An Irish Adventure (Part 2)

Day 2 in Ireland (an account of the Irish countryside on Day 1 can be found here) started with a massive storm. I could hear the wind, hail and who knows what else pounding my window through the night and the wind was howling as I put my parka on in the morning. It had stopped raining but in case the rain picked up again I dropped my backpack off at the hotel reception. The little guidebook I checked out from the Boston University library recommended a cafe along the river, so I battled some serious wind to get to the River Liffey (at one of the churches I saw later that day, two of the employees were saying wind gusts were topping 80 miles an hour. I don’t know if the wind was THAT intense but it certainly made for an interesting time).  

I saw some, um, interesting things along the way. Not surprisingly, there are references all around Dublin to the British occupation of Ireland that only ended in the 1920s and continued to be contentious into the 1990s. I passed a bridge pictured below that had the lion and unicorn from the British coat of arms, but instead of roaring, the lion and unicorn appear to be cowering from the Celtic harp that represents Ireland.

Another shocker on my way to the cafe was an entire building covered in Marxist propaganda advocating the Solidarity movement and early 20th century Irish leader James Connolly. I’ll be honest, I did not expect this:

It was a reminder that the very warm and welcoming Irish people I had met the day before in the countryside arise out of a violently tumultuous history.  All around Dublin there are statues and monuments to the plight of the Irish people; the most poignant one to me was the reflection pool in remembrance to those who died fighting for independence in the Easter Rising of 1916:

I didn’t “feel” the struggles of Irish history in the countryside the day before, but Dublin the presence of history is physically ingrained in the city. There was definitely a sense of humor in the city, though.  I passed these signs several times around the city:

Yes, that sign says “National Smack A Bum Day” and encourages city residents to “Smack That Booty”. I really appreciate the line in smaller print that says “Get Everyone In The Office Involved”.  Maybe I’ve spent a little too much time on this side of the pond but I thought it was pretty entertaining. 

I made my way over to Dublin Castle on the suggestion of both Nick – who went to Dublin on his own a couple weeks ago – and the guidebook. I didn’t read the guidebook very carefully, though, so I got lost on my way to the castle. Why? Because I was looking for a…castle. Turns out, Dublin Castle is definitely not a castle! It’s a modern administrative-looking building set on the underground ruins of the ancient Dublin Castle. 

See the castle? I didn’t either…

I took a (free!) tour of the underground archaeological dig underneath the administrative building. I didn’t get any pictures of the underground portion because the tour guide was fascinating, telling the history of Dublin from a Viking village to the modern city! I even got to hear another tour group, whose tour was conducted entirely in Gaelic. The part of me that loves linguistics got irrationally excited to hear Gaelic spoken by native speakers.

The tour staff recommended to me a cafe called the Queen of Tarts that had the “best scones in Ireland”. It was. Scones and tea at the Queen of Tarts could not have been better:

With a warm apple cinnamon scone and peppermint tea as fuel for the afternoon, the next stop was Christchurch Cathedral across the street. Nothing in the interior of the church was particularly inspiring – honestly European cathedrals start to look a bit the same after a semester – but on a whim I nipped down to the crypt. WOAH. 

The crypt was massive and completely deserted. A lone voice played over a recording from some unknown corner of the crypt repeating the history of the church under English rule. The only lighting came from creepy Christmas decorations, throwing long shadows across the empty eyes of aged stone busts. Casually leaning against the wall (pictured above) there was a stone coat of arms of the British monarchy what must have been the period of British rule! The church had so many pieces of history from different time periods, they didn’t seem to know what to do with them all. 

Another neat aspect of the crypt was a set of empty costumes (again, the experience was creepy) from The Tudors, which was on Showtime for several season recreating Henry the Eight’s rule of England. They apparently filmed in Ireland and used Christchurch Cathedral for scenes depicting weddings, coronations, etc. 

I wandered for much of the rest of the day since my flight wasn’t until almost 8 pm that night. Other adventures for the day included St. Stephen’s Green:

And some of the famous shopping streets, which were decorated for Christmas:

(Yep, the sign is in Gaelic.)

I ducked into the national history museum when it started raining and got to see replicas of what Dublin looked like as a Viking trading post. Nick was particularly taken with Dublin’s Viking history when he visited, so I did my best to see as much of the museum as I could. There were artifacts over 2000 years old!

And finally, my favourite bit of the city was on one of the bridges over the River Liffey:

That was the end to my two day, jam packed tour of Dublin and the surrounding countryside. I hope to explore more of the countryside and I was quite taken with the people; those who I interacted with were exceptionally warm and pleasant. 

Though I only have a week left in London, it’s Christmas Market season, so my next post will include some of London’s best Christmas offerings! Of course I have a final this week, and next Saturday Nick and I are off on a six day adventure to Rome and Berlin before returning to Texas – basically, there is a ton packed into the time I have left here! Stay tuned. 

5 Things That Drive Americans Living In London Crazy

I love London. I love England. In fact, I’m generally enamoured with the UK as a whole and am greatly enjoying my time here. The people, the culture, the several thousands of years of history. You know. And owls, obviously.

But there are a few things that drive me – and some of the other Americans I know living in London – crazy.  Sometimes the things in this list are crazy in an adorable way, sometimes they are crazy in a ridiculously annoying way. Depends on how recently you had a fresh cup of tea. (Side note: the sarcasm and complaints-made-into-jokes in this post are totally a product of the British sense of humour creeping into my writing).

5. The Large Truck v. Pedestrian/Bike/Car/Everything Else symptom

One weeknight in September, my friend Sam and I went out exploring by the river.  We encountered an intersection that had a clearly marked lane for pedestrian crossing, but the little green “walk” sign never came on. After almost ten minutes, we decided we had no other option but to run across. Just at that moment, a bus was coming the other way. No joke, the bus driver sped up – we heard the engine rev –  and left us feeling like he was itching to run over some foreigners that day.

This is not just a bus problem, it’s a large truck/vehicle problem in general. Are you a little old lady having trouble with the cobbles? TOO BAD. YOU BETTER GET OUT OF THE WAY. Did you start crossing when the green walk sign was on, and suddenly it changed to red in the middle of the street? TOO BAD. YOU SHOULD HAVE SPRINTED. It’s a bit like if Grumpy Cat drove the buses around here. And if you’re going to jaywalk…you need to have mad skills.

4. The Awkwardly Silent Tube

The London underground, called “the Tube”, has this unwritten rule of never speak to anyone unless you have to and good god do not make eye contact with strangers.  The unwritten rules would probably be in caps, if they were formally written somewhere, by the way.

Anyway, no matter if there is only one other person in that train car or if it’s the packed rush hour, everyone pretends nobody else exists by never speaking to them and for God’s sake never making eye contact with them. You wanna feel awkward talking to your boyfriend about the play you just saw on your way home? Try speaking to him with 15 people giving you the side eye and pretending not to eavesdrop.  Like the NSA, but in person. Just how far does this “pretend you’re in your own world” idea go?

Earlier this week, I got on a morning rush hour train. The woman standing next to me was reading a book and having picked up a bit of this British habit, I sneakily looked at the book cover to find out what she was reading. What was it, do you ask? A pornographic novel. No joke. It was so hard to keep the look of astonishment off my face. This is obviously not typical Londoner behaviour but it demonstrates the level of public awkwardness you can attain on the Tube.

3. The Free-For-All Roundabouts

Imagine you’re walking home with your groceries after work, it’s raining (surprise!) and dark (surprise again!). There’s a roundabout like the above in between you and your warm, dry flat. But wait – now you get to play Russian Roulet: Roundabout Edition with your life. Why? Because the car coming from one direction will drive around the roundabout with their blinker properly, the car coming from the opposite direction will just floor it and pitch itself into the air by driving over the roundabout, and the car coming from the third direction will veer around the roundabout 180 degrees and continue the direction it came for no seemingly rational reason at all.

Basically, London doesn’t have any stop signs or enforcement of proper roundabout behaviour, and it scares the living daylights out of me!

2. Veggies That Seem Like They’d Rather Die Than Be Eaten

In the UK – and Europe as I understand it – there are a lot fewer preservatives in foods.  And I appreciate that, I really do. It’s not good to have chemicals in food. But coming from America, where Twinkies last longer than some marriages, it’s a little infuriating to have the vegetables to go bad within what seems like hours.

I give myself tons of points for buying veggies and fruits at the grocery store. I feel super healthy just buying them. But then, while I’m making an honest attempt at obtaining nutrients, I open the fridge the next day and the spinach is rotting. Good luck going through an entire bread loaf by yourself within it’s lifespan; you’ll be eating a lot of toast and peanut butter sandwiches.  I’m glad to not ingest chemicals.  I just don’t enjoy going to the grocery store so much that I want to do it several times a week.

1. The Double Faucets

WHAT IS THIS? WHY?

This annoys me past reason.  For some reason, the majority of sinks in Britain have two taps.  One has such cold water you’d think it just came off a glacier. The other has water so hot it scalds your skin.  This makes sense for a kitchen, where you’d need waters of extreme temperatures. Where this does not make sense is EVERYWHERE ELSE. I do not understand why you have two options while washing your hands in the bathroom sink: A) Run your hands under super hot/cold water until it’s too uncomfortable to get the rest of the soap off (guess the towel can do that too…). B) Alternate between scalding and freezing until your skin is red and confused. No germs can live in both very hot and very cold environments, right? So alternating should kill them all? Kinda?

I get this is not something that bothers Brits and is sometimes a result of antiquated plumbing structures. It particularly bugs me because it seems like public health would benefit people being able to wash their hands in warmish (not first degree burn worthy) water for a full minute. A sink I don’t have to war with to wash my hands is something I look forward to regaining when I move back to the States.

I hope this has provided a laugh for my American friends living in England (or anyone who has experienced any of these problems in a foreign place and shared my sentiment), and I hope all you Americans freaking appreciate the next sink you encounter.

Owls and Arrows in York

Over the last two days, I shot a bow, held a snowy owl, climbed the Roman city wall, and walked down an original, perfectly preserved Victorian street.  

Three weeks ago, after returning from our beachy Brighton trip, Nick and I decided very late at night to plan a trip to York. We originally wanted to go see Scotland, but the train costs are ridiculously expensive. York is about two hours north of London via train, quite college budget-friendly and most importantly rich with history.

We arrived in York around 10 in the morning armed with only our backpacks and coats.  Our first stop was York Minster, which although pretty was not particularly outstanding to me – perhaps the likes of Notre Dame have spoiled me a bit – but the York Castle Museum contains a perfectly preserved Victorian street.  You walk through these beautifully recreated period rooms decorated in authentic methods from 1700s to the 1960s.  The 1960s room had a real, playable Pong game (some brilliant museum curator made it so visitors could actually play! It was so much fun). In the middle of the museum, you pop out onto a convincingly Victorian street. All of the old store fronts were bought by a reclusive millionaire and preserved so that when he died, his money and possessions could be used to maintain this large piece of York history.  It was fascinating to walk into the tailor shop from the late 1800s that actually operated only a few blocks away.

The pictures don’t do it justice. The museum was almost empty, on account of it being November and far past tourist season, so it really did feel like someone from the 1800s could walk out of one of the storefronts at any time.

Outside the museum was Clifford’s Tower, originally built in the 12^th century and is now the only remaining structure of what used to be a vast castle in the centre of York.  We climbed up to the very top, where we got a panoramic view of York:

For its minimal cost, I was very glad we chose Clifford’s Tower over the expensive York Minster tour. It was the same gorgeous view!

We meandered through the city centre and a shopping district called “The Shambles”, which has narrow cobblestone streets and rickety store signs a la Diagon Alley (the more I live in England, the more I realize how little JK Rowling had to make up in terms of settings). The holiday season has kicked in, so we perused the streets lined with jewelers, chocolate makers and clothing stores.  They had a Scottish wool store – York is not far from the Scottish border – and I insisted we go inside, just to see what the inside of a Scottish wool store looks like.

(Borrowed from the internet, since I forgot to take a picture!)

It turns out, they were having a massive sale, and we found insulated wool hats for far, far cheaper than they should have been. Nick had been looking for a hat anyway – at the end of the semester we’re going to Berlin – and seeing as he his childhood in Wisconsin makes him the authority on all things cold weather related, I followed his example and bought a hat. The hat ended up saving the day later, so thank you, Scottish wool shop, for having a sale on hats in November. You’ll see our hats in exactly every single picture for the entire weekend because it ended up being freezing.

As we walked home, the sun set over the old city wall, built by the Romans hundreds of years ago.  We were able to walk along the top of the wall and take some amazing photos of the sun setting over York.

That colour is 100% real and untouched – the sky totally lit up and a rainbow popped up in the sky behind us.

Our hotel was in the outskirts of the city, so we had dinner close to our hotel at such an authentic pub we couldn’t understand what the men at the table next to us were saying.  The sausage and mash potatoes – quickly becoming my favourite British meal – were spot on and rivaled the food from our foodie experience last weekend.  I really have to ask what the Brits put in their gravy that makes it so delicious because it certainly tastes nothing like American gravy. It was the first time we sat down pretty much all day and after carrying our backpacks for almost eight hours, Nick annihilated every plate of food in front of him like only a 21 year old guy can do.

The next day, we embarked on a serious outdoor adventure. Nick’s university in Houston has an owl mascot, so owls are particularly dear to him. When I found the York Bird of Prey Centre on the internet, I knew we absolutely had to go; Nick arranged for us to have the half day “Owl Experience”.  We took a public bus and the owners of the place were nice enough to pick us up in their jeep from the bus stop.

As they drove us to the bird sanctuary, I noticed the other end of the property had archery targets set up.  We had a half hour before the owl experience started, so Nick and I slipped out of the bird centre and over to the archery place.  Nick has shot a bow before, but I haven’t.  I’ve always wanted to do it, but I have an old injury in my shoulder which makes me avoid those types of things. But it was too tempting not to ask if I could try shooting a bow, and the nice guy running the place gave me a 30 second lesson and let me shoot a quiver while the paying customers were getting a safety briefing.

Three fingers under the bow. Stand at 90 degrees. Pull all the way back to your face. End of instruction!

I shot the entire quiver of arrows and was really excited to hit the target every time and even got close to the center once. I offered to pay, but the nice guy was sharing his love of archery with me, so he wouldn’t let me give him a pence. The entire experience probably took no longer than five minutes, but it was a total adrenaline rush and so much fun.

We got back to the owl centre just in time for the flying show. They had just fed the birds, and according to the handlers, the birds were “feeling a little too fat to fly”, which was hilarious. They did eventually get a hungry hawk out, and members of the audience took turns holding out food and having the hawk fly onto our arms. The hawk was huge, had a deadly sharp beak and we weren’t allowed to pet him because “when he nibbles to play, he’ll take out chunks of flesh from your hands”.  After that I was super careful to do exactly what the experts said.

After the flying show, we broke off into a small group to hold the owls, pet them (no sharp beaks on the “nice” owls), and learn more about the different species.  We held tiny little Pip, a burrowing owl, all the way to Rolo, the massive brown European Eagle Owl. We even got to hold Whisper, who had just moved to the centre a fortnight ago and was still getting used to being handled.  Whisper was particularly exciting because he was a Snowy Owl, identical to the owl that played Hedwig in Harry Potter.

Whisper, the Harry Potter owl

Rolo, an incredibly sweet owl who was hand raised by our tour guide, and snuggled into his neck as the tour guide was talking. My heart totally melted. Also, the permanently sarcastic look on Rolo’s face cracks me up.

Pip and Nick. This is one of my favourite pictures. At the end of the session, Pip went back to the woman who raised him from a baby owl and burrowed into her long, curly hair. Awwww. 

We spent almost four hours there playing with the owls. It alternated between a bit of sun and cold rain as the temperature dropped throughout the afternoon.  By the end of our time at the bird centre, I was frozen through and through (I think the experience would have been ruined if not for the warmth from our hats!), so we spent the evening at the pub near our hotel consuming hot food and watching the Wales v South Africa rugby game. By the time we got back to London late last night, we were exhausted! But more fun could not have been packed into that trip. And owls have won a special place in our hearts!

There’ll be more adventures to write about soon, but I need a few days to recover from this one…

The Wind and Waves: A Beach Trip!

Last week, I posted about the importance of studying abroad and the people you meet along the way.  Well, another great thing about studying abroad with friends is… beach day trips! A couple days ago, Jazy and Sam happened upon my room late one night and we spontaneously all decided to go to Brighton, UK for a beach trip. We bought train tickets for today, added Nick and Lauren to the mix, and that was pretty much the last anyone thought of it until today!

We arrived this morning to an extremely windy, beachy town that felt like a cross between Galveston’s small town charm and San Francisco’s little shops along the hills:

It was supposed to rain in the afternoon, so we headed straight to the beach and dipped our toes/fingers/whole body (SAM/NICK/JAZY!) into the ocean (sea? channel? Brighton is kinda on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean and the English channel, so who knows).

We took a bunch of pictures throughout the day on the beach. The gray overcast gives some of the pictures a grainy black and white appearance. I’ve put them in a gallery below; most of them are us romping around the beach carefree (because how many times do you get to go to the beach with your best friends and boyfriend and just have fun?!), and a few of them are silly couple-y pictures.

Just arriving at the pebble beach and discovering the WIND!

Matching smiles and leather jackets

You could almost do the titanic lean into the wind without falling

I was posing for a shot when suddenly I heard a freak wave coming behind me; this is me about to run in panic

My very soaked friends trying to dry out after getting hit by a rogue wave

We’re just being silly here… also, awesome photo-bomb, Mr. Runner.

Some thousands of miles away over that ocean is America!

The sun came out for a while!

The little town of Brighton in the background

As the day went on, those waves were splashing *over* that sea wall.

Marking a very adventurous, fun day.

Nick and I split off for a little while so that we could see the Royal Pavilion, which is this extravagant castle George the 4th built in the early 1800s that has a pseudo-Indian style exterior and Chinese/Asian interior. It is definitely the most unique palace I have ever seen:

(I had to borrow pictures for the Royal Pavilion from the internet, as photography wasn’t allowed inside).

Inside the castle-ish thing, there was an entire banquet hall that I am 99% sure would be the dining room of the Dragon Queen Khaleesi in Game of Thrones.  The dragon theme throughout the whole palace was nothing short of awesome:

The top of the chandelier in the grand banquet hall literally has a massive dragon carved out of silver at the top:

And rooms that look like this:

Pictures do not do this palace justice – it is an absolute must-see for anyone Brighton, or even London, bound. You can see castles with fancy gilding and stuffed pastel furniture anywhere. This palace, however, is a unique blend of Indian/Asian/European influences that I can’t imagine exists anywhere else.

For being just a little over an hour outside London, Brighton definitely has a small beach town feel with a British flavour. While we got battered by the wind all day (as you can see below), it was most definitely a good use of an October Sunday!

Something to think about while sitting at the office desk inside all week:

Whoever Looks Around Sees Eternity Here

I mentioned in my post Acquiring A Mr. Darcy that I have a few unique ways to make a place feel home. I must confess – I held back my favourite pastime from that post: sketching. Last night, Sam was sharing her wonderful magical experience romping around Charlotte Bronte’s hometown and told me she finally understood how this country could inspire so many incredible writers. I couldn’t agree more – being in London and travelling around England makes me wish I was a genius painter or a brilliant novelist to immortalize the beautiful hills dotted with sheep, the rolling fog pierced by the church spires and the golden fields.

To me, there is no more intimate way to get to know a place than to interpret it with a pencil and paper. Over the last few weeks, whenever it’s not raining (and that one time I put an umbrella over my sketchpad because I was determined to finish the darn drawing), I pull out my tiny sketch pad and sit. For example, I sketched both sides of Kensington Palace because the Palace really is so intricate you could only know it by staring for a few hours.

I don’t have any illusions of being any good at drawing anything, but it’s a wonderful way to own part of the city, to make a little piece of the city a place that I know intimately.  All the gargoyles, the roof decorations, the tops of the fence – I don’t think I would have noticed them if I hadn’t struggled to recreate them.

Hyde Park is another lovely place to appreciate, with its romantic bridges and weeping willow trees.  About four lines into sketching this bridge, some not-English-speaking-tourists came over and mistook me for one of those street artists who sell paintings in tourist traps.  (With literally four lines on an otherwise blank piece of tiny paper, I wondered briefly if this is what those famous modern artists feel like when they sell a painting for $40 million that’s just a blue square on a blank canvas. But I digress.)

Poet John Clare in 1821 captured the essence of autumn in England best:

All nature has a feeling: woods, fields, brooks
Are life eternal: and in silence they
Speak happiness beyond the reach of books;
There’s nothing mortal in them; their decay
Is the green life of change; to pass away
And come again in blooms revivified.
Its birth was heaven, eternal it its stay,
And with the sun and moon shall still abide
Beneath their day and night and heaven wide.

-John Clare, 1821

 

He said about the English countryside: Whoever looks around sees eternity there.

THE BRITISH CLUB (& the Harry Potter Night Buses Are Real)

On Friday night, Nick and I went to what is rated as one of the top clubs in the world, Fabric. Since I purchased the tickets super cheap through Boston University’s program coordinators, we got to be on a super cool guest list that let us skip the line. Now, we went at 11 pm, so there was no line anyway, but we’re both too old to start our nights at 1 am.

I don’t own clubbing clothes, but I didn’t want to ruin any of the nice clothes I brought (they’re particularly valuable to me since I only brought one suitcase out of which to live for almost 4 months). I ventured to H&M Friday morning and the salesperson gave me an education in London clubbing attire. I ignored everything she said – she actually suggested I wear a sheep-like vest that much resembled a cross between a British sheep and Chewbaca from Starwars – but the education was nonetheless eye opening. The bizarre crop tops, metallic leggings and sneaker heels were a little too authentically British for me, so I picked a very cheap dress off the sale rack and hung the Sheep/Chewbaca suit back up.

Before Nick and I left for the club, Michael, the program coordinator for BU, warned me that though he highly encouraged American students to try a real British club, the clubs here (especially Fabric) were going to be far more rambunctious and unpredictable than those in the States. He advised us to be very careful while ordering drinks and to stick together.  On top of the club scene, the London tube shuts down at 12:30, so clubbers have to take London’s infamous night buses to get home.

As I said, we arrived around 11 pm with the resolve that we wouldn’t order any drinks at the club. Neither of us are really into drinking anyway, but it didn’t help that drinks at clubs here are often 10 pounds or up ($15+!).  We had a super awkward moment when I excitedly told the club bouncer that I was on the guestlist with a plus one, and then got promptly refused. Yep, I thought, I would get rejected the first and only time I try to go to a real club. We stood on the side of the street at a loss for what to do for a minute – Fabric is in the middle of a kinda scary looking warehouse district – before a club manager came over to confirm we really were on the guest list. Once inside, we found the first of three rooms, each with a separate DJ and music style.  The dance floor was wired to the bass of the music so that you could feel the music through your shoes. Room #1 also had an awesome light show: (You can see people fist pumping. No comment.)

Though the dance floor was sparse when we arrived, we felt super cool for starting the night’s dancing off, because as soon as we got out there (having no shame as Americans), others joined us. If you’re curious what a British club sounds like, this was the DJ that played around midnight in one of the rooms:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A_2dijMc-YY

We checked out the other two rooms, but one was insanely tiny, and the other had these obnoxious strobe lights and creepy Euro-clubber types, so we spent most of our night in the first room with the light show and vibrating floor. Contrary to what Michael and other Londoners had told us, we felt safe the whole night – they have a plethora of staff with flashlights that are quick to investigate any shady people or incidents. As an American, when I think of an “unsafe” or precarious place, I think of a place where I might be physically harmed.  Apparently, as my professor explained last week, Londoners have such a low violent crime rate that they are much more concerned with theft and other such crimes. When coming into Fabric, we of course went through the standard metal detectors, but we each went through a pat down upon entrance AND exit almost exclusively to prevent phone theft.  There were signs all over the club not for personal safety but to prevent phone theft. Needless to say, we found the actual clubbing experience much tamer than its reputation.

We left the club having had an excellent time around 1:30 am and embarked upon the real adventure – London at night via night bus. London, which much resembles any major world city in the daytime, is downright strange at night. I didn’t enjoy walking through London at 1:30 in the morning; there were people in costumes, wearing chains, others very high on drugs, and some people with just some inexplicable behaviour. Remember those Night Buses from Harry Potter with the seedy figures and out of control driving? Well, J.K. Rowling wasn’t being so creative as she was accurately describing London’s night buses. We found the night bus patrons were very much a sampling of the strangest people London has to offer. Through the bus windows we saw droves of people pub hopping in various states of drunkenness, and some who looked like they had just woken up and were starting their day in the somehow simultaneously (purposefully) torn and fluffy clubbing clothes that are popular here.

I didn’t get to bed until 3 am, which is about 5 hours past my bedtime.  But we had such a good time I’d be quick to go back.  Not drinking (and wearing flats) contributed vastly to the success of the night, as did going a bit earlier than I suspect the rougher crowds do. As literally dozens of people around us were taking club selfies, we followed suit for an as authentic experience as possible:

Though I’m still not sure what is accomplished with these…. I guess proof that I really did survive my first real clubbing experience?

The Incredible Flower Market (And Mr. Darcy Gets A Friend!)

I was tempted to call this post the Part 2 to my On Love In London, but the Columbia Flower Market was more than a cool date – it was an incredible array of plants and flowers of all sizes and types. The market boasted everything from cute mini-cacti to huge lemon trees, plus a neat set of vintage shops and street musicians.

Nick and I arrived at the market at 11 o’clock this morning to find the equivalent of two long city blocks worth of flower and plant stands. Each stand seemed to specialize in a type of flora – some had gorgeous cut flowers like hydrangea, others sold nothing but cacti, and many had flowers meant to be planted in gardens.  Amoung the cut flowers especially, there were some strange, unidentifiable ones!

The Dahlias were huge, the hydrangea vividly coloured, and the prices incredible.  Twenty roses for 5 pounds! You can’t get that in the States! To top the experience off, the salesmen had fun, working-class Londoner senses of humour; one yelled out an advertisement for his peonies that were “so cheap you could decorate your mother-in-law’s grave with them.”  They’d openly jest at nearby stands, claiming their lilies were bigger and better than Charlie’s lilies two stands down. Indeed, we saw some fascinating flowers and plants.

On each end of the flower market, which is in a Northeast London neighborhood called Shoreditch, there were street musicians playing guitars and saxophones. One man dressed in plaids and very British boots sung country star Darius Rucker’s song “Wagon wheel” in the thickest British accent I’ve ever heard. The little shops next to the flower market had an adorable array of vintage clothing, gardening supplies and other arts and crafts. One cafe had a tiny replica of their pastry window display done in wax:

We bought a few olives from an olive stand (there’s a large Italian community in London, and besides – who can resist trying olives from an olive stand?) and listened to a very talented singer-song writer play to a growing crowd.  By the time we were ready to leave at 1:30, the crowd was extremely thick.  Many of the best plants and flowers were gone, including a stand that sold only bouquets of beautiful wildflowers! I think Nick would have gotten me one of the bouquets of wildflowers but they were gone by the time we went through the market for the last time.  Instead, I got him a totally adorable mini-cactus to decorate his room:

The whole thing is about three inches tall. Too cute. And…………Mr. Darcy got a friend! Instead of cut flowers, which required a vase, Nick got me a little gardenia bush to make my whole apartment smell like gardenias. My mini English garden is complete.  Mr. Darcy and the yet unnamed gardenia in the moonlight:

To cap off the “sunny” day (I’ve determined sunny here only means its not raining), we rented bikes at Hyde Park and took a spin.  We even passed other bikes properly on the left, though my heart was pounding the whole time and my brain was constantly telling me to dive right at the last second. I definitely wouldn’t like to bike on the roads or drive here!

I have midterms on Tuesday and will be logging some library time until then, but in the meantime I promise to recap my night at a real British club (spoiler: we survived) and the legendary Night Buses (right out of Harry Potter. Seriously.  They’re real).

On British Tea, And Accidentally Ordering Fruit Juice At A Pub

Drinks are a point of British pride.  From tea to cider to beer, the Brits hold their drinks dear to their hearts. I, of course, came to Britain a resolute water-drinker, but I promised myself I’d give British drinks a try.

(What everyone think of when they think of British tea. In reality, only tourists go for high tea. Sorry to ruin the fantasy!)

The Tea:

Well, the tea I tried once when I was little in America is not the same as

tea in Britain. I feel very cliche in saying this, but the tea here tastes somehow sweet, strong, pure and “earthy”.  Early last week, I went to the famous tea store, Whittard’s, for a sampling of real British tea, and was convinced to buy myself blueberry tea.  It’s poignant and a bit bitter, but it had me interested enough to embolden me to try other types of tea.

And then I discovered peppermint tea. I bought a box at the grocery store (very cheaply! it was only a pound), and I’m up to three cups a day.  To me, peppermint tea is like a mix of Christmas, fireplaces and warm fuzzy sweaters in a hot mug. I’ve expanded to lavender tea for nighttime now, too, which reminds me of nighttime walks through fields with fireflies.

The Pub:

My successful ventures with tea encouraged me to try different British drinks at the pub with my friends.  I turn 21 in October, so I haven’t had the chance (or motivation) to try American alcohols. The drunkards on the train in Boston are repugnant enough to turn anyone off the idea of alcohol.  But pubs and drunks are such an ingrained part of British culture, I swore I’d “give it a go”.  The first time I went to a real British pub, I had a strawberry and lime cider – a beer/soda/fruity mix, hardly alcoholic, and so tasty that I can’t understand how cider isn’t more popular in the States!

The margarita was a big no. I had two sips. End of story. The same went for Pimms. Gross.

It was my first weekend here that I encountered a cocktail that was phenomenal. It was sweet, slightly tangy with a splash of soda, and you couldn’t even taste the alcohol. Furthermore, the “Elderflower Presse” was less than 3 pounds! A drink in London for less than the equivalent of $5 is unheard of. I’d ordered my new favourite drink at my favourite pub (The Drayton Arms) three times until I thought to ask what was in it.

(The Drayton Arms, built in 1891)

Sam was the one a few days ago who asked me what type of alcohol was in Edlerflower Presse, and I googled it. It turns out, an Elderflower Presse is essentially fruit juice and soda. Whoops. I’d just assumed it was a cocktail because it was listed in the cocktail section of the drink menu. It’s a bit embarrassing to admit that I’ve been going out to pubs with friends, talking with locals and doing other things people do at pubs, and ordering fruit juice the whole time. At least it’s British fruit?

 

I’ll stick with my tea, Elderflower Presse, and the occasional cider. It still counts as trying local drinks, right?

Coventry: How To Do No Planning For A Trip And Have An Awesome Time

Ever showed up in a city with no idea what the attractions are, how the transport works, or where to eat? That’s what we did today. With a tight budget and an incredible lack of planning, we had a magical day in Kenilworth and Coventry.

It was only last week that Jazy and I decided to go to Coventry. We picked it on the sole basis that it had a castle Jane Austen used to visit. That, and we didn’t want to fly all the way to Ireland. So we booked train tickets – Coventry is about an hour and a half from London by train – and celebrated our spontaneity. While we were literally still celebrating, the castle in question posted on their website that they would be closed on September 15 (today). The tickets were nonrefundable.

The weather for today was predicted to be an awful wind storm and constant rain. Championing our adventurous sides, we decided to go to Coventry anyway and perhaps we could see some other cool castle that was kinda nearby (and there may or may not be a bus to get us there, who knows!). We popped off the train early this morning – the sun was even out at one point, which is an English miracle – and, low and behold, there were bus route maps. We found the bus stop, the bus came on time, and some nice gentleman on the bus even told us which stop to get off to see this maybe-cool castle in Kenilworth. It was all so easy it was eerie!

Kenilworth Castle:

We got off the bus and immediately in front of us was a field that looked like this:

We had no idea where the field leads, but we skipped (okay, dramatization, we walked) through the fields eating sweet wild blackberries as we went. At one point, we stumbled upon the remains of a 14th century abbey, and cemetery where some woman saw we were taking pictures and came up to us offering to take our picture. This was something we encountered all day; people went out of their way to be extremely nice to us, and even though it was cool we were from Texas! Here is the kind lady’s photo:

She gave us directions to the Kenilworth Castle and we continued to hike some of the most beautiful countryside I’ve ever seen. Peaceful meadows, weeping willows, blooming wildflowers of every colour. We came upon Kenilworth Castle very easily, and discovered that it served as a fortress for English royal power from the 12th to 17th century. Originally constructed in the 1100s, Kenilworth Castle was one of the favourite summertime destinations for Queen Elizabeth I, who gave the castle to her famous lover, Sir Robert Dudley. Once rebels seized the Castle in the English Civil War in the mid-1600s, the castle was intentionally destroyed. Only recently did they restore some of the castle and make it a historical landmark.

You can see the ruins of the great castle walls, the Elizabethan gardens, and even a little peak of quaint Kenilworth in the background. While it was pretty windy at times, it only drizzles a couple times, so we managed to stay dry and mostly warm the entire day! Another woman volunteered to take our photo at the top lookout of the castle, several hundred feet in the air (it doesn’t look like it’s very high, but it is, and with the wind I thought there was a 2% chance one of us gets blown off the tower).

When we returned to the ticket office, the men there offered their suggestions for nearby lunch.  I have been vastly disappointed in British food, because up to today it’s been way overpriced and completely flavourless. However, the men pointed us to a pub not far from the castle: Virgins & Castle. As the oldest pub in Kenilworth, we took guesses at how old it was – I thought perhaps 1630s, Jazy guessed in the 1700s. Turns out, it was first used as a pub in 1563!

(Yeah, it’s a blurry picture. I was trying not to look like a creep in this cramped space.)

We both wanted to try authentic British food, and having zero expectations, I just picked something off the menu: the handmade sausage and mashed potatoes in onion sauce.  We learned as we waited that Shakespeare likely came into that exact pub, as his girlfriend and mother lived nearby. Woah. Cool. Anyway, the food was the best British food I’ve ever had (and I don’t expect it will be trumped) and hands down the best sausage I’ve ever tasted. Everything was tender, and the sweet onion sauce would have compelled me to order another plate for dinner if I could have!

Coventry:

After our long and wonderful lunch, we got the bus back to Coventry (and still didn’t manage to get lost! We took random streets in what we thought might be the right direction and still managed to find the only bus stop around…). Coventry has a medieval street built in the 1400s/1500s that looks like this:

We totally came upon this street by accident. Most things in Coventry were closed on Sunday – a relic of an old way of life – but we preferred to admire the architecture and had no interest in shopping. As we made our way to the city centre, we found The Holy Trinity church (I believe that was its name, we saw many churches!):

When we went in, one of the church members came over to us and was compelled on his own accord to give us a thorough 20 minute tour of the entire church, describing each of the architectural and historical features. The church was built in the 1450s, but he pointed out bits of the church that had to be repaired after being destroyed by bombs in WWII. There was over 650 years of history there, complete with the original wooden roof and magnificently carved original gargoyles.

We finally headed to the only attraction I had put on my list of things to see today: “The Shell” church.  The church was built in the 1200s in the middle of Coventry, but it was absolutely gutted by a blitz bombing in 1940 during WWII. When Churchill and King George came to visit the ruins of the once-great abbey, it was decided that the city would keep what was left of the church standing as a reminder of all that was lost during WWII.

Incendiary bombs ripped the heart out of this church, but left its outer walls standing. The starkness of the empty church is haunting. You can see where the pillars stood, where the alter was, and even little bits of broken stained glass in the smaller windows that hadn’t been blown out by the bombs. Across the street, St. Mary’s Hall, built incorporating a wall from the 1100s, was still standing in good order. Whereas many war memorials are marbles pillars of some sort, The Shell is the most poignant building in all of Coventry for its unusual reminder of the consequences of war.

After spending some time to reflect on the ruins and other windy little town roads, we stopped for delicious hot chocolates. While Coventry had some amazing moments in our personal tour of The Holy Trinity and The Shell, Kenilworth is by far my favourite English city so far. It’s even in my top three for European cities. The peaceful, charming town combined with its vast stretches of fields and lakes was magical.  I realized today how this country inspired so many great English writers and leaders.  Today, I walked in the steps of Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, Shakespeare, Queen Elizabeth I and Winston Churchill. Incredible.

Stay tuned for the next adventure – my boyfriend Nick arrives in London Tuesday morning and we’ll be hitting up all sorts of places in London, and hopefully I’ll also have Parliamentary news to report soon too!

Making London Home By Acquiring A Mr. Darcy

It’s a joke among the American girls here that each one wants to meet a dashing British man during this semester.  Well, today I acquired my Mr. Darcy.

Meet the houseplant that now lives on my windowsill:

I’ve had to make new homes in several cities in the last couples years: two years ago it was Boston for college, last summer it was Dallas for an internship, and now home is my flat in London. 

One of my favourite ways to make a new place feel like home is buying a plant. It seems silly, but we aren’t allowed to put anything on the walls, and a houseplant really adds cheer to a room. I had a wonderful smelling flower-plant named Frederick in Boston, and a little rose bush named Charlie in Dallas. The problem, you see, is that my love of plants is equaled by my propensity for killing them. The English, though, are famous for their gardening abilities, so I’m hoping some of that luck rubs off on me this semester. My flat certainly seems more English with a plant – practically every building here has an entire blooming garden hanging out of every window! 

 

Of course I also seek out bits of Texas…like Thursday my friends and I went to a Mexican restaurant that some Swedish guys we met in a bar recommended (a little bit of a sketchy story, I know).  It was called “Wahaca” – I suppose the owners got tired of Brits mispronouncing Oaxaca.  As you can see, while the atmosphere was nice, I was not convinced it was the same as real Tex-Mex! 

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Stay tuned for the next blog post – tomorrow I’ll be going to the English countryside that inspired many of Jane Austen’s novels!