Monthly Archives: June 2013

One last Weekend

Shoreditch, London – Well that time has come. I could either look at it with terminality, or continuity. So, rather than be a moody banker who isn’t too keen on charity (thus why there aren’t too many beggars around the Bank of England), I’ll call this week the third week of my trip. Tempus fugit certainly isn’t an understatement either, as I could swear I saw a copy of Time magazine levitate with the breeze borne by a passing bus on Tottenham Court Road last week. All mockery of linguistic punnery aside, this is a time of reflection and discernment, aka Sunday.

So, what did I do when my 7.30 alarm went off? Rather than get up and prepare for 9.00 Mass, I fell on my face, mostly because I gave my right ankle a good bother yesterday whilst walking to the tube station. Rather than go to Mass, I decided to postpone my ecclesiastical attendance for a few hours and make my appearance at the local laundromat. After a good hour and a good £8.00, I ran out of there, not out of fear, but chasing after the time that was fast slipping away. I had a 12.00 lunch appointment in Zone 5. It was 11.30.

Arriving at my local tube station, I found myself amazed by the great mass of people who either don’t have lives or just are rather spiritual, as there wasn’t a centimetre of room on the train heading towards King’s Cross. How a Sunday train could be so crowded beats me. Must have something to do with line closures elsewhere in London.

After a brief game of phone tag with a cousin, we agreed to meet at Baker Street and lunch in the area. A nice lunch it was. However that was just the beginning of the day for me.

I made my way back home after lunch, spending the free hour spreading out my still wet laundry that it could air dry, and watching an old episode of Have I Got News For You, Brian Blessed presenting. Then it was back out on my feet again.

The thing about a city like London is that there is always something going on. Whether its a Gay Pride Parade, a police stakeout in the Leicester Square tube station at rush hour, Boris Johnson, or the odd concert/recital, you’re bound to find something to do every hour of the day if you’d like. So, at 17.00, a friend and I left the flat for arguably the greatest destination imaginable for an organ recital: Westminster Abbey.

We got there at 17.36, just in time to get inside and find seats on the Mary aisle of the Abbey for the recital. The music was amazing, as is expected of first: the organ, and second, the performer Ian le Grice, formerly Assistant Organist for Temple Church, London. The performance of Handel, Bach, Franck, and Reubke was fantastic. Westminster Abbey is a perfect place for an organ recital. The first record of an organ in the Abbey dates from 1304 “referring to ‘a pair of organs'” (Courtesy of Westminster Abbey). The current Harrison and Harrison organ dates from the Coronation of King George VI in 1937. It is best described by one word: magnificent.

After the recital, we made our way down Whitehall towards a little Italian restaurant that I had found a few weeks prior during a similar walk towards Charing Cross. The restaurant in question, SPQR by name, was quite good, and quite Italian. I had the calamari dinner and a glass of tap water (I’m not paying for a bottle of water). Oddly enough, despite my going to many an Italian restaurant in the States, I can’t say I’ve ever been to one where the waiters, all Italian immigrants, spoke very little English. Still, that fact, along with the 2 foot tall menus that could be mistaken for a Tolstoy novel, made for a charming experience.

So, with the third week upon me, time is as wobbly as a certain friend on a good day, (cheers to you by the way if you read this.) Still, there’s still one week to see as much as I can, and learn as much as possible. Preparing for the future. That’s the word for my guidance: preparation.

O, and one last thing. Good on you, British Government on flying the Gay flags on the ministries. Washington, your move.

The Train Journey

A train arrives with majesty

Its carriages lined in the Station,

‘tis the 11.15 to Cardiff Central.

I walk along the platform,

Waiting for my carriage.

First I come upon the First Class carriages

Awaiting some well-to-do traveller.

Then down the platform I go,

Walking out of Paddington

And into the rain.

At last I find good Carriage B

And bid farewell to friends.

Seat No. 2, well there’s a sight

‘tis just in front of the luggage room.

We leave on time and pick up speed

Flying across England

Westward, onward to Wales.

The luggage room may be noisy

But I don’t mind, for my seat is comfy.

We pass over the fields of yellow, orange, and green

Onto worlds and places yet unseen.

Through Reading, Didcot, and Swindon,

We fly! Fly across the countryside.

The whistle blows,

The signal to all,

Our train is leaving.

Farewell Swindon.

Onward towards Cardiff Central.

The clouds are lighter and happier here,

Less threatening than before.

The railwaymen do their work

As families laugh and play.

I sit and watch the warehouses

And villages pass on by.

Next onto Bristol and then Newport

Before reaching the city of Wales.

The journey may be short,

But beauty does not suffer.

Next pas a fine horse farm

Where a mare rolls in joy

And her friends laugh and say to her,

“You are one silly horse.”

The fields are giving way to hills,

The yellow to green and brown.

The crops do change

The cattle mangé

The trees become fuller.

A fine gentleman sits in front

A peer in Carriage G,

A gentle maid in Carriage A,

And I in carriage B.

The gentleman’s banana smells quite potently,

I should have brought a book to read

For this train journey!

And then!

And then the terror approaches,

A tunnel draws near.

My ears they feel the full force of our speed.

They shriek in horrid pain.

This seat is not my preference!

O horror, o horror!

Another tunnel! This one is longer than the last.

I’ll put a word into Heaven, when we reach Cardiff,

For another pair of ears.

We must be in the hills approaching Bristol.

The tempestuous clouds darken,

The flora is verdant in this country,

Power lines speckle the landscape.

We pass a viaduct over a town.

We must be close to the coast,

Nearing our destination.

More trees and hills,

I fear another damned tunnel.

No, wait, we’re slowing, Bristol approaches.

The motorway is jammed below us,

The station draws near.

We pass through a far longer tunnel,

Sailing deep underground into Wales.

The carriage does creak upon the rails.

I see a platform pass on by, and feel the train turn

We fly past medieval churches and under motorways.

The art of train travel is in the British deck,

Americans like I are amazed at it.

No seat belts, nor airline fees are needed here.

I bought my ticket for £19.50 for this train.

The way to Cardiff may be long,

But we have done it neatly.

Just over two hours it took

To travel cross-country.

Great forests now joing the fields

In this gwald.

The hen wald fy nadhau approaches now.

Excitement builds in my heart

As we come upon our terminus.

But first one final stop is called for in Newport.

Cardiff approaches at last,

The station PA siarad Cymraeg

The sinage does as well.

The green and red of Wales

Certainly abounds.

Now you may rest,

For this lay is rest,

I’ll sing no more of the train,

Lest we be blest.

To walk upon England’s mountains green

Shoreditch, London – This weekend now almost passed has certainly been one for the books. In a period of 48 hours, my group and I have seen Canterbury, Dover, Stonehenge, and Bath. We’ve gone from watching eels swim in the River Stour in Canterbury, to drinking the waters at the Roman Bathhouse in Bath. And all by coach, which though rather uncomfortable, is a simple way to travel.

This was not my first time to three of the four sites, the solitary one being the oldest. Returning to Canterbury especially was quite a delight. In 2002, one of my aunts taught there at Christ Church University for a semester. During this time, my parents & I took the opportunity to pay a visit to England’s oldest city. As the coach drove into Canterbury, I had a list in my mind of what I had to see, all of which I am happy to say I saw.

Photos from my first visit to Canterbury in November 2002 and my most recent visit in June 2013.

“Canterbury Cathedral is the seat of the Primate of All England…”

Canterbury Cathedral is the seat of the Primate of All England, the Archbishop of Canterbury, who also sits as the leader of the Anglican Communion, under the authority of HM the Queen of course. The Cathedral building itself is my favourite Cathedral anywhere that I’ve yet visited. It has a great combination of grandeur, and elegance. And on top of that the colours and lighting are many of my favourites. Canterbury Cathedral is also the site of a major event in my spiritual life. On 29 December 1170, St Thomas Becket, then Archbishop, was martyred by 4 knights at the altar of the Cathedral. He is one of my baptismal saints, along with St Thomas More.

For me, going to Canterbury, like my medieval predecessors of Chaucerian fame, is a pilgrimage of sorts. After touring the cathedral, some friends and I went to a local pub, which was rumoured to have had the city’s best burgers. We were let down by a mystery substance in the meat, but the chips were grand! After this, it was back on the coach to head further towards the coast, deeper into French tourist country.

Dover is a beautiful port town on the south coast of Kent just 16 miles across the Channel from France. Though that didn’t seem to stop the French, as quite a few of them had overrun both Canterbury and Dover on the day we visited. I had also been to Dover before, on that same 2002 trip, but the Castle’s exhibits and the War tunnels had been greatly improved since my last visit.

France in distance from Dover Castle.

The War Tunnels especially had changed over the last 11 years. Gone were the old signs and information boards. In were the films and multimedia presentations. I much preferred the new method of telling the story of these tunnels. We then proceeded into the Castle proper, wandering its medieval lithic halls with awe for the construction and architecture. Despite the near constant use of le Français by most of the people at the Castle, the flag was not la tricolore, but another of Blue, White, and Red.

The castle itself was beseiged in 1216 by the French, with the goal of conquering England, as Guillaume le Conquérant did in 1066. Unfortunately for them, it didn’t work in 1216.

“… we made our way to a place of gathering for the past five millennia.”

The next day we headed out once again at 7.00 for a more ancient stone site. Driving west along the old coach road out of London, we made our way to a place of gathering for the past five millennia. Once a great building site, the work here had not continued after history’s first labour dispute stopped all progress on the project. Thus Stonehenge was born. Naturally, this is what is called humour, unknown to some of our friends on the Continent, but beloved by just about everybody else. In reality, we don’t actually know how Stonehenge came to be. I personally support the theory that the early stages of what became the Druids were responsible for constructing it. And on top of that, there’s evidence that it was, like today, an international destination renowned the ancient European world over. I really quite liked Stonehenge, for the little time we had to see it. Granted, there’s not much to see for now. They’re closing it down for a time on Monday to grass over the current approach road, and to build a new visitor’s centre a few miles away. But what I can say is that there was some magic of sorts in the air. Perhaps it was just the ghosts of the ancient peoples who came here playing games by blowing very hard at all of us so the wind picked up. In any case, Stonehenge is one place that I hope to return to, perhaps at a Solstice even.

From Stonehenge, it was just a short drive west to Bath. We passed through many a pretty dale and over a fine canal before arriving in the city famous for its hot springs. We first went and got some much needed lunch, and then proceeded into the Roman Baths themselves, which are always a treat.

The Head of Sulis Minerva.

In June 2001, my Mom and I came here for our first times, experiencing the serene beauty in all its glory. That day there was sunshine, this day however was a nice overcast grey. The Roman Baths were built upon a hot spring, dedicated to the ancient Celtic goddess Sulis, who the Romans renamed Sulis Minerva. These Baths became a major destination in Roman Britain, attracting people from all about the Roman Empire, including one man from Syria, who died here. 2000 years later, archaeologists were able to reconstruct his head based upon his skeleton and figuring out via DNA as to where he was born.

The thing to remember is that the Roman Empire was so vast that people could very well travel about from places as far away from each other as Damascus and Bath. Even today, with the advent of the European Union and the demise of border cheque-points across the Continent, it is still almost inconceivable that one could make such a journey without carrying a passport or some form of identification.

From the Baths, our group split up, I ended up wandering about Bath for a few hours, taking in the sights, sorting out my mobile phone troubles, and enjoying a nice ice cream from a local chocolatier before returning to London by coach. The journey back was quite uncomfortable, as I slept for much of it, with my head leaning heavily down towards my chest, thus straining my neck, but I can turn my head to its normal distance again!

When we got back to London, a group of friends and I went to an Indian restaurant, Cinnamon and Spice by name, which was highly recommended by one of our group. I had, and immensely enjoyed, the buttered chicken with rice and naan. If you are in London, do try this restaurant, it’s just a block west of Baker Street and Marylebone Road and a bit north, I think too. So, until next time, may your journeys be fine and joyous, and may your camera charger fit into your converter. Tá.

Learning in London – A Living, Urban Classroom

St Paul’s reflected by the face of One New Change.

Shoreditch, London – If I ever wanted to study history, there are few cities in the world that are greater places to do so than here. Not only is my class studying the history of London in London, but we’re doing it by going around and actually seeing the history and how the present is presenting and re-presenting it through museums, galleries, plaques, and monuments. So far, this is the best way I’ve found to learn the history of a place, because it cuts out the Prof. Binns effect to use a Harry Potter reference, in that the class can just be a boring list of names, dates, and battles. Not that I’ve actually had such a class thus far in my academic career, of course. However, the class I’m in right now is by far at the extreme opposite end of the spectrum from such a Binns class. After all, how many history classes have you taken where your classroom for the day is the British Museum, or where your main project is to find something in the history of London that could be better represented or needs to be told in the first place.

“…how many history classes have you taken where your classroom for the day is the British Museum…”

My paper and presentation is going to be on how the linguistic history of London could be better represented in the Museum of London. In particular, I’m going to be looking at how the languages and cultures of the past, whether Celtic, Roman, Saxon, Norman, Medieval, Tudor, or the more recent generations, impacted the landscape and life of London today. You can see the impact greatly in toponymy. For example, in London one can find a tremendous amount of Anglo-Saxon street and borough names, such as Aldgate, Cheapside, and Smithfield.

My first full day of class was at the British Museum. We spent the day wandering through it, first looking at how the museum told the story of humanity, and then in particular how it told the story of Britain. There were somethings in the museum that I found really interesting and exciting, particularly in the British sections, such as the Barnack Burial, which is a skeleton of a man who died between 2330 BC and 2310 BC. (Source: British Museum). The crazy thing about it is that when I thought about it, I realised that because he was a pre-Roman Briton (the ancestors more so of the modern Welsh than English), this skeleton is probably one of my ancestors. That realisation made the experience more personal, and much cooler for me.

“…this skeleton is probably one of my ancestors.”

One area that I am most interested in, as can be seen by my mention of the aforementioned skeletal man, is in the peoples who came before the great civilisations and empires of Antiquity. Two such peoples are the Etruscans of Italy and the Minoans of Crete. The British Museum has a collection of Etruscan artefacts, which were a delight to see, as I don’t get to see much save Rome in Kansas City. Among them was a wall painting showing your normal Etruscans from the height of their civilisation. A lot of these ancient things are so eerie because I think about how when they were first made, that culture was probably not unlike our own in that it seemed stable, and ready to continue on into the future. But, they are no longer around, just as one day we will most probably not be around as well.

“…that culture was probably not unlike our own…”

Another interesting thing that caught my eye was the Assyrian collection. Being a lover of Gilgamesh, I had to take a look at this section of the museum, which was as it should be: astounding. Again in the artefacts that we leave behind, the future can learn more about lost civilisations and cultures. So too, in things such as a wall carving of an Assyrian king wrestling and stabbing a lion, we are shown a particular image of their society, and the power of their kings, that could or could not be unlike our own. I had a good laugh later in the day when at the National Portrait Gallery, I came across a Reubens depiction of a Lion Hunt.

An Assyrian King stabs a lion whilst throttling it.

Peter Paul Rubens, A Lion Hunt, about 1614-15.

The thing to keep in mind is that despite the passage of time, the changing of language and culture from one to another, we always remain human. Just as a king in the 16th Century BC may have a fascination with hunting lions, to show his own power and prowess, so too a 17th Century painter would use that same image to depict the greatness of his subject. After all, what is the symbol of English Football than the 3 Lions of England? This is one of the great things about history that I love so much, that we learn so much about ourselves and our culture when we study others. In London, one can see this more so than perhaps in other cities. Here in the courtyard of the London Guildhall, one can see architecture from every period in the City’s 2000 year history from the Roman amphitheatre under one’s feet to the late 20th century buildings on of the Guildhall’s West Wing. This is truly a great place to study history, one of, if not the greatest there is. I am looking forward to next week’s class, as we continue on our walks through London, learning about the past, and how the present depicts it, while keeping a watchful eye on how the future may depict us when we too become the past.

Travelling about London

Shoreditch, London – The first day of class has come and gone. It was rather a fun and exciting day, both at university and out and about in town. If I hadn’t been too sure of my knowledge and understanding of the Underground before this morning, I certainly am as I write this at 20.00 in the evening.

“Once one gets the system down, travelling in London is not to bad at all compared to other big cities.”

Once one gets the system down, travelling in London is not to bad at all compared to other big cities. After class got out today I decided to head over to Apsley House, the home of le vainqueur de Waterloo, the 1st Duke of Wellington. To get there from my home station, I had to make one transfer between trains, which wasn’t too terribly bad. The problem came in the fact that I left the dorm at 15.30 and Apsley House was scheduled to close at 17.00, so considering that rush hour was just beginning to wake from its meridical slumber, I knew that I needed to get there a bit faster than normally I would have. So, by walking down escalators on the left (rather than standing on the right as is custom here), and standing on trains near the doors, being the first one to jump off when said portals opened at my transfer and destination (Hyde Park Gate), I was able to make it to Apsley House at 16.20, a good 40 minutes prior to closing time. Unfortunately however, I entered the courtyard and found the sign that read “CLOSED” standing on the steps leading to the front door.

Apsley House

In my annoyance I decided to walk around for a bit, after all I was in Knightsbridge, which is one of the nicest neighbourhoods in London. As I walked along I chanced to see a few things I probably wouldn’t have seen had I just gone back to the Hyde Park tube and returned home. Among these were the Libyan and Kuwaiti embassies, the latter of which had a rather large flag in front of it. I would have stopped by to see if I could pick up a couple Kuwaiti dinar, which last I looked was the highest valued currency globally at present. But because of the obviously heavily armed guards in front of the embassy (one was standing talking to the other who was driving a G-Wiz [cute, I know]) I chose to pass onwards and get back onto the tube at Knightsbridge. Now here’s the kicker, where no doubt my Mom will be saying, “Seán, you shouldn’t have…”: I didn’t actually know which tube line ran through Knightsbridge station, I just knew it was a tube station and that I could get home somehow someway. As a matter of fact I didn’t even know which lines went through there until I got onto the platform level (I intentionally left my tube map in my pocket), just as a bit of an adventure. Needless to say, I got onto the only line there, the Piccadilly line, and took that back towards the university, figuring that I might run into some friends if I did that. Though I didn’t run into any other ISA students, I did get an opportunity to try and blend in with the business-folk going home from a day’s work in the City (the CBD). It worked rather well, except for two businessmen who were giving me funny looks because my suit wasn’t black like all the rest of the businesspeople on the train, which granted I’m not a businessman, I’m a historian in training and a filmmaker, so I can wear some colours other than black, blue, and white (all of which I was wearing in one way or another, mind you.)

“(one was standing talking to the other who was driving a G-Wiz [cute, I know])”

I got off at my home station at about 18.00 and made my way over to our local Argos (a UK electronics store). At first the place threw me for a loop. When I walked in all I saw was a big empty space in a small shop. I soon realised that I had to go over to the far left and look in their catalog, write down the number of the item I wanted to buy (a desk fan as there’s no air circulation in my room & no AC either), then take my little slip of paper to the counter and have the clerk type it into the system and take my money. Then I went and waited by a counter on the far right side of the shop, and not unlike Portillo’s, for all you Chicagolanders out there, I waited for my number to be called. After getting the fan, I went home, set it up, and enjoyed a nice cool breeze in the room.

However, I would have to say the two most amusing sights I have seen since coming to London were both involving transport. On the tube last night on the way back from Westminster a health & safety sign on one train had been graffitied so it read, “OBSTRUCT~~ING~~ THE DOORS ~~CAN~~ BE DANGEROUS”. The second was on the way to the university this morning we came upon a G-Wiz that was parallel parked on the side of a street but perpendicular to the rest of the cars, as in it was backed into the spot in question. This is why small cars are the best!

So, to the point of this article (seeing as I titled it “Travelling about London”), what is the best way to get about Central London? In my opinion, if you want cheap and fast, take the tube. Sure, you don’t get to see sights on the way (as you’re below ground), but you do get a good opportunity to blend in with the locals & will reach your destination quicker than if on a bus or in a cab. In regards to buses, they still confound me tremendously. I’m avoiding them for now. As for cabs, the licensed ones are good, but pricey for just one person. So, I’m probably taking the tube home from the opera or theatre for example. Of course, if you’re just staying in one part of town, walking’s a fine way to get about, after all it’s what the locals do. But, on no condition, as I have heard time and again, and seen from afar, never attempt to drive in London if you’re not a local. If you think Chicago traffic’s a pain try coming here at rush hour. Let’s just say the British don’t have the concept of jaywalking, so if there’s a wide enough gap in traffic people just cross the street. O, and also just don’t make eye contact and don’t apologise for going past people on the pavement (sidewalk) or in the tube’s escalators and pedestrian tunnels in stations, just keep moving forward. And for no reason at all stop and look at your map in the open, just keep moving and find a café or sign.

So, with that, I’m signing off for the night. Tá.

Settling down in London

Shoreditch, London – After 6 and a half hours in the air (8 and a half hours on the plane thanks to a great JFK traffic jam), I at long last made it to London-Heathrow yesterday morning (15 June) at 8.00. The flight was quite interesting, and didn’t have much trouble after we got off the ground. About two hours into the flight, for whatever reason I had the urge to lift the window shade just a bit. This “sudden urge” turned out to be quite rewarding, as I got an exquisite photo of the sun just beginning to rise over eastern Greenland.

Sunrise over Greenland, 15 Meith/Jun/Juin 2013 at 3.00 UTC.

“This “sudden urge” turned out to be quite rewarding…”

The Irish coast in Co Wexford from the air.

The Welsh coast near St David’s from the air.

A couple hours later we began to fly over an tír na mo aithreacha (the land of my fathers), Éire (Ireland). We flew in a straight line from about Ennis to Wexford, and then crossed the Irish Sea to another country of which I have heritage, Cymru (Wales). Over Wales, we flew from about St David’s in the west to the mouth of the Severn in the East.

I landed in London, as aforementioned, at 8.00 in the morning and made it through customs by about 9.00. There at Heathrow’s arrivals meeting place, I met up with the ISA London office, and ended up staying there in the arrivals area until 12.00 Noon when we as a group at long last left for our housing. It took us a good hour to drive across London to our building. My room is quite nice actually. It’s a bit on the small side, but is quite comfortable and cozy. The one complaint that I have at present is the lack of air movement, which will soon be redeemed by a fan, which hopefully I’ll be buying at Argos soon. My room is one of six that are grouped together in a flat, which is on the first floor (ground floor in US English) of the building. There are three other people living here with me, two of which are with ISA, and the third with another programme. We share a kitchen, and the third person and I share a toilet (bathroom).

“…but is quite comfortable and cozy.”

As I was originally typing this into WordPress last night at about 20.00, I began to feel a bit drowsy. However I was determined to continue with my typing and complete the article before bed. But alas, my computer, being the wise soul that she is (she as in how ships are called she or her) decided to go to sleep as well and stop working properly. So, I too retired for the night. I first woke up around 22.00, thinking that it was the next day already, forgetting in my exhaustion that the Sun stays out here until about 22.30 during the Summer months.

I woke up the next morning at my 7.30 alarm quite refreshed and free from the shackles of sleepiness. After showering (they use two handles, one for hot and one for cold water, thus it was hard to figure out the balance) and eating a light breakfast of a NutriGrain bar, I made my way up to my new parish church, St Monica’s in Hoxton. The Parish is an Augustinian one, and their Mass was quite nice. They had a few songs, without the need of a cantor, and chanted all of the prayers. There were a couple differences, like the priest asking God to “pencil out our sins” rather than forgive them, one which I found quite charming, but otherwise it was much the same as most of the Masses that I’ve attended back in the States or in Ireland. However, I had to leave early and miss the talk on the parish fundraiser as I was due back at the hall of residence for the group meeting for orientation.

For orientation we took the tube to Oxford Circus, which is the closest stop to the University of Westminster’s Regent Street Campus. However, just about 3 blocks south and 1 block west of the University was our true destination for that moment, the ISA London offices on Great Portland Street. The ISA staff have been truly welcoming of all of us on this trip, and one gent from the office, Tom, even took a good hour out of his day yesterday to help a fellow student, Jon from the great state of Wisconsin, (home to Michael Feldman (of NPR fame) and one of my favourite burger places, Culver’s) and I in getting UK mobile phones. We were able to find very cheap phones at the Phone Warehouse for £4.95 for the phone and £10.00 for the plan with O₂.

After orientation, Jon and I took a bit of an adventure and made our way down Oxford Street. I told him about a store where he could probably be able to get a much needed electrical adaptor, and we headed in what I thought was the right direction. Turned out I was a bit off in my geography, and we ended up going the wrong way by a couple blocks. So, after turning around and heading back west, we eventually found the store I was telling him about, Selfridge’s. Now, I wouldn’t have even heard of the retail giant had it not been for PBS broadcasting the ITV minseries about Selfridge’s founder, Harry Gordon Selfridge, on the Masterpiece series. We made our way into the store, and soon found ourselves in electronics, where Jon got his adaptor, and I met a very friendly and interesting clerk, who just so happens to be planning a North American vacation, which includes a drive from DC to Toronto. I wished him luck, and we continued onwards and upwards (literally in that sense as the electronics department is in the cellar) to the foodhall, which is on the ground floor. We ate at this nice sort of cafeteria style eatery, simply named Eat, where we both got the store’s signature beef sandwich, which was basically roast beef on bread of your choice, with whatever sort of mustard you wanted on top. Now, I’m not a mustard lover, and when ordering I thought by asking me if I wanted, “American, English, or French” they were talking about cheese. So, thinking English meant a nice cheddar, I spoke thus, and to my horror found mustard squirted onto my nice beef sandwich. I ended up eating the beef that didn’t have the mustard on it, and only the bottom slice of bread, as it also was naked in a sense.

We returned to the ISA office by way of it’s neighbour, the BBC Broadcasting House, and sat around until a tour bus came for the group. We took a nice tour of the major sites of London: Buckingham Palace, Westminster, and the City, and returned to our building forthwith afterwards.

I must say one of the most interesting parts of my day has been what has just happened prior to me sitting down to write this, grocery shopping in the UK. It’s just that bit different from shopping in Kansas City that I just had to mention it. See, I was surprised at just how little meat there was for sale on the shelves. Now of course, this was a smaller local grocer (a branch of Sainsbury’s to be exact), and so they wouldn’t have quite as much as a larger place, but it did surprise me. I ended up spending about £13 on food for the next couple of days, buying bread and preservatives for sandwiches, some pasta and a tomato basil sauce for dinner sometime (keeping with the Pasta & Prayer tradition), and other stuff as well.

So far this has been quite the exciting and interesting beginning to my time in London, and it certainly makes me look forward with anticipation at what is to come. So, for now, tá.

“We’re halfway there”

Kennedy Airport, New York – This morning started rather early, about 6.30 CDT to be precise. After bidding farewell to the pooch, who was rather sad about it, and having breakfast, I gave my parents big hugs and said “Slán anois!”

“I gave my parents big hugs and said ‘Slán anois!'”

The first flight was unmemorable for the most part. I will say it was cool to look out the window when we made our first major turn and see that we were flying over either Lake Erie or Ontario, I think the latter. After another 45 minutes I looked out my window and saw the fields giving way to a more man-made landscape. There were some sort of towns and cities on either side of a rather large river. My initial thought was that we could be crossing the Delaware somewhere in northern Pennsylvania/southern New York. But, I was mistaken. In fact, it was none other than the Hudson. And those towns that I saw below turned out to be Yonkers and the Bronx. Next thing I knew I was looking down at Manhattan; at Central Park, at Times Square (a little speck of dust from my altitude), at the skyscrapers and many grand buildings. Then came the greatest sight of all: the Atlantic.

I was last in New York in January 2006, when my Mom and I flew into Islip Airport on Long Island to go see Monty Python’s SPAMalot on Broadway. A true sign of the recent history and status of this city came into my window’s view when we landed at JFK: the newly constructed Freedom Tower.

This is one of the largest airports that I’ve ever been in! I exited from my first plane onto the tarmac, taking a sort of covered walkway into Terminal 2, which I have to say was not quite as clean as I would have thought a terminal in one of the country’s busiest airports would be. At first I was confused, as there was no sign or notice saying which terminal I was in, and my tickets that had been picked up in Kansas City didn’t say which terminal I’d be landing in and which one my London flight would be departing from. So, I figured the best thing to do was to follow along behind the group of French students who had been on my first flight, figuring they were heading towards the international terminal. This turned out to be a good plan, as I ended up on a bus with people going all over the place, the guy to my right was heading for Moscow, the lady across from me home to Brussels, a man in front to Amsterdam. Considering I was also heading to Europe, I figured this must be the right bus, and if it wasn’t, I’d just take it back to Terminal 2 and find my way to my gate else ways.

Luckily, that was the right bus (Buíchos le Dia!) Luckily also, I had a good 2 hours 45 minutes until my next flight left, so I got a chance to explore. This is one place that I would be willing to come through again, if going to some more distant places from the States, like Russia, China, India, or the Middle East. I found a restaurant, and had lunch at a nice late 16.00 EDT.

All sorts of airlines operate from here. In this photo one can see Delta, Swiss Airlines, and El Al jets.

So, here we are, waiting around at the gate for the next flight. I had a good laugh when I first got to this gate, as it was packed with Russians waiting for a flight going to Sheremetyevo-Moscow Airport. Coming from Kansas City, where the most exotic and foreign flights head to Toronto and some holiday destinations in Mexico, this was quite a sight. I can see some rain clouds coming in from the west, which will make things fun. Next stop is London, a new country, a new day, as I’ll be arriving at 7.05 BST (2.05 EDT and 1.05 CDT). Tá for now.

Less than one week to go

Kansas City – Well, it’s that time. With less than one week left in the home of the corn dog and the land of the funnel cake, I am in a position of needing to begin the final stages of planning and preparation to depart from Kansas City for London this coming Friday. Of course, this doesn’t come without a little bit of pain. After all, my cat and dog are rather not happy at the prospect of me leaving them for a few weeks, but they’ll just have to deal with it. The cat sure has found a way.

“The cat sure has found a way.”

However much grief may come to the family fuzzies, there’s always some trouble with either homesickness on my part or worry on my parents’ parts while I’m away. Luckily though, we live in 2013, and happen to have a little technology called Skype (Buíchos le Dia!) With a good internet connection on both ends, one can see and speak to another on the other side of the globe!

Another thing to prepare for is to figure out what I need to get through British Customs. Now, normally as an American citizen, all I would need is my passport. But because I’m staying for three weeks, and will be studying at a British university, I am required to get a student visa upon arrival at Heathrow one week from today. All I need to present is my passport, an acceptance letter from the University of Westminster (where I’ll be studying), and some bank documents showing I have enough money to live on.

One other sort of “pass” that I invested in this past week, to become official on the 15th, is an English Heritage Overseas Visitor Pass. They cost around £28 and can be picked up and activated at any English Heritage location. All you need to activate the pass is, as the English Heritage website reads,

“…print out your booking confirmation (voucher), and take this with the credit card used to make the booking. You must also have proof of identity with you in the form of a passport, identity card or driver’s license to authenticate that you are the rightful owner of the voucher and as proof of overseas residency. This can be a photocopy.”

English Heritage is similar to our National Historic Sites in the United States. It is a nonprofit organisation that maintains many of the historical places, buildings, battlefields, ruins, etc. throughout England. There are similar organisation in Scotland called Historic Scotland, in Wales called Cadw, in the North of Ireland the Northern Ireland Environment Agency and the Manx National Heritage on the Isle of Man. During my 2002 trip over to England, I got the opportunity to visit a good number of English Heritage sites, including Battle Abbey (the site of the Battle of Hastings of 1066), Dover Castle, and St Augustine’s Abbey in Canterbury. I would highly recommend getting this pass for your trip.

So, until next Friday…

Wednesday Blog by Seán Thomas Kane

New Posts on Wednesdays

Monthly Archives: June 2013

One last Weekend

The Train Journey

To walk upon England’s mountains green

Learning in London – A Living, Urban Classroom

Travelling about London

Settling down in London

“We’re halfway there”

Less than one week to go

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