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 Wales. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wales. 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.
Thursday, April 3, 2014
Some photos to tide you over
I am a big fat meanie who is probably not going to get you a proper blog until next week, so I thought I'd just put these here to tide you over until then :)
Inside Bath Abbey
Lea by the bridge
super dorky pic of me by a random fountain outside Bath Abbey
View of the Roman Baths from the top of the Abbey
The Crescent- and You can see Lea's dad's back in the red coat.
At the Jane Austen Center they let you dress up. I think Lea wore it better than me :)
Ancient Graffiti, I think its fascinating. How long have these names been there?
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
Bath
So this last Saturday I had the pleasure of going to Bath with a friend of mine, Lea, and her parents. It was a weird coincidence that we ended up going together, actually. I asked to be put on the waiting list for Bath after I signed up for the trip to Stonehenge in April. On the wednesday before the trip I got an email from another girl saying she had two tickets she wanted to sell. I was excited and asked around to find out if there was anyone free on the weekend. Everyone was busy, including Lea, who just said that her parents were busy, so I didn't bother explaining why I'd asked. Then we met for tea a few days later and I happened to mention that I was going on the Bath trip and she exclaimed that she, too, was going with her parents. We decided to meet up and walk over together.
It was awesome. We left at half-seven in the morning and walked to the school together. The bus took an hour and forty-five minutes (roughly) to get there, which was miles better than the four hours and thirty five minutes that the internet suggested the bus would take. I managed to keep of car sickness with my new Seabands and motion sickness tabs (yay!) and we arrived in generally high spirits.
First we stopped for breakfast, then we hit the town. It was just before ten in the morning, so we decided to wander first. We went past the Theatre Royal, then we just sort of... wandered. There's not a better word for it. I'm not sure exactly what we were looking for, but we found a church and a bunch of shops and cute little places. There's something about Bath that makes that mean so much more. Everything around just feels old. That sounds weird, but it's true. It's as if, while you're walking down these cobbled streets and tiny lanes, surrounded by butcher shops, card stores, and a few odd pubs and pasty makers, you can actually feel the history around you. Everything has this very specific look to it, which I really can't describe.
Anyway, we ended up finding a church called "St. Michael Without," and went it. It looked to be this enormous Cathedral, so I was of course thrilled, and it was an enormous cathedral. But... it wasn't what we were expecting.
Okay, I get it, it's a church and this is Bath, so there's not a lot of room to expand. That was apparently a problem they noticed with the tourist crowd, because there was no where to put a gift shop. So logically, they cordoned off the back quarter of the church and transformed it into a gift shop and... cafe.... now I realize this is just my catholic upbringing here, where it was practically a cardinal sin to have gum in church, but it really irked me that there were people just chilling with coffee in a cathedral. It has always bothered me when tourists are disrespectful of churches that are in use, when you're trying to pray at the Mission in Santa Cruz and a bunch of people come in to take photos, or worse, when groups of school children come in. To put this in perspective, when I was in Westminster Abbey, I went to light a candle and turned around to see my friend standing there, on the plinth, in the chaplet. If I weren't in a church I'd have told him to get the hell out of there. That was not a place to stand and look, it was a place to pray. I was so angry that I lit my candle and left the church without a second thought. It wasn't until I was outside that I realized I had forgotten to say a prayer over my candle. So coming into a church and seeing people having coffee... it didn't anger me because, obviously, that's what it's there for... but it did confuse the hell out of me.
So, long story short, we left St. Michael Without pretty quickly. We found a market, wandered around, considered buying Welsh flags, found a few sweet shops, things like that. Then we went to Bath Abbey. Unfortunately I don't have any photos for this blog, because my camera is waaaaaaay over there and I'd have to find the cord and that sounds like a lot of work, so I'll post those in a few days.
Anyway, Bath Abbey was amazing. We went on the tour which brought us all the way up onto the bell tower. It was interesting and informative. We split into groups to fit into tiny places like the clock face and the bell tower. We were actually with the bells at noon, which was simultaneously awe inspiring and painful. The bells were insanely loud, but I was filming it so I couldn't plug my ears, but I also didn't want to. It was so amazing. Then we went on top of the bell tower to see a view of the whole city laid out before us. We could even see into the Roman baths, which was nice since none of us wanted to pay the £13 fee to get in.
After that we went to the Crescent, which is this really famous building where rich people used to stay (and still do). I realized I'd lost one of my seabands from my pocket somewhere in Bath Abbey, and we wandered walked through the park beside the Crescent. We had lunch and then Lea and I went to the Jane Austen Centre while her parents went to amuse themselves somewhere else (I should probably explain that Lea is studying here from Germany, and her parents spoke very little English, so I know they were talking, but I'm not sure where they decided to go).
The Jane Austen Centre was... okay. I bought an "I <3 Darcy" lip balm (desperately needed) and a quill just for funzies, but I spent a small fortune just on those things. The tour cost £8 and ended up being quite dull. The best part was later when we went into the museum. There was a bit of information, a short film we could see, though we only saw around five minutes of it, and then the really fun part. They had a wardrobe of dresses we got to put on and take photos in, I looked ridiculous, and Lea looked awesome. There was a tray of cookies that were AMAZING, and a small area where we could try out writing with a quill and ink. I got ink on my finger and felt like a proper writer. Jo Marsh supposedly always had ink on her fingers from writing, right?
We went outside after that and met up Lea's parents for a quick tea before getting back on the bus for Swansea. In all, a very fun day, though to be honest, it was more fun getting to hang out with Lea at all those cool, ancient places, than it was to just see them. It's always great to realize that a new friend is a good friend.
One more thing: when we got back to Swansea we found a St. David's Day faire going on. Weird that on St. David's day neither of us were in, you know, Wales... anyway we managed to each score a Welsh flag while they were cleaning up. I'm pretty excited because I was disinclined to spend money on one, but I really want one. Now I have one that was cheap and has a good story behind it. It's more than just "oh, I studied in Wales for a year," now it's "Well there was this fair going on, and I was with my friend who was also studying in Wales..." Because you're never really done for, as long as you have a good story and someone to tell it to, right?
It was awesome. We left at half-seven in the morning and walked to the school together. The bus took an hour and forty-five minutes (roughly) to get there, which was miles better than the four hours and thirty five minutes that the internet suggested the bus would take. I managed to keep of car sickness with my new Seabands and motion sickness tabs (yay!) and we arrived in generally high spirits.
First we stopped for breakfast, then we hit the town. It was just before ten in the morning, so we decided to wander first. We went past the Theatre Royal, then we just sort of... wandered. There's not a better word for it. I'm not sure exactly what we were looking for, but we found a church and a bunch of shops and cute little places. There's something about Bath that makes that mean so much more. Everything around just feels old. That sounds weird, but it's true. It's as if, while you're walking down these cobbled streets and tiny lanes, surrounded by butcher shops, card stores, and a few odd pubs and pasty makers, you can actually feel the history around you. Everything has this very specific look to it, which I really can't describe.Anyway, we ended up finding a church called "St. Michael Without," and went it. It looked to be this enormous Cathedral, so I was of course thrilled, and it was an enormous cathedral. But... it wasn't what we were expecting.
So, long story short, we left St. Michael Without pretty quickly. We found a market, wandered around, considered buying Welsh flags, found a few sweet shops, things like that. Then we went to Bath Abbey. Unfortunately I don't have any photos for this blog, because my camera is waaaaaaay over there and I'd have to find the cord and that sounds like a lot of work, so I'll post those in a few days.
Anyway, Bath Abbey was amazing. We went on the tour which brought us all the way up onto the bell tower. It was interesting and informative. We split into groups to fit into tiny places like the clock face and the bell tower. We were actually with the bells at noon, which was simultaneously awe inspiring and painful. The bells were insanely loud, but I was filming it so I couldn't plug my ears, but I also didn't want to. It was so amazing. Then we went on top of the bell tower to see a view of the whole city laid out before us. We could even see into the Roman baths, which was nice since none of us wanted to pay the £13 fee to get in.
After that we went to the Crescent, which is this really famous building where rich people used to stay (and still do). I realized I'd lost one of my seabands from my pocket somewhere in Bath Abbey, and we wandered walked through the park beside the Crescent. We had lunch and then Lea and I went to the Jane Austen Centre while her parents went to amuse themselves somewhere else (I should probably explain that Lea is studying here from Germany, and her parents spoke very little English, so I know they were talking, but I'm not sure where they decided to go).
The Jane Austen Centre was... okay. I bought an "I <3 Darcy" lip balm (desperately needed) and a quill just for funzies, but I spent a small fortune just on those things. The tour cost £8 and ended up being quite dull. The best part was later when we went into the museum. There was a bit of information, a short film we could see, though we only saw around five minutes of it, and then the really fun part. They had a wardrobe of dresses we got to put on and take photos in, I looked ridiculous, and Lea looked awesome. There was a tray of cookies that were AMAZING, and a small area where we could try out writing with a quill and ink. I got ink on my finger and felt like a proper writer. Jo Marsh supposedly always had ink on her fingers from writing, right?
We went outside after that and met up Lea's parents for a quick tea before getting back on the bus for Swansea. In all, a very fun day, though to be honest, it was more fun getting to hang out with Lea at all those cool, ancient places, than it was to just see them. It's always great to realize that a new friend is a good friend.
One more thing: when we got back to Swansea we found a St. David's Day faire going on. Weird that on St. David's day neither of us were in, you know, Wales... anyway we managed to each score a Welsh flag while they were cleaning up. I'm pretty excited because I was disinclined to spend money on one, but I really want one. Now I have one that was cheap and has a good story behind it. It's more than just "oh, I studied in Wales for a year," now it's "Well there was this fair going on, and I was with my friend who was also studying in Wales..." Because you're never really done for, as long as you have a good story and someone to tell it to, right?
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.
Friday, December 20, 2013
On Brown Sauce
So someone asked recently what brown sauce was. (Yes, Morgan, I'm looking at you.) Well, I have an answer for you, and anyone else who is curious.
This is brown sauce:
That's a new bottle, because my roommates and I have gone through another bottle that size and one smaller bottle since the beginning of the year. And that is because it is gorgeous. I mean, seriously, lovely stuff that.
Its sort of like steak sauce, but better. Its mostly vinegar and clove, and a few other spices and things. Sweet and tangy, we put it on sausage, cover the plate for bangers and mash, and on cheese toasties and fried bread. Its pretty much the everything sauce. Eggs? Brown sauce. Bacon? Brown sauce. Piece of bread you fried in butter on the stovetop until its crispy and salty and delicious? BROWN SAUCE.
Because brown sauce is gorgeous, and it belongs on everything which has pork, cheese, or bread. Fact of life.
This is a pretty good time to talk about some food I've been eating.
Okay, sure there's the basic bangers and mash. That's a classic. We have it pretty much anytime we need a quick meal and someone has an essay due so they can't cook that night. I won't lie, this was something I was apprehensive about, since neither sausage nor mashed potatoes are really my thing, and the word "bangers" was just not one that sounded particularly appetizing. A "banger," however is just a sausage cooked on the stovetop, because of the way it pops and splatters. And it turns out when you put mashed potatoes with brown sauce and sausage I actually quite like them. Bangers take about twenty minutes on the stovetop and then you just have to boil potatoes for mash, so its pretty mindless, but still filling and tasty.
Cheese on toast is another one I eat a lot. Its exactly what it sounds like: buttered toast which is then covered in cheese and microwaved until the cheese gets melty. You eat it, have a heart attack, and then eat more of it. I have it two or three times a week, minimum.
Then there's beans on toast, again, buttered toast, baked beans, which here are made in a tomato sauce instead of brown sugar. Different, but still good. Beans on toast is great for lunch if you're want a snack, but more than cheese on toast.
And then one day a week or so after I moved here, one of my roommates made cheese on toast, and then came in the living room with it covered in beans. He made beans on cheese on toast.
I'm addicted, its a problem.
In other news, Davis is going to be here in a few hours, so I should probably leave this post here. I'll try to put something a little more in depth up later. Keep checking back and make sure you check my Twitter (@travelsofali) for updates on when blogs are coming. Always feel free to send questions my way on twitter (like, "what is brown sauce and why do you keep talking about bathing in it?") and I'll do my best to answer them.
Until next time, my fearless followers!
This is brown sauce:
That's a new bottle, because my roommates and I have gone through another bottle that size and one smaller bottle since the beginning of the year. And that is because it is gorgeous. I mean, seriously, lovely stuff that.
Its sort of like steak sauce, but better. Its mostly vinegar and clove, and a few other spices and things. Sweet and tangy, we put it on sausage, cover the plate for bangers and mash, and on cheese toasties and fried bread. Its pretty much the everything sauce. Eggs? Brown sauce. Bacon? Brown sauce. Piece of bread you fried in butter on the stovetop until its crispy and salty and delicious? BROWN SAUCE.
Because brown sauce is gorgeous, and it belongs on everything which has pork, cheese, or bread. Fact of life.
This is a pretty good time to talk about some food I've been eating.
Okay, sure there's the basic bangers and mash. That's a classic. We have it pretty much anytime we need a quick meal and someone has an essay due so they can't cook that night. I won't lie, this was something I was apprehensive about, since neither sausage nor mashed potatoes are really my thing, and the word "bangers" was just not one that sounded particularly appetizing. A "banger," however is just a sausage cooked on the stovetop, because of the way it pops and splatters. And it turns out when you put mashed potatoes with brown sauce and sausage I actually quite like them. Bangers take about twenty minutes on the stovetop and then you just have to boil potatoes for mash, so its pretty mindless, but still filling and tasty.
Cheese on toast is another one I eat a lot. Its exactly what it sounds like: buttered toast which is then covered in cheese and microwaved until the cheese gets melty. You eat it, have a heart attack, and then eat more of it. I have it two or three times a week, minimum.
Then there's beans on toast, again, buttered toast, baked beans, which here are made in a tomato sauce instead of brown sugar. Different, but still good. Beans on toast is great for lunch if you're want a snack, but more than cheese on toast.
And then one day a week or so after I moved here, one of my roommates made cheese on toast, and then came in the living room with it covered in beans. He made beans on cheese on toast.
I'm addicted, its a problem.
In other news, Davis is going to be here in a few hours, so I should probably leave this post here. I'll try to put something a little more in depth up later. Keep checking back and make sure you check my Twitter (@travelsofali) for updates on when blogs are coming. Always feel free to send questions my way on twitter (like, "what is brown sauce and why do you keep talking about bathing in it?") and I'll do my best to answer them.
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!)
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