Posting at the 66th Hour

I had this vague dream that my blog would be very polished, very contained, and very coherent. I would never just ramble about my day; I'd always have a very specific story to tell--maybe even a thesis statement.

Also, I forgot to take my camera to Buckingham palace.

So while I can't guarantee what future blog posts will hold, I promise that this one may have little coherence and no pictures of Buckingham palace.

It's been a whirlwind since we got here.

The first day felt a bit like: WAIT (this was the 6 hour plane ride) deplane-baggage claim-emigration...WAIT...eat celery-customs-atm-try to call home- fail at calling home-tubestation-buy an oystercard-board tube without dying...WAIT...drag baggage up escalator, down to flights of stairs, three city blocks in the wrong direction, three blocks in the right direction, into hostel...WAIT... try not to fall asleep...WAIT...walk around squares, buy cellphones, eat lunch, walk some more...WAIT...call home(succeed this time), move into room, unpack, do battle with shower...WAIT...walk to find dinner, eat dinner...WAIT...try not to fall asleep and fail. Sleep for 12 hour. It was completely uneventful, but still a whirling dervish of a day. I had been in London 13 hours and without sleep for 30.

No longer sore and sleep deprived, Saturday was much more leisurely. Even after 12 hours of sleep, I was up and VERY awake. My roommates were still asleep and it was too early for breakfast, so I ate my emergency grapefruit and set out for the wide world. London is by no means on a grid, but the street seemed generally straighter than the night before.

The afternoon held a trip to the grocery store and to the British museum. We went intending to see an Native American exhibit, which we did, but we also ended up standing in a stairwell, stareing at an engraving of roman numeral and talking about Queen Victoria's line of succession. This discussion may have included a plot to put Princess Beatrice on the throne by seducing Princes William, Harry, and Andrew. I am living with good people. That evening included singing happy birthday (loudly) at a quite swanky Italian restaurant, and cheering on a straight-jacketed juggler in Covent Garden with most of the students on my program.

And by that point I'd only been here for 40 hours.

By this point, My Roommate the Chem Major needed some greenery. London is very green, especially compared to, say New York, which just lumps all the green in the middle. There are squares of varying sizes every couple of blocks, and ivy and window boxes lodged in every possible cranny. (no pictures, sorry.) But this girl more or less lives in the Arb at school, so she needed some park time. We hiked through Trafalgar square to St. James park, which looks like it could be the setting of Sunday in the Park with George. It has the weeping willows and everything, but not ladies with fancy parasols. We than wound our way around Buckingham Palace, down the Grand Mall to Parliament, Big Ben and Westminster castle.

We arrived back at the hostel for orientation at hour 57. Yikes!

...and I have to go to class tomorrow?

Love,
The Mouse

Adventure Number 1

Just a note to let you know that I am alive, ensconced in my hostel, and far less sleep deprived that I was yesterday. I will write more this evening, but for the moment:

Adventure #1:
I sat for ten minutes under the "nothing to declare" sign at Heathrow Airport, eating dried fruit and celery with my traveling companions, so we wouldn't have to take the time to declare it.

Love,
The Mouse

Jumping on the Blogwagon

After ten months of using "I'm going London next spring" as my standard small talk conversation fodder, I find myself squarely facing "next spring." Even before London was the chosen destination, studying abroad was always part of my academic plan. My parents, my cousins, and even many of my friends have faced the collegiate milestone that is studying abroad, and now it's my turn. I doubt it will become less surreal until I'm stumbling around Heathrow at 6:30 in the morning--I'll keep you posted.

This blog, however, is a new addition to the plan. I have dreamt, probably since the first time I read My Side of the Mountain, of being able to disappear into an adventure, to jump onto a bus and sail across the Atlantic, to burrow into a tree in the Adirondacks. The allure of disappearing from one metro-pole and reappearing anonymous and unnoticed in another is very powerful. The charm of setting off on a great adventure with no means of communication but postcards and foreign stamps, maybe a telegram for emergencies,is one I am very tempted to be seduced by. But unfortunately, "such great voyages in this world do not anymore exist." Constant communication is a blessing, but also an expectation.

That expectation is not, of course, unreasonable. We have the power, why not take advantage of it. The world seems to have gotten exponentially scarier since the invention of the telegram (--correlation does not mean causation--), and I am grateful that you want to know that I am alive, and what I am up to. I've had several friends go abroad and read their blogs rabidly. Radio silence was never a good thing.

And, of course, this blog venture is partially selfish. I have a somewhat captive audience, the chance to tell stories twice (via blog and in person. mwahahah) and an instant chronicle of my time in London.

So I'm biting the bullet. I'm buying an international cellphone to call my parents and starting a blog for everyone else. I'll save my stamp money and these will be my letters home.


Love,
The Mouse

P.S. Because the internet is big and uncontrollable, I'm going the pseudonym route. My parents bought me a mouse snowsuit when I was born, little did they know it would be so useful twenty years later. I intend this blog for family and friends--y'all already know who I am.
T.M.