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.

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.

 Okay, so I didn't have an actual basket, but to be honest, baskets aren't as much of a thing here anyway, so we can pretend I was being culturally accurate.  What ARE big here, you ask?  Well, for those of you who know I'm a Harry Potter fan, and who are Harry Potter fans yourselves, you may remember a twice in the books it mentions easter eggs.  First, in the fourth book, Goblet of Fire, they each get their eggs from Mrs. Weasley and tear into them.  Hermione, however, gets an itty bitty one because Mrs. Weasley thinks Hermione is playing with Harry's heart.  This always confused me when I was younger because all our eggs are relatively small.  I understood though, that Harry's and Ron's were quite large, at least the size of an ostrich egg.  I can't remember now if that's because JKR described the size, or if I just intuitively understood (I vaguely recall Hermione's egg being compared to a chicken's egg, that might be it?).

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.

On Stonehenge and Expectations (with photos)

The problem with writing a blog like this is that I'm half expected to write about something, and half expected to write about nothing.  The words I use to describe the places I've been are supposed to be profound and deeply descriptive.

So you can see my problem, perhaps, in writing about Stonehenge.  It was beautiful, that is for sure, and awe inspiring.  I stood and gazed at these monolithic enormities, towering over us, just far enough that you want to be closer, but close enough that you're satisfied with your view from the sidelines.  I imagined them being erected, more than four thousand years ago.  I contemplated the enormity of the task, the blue stones which were carried two hundred miles from an area near where I live in Wales all the way to the location where they now stand.  A frightful task, an almighty example of dedication and strength by these people we know next to nothing about.

And that's really all there is to say about it.  I went, I took photos, I slept on the bus, I came home, went to a friend's birthday party, ate a poorly prepared burger, went home, slept it all off.  That's about all there is to say, to be honest.

I'll give you the day in description anyway, to fill this space.

The bus was set to leave at fifteen past eight in the morning.  I woke early and dressed in clothes I'd lain out the night before.  Then I made a cup of coffee which I sipped on as I got ready to leave.  I had overnight oats for breakfast and packed a cheese sandwich and a change of clothes in my bag.  We were delayed because of bus issues (they'd sent the wrong size bus, so we ended up having to switch with the rugby team which meant getting off the bus and getting on another bus.  It was a pain), so we didn't leave until fifteen til nine.  The trip was going to take roughly three hours, so I put on headphones and cuddled up with my sweatshirt under my head as a pillow and slept, knowing full well that a long string of windy roads and narrow lanes lay ahead of us.

I awoke two hours later as we pulled into a carpark in Avebury.  Turns out the trip wasn't just to stonehenge, but also to the stone circle in Avebury.  I'd go into detail about what there was there, but again, we have this problem.  Big stones.  Lots of them.  They were in a circle.  I walked along the circle. I took lots of pictures of what are essentially rocks.  The most exciting thing about Avebury were three things almost completely unrelated to the stones.

The first was when I was walking along the chalk circle and found a particularly slippery bit of grass and chalk. Under my foot.  As I went down, I heard a very distinctive, "Oooh," from another tourist as he watched me eat chalk.  I looked up to see a kind, older gentleman and his wife walking towards me.  The conversation progressed as so:

Me: Well, that was embarrassing.

Him: There's no need to be embarrassed, as long as you aren't hurt.

Me: I'm fine.

His wife: I think we'll avoid that path, though.

Me: Probably wise.


It was very kind of them, even if my dignity was a bit dampened at that point.

What happens when you slip on chalk.

The second came when another tourist passing by asked if I would like a photo by one of the stones.  I hand't been planning to ask, because I hate being that type of person, but since he offered I thought I'd take him up on it.  As soon as I accepted, he laughed and said that his wife would do it, that he had no desire to.  It was quite rude of him, and equally rude of his wife who only begrudgingly took the photo, though I thanked them profusely.  I keep saying it, but no one is listening: if the American needs to teach you manners, you should probably look at your life.  So we have two people, one very polite, the other a raging !@#$.  Such is life, I suppose.

At least I got a decent photo out of it.

The third were these jerks.  Whoever designed these fences.  I hope they end up trapped in a field behind one of these completely unnecessarily complicated gates during the zombie apocalypse:

Using superman strength, pull hook-bar-thing
to the left and hope that it opens.  Or wait for
someone else to come along and rescue you.

For lunch I had a sandwich with caramelized onion chutney.  Sounds fancy, but was really just a glorified cheese sandwich.  I had sea salt and vinegar chips, dairylee dunkers, and part of a galaxy bar.  After lunch we all got back on the bus and drove the remaining hour to Stonehenge.  

Once upon a time, a small visitors centre was erected about fifty feet from the stones.  Since then, that centre has been torn down in favour of a new, state of the art centre over the hill.  This means that the sight-lines from the stones are closer to what you would have seen several thousand years ago, unimpeded by modern invention (except a dual carriageway).  This is probably good, since the new building looks like an enormous modern art sculpture and is quite unsightly  (I didn't photograph it, but google "Stonehenge Visitor Centre", and you'll see what I mean).

From the visitor's centre, we took a small tram to the stones.  We were given little phone type things with audio tours on them, so that we could walk around and dial into the part of the tour we wanted when we arrived.  Luckily for us, a large group of schoolchildren were there, and I had another one of those great moment where I wonder why Americans are given the stereotype of being rude, when these French children literally decided that the best place to have lunch would be smack dab in the middle of the walkway.  So you've got teenagers taking selfies on one side of you and schoolchildren on the other side of you and you're starting to get ticked because you want to see the stones, but it's freezing cold and you've already taken sixteen photos that all look exactly the same, and you're trying to get past the French children who frown at you for having to cut across their lunch circle even though they're literally sitting on the pathway.  Yay.

I decided, at that point, that the best course of action would be to turn around and go back to the visitor's centre and the gift shop.  A few others in my group tried to get me to go to the mounds with them, but I envisioned more of the same.  Oh look.  A different view of the rocks.  Oh look, I'm standing on a burial mound, isn't this disrespectful?  I was cold, needed the loo, and wanted something to eat.  So I went in.

I bought a magnet, a bottle of wine, and an elderflower fizzy drink.  Then I got back on the bus, napped the three hours home, and immediately tried to go to a party.  Not smart.

So in all, yes, amazing!  I saw Stonehenge!  Words cannot describe how awe inspiring it is, looking at those ancient stones.  Should you go?  YES.  But really, not a whole lot to say about them.  Maybe Stonehenge is better if seen with a group of friends than it is alone.  Maybe it's just one of those things that you have to see for yourself.

Photos!

Avebury Stone Circle

Spectacular view of the countryside

The henge that ran along the entirety of the chalk circle

More big stones, with the photo-jerks as size comparison

There they are again, messing up my photo of the avenue.

Ah, that's better.

First view of Stonehenge.

All of the tourists.

The orange jackets belong to the French school group.

This is the most frustrating part of tourism now.
NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOUR TABLET.

Seriously, dude? I'm taking a photo here.  Do you mind?

I WAS SO CLOSE AND YOU WENT AN PUT YOUR HAND IN THE WAY.

FIIIIINALLY.

Joining the selfie-olympics.

Sheep! They graze in the pasture beside stonehenge.
Hadn't realized it before but... sheep do not smell like goats.  Sheep stink.

Gave in and asked for a photo from another tourist.

Probably because most of my selfies looked like this one.  

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? 

There will be more photos up on Flickr soon, but I promise to let you know when they're up, both here and on Twitter. :)

Social Media

Hey, so I thought I'd throw up a quick things about other ways you can follow the travelsofali tag in the world wide internet.

For starters, you can click here: >>Flickr<< to visit my flickr page, where I post all my photos.  I can upload them directly from my camera and computer, so it's a lot easier than organizing them here on blogger.  I have a lot more to upload, so check back every so often.  I'm working on finding a widget which will link directly to my photostream so you can access it from this page.

And speaking of widgets, have you seen this one I have here?  It links to Twitter.  Because I'm on twitter!

Did you know that I'm on twitter?  You should follow me on twitter.  If you don't want to, or you don't have twitter, you can just read my twitter feed on the right side of the page here.  All my tweets come through, and you can click on twitpics to make them bigger.  But if you are on twitter, feel free to add me.  My username is @travelsofali.  I'm pretty witty, but I keep things relatively tame on this particular feed.

As new things are added, I'll try to let you guys know.  In the meantime, check out my twitter and flickr pages.  I'll try to blog again soon!

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?