What I didn't mention before...

The following is transcribed from my notebook, while I was sitting in a cafe before my brand new class today. And I still have more to add, so be aware that this is going to be a very long post. Hopefully, that is. I mean, if not, I haven't done my job!

Here we go:

I'm sitting in a tiny, dingy café on campus, and for the first time since I've been here, there's no trace of another American anywhere. While I was rather anxious for an experience like this, however small or silly, this is a bit intimidating. I don't belong here, do I? Perhaps this is their (the Brits') retreat from all the American invaders (there are a lot of us!) and I've just ruined it. Though, more likely, they simply don't regard me- with my Old Navy sweater-hoodie and my non-skinny jeans.

Also, I was just served and ate my food- coriander and eggs scramble. Very good, but essentially eggs on toast. I have to wonder if I ate it correctly. And if they mocked my knife-and-fork action.

Anyway, I need to finish some business here before moving on to new and exciting topics like whether or not that guy by the window is the same one who helped me with my bag on my first day here (I can't recognize him without the beret) or why Vodaphone keeps sending me text-messages and faking me out.

First and foremost: Why am I in London?

Well, as we all know from the title of this blog, I have always been a bit of an anglophile (a person who admires and expresses enthusiasm for British customs, culture, or people), or rather, a huge anglophile. Despite the odds against it, and its plentiful disadvantages, Britain always seems to produce the best of everything- except the food of course, but they work with what they have. Everything: the best slang, the best rock music, the best museums, the best literature, and most important of all, the best, the very best television. Perhaps even more revered by me than British television, however, is British history, the best a Western ethno-centric can study.

Mentioning this history, a study of declines and falls and Shakespearean pro-underdog speeches, is a nice segue-way into my account of the National Portrait Gallery, my second order of business.

Like all my lists, my Top 5 Greatest Art Museums (that I've seen) List tends to shift, but, at the moment it stands thus:

5. Henri Matisse Museum (Nice, France)
4. Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York City, NY)
3. Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum (Boston, MA)
2. National Portrait Gallery (London, England)
1. Museum of Modern Art (New York City, NY)

Naturally, this is like to change very soon. I do plan on seeing Paris for longer than one day, which will qualify the Louvre, the Museum D'Orsay, along with London's Tate Modern, and whatever Berlin has to offer. But, not yet. So see above, and note the National Portrait Gallery's proximity to the top. This is why I'm glad I went myself. If one of the flatmates had come along, surely they would have revolted as I read every little information card, and stared into every face.

There are two things I love, Art and History, and portraiture combines the two, awesomely. A walk through the gallery is practically a top-down History lesson, with the characters staring right at you. One portrait, for awesome example, caught my eye for its stunningly, modernly attractive subject, Sir James Brooke. The card informed me that he was the first white Rajah of Sarawak (an imperialist, wow, probably not the best of guys, then) who was suspected of cruelty and corruption (Ah. Well done there, hotstuff). A look back at his handsome face, and I could see him even more clearly. "Yeah, that's me. Adventurer." Such fun! And there was that family portrait of the Brontës, by the brother. And Tudors galore. Basically, anyone that was anyone in the whole course of British History. I stayed until closing, and took the bus back to the dorm.
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And then I had to go to class. This is, by the way, an excellent stopping point, if you've had enough of studyabloodybroad right now. By the way, how awesome is that URL? I think I'm going to change the title to showcase it further.
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So, order of business No. 3: Trips with Flatmates.

We could call the jaunt into Greenwich "3a," then. I went into Greenwich with flatmates Taryn, Sarah, and Vaughn, plus non-flatmates Mike, and Marielle. It was walk-able, which was nice, though not exactly scenic. Once we arrived, we went to the park that houses the fanfare-labeled Grand Meridian line separating time zones and hemispheres. The whole affair was pretty cool, and it was nice to spend the time with the friends, and the pub where we stopped for Fish & Chips and Chicken Burgers was similarly delightful. I don't know that it will warrant a trip back, though. I'll check the book again, but I don't know what else is there beyond the big, important line, which I can imagine anywhere.

I can't remember anything else to say about that trip, so we'll move on to "3b-c," Thames Trek and Herrod's n' Hyde.

The day after my solo journey to Trafalgar Square, I decided I wanted to go in again, with or without people. I called down the hall, and Taryn and Vaughn both signed on. We walked to the bus stop, and waited forever for the 453 to Marylebone, before we rashly decided to take a bus headed for London Bridge. We got off at the bridge, which is not the iconic bridge (that's Tower Bridge) and walked in the direction of St. Paul's Cathedral talking about what we were going to do next. I was in favor of St. Paul's, but the others were indecisive, until we saw a sign for the Riverside Walk. The signs directed us to a delightful little path that led straight to Tower Bridge (the iconic one), which we walked across, and the Tower of London, which we gawked at from the outside. There was a park on the other side of the river, by City Hall, where people were bungee-jumping from cranes. We watched that for a bit with some good burgers, better chips, and bad beer, before walking back along the other side of the river. It was all very pleasant and laid-back.

Sarah and Vaughan invited me to Herrod's with them later on that weekend. I happily accepted, and after getting an Oyster Card and attempting a train ride, we hopped on the bus again, and got off at Hyde Park Corner, in Knightsbridge. Herrod's was busy and huge and overwhelming, and it was absolutely impossible to find an affordable place to eat. So we went to a classy, European McDonald's. Unfortunately, it wasn't my first time. I did get some truffles at Herrod's though. And they were worth their weight in gold.

After that, we found Hyde Park, and it was absolutely beautiful. I felt like I was in a French Impressionist painting. We wanted to rent some paddleboats on the Serpentine, but they were herding them in for the day. All agreed, though, that we were totally going back.

So, that's enough for now. I'll update about classes tomorrow, once I've had the last first class of the first week. I also apologize for the horrible sentences that are probably lurking in the last half of this post, since I am attempting to be social, and am sitting in the kitchen with my flatmates, who are all currently discussing high school debauchery.

As a preview, here is my class schedule:

Monday- Old English (11:00), Modernism & Drama (15:00- or, you know, 3:00 p.m. They love the 24-hour-clock here)

Tuesday- Detective Novel to Crime Fiction (15:00)

Wednesday- Language and the Media (11:00)

And then 4-day weekends! Exciting, no?

Slang I don't understand: "Sorted." Now, while I do know what sorted means (I read Harry Potter), I don't really understand the frequency with which this word is used. For example, at the café mentioned above- "One Coriander and Egg Scramble? 4 pounds. You're sorted, love." What?

The First Week

My flatmates are all American. It's not typical, apparently, and I'm a little frustrated to lack the whole immersion experience, but it's early days. I start class tomorrow, and hopefully I'll meet some Brits or other internationals in that setting. One of my biggest reservations about studying in my beloved London was that it is the American's European Town, and the similarities won't allow for much personal growth and boundary-pushing. So, the all-American dorm doesn't exactly help with that reservation.

That said, my roommates are all delightful, and I don't know that I would trade any of them for a European. Well, none of the ones that I really know, anyway.

So, my first week of this experience has been all about Americans in London. We went to pubs around New Cross (the sad little town where Goldsmiths is located), laughed about accents and bobby hats, and passed Big Ben while taking a bus in to the city, oohing and aahing all the way. It's been nice, really. I like being a tourist, and an American stranger in a strange land. I've always thought that London was really good for that kind of thing, too, what with friendly people and a perfect combination of lovable tackiness and cool satire.

My first visit into London was at night, and to an Irish pub. With the flatmates. After drinks. And a drunken bus ride (not me, them.) I was not terribly amused by any of it. Particularly the dancing and the club business. It's not for me. The whole time, I was wondering exactly how dangerous it would be if I left the crowd and walked around Trafalgar Square by myself at 11:00 p.m.

So the next day, I did just that. Well, not at 11 p.m., and not breaking away from any crowds, but I did catch a bus and land in the square all by myself. After absorbing Nelson's Column and the general Trafalgarness of it all, I went to the National Gallery and sat in on a lecture on Guercino's "Elijah fed by Ravens," and stared for a few years at the dots in Seurat's "Bathers at Asnieres." I was only rushed by myself, and no one kept me longer than I wanted to look at Flemish Renaissance masterpieces or something (not that I mind the Flemish Renaissance, of course...)

I was even more happy to be on my own for my next stop: the National Portrait Gallery.

I do want to get into that experience, but it's getting late, and I'm sure the story will tie in excellently with tomorrow's post (I am optimistic) about my first classes, London with fellow Americans, and why I am studying here in London. Actually, it ties quite excellently into why I'm here.

But now, I am tired. And I have class in the morning.

Cockney slang I don't understand: "Fair do's."

The Journey from Gate E14

The flight was largely uneventful. Actually, I conveniently slept through most of it. As of this moment, I am unhindered by any trace of jet-lag. Though perhaps this will change. Especially now that it's on my mind. Hmm.

Anyway, trudging on...As most readers should know, I am Lauren, and I am finally studying at Goldsmiths, University of London after a long summer of in-theory preparation and a lifetime of anticipation. Studying abroad, and in London, has been a part of my plan since before I even knew what college really was. There are many reasons why London is my choice. I think I'll get to them later, though, and recap my arrival for now.

So, the flight. I sat next to a very friendly British couple that I was sitting close to in the waiting room/terminal. I remember this because I accidentally hit Mr. Brit with my jacket sleeve, apologized (as is my custom) and he said "Oh, what a polite young lady!"

Normally such a comment would bug me, but he was British, and I crave their approval. Especially the older ones. This will inevitably become a deep, scarring, psychological problem. So I was pleased. And very excited. Also, I could see that Mr. Brit was reading "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil" which was nice. I haven't read it, but it takes place in Savannah, and I love and recently visited Savannah. I rather saw it as a cosmic goodbye from my homeland. I also remember that there was a screaming child, and inedible chicken, but, as I said, I slept. So my memory of the flight is largely and elusively fantastical (dreams).

Entering the country was easy-peezy. Almost...too easy? I was actually a little terrified to see a woman at the entrance holding a sign with my name. Wasn't I supposed to get the bus at 1 p.m.? Wasn't I supposed to have many, many issues getting into the country? This couldn't be for me!

It was! The woman brought me to a man who brought me to a car which brought me (and the man, who drove it) to Goldsmiths, University of London (henceforward, just "Goldsmiths"). I was flabbergasted the whole way. It was a personal valet situation! When Northeastern doesn't communicate something to me, isn't it supposed to be an annoyance? Nevertheless, after the initial shock, I had to admit that residential London looks a lot like Boston's Back Bay. Ugh. Have I really given up a semester in Boston for a semester in "Boston"?

That's when we crossed a bridge (London Bridge?) and I was looking at the London Eye. I knew what that meant. I turned my head to the other window and saw The Houses of Parliament, and Big Ben. The driver mercifully ignored my squeaks.

I am in London.

P.S. Cockney slang that I don't understand of this entry: "P.O.B.": Says my driver to his mate on the phone "Sorry, Mate. I got P.O.B. at the moment." Thoughts?