Whooooooa, I haven't written a blog in forever... And I have so much to write about!
Unfortunately, since arriving back from my trip, I've been focusing on getting ready for the Great Trip Home, which begins in just about 3hrs. I'm on a bus from Swansea to London, flights from London to Keflavik, KEF to Seatac, Seatac to Sacramento, and then I'm home! Only a brief 31hrs of travel including the bus, but not transport to bus or from airport. It's going to be gobs of fun, I can tell.
I do have many many things to report, as I'm sure you know, so I'm going to try to get writing on this ridiculous adventure and queue up a few posts that'll go up once I'm near working internet again. They will obviously go up long after they're written, so just check back about once a week (but first, check back this Friday!), and you'll be teased with little bits of my journey at a time. London first, then Paris, then Germany. And lastly, there will be a post about my trip home. But don't worry! That won't be the end of my blog! I'll come back to tell you what its like being back in the US, what reverse culture shock feels like, and how much weight I've gained from eating nothing but white cheddar cheez-its and peanut butter (not together...).
Until then, my fearless followers, I salute you.
Wish me luck on my flight!
Showing posts with label Swansea. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Swansea. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
Saturday, May 3, 2014
On Being Alive
I don't have anything to report, not really, so if you're looking at this and expecting a long in depth description of the nothings that I did while I wandered around in Cardiff on Wednesday, you can stop reading. The problem is, I have again found the problem of having little to say about the trips I make.
Okay, so Cardiff wasn't meant to be a big excursion. I didn't leave the St. David's shopping area except to go to the national museum. And while that was interesting, there's not much to say. It was a museum. Better than I'd expected, not as good as the Natural History Museum.
I suppose the only thing to say about Cardiff really was that I thought it would be a good idea to wear Converse sneakers. I figured it wouldn't matter, since I was only shopping, and I wanted to look a bit more fashionable. Much as I love my sketchers, they're not exactly what one might call "fashionable." So now I'm sitting in my living room, feet elevated, arches wrapped, wondering if tomorrow I'll be able to walk to the store and buy taco shells for cinco de mayo. Such is life.
But I feel like writing a blog, feel like sharing with you the interesting thing that has been happening in my brain lately.
Earlier in the year I was staring some serious financial difficulties in the face. Now, I am happy to report that I have saved enough to make, not only a trip to Germany to visit Lea, but also to stop in London and Paris along the way. The tickets are booked, the hostel search has begun, and in less than a month I will be Europe bound. It's more exciting than I can possibly put into words. But it has also led to some interesting contemplation on my part.
For years I was sort of wandering through the education system, listening to teachers who liked to tell me that I wouldn't get anywhere, and maybe with the attitude I had, they were right. But I wouldn't have had that attitude if I had more confidence, and constantly hearing about my continual failure wasn't exactly bolstering my confidence very much. I was a dreamer, and dreamers have trouble paying attention to things they are told they have to pay attention to. Sure, every so often we were given interesting books to read, poems to write, drawings to make. I didn't hate all of school, but when a math problem was put in front of us and everyone else was determinedly scribbling away on their papers while I sat there completely baffled, I wasn't exactly a fan. When the questions were about how George has ten apples and Miranda has eight pears and Bernie has six lemons, so how many sandwiches can their mother make? And the answer is sixteen. Just sixteen. How the hell did they get that answer? You can imagine why I struggled.
I went through school believing that, if I was lucky, I might snag a job. If I was lucky, maybe I might marry rich. Because if left to my own devices, I would be living with my parents until I died.
I finally dragged myself into an amount of self confidence at continuation school, where the teachers never once said I was a failure, even though I was literally there because I was a failure. No, those teachers were the ones who smiled when I got confused and asked me to explain the problem as I understood it, and then help me to understand it properly. These were the teachers who gave me credit for the work I wanted to do, the work I was good at, but still pushed me to do more, to do better, to do everything and anything, and who encouraged me to reach for something better than a job I could get, or marrying rich. According to them, I should get a job not only that I could get, but that I wanted to get. And marrying rich? Really? Don't be so prosaic.
Because of them, and because of the confidence they helped me find, I'm sitting in the living room of my apartment in Swansea, Wales. I have a trip to Europe in less than a month, I have a manuscript finished, another started, and six more in my brain just waiting to get out. I'm wearing a dressing gown I bought at Primark, and I say things like "naught" in everyday conversation. I had a breakfast of a scone with clotted cream and strawberry jam (probably why I needed to go to cardiff in search of a new jacket, since my old, light weight jacket no longer fits. Again, such is life).
Whenever I say that I owe this to my old teachers, people say I should give myself more credit. And I do, I am not in any way saying that I'm not here because of me. I am here because I have worked hard every day for the last eight or so years. I am here because I put my nose to the grindstone, and though I've spent some time deciding what I want to do, I am here because I pulled my grades up and dedicated my mind to study and work. I'm here because I believe in myself, and I would never have believed in myself if someone else hadn't believed in me first. So do I believe that my 12th grade teachers deserve a bit of credit? Definitely.
The thing is, now I'm sitting here and thinking about this trip I've planned. I am going backpacking in Europe. Not an extensive trip, but a trip nonetheless. I'm in hostels for six days and on planes, trains, and automobiles (read: busses) for 36 hours in total. I am twenty five years old, studying abroad, attending a real, big kid college, with international friends, running for president of an English Honours Society, have written a novel, going to write more, and going to be published (come hell or high water). After a quarter of a century of being alive, I finally know where I am, and where I'm going, and that it's where I want to be and with the people I want to be with. I have one best friend whom I love more than life, with whom distance will never matter, another best friend whom I love more than life, and with whom time will never matter. I have a family that supports me, faith that strengthens me, a mind that will never fail me, and a hope that sustains me.
And now there's this little girl who pops her head up every so often and looks at this life. There's the sixth grade me who didn't think she was worth it, who sincerely believed everything that witch of a teacher told her, and she sees these things that I'm doing, and she weeps. Someone please go back in time and tell her how her life will turn out.
I am going to Europe. I am going and I'm not looking back, not considering the money that I'm spending, the debt I'm potentially accruing because I know that it's worth it. I'll return to my school and write my book and finish my degree and go to grad school and get a phd and become a professor and I am never, ever, ever looking back at those teachers and those jerks who used to say that I was nothing. I wonder if they feel big, if they feel stronger for their criticism, if making themselves feel better and stronger than a small, lost little girl, has given them strength, and if by reclaiming my birthright, I am also reclaiming that strength. I wonder if they'll see this blog and think that they've done right by me, convince themselves that all I needed was reverse psychology and that a drive to prove them wrong was what gave me strength to begin with, and in that way, they'll convince themselves that they had a hand in this strength that I've found. On the off chance that they do read this, I want them to know that they're wrong. That if it were up to them, I would be working at Noah's bagels in my home town, asking if they want lox on their bagel, or just a hefty serving of misanthropy on the side.
But I'm not. I'm a student at a university in Wales. I am a student at a university in California. I am a student studying English, chewing Chaucer for breakfast and Chinua Achebe for lunch. I write blogs and novels and poems and I speak with the strength I have found in myself and read in Maya Angelou, Sandra Cisneros, and Toni Morrison. I am a person who is capable of standing up for what she believes in, then buying a ticket to Paris. I'm a person who isn't afraid of failing anymore, you can't scare me with your threats, because failure is just a lesson and a lesson is just a day in this life. Life is risks, and risks fail, and without those failures we never learn. So let me fail, let me learn, and in learning, let me live. I'm tired of just being alive. I want to live.
I'm going to London. And then Paris. And then Berlin. And from there? Who knows. But for now I'll look forward to that trip and imagine the days after it, when I will look back, smile, and remember that life is made up of moments and moments have to be lived. So if you don't see me, look to the horizon. I'll be there. Don't worry, I'll write.
Okay, so Cardiff wasn't meant to be a big excursion. I didn't leave the St. David's shopping area except to go to the national museum. And while that was interesting, there's not much to say. It was a museum. Better than I'd expected, not as good as the Natural History Museum.
I suppose the only thing to say about Cardiff really was that I thought it would be a good idea to wear Converse sneakers. I figured it wouldn't matter, since I was only shopping, and I wanted to look a bit more fashionable. Much as I love my sketchers, they're not exactly what one might call "fashionable." So now I'm sitting in my living room, feet elevated, arches wrapped, wondering if tomorrow I'll be able to walk to the store and buy taco shells for cinco de mayo. Such is life.
But I feel like writing a blog, feel like sharing with you the interesting thing that has been happening in my brain lately.
Earlier in the year I was staring some serious financial difficulties in the face. Now, I am happy to report that I have saved enough to make, not only a trip to Germany to visit Lea, but also to stop in London and Paris along the way. The tickets are booked, the hostel search has begun, and in less than a month I will be Europe bound. It's more exciting than I can possibly put into words. But it has also led to some interesting contemplation on my part.
For years I was sort of wandering through the education system, listening to teachers who liked to tell me that I wouldn't get anywhere, and maybe with the attitude I had, they were right. But I wouldn't have had that attitude if I had more confidence, and constantly hearing about my continual failure wasn't exactly bolstering my confidence very much. I was a dreamer, and dreamers have trouble paying attention to things they are told they have to pay attention to. Sure, every so often we were given interesting books to read, poems to write, drawings to make. I didn't hate all of school, but when a math problem was put in front of us and everyone else was determinedly scribbling away on their papers while I sat there completely baffled, I wasn't exactly a fan. When the questions were about how George has ten apples and Miranda has eight pears and Bernie has six lemons, so how many sandwiches can their mother make? And the answer is sixteen. Just sixteen. How the hell did they get that answer? You can imagine why I struggled.
I went through school believing that, if I was lucky, I might snag a job. If I was lucky, maybe I might marry rich. Because if left to my own devices, I would be living with my parents until I died.
I finally dragged myself into an amount of self confidence at continuation school, where the teachers never once said I was a failure, even though I was literally there because I was a failure. No, those teachers were the ones who smiled when I got confused and asked me to explain the problem as I understood it, and then help me to understand it properly. These were the teachers who gave me credit for the work I wanted to do, the work I was good at, but still pushed me to do more, to do better, to do everything and anything, and who encouraged me to reach for something better than a job I could get, or marrying rich. According to them, I should get a job not only that I could get, but that I wanted to get. And marrying rich? Really? Don't be so prosaic.
Because of them, and because of the confidence they helped me find, I'm sitting in the living room of my apartment in Swansea, Wales. I have a trip to Europe in less than a month, I have a manuscript finished, another started, and six more in my brain just waiting to get out. I'm wearing a dressing gown I bought at Primark, and I say things like "naught" in everyday conversation. I had a breakfast of a scone with clotted cream and strawberry jam (probably why I needed to go to cardiff in search of a new jacket, since my old, light weight jacket no longer fits. Again, such is life).
Whenever I say that I owe this to my old teachers, people say I should give myself more credit. And I do, I am not in any way saying that I'm not here because of me. I am here because I have worked hard every day for the last eight or so years. I am here because I put my nose to the grindstone, and though I've spent some time deciding what I want to do, I am here because I pulled my grades up and dedicated my mind to study and work. I'm here because I believe in myself, and I would never have believed in myself if someone else hadn't believed in me first. So do I believe that my 12th grade teachers deserve a bit of credit? Definitely.
The thing is, now I'm sitting here and thinking about this trip I've planned. I am going backpacking in Europe. Not an extensive trip, but a trip nonetheless. I'm in hostels for six days and on planes, trains, and automobiles (read: busses) for 36 hours in total. I am twenty five years old, studying abroad, attending a real, big kid college, with international friends, running for president of an English Honours Society, have written a novel, going to write more, and going to be published (come hell or high water). After a quarter of a century of being alive, I finally know where I am, and where I'm going, and that it's where I want to be and with the people I want to be with. I have one best friend whom I love more than life, with whom distance will never matter, another best friend whom I love more than life, and with whom time will never matter. I have a family that supports me, faith that strengthens me, a mind that will never fail me, and a hope that sustains me.
And now there's this little girl who pops her head up every so often and looks at this life. There's the sixth grade me who didn't think she was worth it, who sincerely believed everything that witch of a teacher told her, and she sees these things that I'm doing, and she weeps. Someone please go back in time and tell her how her life will turn out.
I am going to Europe. I am going and I'm not looking back, not considering the money that I'm spending, the debt I'm potentially accruing because I know that it's worth it. I'll return to my school and write my book and finish my degree and go to grad school and get a phd and become a professor and I am never, ever, ever looking back at those teachers and those jerks who used to say that I was nothing. I wonder if they feel big, if they feel stronger for their criticism, if making themselves feel better and stronger than a small, lost little girl, has given them strength, and if by reclaiming my birthright, I am also reclaiming that strength. I wonder if they'll see this blog and think that they've done right by me, convince themselves that all I needed was reverse psychology and that a drive to prove them wrong was what gave me strength to begin with, and in that way, they'll convince themselves that they had a hand in this strength that I've found. On the off chance that they do read this, I want them to know that they're wrong. That if it were up to them, I would be working at Noah's bagels in my home town, asking if they want lox on their bagel, or just a hefty serving of misanthropy on the side.
But I'm not. I'm a student at a university in Wales. I am a student at a university in California. I am a student studying English, chewing Chaucer for breakfast and Chinua Achebe for lunch. I write blogs and novels and poems and I speak with the strength I have found in myself and read in Maya Angelou, Sandra Cisneros, and Toni Morrison. I am a person who is capable of standing up for what she believes in, then buying a ticket to Paris. I'm a person who isn't afraid of failing anymore, you can't scare me with your threats, because failure is just a lesson and a lesson is just a day in this life. Life is risks, and risks fail, and without those failures we never learn. So let me fail, let me learn, and in learning, let me live. I'm tired of just being alive. I want to live.
I'm going to London. And then Paris. And then Berlin. And from there? Who knows. But for now I'll look forward to that trip and imagine the days after it, when I will look back, smile, and remember that life is made up of moments and moments have to be lived. So if you don't see me, look to the horizon. I'll be there. Don't worry, I'll write.
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
On Easter Candy *Updated
So, I'll admit it's been a long time since I've had an Easter basket. I honestly can't even remember what I did for the last two easters. I assume I was home or in Chico, or somewhere... yeah, I honestly don't know. Which is weird, since I normally have an elephants memory for things.
Anyway, being so far away from home and seriously SURROUNDED by easter candy here (sorry, "sweets"), I decided to treat myself to a little easter basket of my own.
THUS, this thing of beauty I created.
Anyway, I've been seeing these "eggs" everywhere, but I didn't buy them because they were expensive and seemed excessive. I finally decided, however, on Saturday night to go for it. All they had left were Smarties eggs, which were £1.50, so I wasn't TOO disappointed. I also got the other things in the photo, a Kinder Surprise Egg (crazy about them), and one each of a cadbury's creme egg and caramel egg.
Let's start with the big egg. It came in a box, like this (for size comparison, see my hand):
Opened it up to see this:
Hoooooly moly, this thing is huge. And, as suspected, is rattling and filled with some other goody (Smarties, of course). So I needed to get into it somehow...
Hey, what's that? Smarties, you say?
Well, I don't know what I'd expected, a big huge handful? Well, I did pay less than two quid for this so, oh well. I got other things!
Mini eggs! Aggie, my roommate's girlfriend said they were good, and they cost about 60p, so I figured why not, right? I thought they'd be like Robbin's Eggs. You know, the ones that are pretending to be jordan almonds but are actually malted milk balls? (gag)
 |
| So tiny! |
Ohmygosh so much better than Robbin's Eggs! Probably my new favourite easter treat. I fully endorse this product and think we should begin immediate exports to the states. I have since gone back and bought FOUR more boxes once they were on sale for 30p each. Yuusss. Today I went back, and they were almost entirely sold out. Three boxes left in total. I guess that goes to show how popular they are. Meanwhile, there were still pleeeeenty of Malteasters, which ARE malted milk bars.
And now for the Kinder Surprise Egg! Yay! I love Kinder Surprise, they're my favourite, semi gross chocolate AND a useless toy? I'm a sucker for these things. It's probably for the best they cost 85p on a normal day.
Is that supposed to be.... Loki??
Well, that's terrifying. I may have nightmares tonight.
****UPDATE: I have just been informed that we do in fact have Cadbury Mini Eggs in the States, and now I feel like my life has been a lie. My whole life. A LIE. That is all.
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Sunshine and Ocean Waves
So I'm going to try and share more things on here, at least photos and things. So here are some photos from the last week or so.
So you may have heard, we've been having a bit of a storm here recently. We get a lot of hail generally, just whenever it rains we tend to get hail or a bit of sleet. It's been particularly bad during the last few weeks. Last wednesday I had to walk to class though rain and sleet, and that was awful. These photos are from that Tuesday when we got pea sized hail. Luckily, I was home for that:
These are from the random sunny day we had on Sunday. I haven't seen the beach this busy since I've been here. Everyone came out to walk along the shore and soak in the sun.
And by request, this is Singleton Park, which I walk through every day to get to class. It was a particularly nice day, although as you can see, it's always a bit wet here.
So yeah, hope you enjoyed my little slideshow. I've a bit of a cold right now, so I might end up posting tomorrow if I get bored. Probably not.
So you may have heard, we've been having a bit of a storm here recently. We get a lot of hail generally, just whenever it rains we tend to get hail or a bit of sleet. It's been particularly bad during the last few weeks. Last wednesday I had to walk to class though rain and sleet, and that was awful. These photos are from that Tuesday when we got pea sized hail. Luckily, I was home for that:
These are from the random sunny day we had on Sunday. I haven't seen the beach this busy since I've been here. Everyone came out to walk along the shore and soak in the sun.
And by request, this is Singleton Park, which I walk through every day to get to class. It was a particularly nice day, although as you can see, it's always a bit wet here.
So yeah, hope you enjoyed my little slideshow. I've a bit of a cold right now, so I might end up posting tomorrow if I get bored. Probably not.
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Wind Wind Wind Wind!
So much wind!
Actually not really, not today. We did have a really random downpour around midday, but other than that today has been quite clear.
But yesterday! Yesterday it took me twice as long as usual to walk to class because I was battling the wind and sleet. I looked and felt like a marshmallow, plus I had all of my materials with me so I could spend the day studying in the library. I took a cab home.
And the day before yesterday! It was bright blue skies and a comfortable little breeze. The rest of the United Kingdom is basically underwater right now. Go home, Swansea, you're drunk.
Anyway, this is what I actually was going to share with you. I've let you see the prettier side of the beach near my house, now can see the truly terrifying side. Click this link to see a freaky video of the wind.
Actually not really, not today. We did have a really random downpour around midday, but other than that today has been quite clear.
But yesterday! Yesterday it took me twice as long as usual to walk to class because I was battling the wind and sleet. I looked and felt like a marshmallow, plus I had all of my materials with me so I could spend the day studying in the library. I took a cab home.
And the day before yesterday! It was bright blue skies and a comfortable little breeze. The rest of the United Kingdom is basically underwater right now. Go home, Swansea, you're drunk.
Anyway, this is what I actually was going to share with you. I've let you see the prettier side of the beach near my house, now can see the truly terrifying side. Click this link to see a freaky video of the wind.
Saturday, February 8, 2014
School blues
Oh, school. Ooooh school.
The reason I'm here.
I'm signed up for three classes this semester: Grammar, Postcolonial Literature, and Chaucer.
If you know me at all... that's a pretty hefty list. I am not a medieval literature person. I am not a fan of Chaucer, I don't think he's funny. I just think he's confusing and hard to read and going to lead to a very very big essay at the end of the semester.
Grammar... Grammar sounds like good times, right? It's just grammar! Ali has great grammar, so this should be totally easy, right? WRONG. Any English student who is reading this and has taken a grammar class knows how difficult a class it is. It's like grammar to the max, grammar to the end of time. The professor has just thrown all of this information at us on slides that only half explain what the hell we're supposed to be learning, so we're frantically trying to take cohesive notes and then suddenly the slides are gone and we're onto a new word class. And then on top of it, she throws an exam at us in the third week. What? I have three grammar textbooks open next to me and a sneaking suspicion that a poor mark is in my future. Commiseration in the comments, please, ladies?
Postcolonial is the most interesting class I'm taking. We're reading seven books this semester, the first of which I'm meant to give a presentation about on Friday. She told us not to worry about it, it's no big deal. Then when I went to talk to her about it, she told me to treat it as a term paper that I will be presenting. I asked if she meant that it should have something akin to a thesis whereupon she said, and I quote, "Oh, right. You're American. So you don't really know how to write a term paper." I may have thought something very not nice to her at that moment. As someone who hasn't gotten below a high B on any term papers here yet, I take that as an insult. Plus, you don't know me. Where do you get off informing me about my capabilities as a student before you've ever seen my work. So in other news, I basically have to put on the best damn presentation that teacher's ever seen or walk home with my tail between my legs. And of course, my presentation is the day after my horrible grammar exam. Kill me please.
Interestingly, I opened my email after starting this blog post to find an apology from her. So that's something, I guess. I'm going to write back and ask for a meeting on Wednesday and I have a revision session planned with the other girl giving a presentation on Friday, so I think I'll be able to muddle through it.
But aside from that presentation, it is the most interesting topic. The class examines the effect of colonization (or, as I'm supposed to spell it here, colonisation) upon those colonized. Among the books we're reading are Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe (that's the one I'm presenting on) and Nervous Conditions by Tsitsi Dangarembga. I've only just started Nervous Conditions, although on top of everything else, I'm supposed to have it finished by Thursday (did I mention, "kill me now"?), but I have finished Achebe's book, and I do love it.
Anyway, I did promise a second blog about classes to follow my blog about my birthday, so, as promised. I have another one I want to write about traveling and sightseeing, so there is another blog on the horizon. I would say check back next week, but... maybe give me another week or two before I post anything else. I'm pretty much going to be sleeping at the library this week...
The reason I'm here.
I'm signed up for three classes this semester: Grammar, Postcolonial Literature, and Chaucer.
If you know me at all... that's a pretty hefty list. I am not a medieval literature person. I am not a fan of Chaucer, I don't think he's funny. I just think he's confusing and hard to read and going to lead to a very very big essay at the end of the semester.
Grammar... Grammar sounds like good times, right? It's just grammar! Ali has great grammar, so this should be totally easy, right? WRONG. Any English student who is reading this and has taken a grammar class knows how difficult a class it is. It's like grammar to the max, grammar to the end of time. The professor has just thrown all of this information at us on slides that only half explain what the hell we're supposed to be learning, so we're frantically trying to take cohesive notes and then suddenly the slides are gone and we're onto a new word class. And then on top of it, she throws an exam at us in the third week. What? I have three grammar textbooks open next to me and a sneaking suspicion that a poor mark is in my future. Commiseration in the comments, please, ladies?
Postcolonial is the most interesting class I'm taking. We're reading seven books this semester, the first of which I'm meant to give a presentation about on Friday. She told us not to worry about it, it's no big deal. Then when I went to talk to her about it, she told me to treat it as a term paper that I will be presenting. I asked if she meant that it should have something akin to a thesis whereupon she said, and I quote, "Oh, right. You're American. So you don't really know how to write a term paper." I may have thought something very not nice to her at that moment. As someone who hasn't gotten below a high B on any term papers here yet, I take that as an insult. Plus, you don't know me. Where do you get off informing me about my capabilities as a student before you've ever seen my work. So in other news, I basically have to put on the best damn presentation that teacher's ever seen or walk home with my tail between my legs. And of course, my presentation is the day after my horrible grammar exam. Kill me please.
Interestingly, I opened my email after starting this blog post to find an apology from her. So that's something, I guess. I'm going to write back and ask for a meeting on Wednesday and I have a revision session planned with the other girl giving a presentation on Friday, so I think I'll be able to muddle through it.
But aside from that presentation, it is the most interesting topic. The class examines the effect of colonization (or, as I'm supposed to spell it here, colonisation) upon those colonized. Among the books we're reading are Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe (that's the one I'm presenting on) and Nervous Conditions by Tsitsi Dangarembga. I've only just started Nervous Conditions, although on top of everything else, I'm supposed to have it finished by Thursday (did I mention, "kill me now"?), but I have finished Achebe's book, and I do love it.
Anyway, I did promise a second blog about classes to follow my blog about my birthday, so, as promised. I have another one I want to write about traveling and sightseeing, so there is another blog on the horizon. I would say check back next week, but... maybe give me another week or two before I post anything else. I'm pretty much going to be sleeping at the library this week...
Thursday, February 6, 2014
Twenty-Five
I always know its time to write a blog when I start getting random spikes of viewers. I imagine little heads popping around the walls to my apartment asking, "Where's the blog, Ali? WHERE'S THE BLOG??"
Okay, its here, calm down.
I both have tons to cover in this blog, and very little. I'll start with this last weekend.
It was my birthday! YAY!
I'm twenty five whole years old how. I feel so grown up. I've already had that lovely moment where some girls were talking about tanning in class and I strongly suggested against it. They brought it up because I had mentioned being Californian, so naturally, sun tans. I told them not to do it, that I've seen plenty of people my age who have tanned every summer since sixteen and their skin looks old and tired already. They looked very confused until I told them how old I am, to which I was immediately greeted with choruses of "I would never have guessed" and "you don't look twenty five at all!" and "I figured you were our age (19)!" And I just, "oh bless you," with a little hand flip and hair twirl. And then I proceeded to get woefully lost in grammar, since they've all just studied it in a-levels and here I am, eight years since I touched grammar. *headdesk*
Anyway, I'm going to say that this birthday took second place to my twenty first birthday party, when Maureen and I went to San Francisco, ate amazing food at an awesome jazz club, got shortlined and then VIPed within moments at a club, then pleasantly sloshed before going back to our hotel where I'm nearly certain we watched Harry Potter. Anyway, close second to that amazingness.
I had been planning something for awhile and found out that a group of people I knew were going to the same place on the same night, so it was going to snowball into something awful. And then some friend of there's went and got engaged and had an engagement party that night, so everyone I knew from that ended up bailing. I went around to theirs a few nights before my birthday for a movie night they'd been planning, and then it turned out that it had become an impromptu sort of party for my birthday! Not even, but Lily made me this lovely cake:
so that was pretty awesome. They sang me happy birthday and we shared the cake and watched a racy movie. Good times all around.
Well, then came Friday, which was the night before my birthday. I had big plans. A big group of us were going to a place called Playzone. Any nineties kids out there are probably raising their eyebrows questioningly, so yes, it was totally exactly like Discovery Zone. Not a nineties kid? Here's a link to it: http://www.theplayzone.co.uk/. Turns out they do an "adult" night on the last friday of every month, which was perfect for us. Now, being that we are not in fact eighteen, we all had the foresight to meet up before hand and have burgers and crisps and a few drinks before we headed out to drink and run around like idiots. I got a few little presents like chocolate (okay a lot of chocolate), and a few pens and a notebook. Then we each had a drink and took off.
And then we ran around like idiots. I can't really go into too much detail here, one because it was pretty hectic, two because we'd been drinking, and three because we'd been drinking. So my memory is a little iffy on it, though I took a video I'll be posting eventually. I can tell you that we played tag and capture the flag and manhunt. I can tell you that I was terrified of the biggest slide, which was really just a glorified death trap, but I did eventually go down the slightly less big slide (did you click on the link earlier? I went on the blue slide, NOT the red slide). It was crazy amounts of fun and I STILL hurt from it. Good times.
Then the next day while we were all nursing our injuries from Playzone, we met up, had more drinks, went to Wind Street, which is a street here where there are about twenty different clubs and bars and dancey places and all of the young people go to get inordinately drunk. Which, of course, is what ended up happening with me. So here again, I cannot give you many details. Although I can tell you that at one point a woman sang Happy Birthday for me in Welsh, which was probably the highlight of my weekend. I can also tell you that for the third time in my life I had a massive hangover the next day, so if you're worried that I was being reckless (I wasn't, don't worry. I had tons of friends with me and all of my roommates were there as well), don't worry, I won't be doing it again anytime soon.
In all I'm calling it a huge success. I had friends come out and drinks and stories and bruises and laughter, and I think in general, what more can I ask for from a birthday? Especially from a milestone birthday like 25.
Okay, its here, calm down.
I both have tons to cover in this blog, and very little. I'll start with this last weekend.
It was my birthday! YAY!
I'm twenty five whole years old how. I feel so grown up. I've already had that lovely moment where some girls were talking about tanning in class and I strongly suggested against it. They brought it up because I had mentioned being Californian, so naturally, sun tans. I told them not to do it, that I've seen plenty of people my age who have tanned every summer since sixteen and their skin looks old and tired already. They looked very confused until I told them how old I am, to which I was immediately greeted with choruses of "I would never have guessed" and "you don't look twenty five at all!" and "I figured you were our age (19)!" And I just, "oh bless you," with a little hand flip and hair twirl. And then I proceeded to get woefully lost in grammar, since they've all just studied it in a-levels and here I am, eight years since I touched grammar. *headdesk*
Anyway, I'm going to say that this birthday took second place to my twenty first birthday party, when Maureen and I went to San Francisco, ate amazing food at an awesome jazz club, got shortlined and then VIPed within moments at a club, then pleasantly sloshed before going back to our hotel where I'm nearly certain we watched Harry Potter. Anyway, close second to that amazingness.
I had been planning something for awhile and found out that a group of people I knew were going to the same place on the same night, so it was going to snowball into something awful. And then some friend of there's went and got engaged and had an engagement party that night, so everyone I knew from that ended up bailing. I went around to theirs a few nights before my birthday for a movie night they'd been planning, and then it turned out that it had become an impromptu sort of party for my birthday! Not even, but Lily made me this lovely cake:
so that was pretty awesome. They sang me happy birthday and we shared the cake and watched a racy movie. Good times all around.
Well, then came Friday, which was the night before my birthday. I had big plans. A big group of us were going to a place called Playzone. Any nineties kids out there are probably raising their eyebrows questioningly, so yes, it was totally exactly like Discovery Zone. Not a nineties kid? Here's a link to it: http://www.theplayzone.co.uk/. Turns out they do an "adult" night on the last friday of every month, which was perfect for us. Now, being that we are not in fact eighteen, we all had the foresight to meet up before hand and have burgers and crisps and a few drinks before we headed out to drink and run around like idiots. I got a few little presents like chocolate (okay a lot of chocolate), and a few pens and a notebook. Then we each had a drink and took off.
And then we ran around like idiots. I can't really go into too much detail here, one because it was pretty hectic, two because we'd been drinking, and three because we'd been drinking. So my memory is a little iffy on it, though I took a video I'll be posting eventually. I can tell you that we played tag and capture the flag and manhunt. I can tell you that I was terrified of the biggest slide, which was really just a glorified death trap, but I did eventually go down the slightly less big slide (did you click on the link earlier? I went on the blue slide, NOT the red slide). It was crazy amounts of fun and I STILL hurt from it. Good times.
Then the next day while we were all nursing our injuries from Playzone, we met up, had more drinks, went to Wind Street, which is a street here where there are about twenty different clubs and bars and dancey places and all of the young people go to get inordinately drunk. Which, of course, is what ended up happening with me. So here again, I cannot give you many details. Although I can tell you that at one point a woman sang Happy Birthday for me in Welsh, which was probably the highlight of my weekend. I can also tell you that for the third time in my life I had a massive hangover the next day, so if you're worried that I was being reckless (I wasn't, don't worry. I had tons of friends with me and all of my roommates were there as well), don't worry, I won't be doing it again anytime soon.
In all I'm calling it a huge success. I had friends come out and drinks and stories and bruises and laughter, and I think in general, what more can I ask for from a birthday? Especially from a milestone birthday like 25.
Sunday, January 12, 2014
A London Advanture
People talk about falling in love all the time. They talk about the way your heart leaps, the way that it flutters in your chest and the gut wrenching leap of excitement when you are given a surprise, albeit wonderful, moment of unexpected joy. They talk about smiling all the time, the feeling of supreme contentment that fills you to the top until all you want is to sit and watch the world go by.
Twice in my life before now I have felt that rush, that thrill, of love. The first time was with a boy a long time ago. The second time was with San Francisco. And now, now it is London.
Okay, so I literally just wrote a love letter about London. That's weird. Well, that's me.
In all seriousness, though. I fell in love with San Francisco a long time ago. I just enjoyed it, walking around, being surrounded by the most fascinating people from all over the world. If for one moment I believed that I could make a life for myself in San Francisco, I would be back there in a heartbeat, searching for a house in the Nopa area, going for runs in Golden Gate Park, skipping rocks on Baker Beach. But San Francisco and I were never meant to be. And weirdly, it wasn't even about the money. Sure, it was expensive, but I worked hard enough and I was focused and careful enough, so I was fine. For one moment in my life, I wasn't concerned about money. But for the love of all that is holy, I hated the people. Not the everyday people walking past me, I loved them, irrationally. I loved their stupid hair and their ridiculous clothing and their weird accents and bad smells because it meant that I was in San Francisco. I loved them in the way that you love an ugly dog who bites when it's scared but cuddles you the rest of the time. You love it because, on some level, deep down, it loves you too.
Well, I didn't expect to fall in love with London. Not really. I liked it well enough on my first trip, when I went to Kensington Palace and snapped photos of it from the open top of a tour bus. But really, that was a view from the outside looking in. It was like looking at a painting and admiring the landscape. How lovely, you think, as you pause to gaze at it and acknowledge the work that went into it, and then you move on to the next painting in the exhibit, and you don't think much about each painting, you just let the overall effect of the thing rush over you. Well, that was my first trip.
But then I went back. This time I went with a friend, and this time I didn't take a bus tour, or wind up sick as a dog on my third day. I also stayed in a much nicer hotel. Don't get me wrong, the first hotel was nice enough, but for what I paid? Maybe not as nice as it could have been.
We stayed in Earl's Court, very near to the tube station. It took a moment of remembering San Francisco and New York to get a hang of the underground, but once I'd figured it out it was cake. The first day we arrived we settled into the hotel and set up our happy little Christmas tree. Then we hit the shops. Of course: London? That means shopping, right? Well, it was raining and we weren't familiar with the area so there was a lot of wandering and admiring of the Christmas decorations and not a whole lot of actual shopping. We did get to see Hamley's and Selfridges, even if we didn't really buy anything.
Then unfortunately when we started the second day we were both pretty exhausted, so it was a fairly lazy day. None of the museums we were hoping to see were open and the Botanical Gardens were booked until kingdom come, so it was just off to Buckingham Palace where we got to see the tail end of the changing of the guards. We were going to walk to Kensington from there (where did I get the idea that THAT was feasible??) but then this sort of downpour happened. I don't think my friend appreciated it as much as I did. To him it was just rain, whatever, get out of it for the worst of it, then move on.
But I was fascinated. We were walking through Green Park when it started drizzling, and by the time we's reached Hyde Park Corner it was pouring. I mean, it was a proper downpour. Only, this was in London, so it was sideways. My rain coat is only a short length, so I wanted to get out of it. We made for a War Memorial, heads ducked against the onslaught, so I didn't immediately see what was inside.
For one thing, there was a war memorial inside, truly amazing with beautiful sculptures of soldiers standing on a plinth beneath an open sky. Okay, there's one problem about what was inside, it turned out not to be fully covered. There were pillars and a bit of a roof, but it was open in the middle, so not much against sideways rain, but it was good enough for a moment. It was also freezing inside. Unfortunately, it wasn't just the rain that was against us, but the air itself was frigid.
But there were also people inside. The whole place was packed with other people sheltering from the storm, and in that weird way that we sometimes find ourselves connected to total strangers, here was this group of people from all over the world all sheltering together in a war memorial of all things. And everyone was looking around, in awe of this mighty weather, of the extreme power of torrential rain, not only to soak you to the bone in icy water, but also to bring people together.
Of course, it was also a problem, because there wasn't much space for us to stand and anyway, it seemed silly to expect it to stop when the rain was predicted for the whole week. So we waited out the worst of it and then soldiered out into the downpour again. It took about two minutes more of walking to have me soaked to the skin from the waist down, and about a minute after that before the rain completely stopped. Of course.
The next few days were still good fun. We briefly saw a christmas market, shopped on Oxford Street some more, rode the tubes, ate at a pub. Twice.
Christmas was good fun. Once we got past the fact that everything was shut and nearly all the tours were booked for the day, we started making plans. Even the tubes were closed! We had to call for a car, which cost £25 one way. Still, we went on a walking tour that went to several of Charles Dickens' most popular locations all while learning about his life and writing. It was interesting, if freezing cold and a bit dull. Then we went back to the hotel and had christmas tea at our hotel restaurant, which was surprisingly good, although the poor woman working didn't know what a yorkshire pudding was and referred to it as "a little pie," which was a bit misleading.
On boxing day we were misinformed that the Natural History Museum would be opened, so we decided to go there. I was crushed when it was closed, but we decided to go to Sherlock Holmes instead. Then on the way there we decided to swing by Kings Cross and see Platform 9 3/4. So long story short on that front, London basically closes from Christmas Eve until the day after Boxing Day, because even the train station was closed. Sherlock Holmes wasn't, though, so we went in that direction only to find a line as long as the street which wasn't moving. Instead we went and spent tons of money on silly souvenirs and wandered down to Westminster where I bought a gargoyle and named him Watson. He's on my bedside table looking so adorable I can hardly handle it.
After that we went on a Jack the Ripper walking tour which was sufficiently creepy, and much less cold than Charles Dickens, since I came prepared in layered stockings, four jumpers under my coat, earmuffs, a hat, and a tightly tied scarf.
That was basically the end of the London Adventure, to be honest. My friend left for the airport around six-thirty in the morning and I went back to bed until ten. Then I packed my bags and checked out with my eyes set on Natural History Museum and the Victoria and Albert. I waited in line for NHM for about half an hour, but it was worth it in the end, although I missed the dinosaurs because the room was so claustrophobic and the line ridiculously long. I knew if I waited I wouldn't get to see any of V&A, so I skipped it.
V&A was lovely, though I was so tired at that point that I was getting confused about what was where. After about thirty minutes of aimlessly wandering I realized I hadn't eaten anything other than a handful of christmas candy, so I headed for the dining room and decided to have tea. TEA. In the V&A. Earl Grey tea and a raisin scone with cream and strawberry jam. It was delicious in the way that I could actually feel my coronaries constricting. I felt so proper, sitting at my table reading my pamphlet and having my tea. While I was walking it to the table after ordering, a woman pulled her daughter out of my way and said, "look out for the nice lady with her tea" and I just couldn't help but smile at the idea of having tea at the V&A.
Once I'd had something to eat, it was a bit easier to figure out how to maneuver the rooms and exhibits. I can't decide if the Ironworks, the stained glass, the pond, or the ancient history room was my favorite. I think probably the pond, which I cannot explain, but I'll post my flicker account once I've uploaded photos so you can see it.
The weird thing is, after all this, I hadn't actually done all that much in London. Still, as I climbed onto the bus I knew that sudden and gut wrenching feeling, like I was being taken away from a lover. There's no real way to describe it other than to say that somehow, somewhere in the day to day goings-on of my vacation, I fell in love with London. I could see myself in a few years sitting at a Costa and writing or standing on a tube, fighting my way through the doors to the exit with the quiet background chime warning me to "mind the gap." Of course, I won't, because in the same way that I know San Francisco and I aren't meant to be, I know that London and I aren't meant to be either. This year is wonderful and I wouldn't change a thing. If I had the option to relive this last year, I wouldn't do anything different. But I can't stand being so far from my friends and family, from California and San Francisco and redwood trees. So as much as I love London, it is more of a winter fling than a deep abiding love. I'll always remember my times in London with fondness, of the Globe Theatre and Oxford Street and walking tours. I'll look back in fondness, but I will never regret leaving it either.
Anyway, I think that is about all there is to say on the subject of London. I have several other blogs queued, so keep checking back. I'll post when my flicker account is up and running with a link, so you can see all my lovely travel photos so far (spoiler: there aren't that many, since google+ apparently decided that it wouldn't actually upload any of them despite autobackup, and my phone crashed, so half my photos are just gone).
Until next time, my fearless followers!
Twice in my life before now I have felt that rush, that thrill, of love. The first time was with a boy a long time ago. The second time was with San Francisco. And now, now it is London.
Okay, so I literally just wrote a love letter about London. That's weird. Well, that's me.
In all seriousness, though. I fell in love with San Francisco a long time ago. I just enjoyed it, walking around, being surrounded by the most fascinating people from all over the world. If for one moment I believed that I could make a life for myself in San Francisco, I would be back there in a heartbeat, searching for a house in the Nopa area, going for runs in Golden Gate Park, skipping rocks on Baker Beach. But San Francisco and I were never meant to be. And weirdly, it wasn't even about the money. Sure, it was expensive, but I worked hard enough and I was focused and careful enough, so I was fine. For one moment in my life, I wasn't concerned about money. But for the love of all that is holy, I hated the people. Not the everyday people walking past me, I loved them, irrationally. I loved their stupid hair and their ridiculous clothing and their weird accents and bad smells because it meant that I was in San Francisco. I loved them in the way that you love an ugly dog who bites when it's scared but cuddles you the rest of the time. You love it because, on some level, deep down, it loves you too.
Well, I didn't expect to fall in love with London. Not really. I liked it well enough on my first trip, when I went to Kensington Palace and snapped photos of it from the open top of a tour bus. But really, that was a view from the outside looking in. It was like looking at a painting and admiring the landscape. How lovely, you think, as you pause to gaze at it and acknowledge the work that went into it, and then you move on to the next painting in the exhibit, and you don't think much about each painting, you just let the overall effect of the thing rush over you. Well, that was my first trip.
But then I went back. This time I went with a friend, and this time I didn't take a bus tour, or wind up sick as a dog on my third day. I also stayed in a much nicer hotel. Don't get me wrong, the first hotel was nice enough, but for what I paid? Maybe not as nice as it could have been.
We stayed in Earl's Court, very near to the tube station. It took a moment of remembering San Francisco and New York to get a hang of the underground, but once I'd figured it out it was cake. The first day we arrived we settled into the hotel and set up our happy little Christmas tree. Then we hit the shops. Of course: London? That means shopping, right? Well, it was raining and we weren't familiar with the area so there was a lot of wandering and admiring of the Christmas decorations and not a whole lot of actual shopping. We did get to see Hamley's and Selfridges, even if we didn't really buy anything.
Then unfortunately when we started the second day we were both pretty exhausted, so it was a fairly lazy day. None of the museums we were hoping to see were open and the Botanical Gardens were booked until kingdom come, so it was just off to Buckingham Palace where we got to see the tail end of the changing of the guards. We were going to walk to Kensington from there (where did I get the idea that THAT was feasible??) but then this sort of downpour happened. I don't think my friend appreciated it as much as I did. To him it was just rain, whatever, get out of it for the worst of it, then move on.
But I was fascinated. We were walking through Green Park when it started drizzling, and by the time we's reached Hyde Park Corner it was pouring. I mean, it was a proper downpour. Only, this was in London, so it was sideways. My rain coat is only a short length, so I wanted to get out of it. We made for a War Memorial, heads ducked against the onslaught, so I didn't immediately see what was inside.
For one thing, there was a war memorial inside, truly amazing with beautiful sculptures of soldiers standing on a plinth beneath an open sky. Okay, there's one problem about what was inside, it turned out not to be fully covered. There were pillars and a bit of a roof, but it was open in the middle, so not much against sideways rain, but it was good enough for a moment. It was also freezing inside. Unfortunately, it wasn't just the rain that was against us, but the air itself was frigid.
But there were also people inside. The whole place was packed with other people sheltering from the storm, and in that weird way that we sometimes find ourselves connected to total strangers, here was this group of people from all over the world all sheltering together in a war memorial of all things. And everyone was looking around, in awe of this mighty weather, of the extreme power of torrential rain, not only to soak you to the bone in icy water, but also to bring people together.
Of course, it was also a problem, because there wasn't much space for us to stand and anyway, it seemed silly to expect it to stop when the rain was predicted for the whole week. So we waited out the worst of it and then soldiered out into the downpour again. It took about two minutes more of walking to have me soaked to the skin from the waist down, and about a minute after that before the rain completely stopped. Of course.
The next few days were still good fun. We briefly saw a christmas market, shopped on Oxford Street some more, rode the tubes, ate at a pub. Twice.
Christmas was good fun. Once we got past the fact that everything was shut and nearly all the tours were booked for the day, we started making plans. Even the tubes were closed! We had to call for a car, which cost £25 one way. Still, we went on a walking tour that went to several of Charles Dickens' most popular locations all while learning about his life and writing. It was interesting, if freezing cold and a bit dull. Then we went back to the hotel and had christmas tea at our hotel restaurant, which was surprisingly good, although the poor woman working didn't know what a yorkshire pudding was and referred to it as "a little pie," which was a bit misleading.
On boxing day we were misinformed that the Natural History Museum would be opened, so we decided to go there. I was crushed when it was closed, but we decided to go to Sherlock Holmes instead. Then on the way there we decided to swing by Kings Cross and see Platform 9 3/4. So long story short on that front, London basically closes from Christmas Eve until the day after Boxing Day, because even the train station was closed. Sherlock Holmes wasn't, though, so we went in that direction only to find a line as long as the street which wasn't moving. Instead we went and spent tons of money on silly souvenirs and wandered down to Westminster where I bought a gargoyle and named him Watson. He's on my bedside table looking so adorable I can hardly handle it.
After that we went on a Jack the Ripper walking tour which was sufficiently creepy, and much less cold than Charles Dickens, since I came prepared in layered stockings, four jumpers under my coat, earmuffs, a hat, and a tightly tied scarf.
That was basically the end of the London Adventure, to be honest. My friend left for the airport around six-thirty in the morning and I went back to bed until ten. Then I packed my bags and checked out with my eyes set on Natural History Museum and the Victoria and Albert. I waited in line for NHM for about half an hour, but it was worth it in the end, although I missed the dinosaurs because the room was so claustrophobic and the line ridiculously long. I knew if I waited I wouldn't get to see any of V&A, so I skipped it.
V&A was lovely, though I was so tired at that point that I was getting confused about what was where. After about thirty minutes of aimlessly wandering I realized I hadn't eaten anything other than a handful of christmas candy, so I headed for the dining room and decided to have tea. TEA. In the V&A. Earl Grey tea and a raisin scone with cream and strawberry jam. It was delicious in the way that I could actually feel my coronaries constricting. I felt so proper, sitting at my table reading my pamphlet and having my tea. While I was walking it to the table after ordering, a woman pulled her daughter out of my way and said, "look out for the nice lady with her tea" and I just couldn't help but smile at the idea of having tea at the V&A.
Once I'd had something to eat, it was a bit easier to figure out how to maneuver the rooms and exhibits. I can't decide if the Ironworks, the stained glass, the pond, or the ancient history room was my favorite. I think probably the pond, which I cannot explain, but I'll post my flicker account once I've uploaded photos so you can see it.
The weird thing is, after all this, I hadn't actually done all that much in London. Still, as I climbed onto the bus I knew that sudden and gut wrenching feeling, like I was being taken away from a lover. There's no real way to describe it other than to say that somehow, somewhere in the day to day goings-on of my vacation, I fell in love with London. I could see myself in a few years sitting at a Costa and writing or standing on a tube, fighting my way through the doors to the exit with the quiet background chime warning me to "mind the gap." Of course, I won't, because in the same way that I know San Francisco and I aren't meant to be, I know that London and I aren't meant to be either. This year is wonderful and I wouldn't change a thing. If I had the option to relive this last year, I wouldn't do anything different. But I can't stand being so far from my friends and family, from California and San Francisco and redwood trees. So as much as I love London, it is more of a winter fling than a deep abiding love. I'll always remember my times in London with fondness, of the Globe Theatre and Oxford Street and walking tours. I'll look back in fondness, but I will never regret leaving it either.
Anyway, I think that is about all there is to say on the subject of London. I have several other blogs queued, so keep checking back. I'll post when my flicker account is up and running with a link, so you can see all my lovely travel photos so far (spoiler: there aren't that many, since google+ apparently decided that it wouldn't actually upload any of them despite autobackup, and my phone crashed, so half my photos are just gone).
Until next time, my fearless followers!
Sunday, December 1, 2013
A Very British Thanksgiving
So we all remember when my roommate made a comment about how Thanksgiving is a celebration of independence from Britain and I quickly set the record straight, well, I also ended up making a thanksgiving dinner for said roommate, and eight other people of course.
This last thursday a group of new friends arrived at my house and we began cooking. The turkey was, for all intents and purposes, a group effort. I had intended to have it in the oven by the time people started arriving but, well, he wasn't keen on thawing as quickly as we would have liked. Oh yeah, and we named him Rhys. He was our happy little welsh turkey, sitting in the sink in water and desperately trying to remain frozen. Nevertheless, a few tried a true methods had him happily slathered in butter, divested of giblets and neck, and cooking merrily in the oven.
At this point, there were just me and a two other American girls working on the dinner (Left: Rose, Right Kerry), and mostly that was chopping and peeling and laughing and drinking wine. Lea joined us a bit later. While working, we listened to christmas music, watched Charlie Brown, and talked about the various traditions we have back home. And of course, we made turkey hands. You know, where you trace your hand and turn it into a turkey? Everyone had to do it. It was required. As payment for dinner, you had to make a turkey hand.
Once dinner was ready, we all gathered around and took our seats and I had everyone say something they were thankful for, in the spirit of the day. I think what made me happiest was that I actually recieved completely honest, heartfelt responses. So often with young people you get answers like, "I'm thankful for jolly bears" or something similar to that. Only Rob said he was thankful for his shirt, but everyone else said honest, real things they were thankful for, studying here, getting to be at a thanksgiving dinner, having friends, feeling welcomed, that sort of thing. It was wonderfully honest.
Then we ate. We had turkey, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, peas, corn, gravy, cranberry sauce (homemade), rolls, stuffing (from inside the bird), vegan stuffing with eggplant (Sasha's girlfriend Lily is essentially vegan, and interestingly that stuffing was one of the biggest hits of the night), carrots sautéed with brown sugar and cinnamon, roasted garlic, green jello salad, and brussels sprouts. I dont think anything was ignored except maybe the green jello salad (not surprising), although even that a few people tried and said it was decent. No one had seconds, of course, and there were several, "I'm sorry, but this sh*t is weird." Here's our spread:
We also had wine and "appeltizer" which is basically sparkling apple juice somewhat in the vein of Martinelli's.
After we ate, when everyone was beginning to fall into turkey coma, we (the americans) got everyone up and we all went for a walk. Sadly, Jordan, one of my friends, came down sick and couldn't make it. So we put all together a few takeaway boxes for her and walked them over to Beck House. Then we walked down to the beach, got our feet soaking wet with freezing ocean water, and traipsed back home for a dessert (or pudding) of peach pie, apple crumble, and chocolate muffins, all of which was amazing.
Then, and this is the really amazing part, we all came together to do the washing up. Kerry, Rose, and Rob did the dishes, Jeremy, Sasha, and Lea all put things into containers and fit them into the fridge, and Ross helped me remove the remainder of meat from the turkey for later.
In all, I'm calling this one a success. There's not much more to say than that, so I'll leave it there.
Have some bad photos (more to follow, I'll change the title to read "updated" when I've added them, so check back!)
This last thursday a group of new friends arrived at my house and we began cooking. The turkey was, for all intents and purposes, a group effort. I had intended to have it in the oven by the time people started arriving but, well, he wasn't keen on thawing as quickly as we would have liked. Oh yeah, and we named him Rhys. He was our happy little welsh turkey, sitting in the sink in water and desperately trying to remain frozen. Nevertheless, a few tried a true methods had him happily slathered in butter, divested of giblets and neck, and cooking merrily in the oven.
At this point, there were just me and a two other American girls working on the dinner (Left: Rose, Right Kerry), and mostly that was chopping and peeling and laughing and drinking wine. Lea joined us a bit later. While working, we listened to christmas music, watched Charlie Brown, and talked about the various traditions we have back home. And of course, we made turkey hands. You know, where you trace your hand and turn it into a turkey? Everyone had to do it. It was required. As payment for dinner, you had to make a turkey hand.
Once dinner was ready, we all gathered around and took our seats and I had everyone say something they were thankful for, in the spirit of the day. I think what made me happiest was that I actually recieved completely honest, heartfelt responses. So often with young people you get answers like, "I'm thankful for jolly bears" or something similar to that. Only Rob said he was thankful for his shirt, but everyone else said honest, real things they were thankful for, studying here, getting to be at a thanksgiving dinner, having friends, feeling welcomed, that sort of thing. It was wonderfully honest.
Then we ate. We had turkey, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, peas, corn, gravy, cranberry sauce (homemade), rolls, stuffing (from inside the bird), vegan stuffing with eggplant (Sasha's girlfriend Lily is essentially vegan, and interestingly that stuffing was one of the biggest hits of the night), carrots sautéed with brown sugar and cinnamon, roasted garlic, green jello salad, and brussels sprouts. I dont think anything was ignored except maybe the green jello salad (not surprising), although even that a few people tried and said it was decent. No one had seconds, of course, and there were several, "I'm sorry, but this sh*t is weird." Here's our spread:
We also had wine and "appeltizer" which is basically sparkling apple juice somewhat in the vein of Martinelli's.
After we ate, when everyone was beginning to fall into turkey coma, we (the americans) got everyone up and we all went for a walk. Sadly, Jordan, one of my friends, came down sick and couldn't make it. So we put all together a few takeaway boxes for her and walked them over to Beck House. Then we walked down to the beach, got our feet soaking wet with freezing ocean water, and traipsed back home for a dessert (or pudding) of peach pie, apple crumble, and chocolate muffins, all of which was amazing.
Then, and this is the really amazing part, we all came together to do the washing up. Kerry, Rose, and Rob did the dishes, Jeremy, Sasha, and Lea all put things into containers and fit them into the fridge, and Ross helped me remove the remainder of meat from the turkey for later.
In all, I'm calling this one a success. There's not much more to say than that, so I'll leave it there.
Have some bad photos (more to follow, I'll change the title to read "updated" when I've added them, so check back!)
Sunday, November 17, 2013
Croeso i Gaerdydd! Welcome to Cardiff!
Yes, Croeso i Gaerdydd means "Welcome to Cardiff" in Welsh. I have very effectively translated this using the banner on the Cardiff home page... *ahem*
Okay, I know this is WEEKS past due, but in my defense I had three enormous essays to write, so it was necessary.
Anyway! My first proper trip since I've been here was to Cardiff. It was just luck really, since my roommate, Rob, was taking his girlfriend to see the university there, so one of my other roommates, Jeremy, and I tagged along.
The plan was to go to the Doctor Who Experience, spend a few hours there, get something to eat, and then find our way over to an American candy store I had heard of. From there on out, it was just going to be sort of hanging around, seeing whatever there was to see, etc.
Here's what actually happened: We went to Doctor Who, which was great! It began with a campy, silly little video, and then you walk through the Tardis, meet some Daleks, and end up in a small museum which eventually spits you out into the gift store. It was fairly quiet, just families and kids. It was fun, though definitely more family oriented than I had expected. Aaaand it was also only an hour or so tops before we were done.
So we went and grabbed a bite to eat at a little french place where I payed for a bowl of mushroom soup with an arm, a leg, and my first born child, and then we made our way to the candy store.
This was something I had been seriously looking forward to: reeses, lucky charms, hersheys, all the terrible junk food I miss. Well, needless to say it was crap. It had the distinct feeling of a place that is seldom visited, they were asking £9 for a box of Lucky charms, and aside from Hersheys, the candy they had is all available here. No reeses, either. Just twix, m&ms, starbursts, and so on. Not only are they pretty much all available here, but I can walk down to the Spar around the corner and pick up a Twix bar for 65p, and they were asking £2 at this candy store. I left annoyed and without candy.
But here's the problem: it was pobably about one pm at this point. Rob and Aggie wouldn't be done until 5pm at the earliest. Jeremy had already been to cardiff, so he led me to a museum nearby. We were going to go to a wetland preservation area, but then... Wales, rain, wet, cold, indoor museums suddenly start to sound very nice.
We got about halfway to the museum when we decided to check out a few shops and arcade areas, where we ended up spending too much money. I found a shop that sells unique liquors by the ml and bought 750ml of Rose Liqueur for £7.50. I also got a bunch of postcards which I'll be sending out over the next month or so to everyone I promised postcards to!
After the arcades, Jeremy wanted to go to Cardiff Castle to buy a tshirt for his brother. Since it cost £14 to actually go into the castle, I figured I'd settle for seeing it from the outside and the giftshop. Of course, once we were inside, I realized how badly I needed to see it. It was staggering. Enormous, majestic, beautiful, the embodiment of history and age. I opted out of the tour, so it was only £11 entry, which seemed way more affordable than £14 for some reason.
We went first to the inner castle, the parts we were allowed to see, anyway, and which were furnished to look like they would have then. We were allowed to take photos, but not with flash and since it was quite dark, none of the photos were coming out. So naturally, I used my little point-and-shoot camera to take videos of everything, which I have compiled into a lovely bit of loveliness for you:
It was really just a wonderful day and I will never forget it. After leaving the castle, we met up with Rob and Aggie again, who unfortunately were unable to go to the university. I avoided talking about how awesome my day was, because they seemed pretty put out by their somewhat less exciting day of adventuring. I suppose for them it was about as interesting as going to Sacramento for a day would be for me. For me and Jeremy, however, it was fascinating, instructive, and awesome.
Some other photos from the day:
Doctor Who Experience!
View from the Tardis
Memorial statue that was just outrageously amazing
Important sort of... red brick building that I can't remember why is important....
It's Jeremy! He's a history major, so the red brick building was obviously somehow historically significant....
Cardiff Castle again!
View from the Keep. This photo doesn't do it justice... the view was amazing.
Giant chimney!
Seriously, look how huge this was!
Did I mention there was a trebuchet?
Selfie time!
Okay, I know this is WEEKS past due, but in my defense I had three enormous essays to write, so it was necessary.
Anyway! My first proper trip since I've been here was to Cardiff. It was just luck really, since my roommate, Rob, was taking his girlfriend to see the university there, so one of my other roommates, Jeremy, and I tagged along.
The plan was to go to the Doctor Who Experience, spend a few hours there, get something to eat, and then find our way over to an American candy store I had heard of. From there on out, it was just going to be sort of hanging around, seeing whatever there was to see, etc.
Here's what actually happened: We went to Doctor Who, which was great! It began with a campy, silly little video, and then you walk through the Tardis, meet some Daleks, and end up in a small museum which eventually spits you out into the gift store. It was fairly quiet, just families and kids. It was fun, though definitely more family oriented than I had expected. Aaaand it was also only an hour or so tops before we were done.
So we went and grabbed a bite to eat at a little french place where I payed for a bowl of mushroom soup with an arm, a leg, and my first born child, and then we made our way to the candy store.
This was something I had been seriously looking forward to: reeses, lucky charms, hersheys, all the terrible junk food I miss. Well, needless to say it was crap. It had the distinct feeling of a place that is seldom visited, they were asking £9 for a box of Lucky charms, and aside from Hersheys, the candy they had is all available here. No reeses, either. Just twix, m&ms, starbursts, and so on. Not only are they pretty much all available here, but I can walk down to the Spar around the corner and pick up a Twix bar for 65p, and they were asking £2 at this candy store. I left annoyed and without candy.
But here's the problem: it was pobably about one pm at this point. Rob and Aggie wouldn't be done until 5pm at the earliest. Jeremy had already been to cardiff, so he led me to a museum nearby. We were going to go to a wetland preservation area, but then... Wales, rain, wet, cold, indoor museums suddenly start to sound very nice.
We got about halfway to the museum when we decided to check out a few shops and arcade areas, where we ended up spending too much money. I found a shop that sells unique liquors by the ml and bought 750ml of Rose Liqueur for £7.50. I also got a bunch of postcards which I'll be sending out over the next month or so to everyone I promised postcards to!
After the arcades, Jeremy wanted to go to Cardiff Castle to buy a tshirt for his brother. Since it cost £14 to actually go into the castle, I figured I'd settle for seeing it from the outside and the giftshop. Of course, once we were inside, I realized how badly I needed to see it. It was staggering. Enormous, majestic, beautiful, the embodiment of history and age. I opted out of the tour, so it was only £11 entry, which seemed way more affordable than £14 for some reason.
We went first to the inner castle, the parts we were allowed to see, anyway, and which were furnished to look like they would have then. We were allowed to take photos, but not with flash and since it was quite dark, none of the photos were coming out. So naturally, I used my little point-and-shoot camera to take videos of everything, which I have compiled into a lovely bit of loveliness for you:
It was really just a wonderful day and I will never forget it. After leaving the castle, we met up with Rob and Aggie again, who unfortunately were unable to go to the university. I avoided talking about how awesome my day was, because they seemed pretty put out by their somewhat less exciting day of adventuring. I suppose for them it was about as interesting as going to Sacramento for a day would be for me. For me and Jeremy, however, it was fascinating, instructive, and awesome.
Some other photos from the day:
Doctor Who Experience!
Memorial statue that was just outrageously amazing
Important sort of... red brick building that I can't remember why is important....
It's Jeremy! He's a history major, so the red brick building was obviously somehow historically significant....
Cardiff Castle again!
View from the Keep. This photo doesn't do it justice... the view was amazing.
Giant chimney!
Selfie time!
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