Reflections -- 22 February 2012 (slash 25 July 2012)

I wrote this a few months ago (in february, in fact, and it is now july) and then forgot about it. I just got turned into an "ISEP Ambassador" (in something of a fit of irony, given the issues a bunch of us had with ISEP) which reminded me of this, and I also have to resit an exam which is making me think about having studied abroad again. So here's my reflections from just a month after having studied abroad.


Tomorrow, I'll have been back for a whole month. It's kind of crazy.
I'm already so absorbed by school that I have a hard time sitting down and thinking about England. Fortunately, I have a lot of homework to avoid, so it happens more than it should. Right now, for instance, I should be thinking about inorganic chemistry.
So.
I was pretty close on my "what I won't miss, what I will miss" predictions. I really miss the people; I get excited when I hear australian accents before remembering that Josie is in Leicester, and it's weird being on facebook and seeing people from Sunderland friend people that I don't know and go places I'll probably never be.
And, yeah, I miss the easy Sunderland workload (but not the work itself) and cheese and onion pasties. I miss being somewhere where people know what a pasty is... and how to pronounce it. It is fun to explain the "putting stuff in pastry" phenomenon, though. Also, the "irish" pub that moved in across from Whitworth is reported to sell at least meat pasties, so I'll be checking that out sometime.
I don't miss the exchange rate at all, but I'm still confused when I cross the road. I have to think about where I would be sitting if I was driving, and where the center line would be, and therefore where a car will come from when it hits me. Ah, it'll be from behind. Better get on the grass, just in case they aren't paying attention. Note: this is only on campus. I'm very careful when I cross the street from my house to the Whitworth side.
I'm doing pretty good on the "not talking about England ad nauseum" thing, except when I get together with other long term study abroad-ers, and then none of us want to shut up. I found one girl who went to australia and knows the university that Josie and James went to, which was amazingly exciting, although it would have been cooler had she gone to their uni. I also met a girl who went to Northern Ireland (and who confirmed my suspicion that the northern accent is much easier to understand than the republic's), and who shared my frustrations over "I'm from Washington. No, not DC. Yes, there is a state called Washington. Where is it? Um, it's by California." conversations as well as my longing for pasties.
I've stopped saying "uni" so naturally and dropped back into "college", even though I use uni as a texting abbreviation.
I do miss being able to say "chips" and have people think "delicious, deep fried, soft, thick potatoes" instead of "crispy potato slices".
On the other hand, I've settled back into Whitworth pretty well. I've made new friends, even.
I blame my newfound gregariousness on having been somewhere where no one knew me. For the first time ever, there was no familiar face, no one I knew from church or liberty or whitworth, and I think I branched out without knowing it. If I wanted a familiar face, I had to get to know people. So I did. It helped that everyone else was dealing with the same sort of thing, and so were more willing to share my effort, but I could have made no friends. I know people who did just that, and I'm ridiculously proud to say that I'm a successful human being now. Last year, in Duvall, I did not make a single friend in my dorm.
This year, in England, I made several.
Of course, it's still hard for me to just strike up a conversation with someone, but I've definitely made strides in the "being able to function in the real world" department.

The Last Days in Sunderland

Tomorrow morning, I will be leaving Sunderland, quite probably forever. I may never see some very close friends again, unless they send wedding invitations, which is probably unlikely in most cases. My life as far as I know it is packed up into four bags, and I'm oddly unemotional about it.
For the plan-happy amongst you, I'll be in Leicester for two nights and a day and in London for five nights, and also in Bath for one day and zero nights. I'm sure I can find some internets in London, if not in my hostel, then nearby, so I'll post pictures as I feel like hogging the bandwidth and might give short daily updates if I don't feel like using a lot of internet. They'll probably run something to the effect of "Oh, my days, I just walked through Westminster Abbey. Westminster Abbey!" with a picture or two as teaser. You can substitute any historical thingy that I've always been interested in.
Like the Sherlock Holmes museum, which is within easy walking distance of my hostel. (!!! my expectations are so high that they'll probably be dashed. This will in no way diminish my picture taking habit or plans to purchase something to stick on the flap of my bag or something to commemorate the time I visited Sherlock Holmes's house.
In the meantime, I've been planning for my return home. Specifically, for The Questions.
Every traveller, whether to the next town for a few days or to the other side of the world, knows The Questions. I always struggle with these, quibbling with myself out loud about how hard it is to answer them before launching into an hours-long rambling story with enough rabbit trails to be the hundred acre wood. So, this time, I decided to plan ahead. And, disclaimer, Questions 2 and 3 are not generally asked to day-trippers, but other-side-of-the-world-travellers seem to get them a lot, and I always want to ask them, so I'm answering them.

1. What was your favourite part/thing?
I would have to say that this is one of my least favourite questions ever. It's really hard for my decision-making-impaired brain to narrow down a whole range of generally enjoyable experiences to just one, unless I had a terrible time, in which case the pessimist within insists that "leaving" was my favourite part. Usually, nothing stands out that much until years later, when I only remember the best part and have forgotten everything else but the worst.
In this case, I'm going to say "cheese and onion pasties, cheap nutella, being called "love", "darling", and "pet" without a southern american accent, and the friends I made."

2. What are you going to miss the most?
Similar to the first, but not the same. I'm really not going to miss being called love all that much, but I will miss being able to microwave a cheese and onion roll for a quick, filling, and delicious breakfast quite a bit.
And I will really miss my friends. I've never made such close friendships with people that I know for a very nearly fact that I won't see again. I've made friendships this close in high school, and I still count the Inklings as some of my closest friends ever; I've made friendships this close at Whitworth as we bonded over difficult classes and the odd batty professor and core, and I plan on being friends with these people for a very long time, and will probably be going to their weddings, even if they scare off all the timid whitworth boys. But none of this has prepared me for making friends, to a sibling-like point, with people with whom the only thing I have in common is that we lived in the same flat for four months. I almost can't remember not knowing Josie, Conor, Flo, and Adam. And I never want to forget them.

3. What will you not miss?
I will not miss the friggin exchange rate. I will not miss being unemployed. I will not miss being unable to understand the cashier's accent. I will not miss the sidewalk being paved with cigarette butts. I will not miss having a roommate (especially one that gets snippy when she's tired). I will not miss the University of Sunderland. I've been here long enough that I can think of these very, very easily.

4. What was your least favourite part/thing?
Easy. The impossible little frenchman. Not only could I not understand half of what he said, he didn't like me. The only time he showed any lack of somewhat haughty condescension, like I was a particularly stupid breed of moron who was soiling his oxygen, was when I dominated the GC software.
I don't like being thought of as stupid. It didn't help that I was completely unfamiliar with lab habits, lab report expectations, and the labs that were prerequisites. I have the knowledge. In fact, I solidly passed organic chemistry and its lab. But I didn't take PBM103 or any of the other first year biomedical science modules at Sunderland, which put me at a severe disadvantage when it came to figuring out what was expected of me.
The other thing that I didn't like was having a difficult roommate. I'm a little mad that she even signed up for a double room. When I asked her why, she replied that she had never roomed with anyone before and felt that if she was doing all these new, unfamiliar things, she might as well share a room, too. This was not fair to me. I was expecting someone who, like myself, had no need for the stupid little "how to not to make your roommate hate you" pamphlet.
I know, I know, life's not fair, but I'd like to have a word with whoever assigned us to the same room. Flatmates are one thing. People who are predisposed not to get along can still be in the same building; kitchen use just needs to be regulated. People who are predisposed not to get along cannot share a room without misery on both sides, if not open hostility and the urge to scream into your pillow, except you can't because she's sitting right there. The most annoying part was the vague superiority complex, except where english was involved. Look, all right, you've been to a million more places than I have, you know more about the world than I do, and you speak a lot more languages than I do, but at least I'm not rude, loudly, in public. The worst part is that I think we would have got along fine if we hadn't been roommates. It's certainly not that she's german. I've met several other germans, and I like all of them. It's just that we are not the sort of people who can room together without starting to hate each other a little bit.
That was a downer of a Question to put last, but it always seems to come up last. So...

5. Would you do it again?
Absolutely. I'd do a few things differently (get a visa or an internship with a stipend or something), but I'd do this again in a heartbeat. It wouldn't be the same — nothing ever could be — but I seriously doubt that I'll ever regret this. I might, in a fit of reverse culture shock, regret having turned my life upside down, but the friends I've made, the experiences I've had (including the ones I'll never wish on anyone)... I'll always pine for England, at least a little bit. I think it's fair to say that this has changed my life, if only in that I've done something that's made it so that only people who've at least done something similar can really relate to me for a few months. This isn't to say that I won't be friends with my friends that I left a whitworth or various and sundry other universities across the pacific northwest, but there's going to be a bit of a divide between the "us" who have lived abroad and the "them" who haven't.

It's my last week in Sunderland...

So, I'm leaving Sunderland for good in a mere three days. Rising to the top of my mixture of emotions is the panic of not having packed — or even having enough suitcases, in all likelihood — at all, not even sorting my stuff.
Of course, this has been a week of more "lasts" than I can remember having since my high school graduation. I was in denial about graduation for three months before it until two days before it, when I finally read through my speech and got the panics.
I had my last day with my british biochem lab partner Freya, who's been featured on this blog before.
I turned in my last assignments.
I've been busily not buying more food, since I'll just be leaving in a few days (I use jessi's milk instead).
I returned all my library books. I really will not miss that place. I spent too much of my time cooped up trying to write lab reports on the top floor.
I keep realising that each day is my last "day of the week" in Sunderland, probably ever. I probably won't see Conor, Josie, James, Adam, Flo, Jessi, or Freya ever again after I go home.
Of course, I won't have to deal with that impossible little frenchman ever again (except for when I have to take that exam in friggin' June, not that I'm bitter). I won't have to feel like I'm wasting my time by going to lectures (I hope. I've never felt like I didn't need to go to a Whitworth lecture).
It's just as well that I'm done with my papers, though, since I had my last packet of alpine cider this morning.
A couple of funny stories about words with different meanings:
1. Cider. Cider in the UK means the alcoholic kind. It's like beer with apples, I believe. Comes in cans. Cider in the states, unless preceded by "hard", means "cloudy apple juice, I guess" or "hot, spiced apple beverage that is mostly sugar". I got some funny looks when I said that I write my best papers while drinking cider.
2. Fanny. In the states, it's sort of like saying "bum" in reference to someone's hindquarters: a fairly polite word for a culturally amusing body part. We even have fanny packs, which sit either on the bum or on the stomach.
In the UK, fanny means, ah, "ladybits", as Adam so delicately put it when we pried the definition out of him.
I probably wouldn't think this was such a funny word if I hadn't grown up with it as a quaint, funny way of saying butt.
Snrk. Yes, I am five years old.
3. The Garage. Here pronounced GARE-uhj, which still seems foreign. Although, I use and hear this one enough that it's making guh-RAHJ sound weird and foreign. In the states, a gah-RAHJ is the thing that holds your cars when you're not driving them. I think it's normally that way for GARE-uhjes here in the UK, as well.
However, there's a petrol station that I think of as "behind Clanny", although it's really more to the side. Anyway, it's the place to go for late-night food hunts that don't include hot pizza or any other kind of takeaway. Do we call it "the petrol station"? No, we do not. Someone in Clanny House, past or present, started calling it "the GARE-uhj", and the name stuck. If you say "I'm going to the GARE-uhj, does anyone need anything?" then everyone in the room will either reply that they'll come with you or thrust fivers at you with orders. I think that if I tried to call it "the petrol station", no one would know what I was talking about.
The thing that makes this really funny for me is that I still don't think of a GARE-uhj as a place to put a car, but rather as the petrol station behind clanny. Guh-RAHJes are where you keep cars.
I'd like to think that I'll be too busy packing and eating the rest of my food to post again before London or Leicester, but who am I kidding? I'll put it off until late Sunday night, and we all know it.

Pretty things in Sunderland

I needed to do this post because of this.

Image swiped from my.ilstu.edu and modified by me.

After a day of feeling like everything was going wrong and walking down the road muttering about how much I hate this place, I decided to use the pictures I took of the cemetery before I went to bedford.

Here are pictures of the cemetery up the road. It's very pretty, and makes for a nice walk.

I was on the hunt for these, but I couldn't find any from much before 1800.

Huge group plot. I think it's for people affiliated with a church, like possibly a convent or monastery. 

All the stereotypes about cemeteries are true here. Huge crooked tombstones like jagged teeth... 

And then huge empty spaces.

Lots of the stones have broken; the pieces are all kept together.

A real, live holly tree. I think I was feeling a bit festive when I took this one. The tree was huge, by the way.

The ground here is really unstable. Almost all the headstones are tilted, and most of the monuments have sunk.

The "family burial ground" thing is kind of odd to me, somehow.

There are a lot of stones for people that were lost at sea or other far-away places.  Sunderlandians got around.

Marble: pristine. Stone: so worn you can't even tell there were letters there.

There are these huge old buildings scattered throughout the cemetery, with broken windows and fences around them.

Like so. I do like the little round bit off to the side of the main building, though.

Entrance? 

Fancy.

Lost at sea.

War graves always get me. "In memory of so-and-so, who failed to return"

Also, cat.

Our flat (now consisting only of Conor, Jessi, Flo, myself, and occasionally Adam) kind of adopted the Ginger Clanny House Cat, known alternately by us as Clanny, Kitty, Look Who Followed Me Home, Can We Keep Her, *tchk tchk*, and The Cat.

She follows us from further up the block, knows which flat is ours, knows which door inside the flat is ours, and also comes to the window to be let in. 

Jessi bought some ham for Kitty's consumption (because that made more sense than cat food?), and despite the inherent dietary flaws, Kitty's not sick and she keeps coming back and eating more ham, so... 

She's got a routine. Get into our flat, eat some ham, maybe have some milk (we have some spare containers of it, I don't know whose, and they're not bad yet, but they will be, so...), curl up on the chairs, and sleep until we put her out. 

I hate putting her out. I feel so cruel. Jessi hates putting her out more, though. She seems to be afraid of cats, which quite mystifies me, and flinches away whenever Kitty moves her paws, claiming that she never knows what cats are thinking.

Well, this is true. She's terrible about figuring out what mood the cat is in. But I blame the single claw attack she's suffered (at no physical damage to her person, I might add) on her not knowing the warning signs of sudden rage and repeating her offences.

So here's some more things that I liked in Sunderland, mostly to remind myself that I ever liked it.

British houses

That random door in the cool wall

Wall

Good flatmates

Cheese and onion pasties... Mmmm.

Old churches

Walls

Walls

More walls

Even more walls

I do not tire of these pictures

But I'll throw in a picture of nutella, only 99p for the small glass.

Brick walls in various states of decay

Mosaics in entryways

Wall

That park down the road

A "stumpery"

Wall! Leading to the prettiest place I've found in sunderland.

Wall

Pretty bridge and autumn colour (in december, but still)

Pretty river

You guessed it: Wall.

Not wall. Slippery death trap, actually. But it was pretty.

Natural wall from where the river was

Little secluded area

As excited as I am to be leaving Sunderland and returning to Whitworth, I'm still going to miss this place. Of course, staying doesn't hold much of an attraction for me, since almost all my flatmates, who became my best friends here, are leaving, too.
So I'll think fond thoughts about Sunderland as I've known it, with two brits, two germans, two americans, and an australian as my companions, and be happy that I'm going back to a university where more of the faculty is sane and likeable.

London and New Years Eve — Saturday 31 December 2011 (and also a little bit of Friday 30 December)

Conor came to Bedford on the 30th and was about as excited as I had been to see Josie and James and be with fun people again (he was with family that he likes but has a hard time spending too much time wit and his teenage cousin doesn't seem to like him, which didn't help). We sat around, talked, and went to see the new Sherlock Holmes, which was pretty much amazing. I kept seeing bits and pieces from the books, and had to keep myself from expostulating on them during the movie.

On Saturday, we went to Wokingham, where one of James' school friends was having people over to his house, via London. 

!!!

I've been on the underground! They don't actually say "mind the gap" on it, though. They do on the overground trains, but not all the time.

We didn't have to be at Ben's house until "sometime after 4", so I took a bus tour (really expensive, but worth it) while everyone else, who had already taken at least one bus tour, went and watched arthur christmas. 

I would have taken nicer pictures if the bus would have stopped, and I would have taken more if I hadn't run out of battery. 

This is next to Buckingham Palace. The gold thing next to the biggest tree is what I was aiming for, but the bus was moving.

Westminster Abbey, I believe.

St. Stephen's Tower and Big Ben with the House of Commons, and everyone else on the bus taking pictures in the foreground.

No fellow photographers in this one.
Actually, this was just the first of many Bens that I met on New Years Eve.

I think that's more of Westminster.

The House of Lords, I think. And what appear to be portable arena speakers, probably for new years eve.

I have no idea what this is; I just like the red and white on the building.

Looking down the Thames at the London Bridge (I think; you can't really see it and I couldn't really hear the guide) and the London Eye (the ferris wheel on the right), with old London on the left and new London on the right.

I think this is the War Museum, located in Bethlehem Hospital (aka Bedlam, the insane asylum).

If the picture above didn't show Bedlam, then this one does. This might be related to some gardens, though.

Big lion on the riverbank

I think this is westminster again.

House of Commons and House of Lords, left to right.

I don't know who the statue in the front is, but the one in the background is Abraham Lincoln. This is across from parliament, and a lot of prime ministers, generals, and world leader-ish people are in it, like Nelson Mandela (senior quoter; I forget the quote, though) and Winston Churchill.

The buses were everywhere. I wasn't walking enough to be in danger of getting hit by one, though.

A war memorial. I forget which one.

Lord Horatio Nelson, atop his massive pillar in Trafalgar Square. As I was told at least twice, he's actually looking towards where his ship is still docked in Portsmouth. 

Nelson's ship, just smaller and in a bottle. I didn't know what it was when I took the picture; it was explained on one of the many times we passed it later.

Trafalgar Square. As alluded above, we went by it at least four times. The screens are for the fireworks, and the national gallery is in the background.

I was amused to see something calling itself a "Texas Embassy", even if it was just a restaurant.  

Incidentally, the Oceanic House, current home of the Texas Embassy, is the former home of the White Star Line. This is where you bought tickets for the Titanic.

I don't know what the spire is, but that's the national gallery and the back end of trafalgar square. Again.

Trafalgar Square's very clean fountain. I think you can normally go right up to it, even.

I mainly took this picture for the serious statue with the fairly serious bird on his head. If you look at the base of the statue, Terry Pratchett readers will see a familiar name. Who knew that anyone actually had the name Havelock?

A church smack in the middle of London, possibly St. Martin's  (M-something, I think), definitely the parish church for a branch of the military. The pitting is from the Blitz. 

The statue in the middle of the street is a dragon and marks the entrance to the City of London. The queen actually can't go in without being accompanied by the Mayor of London, and she can't wear her jewels. She also has to defer to the Mayor and walk behind him instead of beside or in front of him, as she would normally do as a head of state.

Not a church, but the most ornate civil court building ever. The guy who designed it wanted to build cathedrals, but this was as close as he got.

St. Paul's Cathedral. Burned down three or four times, didn't fall down during the Blitz in spite of Hitler's express command to destroy it. The people's church of London.

Tower Bridge. We actually drove over it, but the batteries in my camera kept giving out, the horrible things.

HMS Belfast, I think. Also the Tower Bridge.

What I wanted very much to see, but either didn't drive past or didn't hear in time to take a picture or had already run out of battery, follows:

Original Twinings store (saw it, still had battery, bus was moving too fast)

Shakespeare's Globe Theatre (saw off in distance as we crossed a bridge; no battery)

Tower Bridge (I was ON it!)

Plague/Great Fire monuments (bus went too fast, and no battery)

Women of (one of the World Wars) monument (short notice, fast bus) 

Sherlock Holmes museum (bus didn't drive past it. And okay, I did pick up this little obsession after watching the first Robert Downey Jr. movie, but it's been fuelled by the books! Wanting to see the museum has nothing to do with the fact that I just saw the second movie and loved it; I saw the second movie almost equally because I loved the first one and because I love the books. If it's full of deerstalker hats, I will be sorely disappointed and will actually go to the effort of writing nasty reviews. I might even demand my money back. Nowhere in the first collection, last collection, and the first three novels does Conan Doyle even mention a deerstalker.)

Once it got dark, I got kind of bored and nervous about missing my stop. I hate asking for directions in big cities because I'm afraid the fairly friendly-looking person on the street will actually be a nefarious criminal and will peg me as a helpless tourist, which in fact I am, so I always go into shops and ask salespeople discreetly. 

I found my stop without difficulty, however, and knocked around Victoria station (although NOT Victoria Coach station, as I discovered the next afternoon, trying to find it in the dark and the rain) until I got a text from my movie-going friends that I should meet them at the tube stop where our train connected to Wokingham. That was an adventure, although riding the underground by myself felt pretty cool. It was just that the station was consumed by holiday chaos, and it took us some time to figure out which exit had an overground train station. 

After a very long wait and a longer train ride, we got to Wokingham (pronounced, by the way, as WOKE-ing'm, with no relation to ham or stir-fry skillets), where James' friend Ben Ireland met us at the station. He's one of many Bens (alluded to under the picture of St. Stephen's Tower without all the photographers), all of whom go by their last names. We met Ben Watkins, his best friend since early childhood (the farthest apart they've ever lived was on opposite sides of a fairly small town when they went to university) later, and we never met Ben Taylor. 

It was a pretty casual new years eve. We hung out with mostly guys, since I guess all the girls were unavailable and had all fallen out with each other shortly before anyway (bullet dodged!), and ate garlic bread and chilli (for everyone but me) and what had been thought to be a margarita pizza (plain cheese, but if you ask for cheese pizza here, you get weird looks. I picked up on the margarita thing pretty quickly) but was in fact a holiday chestnut pizza. It was pretty good. We stayed up late, cheered when someone's watch phone said 00:00, and eventually straggled to our respective sleeping places. 

Year complete. 

It's weird, writing this up four days into the new year.