My Life is Awesome

It's probably time that you all knew the truth. This program involves actual homework doing: things like reading and writing papers. Shocking, I know.

And there has been a considerable increase in this as our term draws to an end. Perhaps that's there has also been a considerable increase in blogging.

One thing that has been tricky for all of us here, is tailoring our study habits to a college that essentially consists of a tourist's hostel and a rented room in the Swedenborg Society. We are all a little attached to our Libe at school, and have had to search a little farther afield for study spaces (I think this is a bit difficult for those who prefer the "monastery quiet" floor in the Libe--there haven't been monasteries in England since the 1530's).

Coffee shops are always a good option. I do a lot of reading and long-handwriting in coffee shops, even at Carleton. (Though I still haven't found one that replaces my beloved Blue Mondays). However, most of them make you pay for wireless internet. My new favorite place to study has become the British Library. I can't actually get the books without a readers card (a process that apparently nearly requires the academic version of an FBI security clearance), but they have free internet access, nice atmosphere, and good inspiration.

Exhibit A:

Compare to my situation at Carleton:


Sorry Oscar!

Love,
The Mouse

Sights and Sounds of London Town

Sometimes I do stupid things, like go to Stratford-upon-Avon and not take my camera. So I am procrastinating my Stratford post (among other things: cough, writing a play, cough, cough).

However, to tide you over:

I spent a bunch of yesterday wandering between Piccadilly circus and the South Bank, and found a lot of the reasons why I love this city.

1. Great signs. Dialect differences for not, Brits have a great way of putting things.
First of all, they use the wod "whilst" in every day conversation.Also, sometimes you run into signs like this. I'd love to know the story behind why this was nessecary, but the stairs were remarkably treacherous.
2. In a similar vein, restraunts and stores seem to have more creative names than I have seen in either Northfield or KC. A Chinese take-out place called "Wok and Roll" (so much word play on so many levels!!) and a houmous (which they spell funny) restaurant called "World Peas." Or this winery I saw on Oxford Street. 3. The city is a museum. Most buildings seem to be meticulously labeled with the date and under whose reign that they were built. We joke that the building build in the 1800s, which would be considered old at home, just don't seem to cut it here. I guess when there are pieces of the Roman Wall floating around, a building from 1850 just can't compete. This sign is at a construction site just outside our hostel:Even construction sites are educational!

4. The city is incredibly alive. I know I have mentioned before the sheer insanity of the place--which is a little vague--but it really doesn't seem like a city that should be able to exist in reality. And as a mouse from the suburbs, the most astonishing part is that there doesn't seem to be any attempt to regulate the insanity.

You can be walking along South Bank and then all of a sudden an elephant appears.Actually there were many elephants around the city to raise money/awareness of the plight of the Asian Elephant. Some were topical to London (the one above is a James Bond Elephant), some were whimsical, and some were just beautiful.


5. People sell everything everywhere. I was walking down the South Bank on my way to the Globe and ran into this:That is, exactly, what it looks like, tables and tables of used books for sale. I have been really proud of myself. I have only bought two non-academic books, both of which were read on my 10 hour train to Fort William and will probably get sold back to a used bookstore. However, I hope you will appreciate my restraint in not buying this:6. Finally, sometimes you can walking down the street, doing a totally mundane things like going to the theater or trying to get to class on time, and you happen upon this:

That, my friends, that is the river Thames and the Big Ben. And they are always there. They don't just bring them out for special occasions. Really.

Two Weeks Left!
Love,
The Mouse

3 Days in Provence

(with apologies to Peter Mayle--who incidentally lived in London, when not en Provence.)

Day 1- In Which...I go to southern France to eat Mexican food.

I was so nervous on the plane from London Stansted to Marseille Provence, that I spent most of the total transit time (5 hours from Victoria Station Bus to Gare St. Charles) conjugating complicated verb tenses, rehearsing phrases I might have to say to Lexie's parents, and even at one point going over the alphabet. I stood in line between two American women buying tickets for une navarette (a shuttle--new word #1) who didn't have enough French to buy a single train ticket for a bus that only goes to one other stop. That made me feel a lot better.

After Lexie picked me up at the train station, we headed off to join her class for une journee de gouter (new word #2, it means awesomeness!) Actually, it means a day of tasting and involved sitting with her five other classmates, nibbling on FRENCH cheese, FRENCH bread, PROVENCAL tomatoes, and FRENCH wine, listening to her slightly zany teacher explain the reasons why different types of (cheese, bread, tomatoes,wine, etc.) taste different ways, and realizing that at least in terms of sitting in a classroom, I had lost almost no comprehension. Actually producing the language myself was another matter.

After class, Lexie and I set out for a grand walking tour of Marseilles/epic tortilla hunt. One of her classmates birthday party was that evening, and apparently their traditional party food was Mexican. Now, Marseilles is a major port town, with a huge immigrant population from many places. And I think I saw every ethnic grocery store in the entire city, and there were no tortillas ANYWHERE. We did find some in a normal grocery store, which also sold two types of salsa and "mexican seasoning."

Meeting Lexie's host family was a significant blow to my comprehension ego. They were incredibly sweet and patient with me, but they speak French insanely fast. After chatting with her family, recieving instructions about how to buy ground beef, we set off for Vieux Port to see the city at night--and ultimately the party.

Day 2- In Which...I go to southern France to get rained on, heavily.

Lexie had promise me beach. I even bought a bathing suit and sundress for occasion. I was going to southern France, by my understanding Provence is like California--weather phenomenon outside of 70 and sunny simply don't exist.

They do exist apparently. Lexie claims it was the worst weather EVER. In Marseilles' defense it was 50 and drizzly, and she goes to school in California so her fortitude for enduring foul weather is...well, let's just say it's a good thing she's not in London.

We started out at a really cool outdoor market. It some ways it was like the Jubilee Market in Covent Garden, if slightly more eccentric, and in some ways more practical. They sell everything from soap to batteries, m&ms (which Lexie was estatic to find) to bathing suits, t-shirts, and underwear. And umbrellas. When it really started to rain, which no one was prepared for, it was an economics carnival. Umbrella's that where at one point 6 euros were going or 5, when the man in the stall next to the 5 euro umbrellas dropped his prices, the 5 euros dropped to 4 and then 3. It was incredible.

We sloshed from the market, past an Italian balloon animal artist named Michele and someone selling umbrellas for 2 euro, to a really fabulous couscous restaurant. As I mentioned, Marseilles has a huge immigrant population, most of whom are from northern Africa and brought their wonderful food with them. We each got a huge mound of couscous, a yummy veggie stew, an a chunk (hunk?) of meat (her's chicken, mine lamb) for 5 euro. I have to say, between the quesadillas at the party, couscous for lunch, and the insanely good chicken, pilaf, and tomato soup we had chez Lexie, I ate incredibly well on this trip.

After lunch, we decided to risk the possibility of more rain to do the "touristy" things in Marseille: Chateau D'If and Notre Dame de la Guarde. Chateau D'If, a former prision where the The Count of Monte Cristo starts, was an unbelieveably depressing building. But it was set on a beautiful island and we got a little boat tour of the coast/other island. Plus, Lexie and I got to reminisce about reading The Count of Monte Cristo (abridged, but still a million pages) in 8th grade. We also accidentally made this, large seagull, rather angry:

before reading this sign:

If you can't read the sign it says "Dangerous Seagulls, mating period. We couldn't figure out why it squawked but didn't move when we took a picture of it. From about two feet away. oops.

Notre Dame de la Guarde is a beautiful old church. I feel like every city I've been to on the program has involved at least one cathedral/church visit. But it was really nice to get some diversity in between all the Gothic Anglican churches we have seen in Britain.

After a delicious dinner with Lexie's host-family and a brief volcanic ash scare (in which I discovered there is a train from Marseille to London-granted it takes 16 hours and costs 200 quid, but it does exist- Lexie and I went to watch a football game between Olympique Marseilles and Lille. OM had already won the championship, so this game was more exhibition game than anything else. It was exciting, however, because OM managed to lose both their goalkeepers before getting beaten in 5 minutes of overtime: the first to a red card, the second to an injury in the last five minutes so he played to the end of the game.

Day 3-In Which...I finally go to the BEACH.
Lexie had promised me beach, and although the weather wasn't perfect Sunday morning, my flight didn't leave until 2pm, so we went anyway. It was cloudy and the Mediterranean was cold, but I can at least say I got my feet wet!

We hung around on the beach for an hour or so, collecting and climbing on rocks and taking pictures of the beautiful scenery. Then I went off to catch my plane and return to my worried roommates who were convinced I was going to get trapped in France thanks to our friend the volcano.

It was a lovely weekend.

Love,
The Mouse

Scotland Pt. 3: Keep Calm and Carry On

Ben Nevis is the tallest hill in Britain. At about 1300m , most people would call this a mountain. The Brits, however, are not most people. Also, what one does in the "hills" is not mountain climbing, it is also not even hiking, it is "mountain walking."

So, at 8:00am, we set off "mountain walking." It ended up being a 6 hour "walk" covering 7 miles and about 1200m on trail that looked like this:or this:then again, it also sometimes looked like this:

And we ended up being forced to turn around about 3/4 of the way from the top when the trail disappeared completely. Maps and insider-info had led us to believe that the trail was genuinely treacherous if you weren't confident in your navigating skills, and not knowing when the weather would turn, it seemed like the time to head back. The following didn't seem like a good email to have to send to St. George:
Dear George,
Trapped in blizzard on Ben Nevis. Can we have extensions on the response paper?

You think I'm kidding about the blizzard. The weather, like the trail, was unbelievably bizarre and varied. We started out with a cold, foggy morning. We had been told scary things about watching out for visibility, but the fog burned off quickly, so we weren't terribly worried. Then it started to rain. Fair enough, we are still in Britain after all. Then it started to snow. Which was bizarre, but so far so good. We reached a part of the trail that was incredibly rocky and getting a little slick because of the snow. It was slow going, but what was more worriesome was the prospect of going back down, in the snow. We considered turning around, but we didn't want to give up yet and could see some sunshine just over the other side of the "hill." We did eventually reach that sunshine, and also the full realization of how high we had climbed. And it was cold. Cold enough for a snowball fight.

After turning around, D and I took a side jaunt to the lake which marks the halfway point to the summit- aptly named halfway lochen (Ben Nevis may or may not mean big mountain.). The trail was much more crowded as we descended, a lot of people who had started at a more reasonable hour going up. Everyone was incredibly friendly, wanting to know if we had made it to the top. We met several very happy looking dogs, and a Canadian with a superman t-shirt and dubious leadership skills (he seemed genuinely torn between waiting for his group to catch up and not).

When we got back to the hostel we took showers strategically--hot water being a somewhat rare commodity--and actually took several hour long naps. I think we all intended to just read or something until dinner, but two 7am trains and a 6 hour hike will out.

The trip back to London the next day was nearly uneventful. Nearly. The taxi service we had found (yes, the one we found out after walking two hours to find the second hostel) lead us to believe that it was a 24 hour service. That may be, but apparently 6:45 am is a 25th hour we don't know about. We realized by about 6:50 that we weren't going to be able to get a taxi, and fortunately had bugeted enough extra time to merit not totally panicking. So we sped-walk about 2 miles to the train station (did I mentioned we hiked 7 the day before?) and miraculously made it to the train with 20 minutes to spare.

Jeepers!

Love,
The Mouse

Scotland Pt. 2: The Fort William Hostels Walking Tour

We learned two important lessons during our first days in Fort William:
1. Never trust Mapquest—sometimes it leaves out minor geographic formations such as the tallest mountain in Britain.
2. “The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.”

We spent much of those two days, unexpectedly hiking between Fort William hostels, chasing down hats, and wishing for just a little more fascism*.

(Credit: Randall Munroe, xkcd.com)

I won’t bore you with the details, but we were in general successful. Hostels were found and subsequently slept in. Hats were bought—real genuine Scottish polyester. And trains, though late, did eventually arrive. (SmallShacat, can we go back to Scotland together?)

And more importantly, there were mountains. And we got to walk around in them. The Scottish Highlands are beautiful: greener than the Rockies, rockier than the Appalachians. It really made me second-guess my decision not to go back to camp. Fortunately we had a five hour train ride with a troop of fourteen year old boy scouts to remind me.

Also, we added to the list of things Scotland has that the United States, in this case particularly the Midwest, needs. Sheep. They exist in basically the same capacity as the Midwestern cow: something to look at on road trips. But they are cuter, can climb mountains with grace, and are easier to clone. The last was a relieving to D, who has decided to change her independent project to creating a phospholuminescent lamb named Flory--the Florescent sheep.

We seemed to come to the consensus that it was disappointing to have to spend so much time hunting down hostels and dealing with upset plans, but it was worth it to be in the mountains with nothing particular to do, and nowhere to be. Time always seems like a luxury. Even in London, with the considerably lighter work load, there is a sort of constant pressure to make the most of every second we have abroad. In a town with exactly one attraction--Ben Nevis--it was unbelievably lovely to just chill with the mountains and the sheep.

Day 3 is more exciting, I promise. We take four hour naps…oh yes, and climb the TALLEST MOUNTAIN IN BRITAIN.

Stay tuned.

Love,
The Mouse


*Only insofar as it would ensure that the trains run on time.

Scotland Pt. 1:Edinburgh- Castles, and Canons, and Pagans, Oh my!

Perhaps our greatest accomplishment of this first day of midterm break was being on a train, with our luggage, at 7am in the morning. This was not leave for the train station at 7am, but rather be on the train, which is pulling out of the station at 7am. We tumbled off the train and into Ediburgh four hours later, and promptly declared the city beautiful.

It's such a different city than London. The street are are narrower, less chaotic, but there is far less organization in the chaos. Tourist mingle with locals, bagpipers, street performers and the odd-pagan. After checking into our hostel, which was adorable and very granola, we set out for Edinburgh castle.

There seems to be a phenomenon in Britain, which is that every city has the requisite Castle/Cathedral combination--and the United States seriously needs to jump on the bandwagon. We ate lunch in the gardens surrounding the castle, which were unreal in their pruned wildness. It was a little rainy, but we had a beautiful view overlooking the city. Lunch was totally uneventful until 1pm, when we heard gunfire. There has historically been a lot of unrest between England and Scotland, but we had no idea civil war was so immensity. Just in case, however, we planned the first of many unsent emails to St. George:

Dear George,

Stuck in Scotland on account of civil war. Can we have an extension on the response paper?
Fortunately, it was only the one o'clock cannon salute.

We spent most of the day wandering the castle. We saw the Scottish jewels which are less impressive than the British, but have a more epic history: the crown at one point was smuggled away from the British under a woman's skirt. They also had a surprisingly extensive (larger on the inside than the outside) and even more surprisingly fascinating military history museum. But by the time we were finished comparing the types of knives issued to the various branches of the military, we were starting to fade. They did have a particularly cool exhibit on women's contributions to WWII, and it was refreshing to see a military museum that acknowledges warfare after 1500. Most British museums give the impression that that all wars were fought in shining armor until Winston Churchill.

Apparently, Edinburgh was the place to be Friday night because we ran into several other Carls. E and K (this we were expecting) were in Edinburgh for the night before heading off to Ireland, and R was using Edinburgh was home base for several Scottish day tours. We (minus K, who was suffering from an ill-timed bout of food poisoning) went to dinner at the White Hart, and discussed our collective love for Edinburgh. We contemplated moving the program here, and considered sending the following email to St. George:

Dear George,
We like Edinburgh better than London, so we are going to have class here. See you Wednesday.

London is great, but it is one insane city. Even with men painted blue, armed with machetes, and collecting money for leukemia patients while helping direct tourists ("Die by my sword, not by the traffic"), Edinburgh seemed down right peaceful in comparison.

Up next, Fort William.

Love,
The Mouse

In Search of Brigadoon

I just got back from Scotland, so it may be a couple of days before I get a real post up, but in the mean time here is the obligatory photo-montage of gorgeous vistas set to music.

These are all pictures from the same day, the day we took on Ben Nevis. Ben Nevis is the tallest mountain in Scotland, and we got about 3/4 to the top. Unfortunately we had to turn around because of navigational trail, but we hike about 7 miles and 1200 m (about 3937 ft.) in altitude.

Diclaimer 1 : If you want the music, you'll have to sing along.
Disclaimer 2: The only heather in these pictures is metaphorical. I think it is actually moss.


The mist of May is in the gloamin', and all the clouds are holdin' still.
So take my hand and let's go roamin' through the heather on the hill.
The mornin' dew is blinkin' yonder. There's lazy music in the rill,
And all I want to do is wander through the heather on the hill.
There may be other days as rich and rare.
There may be other springs as full and fair.
But they won't be the same--they'll come and go,
For this I know:
That when the mist is in the gloamin', and all the clouds are holdin' still,
If you're not there I won't go roamin' through the heather on the hill,
The heather on the hill.
Love,
The Mouse