It's about 12:20am here, or, as the time on my cell phone says: 0:20. It'll start again at 1am and count up to twenty-four. But it's not the military time that intrigues me about the digits on my cell phone. It's the face that in ten minutes, when the numbers read 0:30 I'll be leaving St. Michael's hall to catch a bus to the airport. It's a free weekend, and I'm off to Dublin.
CMRS doesn't organize trips for us unless they're educational. Still, it was a lot of fun to travel to Gloucester, Wells, and Berkeley Cathedrals (and the castles, and the abbeys...). But traveling to Europe also offers the opprotunity for relatively cheap travel between foreign countries. Over the next couple weeks there will be groups of CMRS students traveling to Munich (for Oktoberfest), Barcelona, Edinborough, and Dublin.
My group, the Dublin group (as organized by a sharp girl named Sarah I met here), is leaving tonight. We've booked tickets on a Ryanair flight, will be staying in a hostel for two nights (given a rating in the upper 80s by hostelworld.com), and taking a bus tour around Ireland. I'm very excited, as I've only been out of the country a couple of times, and this trip represents my second foray into the world of European travel in a month.
I won't be packing my laptop (space and what...) so I'll have to update you later on how it all went. All I can say for now is that I feel nearly giddy with nervous excitement at the prospect of traveling (without parents) to a part o the world I've never seen.
Well, that about does it. Wish me luck:)
Friday, September 30, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
6 (maybe more) Things about England You Don't Want to Learn the Hard Way
A language barrier was not the first thing I expected to encounter. Of course I knew before coming to Oxford that strollers would be called "prams," and car trunks "boots." I knew the metric system would reign supreme and I would have to visit an apothecary to get generic pain killers I had never heard of. But there were a few things I learned, some through experience, some by fair warning, that I never expected.
PS--Oh! I can't forget about the salad dressing (7). Yeah...they don't have it here. You may get a vinaigrette if you request it when you order. But if they don't have it, well...enjoy your lettuce!:)
PPS--I want to give a shout-out thanks to all the people, British and American, who gave me forewarning, so that I didn't have to discover most of this for myself. Subtle cultural nuances can make a big difference when you're somewhere new, and it's always great to find people who are willing to help you learn the ropes.
- "Khaki pants" sounds like slang for "crappy panties." It's true. "Pants," in England, refers to underwear, and isn't polite to talk about. Instead people reference their "trousers." "Khaki" is very close to a slang word for excrement, again, not very polite. So when in search of business casual clothing, ask for work trousers, or the shopkeeper will think you're announcing a very embarrassing accident.
- "Pudding" is a general term for all desert, and does not refer to that light, smooth, sweet chocolately stuff in a plastic cup so many of us love and crave.
- Europeans think American girls are easy. "Hi, I'm French," was the greeting some of my friends and I received in a pub one Friday night. Okay! I thought, If you buy me a drink I'll let you in my pants so you can make sweet, Frenchy love to me! And then I swooned. Or at least, I think that's what he expected. He and his friends (who smelled, by the way), seemed rather put out when we finished our orders and promptly left for the next pub. Apparently British guys (I'm told) have a similar opinion. They're half right, most American girls would love to listen to a cute foreigner talk to them all day, and probably will if given the chance. But talking may very well the only thing he'll get to do with her.
- Apparently fabric softener is "laundry conditioner." Go figure. Personally, I just chuck the clothes in the machine, throw in the detergent, dry, wear, and repeat.
- You have to pack your own groceries at the store. And some stores will charge you for the plastic bags.
- The "peace" sign is NOT peaceful. If the back of your hand is facing out, it is the equivalent to the American "flipping of the bird," which technically stands for "F*** you," but is slightly worse, because the extra finger signifies "and one for your mother." Every time I see a tourist flash the "gangster" fingers I cringe a little inside. If you want to indicate two of something, make sure the front of your hand is facing out (or use your thumb).
PS--Oh! I can't forget about the salad dressing (7). Yeah...they don't have it here. You may get a vinaigrette if you request it when you order. But if they don't have it, well...enjoy your lettuce!:)
PPS--I want to give a shout-out thanks to all the people, British and American, who gave me forewarning, so that I didn't have to discover most of this for myself. Subtle cultural nuances can make a big difference when you're somewhere new, and it's always great to find people who are willing to help you learn the ropes.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
English service is like English weather...
...unpredictable, and sometimes cold and blustery.
I live only a one minute walk from the Oxford Central (Public) Library. Literally. One afternoon I found myself in need of a walk. Grabbing my wallet and keys I decided to pop out to the library and see if a book I had reserved had arrived. I had only been to the library once before and had never retrieved a reserve book, so naturally I approached the first person with a library employee tag and said, "pardon me, but could you show me where the reserve books are kept?"
"The reserve books?" she replied indignantly. I have been told this is a typical English response. Ask an English person a question they think is daft and they won't answer you outright, but will merely repeat the question back to you with a mixture of shock and horror on their faces. The implied response is something like, How dare you have the combined stupidity and audacity to approach me with such an obvious query. Pardon me whilst I stand here and ponder how you managed to get past immigration...
Meanwhile I replied, "Yes, the reserve books..."
Gathering her composure the librarian asked, "Did you receive a confirmation e-mail?"
"No," I replied, wondering why she had asked.
"That's why we send the confirmation e-mails, you know," said the librarian, "to confirm that the book is in. Otherwise there is no guarantee you'll find it."
Really?? Is that why you won't simply answer my question? "I realize that," I said calmly, "but I thought I might check for it anyway while I'm here..." Just keep smiling, just keep smiling...
"Alright," the librarian snapped resignedly. "They're over there, on that shelf." She flicked a finger towards a tall bookcase about twenty feet to my right and stalked away.
When I found my book on the shelf (indeed, my confirmation e-mail was sent at closing time that day), I had to resist the burning temptation to find that same librarian, flash my book, and thank her profusely with a syrupy smile. This was only the first of a couple similar experiences (Tesco, a restaurant...).
In America the customer is always right.
In England the customer better know what she's doing or know damn well enough to bugger off.
I live only a one minute walk from the Oxford Central (Public) Library. Literally. One afternoon I found myself in need of a walk. Grabbing my wallet and keys I decided to pop out to the library and see if a book I had reserved had arrived. I had only been to the library once before and had never retrieved a reserve book, so naturally I approached the first person with a library employee tag and said, "pardon me, but could you show me where the reserve books are kept?"
"The reserve books?" she replied indignantly. I have been told this is a typical English response. Ask an English person a question they think is daft and they won't answer you outright, but will merely repeat the question back to you with a mixture of shock and horror on their faces. The implied response is something like, How dare you have the combined stupidity and audacity to approach me with such an obvious query. Pardon me whilst I stand here and ponder how you managed to get past immigration...
Meanwhile I replied, "Yes, the reserve books..."
Gathering her composure the librarian asked, "Did you receive a confirmation e-mail?"
"No," I replied, wondering why she had asked.
"That's why we send the confirmation e-mails, you know," said the librarian, "to confirm that the book is in. Otherwise there is no guarantee you'll find it."
Really?? Is that why you won't simply answer my question? "I realize that," I said calmly, "but I thought I might check for it anyway while I'm here..." Just keep smiling, just keep smiling...
"Alright," the librarian snapped resignedly. "They're over there, on that shelf." She flicked a finger towards a tall bookcase about twenty feet to my right and stalked away.
When I found my book on the shelf (indeed, my confirmation e-mail was sent at closing time that day), I had to resist the burning temptation to find that same librarian, flash my book, and thank her profusely with a syrupy smile. This was only the first of a couple similar experiences (Tesco, a restaurant...).
In America the customer is always right.
In England the customer better know what she's doing or know damn well enough to bugger off.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Out of the Bubble
Let me talk a little bit about school. I'm in a program with thirty other students from the United States. Four of us are from Walla Walla (honors program kids), the rest are from all over, though like Walla Walla, some schools sent several students. We're talking four weeks of integral courses until the regular term begins (and the English students will re-flood the Oxford campuses--to understand the school system, look up Oxford University on Wikipedia). We also all have a seminar course, and tutorials will start in October. Seminars only have two to nine people in them, and tutoring takes place one-on-one (or may very rarely may include two students). Because tutorials haven't started yet most of my time here has consisted of the two lectures we have a day (one at 9:30am the second at 11am with a few minutes for coffee in-between), field trips to various castles, cathedrals, and Oxford sites ("Here's the grocery store guys! Enjoy!"), and getting to know the great group of American college students I met here at CMRS (which, if you didn't remember, stands for Centre for Medieval and Renaissance Studies).
There are students from Michigan, California, Vermont, North Carolina, Maryland, and probably some other states that I've forgotten. That alone makes for a decent culture shock within the program. But even more interesting is the vast array of viewpoints represented. There are Catholics, and Methodists, backslidden protestants of various denominations, agnostics, staunch atheists, and Jews. I'm no longer in an environment where everyone understands "bad-ventist" behavior like eating meat or dancing. The jokes fall flat, the expectations are nonexistent. I can no longer assume that everyone has a similar background or derivative viewpoint. I can't even assume that everyone believes in God. In short, I'm out of the bubble.
I hate to admit it, but I was surprised when I realized some of the students in the group smoke. And drinking isn't a question of "if," it's a question of "how much?" Even the devout Christians in the group have a hard cider with dinner. Clubbing and dancing are a typical Friday night. Sexual experience of some kind is assumed. It's a different environment. And I'd be lying if I didn't admit that it makes me a little apprehensive.
But it's also very freeing. Even though I thought I was decently aware of how others live, it's been good for me to see it in action. Because of the strong pub culture here, I've seen first hand what responsible drinking looks like. Far from the dramas of high school, alcohol has a new, more mature meaning here. Drinking isn't a way to get back at a system, or stick to one's parents, or exercise new-found freedom. It's a way to take the edge off, have fun. It's also been interesting to reexamine some of my spiritual beliefs. It's easy to complacently accept what you've been told, or even what you've told yourself, when no one is directly questioning you (and boy, there have been questions...).
So much is different, and yet I am glad for it. I feel as though being out of the bubble will give me the chance to discover some things on my own; things about myself, and about how I want to continue living my life when I return to Walla Walla. Sometimes it's difficult to realize how sheltered you are until you leave.
There are students from Michigan, California, Vermont, North Carolina, Maryland, and probably some other states that I've forgotten. That alone makes for a decent culture shock within the program. But even more interesting is the vast array of viewpoints represented. There are Catholics, and Methodists, backslidden protestants of various denominations, agnostics, staunch atheists, and Jews. I'm no longer in an environment where everyone understands "bad-ventist" behavior like eating meat or dancing. The jokes fall flat, the expectations are nonexistent. I can no longer assume that everyone has a similar background or derivative viewpoint. I can't even assume that everyone believes in God. In short, I'm out of the bubble.
I hate to admit it, but I was surprised when I realized some of the students in the group smoke. And drinking isn't a question of "if," it's a question of "how much?" Even the devout Christians in the group have a hard cider with dinner. Clubbing and dancing are a typical Friday night. Sexual experience of some kind is assumed. It's a different environment. And I'd be lying if I didn't admit that it makes me a little apprehensive.
But it's also very freeing. Even though I thought I was decently aware of how others live, it's been good for me to see it in action. Because of the strong pub culture here, I've seen first hand what responsible drinking looks like. Far from the dramas of high school, alcohol has a new, more mature meaning here. Drinking isn't a way to get back at a system, or stick to one's parents, or exercise new-found freedom. It's a way to take the edge off, have fun. It's also been interesting to reexamine some of my spiritual beliefs. It's easy to complacently accept what you've been told, or even what you've told yourself, when no one is directly questioning you (and boy, there have been questions...).
So much is different, and yet I am glad for it. I feel as though being out of the bubble will give me the chance to discover some things on my own; things about myself, and about how I want to continue living my life when I return to Walla Walla. Sometimes it's difficult to realize how sheltered you are until you leave.
First Week In
The city of Oxford is amazing. Surrounded by old buildings, it's hard not to be caught up in the majesty of the place. And it's easy to imagine only slightly altered crowds of people milling about two hundred years in the past. It's pointless to describe the architecture, instead, I'll be posting some pictures later. Until then you can google "Gothic buildings" and "Norman Construction."
Some things are quite a bit different. People don't move aside on the sidewalk, everyone just keeps to their path, splitting up spouses, groups of friends, even occasionally children from parents. But no matter what everyone stays on their straight path, and it hardly seems to bother anyone. People here also don't look you in the eye. There's no smile, no nod, not even a glance of acknowledgement when you pass. Those two things alone let me know that I've definitely left small-town America. Well, that and the British accents.
But more than these city-life details, Oxford is different in that it has a strong pub culture (actually, I get the sense that this extends to the whole of England). Pubs, unlike bars, are not merely places where people go to get drunk, watch sports, or pick up members of the opposite sex. They're more like restaurants with a larger liquor selection. The food at pubs is rich, and the characters are engaging. The people tending the bar tend to be conversational, jesting, and will even tease you over your order. I remember ordering coffee at the bar in one pub, only to have the bartender exclaim "Coffee! You want coffee!" and walk away tisking. It was amusing to say the least (he had chided a friend ahead of me in line for ordering water).
There is a very elitist attitude here about British ale. Firstly, it's not beer. Let an Englishman think you're comparing ale to American beer and he'll be thoroughly insulted. One of my professors here gave a short speech over the bus intercom about the superiority of British ale to American beer. "Beer is a cold, wet, substance which numbs the mouth so that one cannot realize how tasteless it is," he said. "What one needs is good English ale. Ale is food and drink...though you may need the occasional sausage to supplement it." The Professor who delivered this speech is named Alan. He is an expert in architecture and archeology, and was guiding us on a tour of several castles and cathedrals. In its entirety, Alan's speech had nearly half the bus in tears.
Oxford is quite a bit more multicultural than Wally World. There's a substantial Muslim population--recognizable from their wardrobe which, for women, ranges from a simple headscarf, to a full on burqa depending on how conservative they are. There are Indians, East Asians, Blacks, and Middle Easterners, but something I learned from some blacks I met at church is that while they may all be British (Britain, at least in concept if not in reality, is an empire), only the whites who have ancestral ties will ever be English. It's a strange concept. If one is born in America, they are American. Their family may come from anywhere, but the nationality of that family (depending on the root culture) speaks more to race than national identity. For example, a Mexican-American or African-American is defined racially by the prefix, and nationally by "America." But the Rwandan girls I met in church were born in England, and yet still claimed to be Rwandan--not because of their race, but because in their words, "We'll never be English." The same may hold for Eastern Europeans as well.
"You talk about race all the time in America," said one girl. "We never talk about it here. It's hush-hush. Under the surface." Talking to these girls I got the sense they would gladly trade the more overt racial tension of the United States for the calm of England, if only to gain some of the openness we have on the topic. I suspect the hushed attitude is how England has chosen to cope with so many cultures in a nation not founded on immigration...
Well, that's all for now. I love and miss you all,
Jaclyn
PS--If you want to google the places I've been you can look up: Gloucester Cathedral (pronounced "Gloss-ter"), Christ Church (Oxford), Winchester Cathedral, and Winchester Great Hall.
Some things are quite a bit different. People don't move aside on the sidewalk, everyone just keeps to their path, splitting up spouses, groups of friends, even occasionally children from parents. But no matter what everyone stays on their straight path, and it hardly seems to bother anyone. People here also don't look you in the eye. There's no smile, no nod, not even a glance of acknowledgement when you pass. Those two things alone let me know that I've definitely left small-town America. Well, that and the British accents.
But more than these city-life details, Oxford is different in that it has a strong pub culture (actually, I get the sense that this extends to the whole of England). Pubs, unlike bars, are not merely places where people go to get drunk, watch sports, or pick up members of the opposite sex. They're more like restaurants with a larger liquor selection. The food at pubs is rich, and the characters are engaging. The people tending the bar tend to be conversational, jesting, and will even tease you over your order. I remember ordering coffee at the bar in one pub, only to have the bartender exclaim "Coffee! You want coffee!" and walk away tisking. It was amusing to say the least (he had chided a friend ahead of me in line for ordering water).
There is a very elitist attitude here about British ale. Firstly, it's not beer. Let an Englishman think you're comparing ale to American beer and he'll be thoroughly insulted. One of my professors here gave a short speech over the bus intercom about the superiority of British ale to American beer. "Beer is a cold, wet, substance which numbs the mouth so that one cannot realize how tasteless it is," he said. "What one needs is good English ale. Ale is food and drink...though you may need the occasional sausage to supplement it." The Professor who delivered this speech is named Alan. He is an expert in architecture and archeology, and was guiding us on a tour of several castles and cathedrals. In its entirety, Alan's speech had nearly half the bus in tears.
Oxford is quite a bit more multicultural than Wally World. There's a substantial Muslim population--recognizable from their wardrobe which, for women, ranges from a simple headscarf, to a full on burqa depending on how conservative they are. There are Indians, East Asians, Blacks, and Middle Easterners, but something I learned from some blacks I met at church is that while they may all be British (Britain, at least in concept if not in reality, is an empire), only the whites who have ancestral ties will ever be English. It's a strange concept. If one is born in America, they are American. Their family may come from anywhere, but the nationality of that family (depending on the root culture) speaks more to race than national identity. For example, a Mexican-American or African-American is defined racially by the prefix, and nationally by "America." But the Rwandan girls I met in church were born in England, and yet still claimed to be Rwandan--not because of their race, but because in their words, "We'll never be English." The same may hold for Eastern Europeans as well.
"You talk about race all the time in America," said one girl. "We never talk about it here. It's hush-hush. Under the surface." Talking to these girls I got the sense they would gladly trade the more overt racial tension of the United States for the calm of England, if only to gain some of the openness we have on the topic. I suspect the hushed attitude is how England has chosen to cope with so many cultures in a nation not founded on immigration...
Well, that's all for now. I love and miss you all,
Jaclyn
PS--If you want to google the places I've been you can look up: Gloucester Cathedral (pronounced "Gloss-ter"), Christ Church (Oxford), Winchester Cathedral, and Winchester Great Hall.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Comedy of Errors...My REAL Final Stateside Post
For those of you who saw me around town and wondered why I was still in the US, natural disasters do not bring out the best in corporations. Suffice it to say, I was bumped from my flight. But a new one leaves in six hours. This is my REAL final stateside post. And I am stoked!
I've never been to Europe. In fact, the only foreign countries I've ever been to are Trinidad and Tobago, and Canada. Somehow I feel as though Canada doesn't count. I mean, sure it's a separate country, but it's only a 16 hour drive away. That's like living in southern Washington and bragging about traveling out of state. Furthermore, Canadians speak the same language and celebrate their Canada Day a scant three days before ours. Considering it is the anniversary of a date that takes 91 days after our Independence Day, I think there is a major possibility of copyright infringement...
All this aside...I'm packed, repacked actually, with more clothes than I probably need and fewer stuff than I want (I still haven't mastered the art of light packing). I'm ready to go. But the false start puts a tension on the whole event. I can't help but wondering if something is going to happen. With Hurricane Irene/Delta altering my travel plans twice now, I'm a little worried that the third time's not a charm, but a mere a repetition of the first and second.
Still, it's 3am and I have a flight to catch in only a few hours. So...Goodbyes take 2:
Felicia and Kelsey, I'll miss you both. Don't forget to Facebook me:)
I'll miss you, Mr. and Mrs. Radelfinger (Thanks again for the beautiful quilt), and Johanna and Ezra, I'll be over as soon as I get back to see if Timothy is indeed walking.
Good luck Kelly and Becca. You've got a lot of hurdles to clear but you both have it in you. I'll be praying for you.
It was good to hear from you Rachel. See you winter quarter!
Kirsten, Amanda, I'll see you at Christmas:)
And finally, I love you Jess.
Adios amigos.
For real this time:)
I've never been to Europe. In fact, the only foreign countries I've ever been to are Trinidad and Tobago, and Canada. Somehow I feel as though Canada doesn't count. I mean, sure it's a separate country, but it's only a 16 hour drive away. That's like living in southern Washington and bragging about traveling out of state. Furthermore, Canadians speak the same language and celebrate their Canada Day a scant three days before ours. Considering it is the anniversary of a date that takes 91 days after our Independence Day, I think there is a major possibility of copyright infringement...
All this aside...I'm packed, repacked actually, with more clothes than I probably need and fewer stuff than I want (I still haven't mastered the art of light packing). I'm ready to go. But the false start puts a tension on the whole event. I can't help but wondering if something is going to happen. With Hurricane Irene/Delta altering my travel plans twice now, I'm a little worried that the third time's not a charm, but a mere a repetition of the first and second.
Still, it's 3am and I have a flight to catch in only a few hours. So...Goodbyes take 2:
Felicia and Kelsey, I'll miss you both. Don't forget to Facebook me:)
I'll miss you, Mr. and Mrs. Radelfinger (Thanks again for the beautiful quilt), and Johanna and Ezra, I'll be over as soon as I get back to see if Timothy is indeed walking.
Good luck Kelly and Becca. You've got a lot of hurdles to clear but you both have it in you. I'll be praying for you.
It was good to hear from you Rachel. See you winter quarter!
Kirsten, Amanda, I'll see you at Christmas:)
And finally, I love you Jess.
Adios amigos.
For real this time:)
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Last Word from the States
This is truly my last word this side of the ocean. Irene cancelled one flight, but now I'm being routed through Amsterdam. My family is about to leave in only a few minutes, and all I feel at the moment is excitement:) I've wanted to go to Europe for years, and I'll not only get to see England, but a have a momentary touchdown in Holland. It's small, but I'll take it. Goodbyes are not fun, but I want to make sure to give a shout-out to my friends from Wally World whom I'll dearly miss:
Kelsey and Fe, I love you both. Sorry I didn't get to see you (Fe) before I left. Thanks BJ for all the great dinners at your apartment. It's been great becoming better friends with you this summer, Kelly. And Jesse, I love you dearly. Have a blast in Argentina for you, and I look forward to your letters.
I also want to send my love to Mr. and Mrs. Radelfinger. And Kirsten, Amanda, I'll see you both at Christmas:)
Well, this is it folks. I'm headed to the Pasco airport. Wish me luck.
Kelsey and Fe, I love you both. Sorry I didn't get to see you (Fe) before I left. Thanks BJ for all the great dinners at your apartment. It's been great becoming better friends with you this summer, Kelly. And Jesse, I love you dearly. Have a blast in Argentina for you, and I look forward to your letters.
I also want to send my love to Mr. and Mrs. Radelfinger. And Kirsten, Amanda, I'll see you both at Christmas:)
Well, this is it folks. I'm headed to the Pasco airport. Wish me luck.
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