTMENT'S autograph. WTF?!? I didn't even know who the Dean of my department was. Turns out there's three--who knew? Luckily my department is magical and I didn't even really need to bug anyone because the secretary for the chair of the department got the chair's autograph AND the dean's as well. Because Baby Jesus loves me.
Step two: budgets. Make up your monthly budget and submit a budget for the trip. My monthly budget was easy--I make no money. And what I do make goes to keeping the credit card people at bay. And the rest is spent on very important things like books and chai lattes and fun stuff at Target. The budget for the trip wasn't entirely hard to get. It was hard to get the BGSU professor to do it, but once I had it, it was used for both this application and my Study Abroad application. Not that it didn't take a reminder email or two. But if it means free money then I would have freakin' driven to her office, shined her shoes and cooked her a gourmet meal in order to get her to fill out the form.
Step three: please give me money essay. This is the part that took the longest because I am a big wussy who was afraid that nothing I would write would possibly be good enough to appease this committee. Alas! I cannot write under such pressure! I am not an award-winning essayist! It shall not be enough! I shalt crumble under the pressure! Alas! And so I put it off for a good two weeks. It finally took me bribing myself with a chai latte and succombing to the confines of the Union to actually write the damn thing.
Step four: turn it in.DONE. Oh wait! Just kidding! When I went to turn it in today I was informed that everything looked good but oh wait? Where's the letter from your advisor? You need a letter of approval to complete this you know?
SLKUOEIRUEGKMSDOYRE EEl!@)(&*@!!!
Why no, I did not know. I thought that getting three diferent signatures from three very different and very busy people as well as a fabulous essay and not one but two budgets would be enought. Um, no.
Hopefully my advisor doesn't kill me after I write him a "please write me a letter I love you!" email. Gaah.
Step one: signatures. Get your advisor's signature. Simple. I love my advisor, he was easy to get in touch with because he teaches one of my classes. Then get the Chair's signature. Kind of easy but not really because she was out of town for a few days. Through the magic of email, though, she agreed to sign the form if I left it with her secretary. Then get the DEAN OF THE DEPARTMENT'S autograph. WTF?!? I didn't even know who the Dean of my department was. Turns out there's three--who knew? Luckily my department is magical and I didn't even really need to bug anyone because the secretary for the chair of the department got the chair's autograph AND the dean's as well. Because Baby Jesus loves me.
Step two: budgets. Make up your monthly budget and submit a budget for the trip. My monthly budget was easy--I make no money. And what I do make goes to keeping the credit card people at bay. And the rest is spent on very important things like books and chai lattes and fun stuff at Target. The budget for the trip wasn't entirely hard to get. It was hard to get the BGSU professor to do it, but once I had it, it was used for both this application and my Study Abroad application. Not that it didn't take a reminder email or two. But if it means free money then I would have freakin' driven to her office, shined her shoes and cooked her a gourmet meal in order to get her to fill out the form.
Step three: please give me money essay. This is the part that took the longest because I am a big wussy who was afraid that nothing I would write would possibly be good enough to appease this committee. Alas! I cannot write under such pressure! I am not an award-winning essayist! It shall not be enough! I shalt crumble under the pressure! Alas! And so I put it off for a good two weeks. It finally took me bribing myself with a chai latte and succombing to the confines of the Union to actually write the damn thing.
Step four: turn it in.
SLKUOEIRUEGKMSDOYRE EEl!@)(&*@!!!
Why no, I did not know. I thought that getting three diferent signatures from three very different and very busy people as well as a fabulous essay and not one but two budgets would be enought. Um, no.
Hopefully my advisor doesn't kill me after I write him a "please write me a letter I love you!" email. Gaah.
Friday, March 14, 2008
And I Used to Work in Financial Aid--But I STILL Don't Get It
I decided to visit the lovely financial aid office today...
Me: Hi! I'm going to the UK in May! Yay!
Financial Aid Dude: ....
Me: Um, yeah. So here's the thing--I'm going in May for part of an independent study but the rest of the money for the trip is due in April. Is there any way I could get part of my summer financial aid early?
FA Dude: Is this for a Spring course?
Me: Um, no, it's for the summer. As in May--like I just said.
FA Dude: We disperse loans ten days before the class starts.
Me: But what if I needed the money before that? Like, say...April 11th?
FA Dude: That's not ten days before the class starts.
Me: I know. But that's the deadline.
FA Dude: That's against the rules. Sorry. You lose. Goodbye.
Ok, so he didn't say that I lose, goodbye. But essentially because of frustratingly complicated stupid red tape with loan guidelines and blah blah I can't get any money to help finance the trip until ten days before I depart for England. Which would be fine...except I need the money a month before the trip if I think I'll be leaving on a jet plane to Edinburgh. The only light that glimmers softly out of the whole conversation I had with him was that I could take out an emergency loan and then just pay it back with my summer financial aid when it was dispersed.
It's not quite the miracle I was hoping for, but at this point it's better than nothing. Because Lord know I ain't got no $950 to hand over to BGSU. Maybe I should start playing the lottery...or praying a lot...
Me: Hi! I'm going to the UK in May! Yay!
Financial Aid Dude: ....
Me: Um, yeah. So here's the thing--I'm going in May for part of an independent study but the rest of the money for the trip is due in April. Is there any way I could get part of my summer financial aid early?
FA Dude: Is this for a Spring course?
Me: Um, no, it's for the summer. As in May--like I just said.
FA Dude: We disperse loans ten days before the class starts.
Me: But what if I needed the money before that? Like, say...April 11th?
FA Dude: That's not ten days before the class starts.
Me: I know. But that's the deadline.
FA Dude: That's against the rules. Sorry. You lose. Goodbye.
Ok, so he didn't say that I lose, goodbye. But essentially because of frustratingly complicated stupid red tape with loan guidelines and blah blah I can't get any money to help finance the trip until ten days before I depart for England. Which would be fine...except I need the money a month before the trip if I think I'll be leaving on a jet plane to Edinburgh. The only light that glimmers softly out of the whole conversation I had with him was that I could take out an emergency loan and then just pay it back with my summer financial aid when it was dispersed.
It's not quite the miracle I was hoping for, but at this point it's better than nothing. Because Lord know I ain't got no $950 to hand over to BGSU. Maybe I should start playing the lottery...or praying a lot...
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Adventures in the Study Abroad Office
Here's how my trip to the Study Abroad Office went the other day...
Me: (in the main office) Hi! I need help. I'm going on a study tour to England! But it's not through MSU. Can I still apply for scholarships?
Receptionist: Yes. Are you going through MSU?
Me: No...I just said that. I'm going through Bowling Green.
Receptionist: (getting an attitude and acting snooty) Well. You need to go across the hall. We can't guarantee you anyyyyyyything if you're NOT going through MSUUUUU. (Then she threw the scholarship application at me.)
I went across the hall....
Me: Hi. I was just in the main office and they sent me here. I'm studying in the UK this summer through Bowling Green.
Receptionist #2: You need to talk to (head lady).
Me: Ok. Can I talk to her?
Receptionist #2: (glancing behind her at a closed door) CLEARLY she's left for the day. You need to email her. Here's her card. (Throws card at me.)
Me: Who can I talk to about scholarships? I thought I needed to talk to her?
Receptionist #2: Go down the hall. They can help you for now. But you'll need to talk to (head lady). And we do NOT guarantee you anything if you don't study through MSU.
I go down the hall and enter another room, totally disoriented...
Me: Help. I was sent here.
My friend and classmate: Hiiii!
Me: Yaaay! A friendly face. (I recount my adventures in the offices thus far.) Help.
My friend: I'm not sure I can help, but this student might be able to.
Student: Umm....all I can tell you for sure is to talk to (head lady) and fill out the scholarship application. That is your best bet for right now.
Me: I knew that already. But thanks.
So to recap my adventure: I was bounced between three offices only to be told to fill out a form I already knew to fill out and have it reiterated that I may not even get any help financially because it's not through my school. Gaaah!
I should get a scholarship because of the headache I endured from that visit. And I knew people in the offices and still had a lot of red tape! If I'm getting the runaround when I know people in there, how are undergraduate students feeling when they go in there for the first time and all they want is to have an overseas adventure?
The lesson from this? I am so working at an institution where there are less than 40,000 students.
Me: (in the main office) Hi! I need help. I'm going on a study tour to England! But it's not through MSU. Can I still apply for scholarships?
Receptionist: Yes. Are you going through MSU?
Me: No...I just said that. I'm going through Bowling Green.
Receptionist: (getting an attitude and acting snooty) Well. You need to go across the hall. We can't guarantee you anyyyyyyything if you're NOT going through MSUUUUU. (Then she threw the scholarship application at me.)
I went across the hall....
Me: Hi. I was just in the main office and they sent me here. I'm studying in the UK this summer through Bowling Green.
Receptionist #2: You need to talk to (head lady).
Me: Ok. Can I talk to her?
Receptionist #2: (glancing behind her at a closed door) CLEARLY she's left for the day. You need to email her. Here's her card. (Throws card at me.)
Me: Who can I talk to about scholarships? I thought I needed to talk to her?
Receptionist #2: Go down the hall. They can help you for now. But you'll need to talk to (head lady). And we do NOT guarantee you anything if you don't study through MSU.
I go down the hall and enter another room, totally disoriented...
Me: Help. I was sent here.
My friend and classmate: Hiiii!
Me: Yaaay! A friendly face. (I recount my adventures in the offices thus far.) Help.
My friend: I'm not sure I can help, but this student might be able to.
Student: Umm....all I can tell you for sure is to talk to (head lady) and fill out the scholarship application. That is your best bet for right now.
Me: I knew that already. But thanks.
So to recap my adventure: I was bounced between three offices only to be told to fill out a form I already knew to fill out and have it reiterated that I may not even get any help financially because it's not through my school. Gaaah!
I should get a scholarship because of the headache I endured from that visit. And I knew people in the offices and still had a lot of red tape! If I'm getting the runaround when I know people in there, how are undergraduate students feeling when they go in there for the first time and all they want is to have an overseas adventure?
The lesson from this? I am so working at an institution where there are less than 40,000 students.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
The Yang to the Yin (Or My Concerns)
Wheee! England! In two and a half months! I'm so excited! But with that comes some apprehensions. For one, I still owe Bowling Green close to a thousand dollars. While I can scrape that together if I need to, I'm praying that:
a.) my tax return comes back soon (I'm not banking on this happening, though)
b.) I get some kind of grant or early loan to pay all or part of the money by mid-April or
c.) some kind, rich benefactor falls for my charming ways and throws money my way so I can run around the U.K. spreading my lovable charm to the British.
Money is my biggest reservation at the moment. I can and will make this work, I'm just slightly nervous about how. I'm looking into Study Abroad scholarships and whatever grants I'm referred to to help me. And I'm praying to the Baby Jesus as well.
There's a couple of smaller concerns, too, namely leaving John, my boyfriend, for two weeks. I know. I know. (I know I'm sounding like a lovesick teenager and it may sound pathetic. But still!) It's only two weeks apart, but this will be the longest that we'll have been apart since coupling up nearly a year and a half ago. Just thinking about it makes me nervous and gets my stomach in knots a little. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I'm addicted to cuddling with him, so being away will be a little hard for both of us. I know it will help us grow, though and we'll come through it stronger than ever, but still. Saying goodbye to him for two weeks is going to be really hard. For now let's just say I'll be investing in a couple of major minute-heavy phone cards to help ease the pain.
My other concern is with the amount of work that is already expected of us. Honestly it's like having a fourth class on top of my MSU credits and my assistantship. It's a little overwhelming and completely unexpected. I've printed out every article we need to read--it's well over 200 pages. Plus there are reflection assignments/essays we need to do as well as online postings. It makes me nervous for what kind of work we'll do while on the tour if we're doing this much now. My concern is really with the time I have to invest before even leaving. Gaah! Time! I don't have enough of it!
All of these concerns will pass or ease as time goes on I'm sure. I'm just overwhelmed with all I need to do for this on top of my classload. But I shall persevere and push ahead. Because it's England and I know it will be completely worth it once I'm peering up at the castles and running around London.
a.) my tax return comes back soon (I'm not banking on this happening, though)
b.) I get some kind of grant or early loan to pay all or part of the money by mid-April or
c.) some kind, rich benefactor falls for my charming ways and throws money my way so I can run around the U.K. spreading my lovable charm to the British.
Money is my biggest reservation at the moment. I can and will make this work, I'm just slightly nervous about how. I'm looking into Study Abroad scholarships and whatever grants I'm referred to to help me. And I'm praying to the Baby Jesus as well.
There's a couple of smaller concerns, too, namely leaving John, my boyfriend, for two weeks. I know. I know. (I know I'm sounding like a lovesick teenager and it may sound pathetic. But still!) It's only two weeks apart, but this will be the longest that we'll have been apart since coupling up nearly a year and a half ago. Just thinking about it makes me nervous and gets my stomach in knots a little. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I'm addicted to cuddling with him, so being away will be a little hard for both of us. I know it will help us grow, though and we'll come through it stronger than ever, but still. Saying goodbye to him for two weeks is going to be really hard. For now let's just say I'll be investing in a couple of major minute-heavy phone cards to help ease the pain.
My other concern is with the amount of work that is already expected of us. Honestly it's like having a fourth class on top of my MSU credits and my assistantship. It's a little overwhelming and completely unexpected. I've printed out every article we need to read--it's well over 200 pages. Plus there are reflection assignments/essays we need to do as well as online postings. It makes me nervous for what kind of work we'll do while on the tour if we're doing this much now. My concern is really with the time I have to invest before even leaving. Gaah! Time! I don't have enough of it!
All of these concerns will pass or ease as time goes on I'm sure. I'm just overwhelmed with all I need to do for this on top of my classload. But I shall persevere and push ahead. Because it's England and I know it will be completely worth it once I'm peering up at the castles and running around London.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
How it Began
Once upon a time, a girl named Krissy traveled to London for her final Spring Break in March of 2005. There she lost her heart to the city and was bitten by the travel bug. Since then she's pined for England and longed to return to London, the city that captured her heart. She never thought she would return because--alas!--traveling is expensive. But! Hark! A glimmer of hope appeared on her radar when she returned to school to obtain her Masters Degree in Student Affairs Administration.
That glimmer of hope is the Bowling Green United Kingdom Study Tour. And I! Am! Going! (Knock on wood.)
I first found out about the tour through my friend, Gareth, who had the good fortune of going on it during the summer of 2007. He returned and put together an independent study extravaganza based on his experiences. This included Irish step-dancing! A cafeteria menu filled with British foods! A multi-media presentation! Invitations that referenced Harry Potter! It was inspiring. I was jealous (mostly of his ability to get credit for being creative and referencing Harry Potter in the process). But more than that I was curious; my appetite was whet. I began to talk to him and my professors about the experience. The only thing Gareth said was "do it." Every professor I talked to got an excited gleam in his or her eyes and all they could say was "do it."
England. In the summer. Going to half a dozen universities. Seeing all areas of the U.K. (Wales, Scotland, England and Northern Ireland). Experiencing new cultures. Getting credit and exercising my creative muscle. Staying in the Harry Potter castle (Alnwick Castle).
Uh, hell yeah I'm doing it. When everyone around you is encouraging you to do something, it becomes less of a pipe dream and more of a reality. The positive feedback and encouragement I got from so many of my colleagues and friends made up my mind. (And ok, so seeing that I get to stay in the Harry Potter castle kind of cemented the fact that I wanted to do this. I'm not going to lie--it was a factor. It's the Harry. Potter. Castle.)
So now, $1,100 and two months later, I'm registered for the UK Study Tour, set to depart from the Detroit Airport on May 9, 2008. I am completely excited. England, I'm coming back!
That glimmer of hope is the Bowling Green United Kingdom Study Tour. And I! Am! Going! (Knock on wood.)
I first found out about the tour through my friend, Gareth, who had the good fortune of going on it during the summer of 2007. He returned and put together an independent study extravaganza based on his experiences. This included Irish step-dancing! A cafeteria menu filled with British foods! A multi-media presentation! Invitations that referenced Harry Potter! It was inspiring. I was jealous (mostly of his ability to get credit for being creative and referencing Harry Potter in the process). But more than that I was curious; my appetite was whet. I began to talk to him and my professors about the experience. The only thing Gareth said was "do it." Every professor I talked to got an excited gleam in his or her eyes and all they could say was "do it."
England. In the summer. Going to half a dozen universities. Seeing all areas of the U.K. (Wales, Scotland, England and Northern Ireland). Experiencing new cultures. Getting credit and exercising my creative muscle. Staying in the Harry Potter castle (Alnwick Castle).
Uh, hell yeah I'm doing it. When everyone around you is encouraging you to do something, it becomes less of a pipe dream and more of a reality. The positive feedback and encouragement I got from so many of my colleagues and friends made up my mind. (And ok, so seeing that I get to stay in the Harry Potter castle kind of cemented the fact that I wanted to do this. I'm not going to lie--it was a factor. It's the Harry. Potter. Castle.)
So now, $1,100 and two months later, I'm registered for the UK Study Tour, set to depart from the Detroit Airport on May 9, 2008. I am completely excited. England, I'm coming back!
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