The title is quite fitting, as Friday morning, Maddy and I woke up with a little difficulty at 4:45am. We stumbled into the clothes we'd be wearing for the next 18+ hours, tried to assemble our luggage and not wake up my entire house doing so (without luck), and got downstairs by 5:15-- only to be greeted by not only two perfectly proportioned snacks made by my host mom (two slices of my favorite chocolate-chestnut cake and orange juice for us each, with a post-it wishing us a "Bon Voyage!") but see my smiling host dad in the kitchen preparing us tea, pretending like it was perfectly normal to wake up at 5am. During his VACATION. Because he insisted on driving us to the train station that is a 15-minute walk away. Did I mention how amazing my host family is?
Maddy and I made it onto our (separate) 6am trains and I crashed for about an hour, bringing my sleep total to five hours. When I arrived to CDG, I got a little lost because I thought I'd have to take a shuttle, but thankfully it was my first lesson in learning that when I trust my instincts, I am wrong almost exactly 50% of the time. While the odds aren't in my favor, and while this doesn't make it any easier when doing Scantrons, it is something I now know about myself. I ran into Maddy at the EasyJet counter, where I learned another thing about myself: my lack of stress while traveling. Irritation, yes. Stress, no. We were all a little tired, but EasyJet does not make things any easier when their form of boarding consists of cattle-herding over a hundred passengers through two turnstiles with the efficiency of filing through a mosh pit. So for those of us idiots that accidentally paid an extra 16E for "Speedy Boarding" and were hoping to at least benefit from it, no such luck. We just had to rely on our elbow-throwing moves to get to the front. After a little tarmac delay, we arrived in London Luton half an hour late. We thought we missed the train we booked, but it turns out we never even booked one (yeah, I don't understand that either), so we hopped straight onto a shuttle bus to the train station, where we swiped in and chose one from a series of trains (more like the Underground than any other train system). After that, we finally arrived around 1:30 or 2pm, a full 8 hours of traveling later. Maddy, her boyfriend Gabe, and I went for some Indian food for lunch, and then I trudged on.
Let me pause to explain the situation: I couldn't fit everything in my backpack for the next four days, so I wore my Frye boots, my new H&M sweater, and my black J.Crew peacoat. The less-glamorous way of describing it: my backpack was around 35 or 40 pounds, I was wearing heeled boots, a synthetic sweater (therefore I was sweating bullets), and a peacoat that was only insulating the lack of ventilation. I learned from my sister: wear the biggest and bulkiest, pack the rest. This is great advice when you fly, not so great when you don't know where you're going. On top of all that, I walked back to St. Pancras station with no means. Even if the Brits DID accept Euros, I only had 10E to my name, no pounds, and no map. I managed to grab a map and pen and charge it on my card, then take out 100L (love those ATM fees) and confronted my looking-like-a-tourist fears head-on my dropping my backpack, spreading out my map on the floor, and realizing that I needed to walk way farther than I expected. I jotted a few key points (street names and directions) on a pocket-size piece of paper, shoved my pea coat in my bag, and set off at 3pm.
The next four hours cannot be described. An hour in, I made it to Regent's Park, but was too tired and my feet were too much in pain to go in-- although it was pretty, more walking was exactly what I wanted to avoid. On my way down the street, I realized I made a wrong turn, but in my naiveté, I thought, "Well hey, this is still really pretty. This is still London. I'm here for the experience, right?" and I walked a little farther. And then a little farther. Then the sun started to set, but I wasn't in a sketchy area, so I was okay. I was listening to my iPod, had my phone in one pocket and my less-than-helpful directions in the other. I made it down some very popular street with lots of shops, some really famous toy story, a Burberry, and lots of theatres for musicals. I passed some pretty fountains, and kept going out of the crowds because I was literally the ONLY one with a backpack/luggage that I could see. On a Friday at the dinner hour in Soho, you can bet I stuck out like a sore thumb. All of a sudden, in my sleep-deprived, travel-weary daze, I found myself starting to head over a bridge, the exact direction I did NOT want to be going. However, I finally saw Big Ben and the London Eye. On my way out, I walked past Westminster Abbey (which didn't look so impressive from the outside). Then I walked up some streets that kind of looked right, and then followed lots of street signs to Victoria Station. A nice man at an info desk helped me buy my Oxford Tube tickets, and by 7pm, I was on it. I had no idea where I was, what I had seen, and I still don't really want to know how far I walked. But, blistered and bruised (did you know you can get blisters on your shoulders?), I finally made it.
One sleepy hour and forty minute Tube ride later, I made it to Oxford! I walked around the block twice trying to find where I was going (because I was out of London and therefore mapless again), but armed with a detailed text message from Anna during my 25-minute walk, I found my way. I found the keys under some leaves (as Anna was out to dinner with a visiting uncle) and finally got through the odd magnetic button and metal keyfob series of locks to her room. I was welcomed by not only an actual mattress, but a jar of peanut butter, an annotated map of Oxford, and three chocolates on my pillow. Yes, I was in heaven. And not only that, but even though Anna wasn't there, I immediately felt welcomed. I felt at home. After all, for a whole year, my "home", my dorm room, was associated with hers, and there is something amazing about that. I'm sort of at a loss to describe how great it was to be there that weekend, but I'll try my best: Anna and I lived together during what is debatably the most difficult adjustment time ever: freshman year of college. We not only survived each other while we were trying to survive our own respective freshman years (by various means), but we formed a strong friendship out of it. So it felt less like any "visit" and more like a little bit of home that I got to see, which made it infinitely worth every part of it.
Saturday morning, we had tea, yogurt, and toast, and Anna went out for crew practice with some friends while I wandered around Christchurch Meadows and the shopping area and a couple other old places. I didn't really know where I was going, but this time I wasn't carrying my life in my backpack and I had a map, and that's absolutely what I love. I just looked at all the centuries-old architecture and the fall colors and was in awe of the British accents and interesting fashion (which is a mix of France and Santa Clara, if you can imagine) and just took it all in. This pretty much resolved my goal to save up for a digital SLR camera and to buy an oxford shirt (you know... a button-up shirt), Hunter boots, and lots of books. While I was tempted to read my Camus that I had brought with me (for an upcoming French Lit paper) to prove that hey, I'm smart too, I was too preoccupied by wandering around and discovering every detail... the sunlight, the wind, the leaves, the colors... it really is enough to make me wonder why I'm a Biology major when I'm so enraptured by nature in ways that seem too (for lack of a better word) artsy. We had lunch on the go and stopped at Ben's Cookies for decidedly the BEST orange-marmalade chocolate chip cookie I have ever had in my life, and then it began: the pumpkin hunt.
The four of us walked up to the grocery store, farther to a co-op, and then back down the other side, stopping in all the tabac-like markets in search of the great pumpkin. It was Halloween, after all, and while I had been expecting a Halloween-less October 31st since it is not celebrated by the French (or really much of Europe), it was the day to celebrate, and we had a mission. We decided to walk the 20-minute trek back down to the covered market (just in case) and there the four of us rounded a corner and found four perfectly misfit pumpkins at a vegetable stand. Soft, bumpy, a little spotty-- it didn't matter. For 3L each, they were ours! We grabbed dinner from a local Italian deli, then ate chocolate-covered apples with sprinkles, margarita pizza, and candy to celebrate Halloween in the most "going abroad" of ways. When the materialism of the States hasn't quite spread to Europe (thank God), we're left with a smattering of Halloween interpretations from which we create the oddest of celebrations. No costumes, no M&Ms, Twix, or Reese's... not even a 99-cent plastic spider ring or synthetic spiderweb to stretch across a doorway. In short, a little British chocolate and a lumpy pumpkin can do wonders.
After pumpkin carving, we dressed up and headed out to a house party, that was wonderful in the most Oxford of ways: it was BYOB with donuts on a string and bobbing for apples, and a smorgasbord of food that included everything from falafels to salsa to donuts and cake. Conventional? No. Memorable? Most definitely.
Sunday was London day, as Anna and I woke up early and headed out to rainy London. We spent the whole day there walking and walking, taking the tube a bit, and seeing the National Gallery. This was by far my favorite. We got to see Van Gogh's Sunflowers, plenty of Monet, and this painting by Van Eyck, which I am still beyond excited that I got to see. Before my Art History class at IES, I wouldn't have given it a second glance. But in class this semester, we studied every bit of it-- the realism, the perspective, the lighting, and all the details. What's even better is that I had no idea it was here; I got to study something and instantly, in another country and culture, I got to identify with it and instantly felt excited. Similarly, when I was at Oxford walking down the street, I noticed a plaque on an otherwise empty wall, declaring the place where the cell was first seen (with the first microscope). That's something that's in the first chapter of every Biology book I've ever read, but never given a second thought. To be abroad and have all the knowledge that's been rolling around in my head finally, finally come alive... that is a feeling that is unparalleled. All of a sudden, things are interesting. Things you found dry and boring before now have associations. And what's more, it's a small nod to your own knowledge; a little reward to storing something in the back of your brain, writing it off because you'd never think you'd use it, and then on some odd street corner, it comes tumbling back out, proving itself and the value of studying it in the first place. Maybe it's in the water, but there is just something about Oxford that I fell in love with: learning because I love learning. Because sometimes it's really hard and it doesn't seem fun and it's incredibly stressful, but you do it because (even though you might never admit it), you actually LOVE to do so. Being there just made me want to pick up the dictionary and read it (yes, I realize that sounds lame, but the dictionary is from practically Oxford, you know) or grab a handful of classic novels and go sit on a park bench somewhere and bury myself in them in the sunshine.
Being there made me realize just how different my study abroad experience is from Anna's, which really just made me think. Sure, I'm here in France, which means I have to speak a different language (which I'm struggling with) and take Pharmacology and Neuropsychology in French (which I absolutely love) as well as Econ, Art History, and French Literature (which are interesting, but not very stimulating). It means I live with a host family (whom I adore) but can't converse fluidly with (which I hate). It means that I have habituated myself to not speaking as much in restaurants or public situations, even in English, and it means that all errands I need to run take, on average, twice or three times as long as normal. That being said, I'm learning culture. I have to remind myself of that. Now, things are no longer new, but that doesn't mean they're not hard. What's hardest for me is continuing to push myself outside of where I want to be; as Mme. Rouchet told me yesterday, you can't be timid and be abroad. It just doesn't work that way. So being able to see Anna's experience, which is challenging in such a different way, it was... refreshing. It made me feel like I need to not waste anymore time in my homestay. I need to finally go for a run and go to a yoga class and go to all the conversation clubs every week and watch tv (that's an order by the assistant to the director to me) and just go DO.
At the same time, I feel like I don't have time for any of this. I got home at 10pm on Tuesday night, unpacked and went to bed, woke up for class on Wednesday, was at IES for class from 10:45am until 6:45pm, got home just in time for dinner, had dinner, skyped Whitney to figure out our plans for tomorrow, and went to bed again. Today I woke up at 9:30 because Pharma was canceled, went to the ATM, went to lunch, went to two classes, got home by 6:45pm, had dinner, read a book my host dad gave me, and now I'm going to bed. Tomorrow Whitney comes all day (which I am sooo excited for!), then I have to be at IES by 8:15am on Saturday for our two-day trip to the Loire Valley and come home around 9pm Sunday night. I wanted this to be a good-writing post (aka something I could put effort into and have it sound slightly more eloquent), but I think right now, this probably explains it the best. I'm a little rundown. My five-day weekend turned into two full days of traveling. While it was SO SO SO worth it and I loved every minute I was hanging out with Anna and her friends, it was absolutely exhausting. I don't think I'm ready for another trip quite yet, because I need a little more decompressing time from the last one. Three days at home bookended by two trips just isn't enough, let alone all the end-of-term papers I need to be gearing up for.
So, I'm sorry to disappoint on the writing front. I held out long enough in hopes that a little inspiration would meander my way, but I won't have time until Monday at the earliest. Maybe when I have to wake up at 4:40am to register for classes on Monday something will hit me. I also didn't fill you in on the last two days of my trip, but last Monday was fun hanging around Oxford, and Tuesday was another hellish series of unfortunate events that somehow managed to get me home safe and sound (but only after a close call at pretty much every stop.) I don't know if I mentioned this earlier, but it took me 7 modes of transportation to get between Nantes and Oxford. (Car, train, plane, shuttle, train, 4 hours walking, 1h40min bus ride, then a little more walking.) And after that, I am vachement épuisée. (incredibly tired) While I know this isn't the happiest post, know it's not unhappy. It's just exhaustion. And I came across this quote which I really like and I think kind of suits me right now:
The four of us walked up to the grocery store, farther to a co-op, and then back down the other side, stopping in all the tabac-like markets in search of the great pumpkin. It was Halloween, after all, and while I had been expecting a Halloween-less October 31st since it is not celebrated by the French (or really much of Europe), it was the day to celebrate, and we had a mission. We decided to walk the 20-minute trek back down to the covered market (just in case) and there the four of us rounded a corner and found four perfectly misfit pumpkins at a vegetable stand. Soft, bumpy, a little spotty-- it didn't matter. For 3L each, they were ours! We grabbed dinner from a local Italian deli, then ate chocolate-covered apples with sprinkles, margarita pizza, and candy to celebrate Halloween in the most "going abroad" of ways. When the materialism of the States hasn't quite spread to Europe (thank God), we're left with a smattering of Halloween interpretations from which we create the oddest of celebrations. No costumes, no M&Ms, Twix, or Reese's... not even a 99-cent plastic spider ring or synthetic spiderweb to stretch across a doorway. In short, a little British chocolate and a lumpy pumpkin can do wonders.
After pumpkin carving, we dressed up and headed out to a house party, that was wonderful in the most Oxford of ways: it was BYOB with donuts on a string and bobbing for apples, and a smorgasbord of food that included everything from falafels to salsa to donuts and cake. Conventional? No. Memorable? Most definitely.
Sunday was London day, as Anna and I woke up early and headed out to rainy London. We spent the whole day there walking and walking, taking the tube a bit, and seeing the National Gallery. This was by far my favorite. We got to see Van Gogh's Sunflowers, plenty of Monet, and this painting by Van Eyck, which I am still beyond excited that I got to see. Before my Art History class at IES, I wouldn't have given it a second glance. But in class this semester, we studied every bit of it-- the realism, the perspective, the lighting, and all the details. What's even better is that I had no idea it was here; I got to study something and instantly, in another country and culture, I got to identify with it and instantly felt excited. Similarly, when I was at Oxford walking down the street, I noticed a plaque on an otherwise empty wall, declaring the place where the cell was first seen (with the first microscope). That's something that's in the first chapter of every Biology book I've ever read, but never given a second thought. To be abroad and have all the knowledge that's been rolling around in my head finally, finally come alive... that is a feeling that is unparalleled. All of a sudden, things are interesting. Things you found dry and boring before now have associations. And what's more, it's a small nod to your own knowledge; a little reward to storing something in the back of your brain, writing it off because you'd never think you'd use it, and then on some odd street corner, it comes tumbling back out, proving itself and the value of studying it in the first place. Maybe it's in the water, but there is just something about Oxford that I fell in love with: learning because I love learning. Because sometimes it's really hard and it doesn't seem fun and it's incredibly stressful, but you do it because (even though you might never admit it), you actually LOVE to do so. Being there just made me want to pick up the dictionary and read it (yes, I realize that sounds lame, but the dictionary is from practically Oxford, you know) or grab a handful of classic novels and go sit on a park bench somewhere and bury myself in them in the sunshine.
Being there made me realize just how different my study abroad experience is from Anna's, which really just made me think. Sure, I'm here in France, which means I have to speak a different language (which I'm struggling with) and take Pharmacology and Neuropsychology in French (which I absolutely love) as well as Econ, Art History, and French Literature (which are interesting, but not very stimulating). It means I live with a host family (whom I adore) but can't converse fluidly with (which I hate). It means that I have habituated myself to not speaking as much in restaurants or public situations, even in English, and it means that all errands I need to run take, on average, twice or three times as long as normal. That being said, I'm learning culture. I have to remind myself of that. Now, things are no longer new, but that doesn't mean they're not hard. What's hardest for me is continuing to push myself outside of where I want to be; as Mme. Rouchet told me yesterday, you can't be timid and be abroad. It just doesn't work that way. So being able to see Anna's experience, which is challenging in such a different way, it was... refreshing. It made me feel like I need to not waste anymore time in my homestay. I need to finally go for a run and go to a yoga class and go to all the conversation clubs every week and watch tv (that's an order by the assistant to the director to me) and just go DO.
At the same time, I feel like I don't have time for any of this. I got home at 10pm on Tuesday night, unpacked and went to bed, woke up for class on Wednesday, was at IES for class from 10:45am until 6:45pm, got home just in time for dinner, had dinner, skyped Whitney to figure out our plans for tomorrow, and went to bed again. Today I woke up at 9:30 because Pharma was canceled, went to the ATM, went to lunch, went to two classes, got home by 6:45pm, had dinner, read a book my host dad gave me, and now I'm going to bed. Tomorrow Whitney comes all day (which I am sooo excited for!), then I have to be at IES by 8:15am on Saturday for our two-day trip to the Loire Valley and come home around 9pm Sunday night. I wanted this to be a good-writing post (aka something I could put effort into and have it sound slightly more eloquent), but I think right now, this probably explains it the best. I'm a little rundown. My five-day weekend turned into two full days of traveling. While it was SO SO SO worth it and I loved every minute I was hanging out with Anna and her friends, it was absolutely exhausting. I don't think I'm ready for another trip quite yet, because I need a little more decompressing time from the last one. Three days at home bookended by two trips just isn't enough, let alone all the end-of-term papers I need to be gearing up for.
So, I'm sorry to disappoint on the writing front. I held out long enough in hopes that a little inspiration would meander my way, but I won't have time until Monday at the earliest. Maybe when I have to wake up at 4:40am to register for classes on Monday something will hit me. I also didn't fill you in on the last two days of my trip, but last Monday was fun hanging around Oxford, and Tuesday was another hellish series of unfortunate events that somehow managed to get me home safe and sound (but only after a close call at pretty much every stop.) I don't know if I mentioned this earlier, but it took me 7 modes of transportation to get between Nantes and Oxford. (Car, train, plane, shuttle, train, 4 hours walking, 1h40min bus ride, then a little more walking.) And after that, I am vachement épuisée. (incredibly tired) While I know this isn't the happiest post, know it's not unhappy. It's just exhaustion. And I came across this quote which I really like and I think kind of suits me right now:
"Inspiration is for amateurs. The rest of us just show up and get to work and the belief that things will grow out of the activity itself and that you will, through work, bump into other possibilities and kick open other doors that you would never dream up if you were just sitting around looking for a great idea. And that a belief that in the process, in a sense, is liberating and that you don't have to reinvent the wheel everyday. Today you know what you will do, you could be doing what you were doing yesterday, and tomorrow you are going to do what you did today and at least for a certain period of time, if you can just work to hang in there, you will get somewhere."
Chuck Close
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