Category Archives: Study Abroad

Goodbye!

Kansas City – Well, the time at last has come. I spent the last night of my stay in the Alexander Fleming Halls of Residence in Hoxton up reading, and doing some minor research on local history. My thought was that it would help me to sleep on the plane if I didn’t sleep at all the night prior to. Hitherto, my abilities of sleeping whilst flying have been almost non-existent, but I thought I’d give this most extreme tactic a try.

At about 4.32 BST, I noticed some light creeping into my West facing window. Looking out, I beheld the last British sunrise that I’ll see for a while. It was a nice, soft sunrise, quite different from those out in the Midwest. At 5.00, I went out and walked about the neighbourhood, hoping to find a café that might be open where I could get a cup of tea to help cure my allergies, and possibly inhibit the oncoming cold. Sadly, all the local cafés were closed, as it was Saturday. Even Starbuck’s hadn’t yet opened. So, it was back upstairs to my room to sort out the last minute packing that I might have missed the day prior. Thankfully, there was nothing to have missed, so it was onto another hour and a half of waiting until anything would be open.

I spent that period of time sitting on the benches outside the hall, bidding farewell to my friends as they went on their ways in ones and twos. At 7.30 BST, I too left Fleming with a pair of friends, Cara and

Mike, and headed for Old Street tube, to catch a train to King’s Cross St Pancras and then onto Heathrow.

As noted in my last post, the hardest thing I have had to do in the past few weeks was to say goodbye to all these friends that made up what we’ve called the Old Street Gang. It really did seem like we were all together for a good year, when in fact it was a mere three weeks.

Luckily, I ran into two Old Street-ers, Kendall and Allison, in the entrance to security at Heathrow. We later ran into another member of the Gang, Kelsea, in the duty free area just past security. The four of us spent our last moments together in London, attempting to avoid thinking about the inevitable, but at the same time unable to avoid the reality that we faced. I was the first to leave, as my 12.30 flight to Minneapolis was due to begin boarding at 11.35.

I walked down the path to the plane, looking out the windows, capturing the sights for the last time for now. Mentally preparing myself for my return to the US, and future return to the UK, I boarded the

plane, and took my aisle seat. The flight back was mostly uneventful. I slept a good deal of the way, with the aid of a couple films like The Hobbit and Life of Pi, the audio of which helped put me to sleep. I was surprised at Delta’s hospitality, considering that they had 3 meals for us. Still, I’m switching to British Airways/American Airlines after this trip.

After a good 8 and a half hours in the air, we passed over the UP and began to descend into Minneapolis-St Paul International Airport. The process of going through Customs wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it could be. The biggest difference between the British and American Customs agencies is that HM Customs wasn’t understaffed. There were only 4 open desks at MSP, processing hundreds of people. After heading through Customs, I had my first experience of culture shock, when I went on the wrong moving walkway in the airport, realising that things in the States are on the right, not left. It just so happened that I was on the phone with my parents at this point, informing them of my arrival back in the Americas.

After a good three and a half hours sitting about in Minnesota, I boarded my flight to Kansas City. It was a short 58 minute flight between the homes of the Twins and Royals, but at long last we landed in Kansas City. It was great seeing my parents again, I missed them very much. It was just as good to see my dog, Noel, once more when we returned home.

I’ll really miss London, and all my friends. Since we’ve returned to our homes in the States, the group has been staying in touch, writing fervently about a reunion of sorts at some point in the near future. When and where that’ll be, we shall have to see.

Now, I may have started this blog as a way to record my study abroad experiences in London, but I intentionally named it so as to allow for it to continue after my return home. There’ll be more blog posts coming in the future, about such topics as my film work, return to Rockhurst, and other upcoming travels. For now, and to all of you who have been reading since I started this blog about a month ago, go raibh míle mhaith agaibh, thanks so much for reading and following my adventures. Until next time, tá!

Eschatology

Shoreditch, London – Well, the time has come. Just a wee bit less than a week ago I wrote about it being the dawn of the third week of my 2013 residency here in London, and the odd thing is that that little ferret called time just keeps slipping away. It’s like Tom and Jerry, no matter how far I chase after it, the mouse just slips from between my fingers.

Still, there are worse things in life, I mean it could really be the Eschaton, and then we’d all be in for it. But instead, it’s just the end of my time here in London with all these amazing new friends. And in some ways, it just doesn’t seem too terribly fair, more cruel in a way. To stick us all together for three weeks and then say, “Well, time’s up. Hope you all had a good time, and safe home.” It’s about as fair as the American education system is functional for setting up the next generation for a bright future (I’m looking at you, House Republicans…)

Of all the things that we have to go through in life, it’s the leave taking that’s the hardest for me. Perhaps that’s why I love history so much, and why I feel like my default grammatical tense is the past tense (yes, I’m a hopeless academic). Like one of my favourite fictional characters, the Doctor, I’m not very good at goodbyes. Still, sometimes they have to happen.

So, tonight is a farewell to all these new friends. True, we may have a reunion of sorts at some point, but at least for now it does seem quite terminal. Though at least we’re going out with a bang.

At 10.00, my friend Abby and I went to the British Library, which is near King’s Cross and St Pancras stations. There not only did we see the Magna Carta, but also handwritten notes of many great people, from Newton to John Lennon. There are some amazing works there, even an 11th Century copy (the oldest extant) of Beowulf, which thanks to a bit of study of Old English, I actually could read. One of the oldest manuscripts there was a Koine Greek codex edition of the Bible, which again thanks to Dr Stramara’s Intro to New Testament Greek, was also readable to my eye. However, sadly we couldn’t find the Babylonian cuineform copy of the Code of Hammurabi, which the Library does have in its collection, but wasn’t on display. To right this, both Abby and I got our very own British Library cards, but didn’t have enough time to use them. I was due at the British Museum, and she had business elsewhere to attend to as well.

I took the tube from King’s Cross to Holborn, and walked first to the O2 shop on High Holborn to sort out my mobile. It turns out that I actually bought the phone and the sim card, so they are now mine to keep. So, I guess I’ll just have two mobile numbers, one with a +1 and another with a +44 country codes.

After stopping off with my British telephone provider, don’t worry Dad I’m sticking with AT&T when in the States, I made the short walk through Bloomsbury, where someday I’d love to live, to the British Museum. My ticket for the Life and Death: Pompeii and Herculaneum was timed for 13.50, so seeing as it was 12.00, I had some time to kill, in a truly Tom and Jerry fashion. This was done by strolling through the Ancient Near East, Classical, Egyptian, and Japanese galleries before making my way down the stairway along the outside of the Reading Room (where the Pompeii exhibit is currently housed), when a rather loud bell started to ring all around me. I began to wonder just what was happening, at first thinking it was an alert for the people going into Pompeii at 13.30, but when I saw the security guards rushing to and fro with whistles blowing in their mouths, waving people towards the main entrance, I knew that something was rather amiss. I evacuated the museum calmly, figuring that if there was a bomb and it was to go off at anytime I’d rather be quite close to it or quite far from it, only stopping once I was at the far side of the North Colonnade standing in the shade with a few other people. For a while there was no news of what was happening, until the Fire Brigade showed up and began to search the massive building. After about 20 minutes we were all free to return to our favourite mummies and statues of long dead Greeks.

I made it as quickly as possible to the Pompeii entrance, considering that it was now 13.55, and my ticket was for 13.50. Thankfully, they let me through and into the exhibit. For the sake of the exhibit, and to help the British Museum with sales, all I will say about Pompeii is this: it was quite well done, and quite thorough. I left that exhibit at around 14.40, and ran to the tube station to once again meet Abby outside our hall.

We had a planned excursion from Central London to the world of green leafy suburbs. Our first stop was a nice house, 20 Maresfield Gardens in Hampstead. The house hadn’t changed all that much since its most famous owner and occupant had died in September 1939. That occupant, who died in the front room, where I did have a rather odd feeling, was a refugee from then Nazi controlled Austria. He and his family escaped to London via Paris, where they resettled, and where many of their descendants remain to this day. This fellow was none other than Dr Sigmund Freud, the father of psychoanalysis. The house was quite nice, and it did feel like Abby and I were house guests, personal visitors of the Freud family. Though there was a good deal of humour in the air (they sold Freud ducks in the gift shop).

After leaving the Freud’s to their peace, we walked back to Finchley Road tube and headed two stops south to St John’s Wood, where many a music lover journeys to on pilgrimage. This stop was none other than the beginning of a walk that led to the most famous zebra crossing in music history. It’s a bane for drivers, but a bloody good time for Beatles fans to get their photo taken crossing the zebra crosswalk at Abbey Road Studios, but oddly enough it’s still a public street! Abby and I didn’t actually get our photo on the crosswalk, but we did go and sign the fence outside the studio.

We then got back onto the tube, and found our way down to Earl’s Court, where a police box was standing just outside the station. It took us a few times passing it to actually see it though. But a quite nice German couple took our photo with it. For those of you who think I’m mad at wanting my photo with a police box, just watch Doctor Who on the BBC, PBS, or Netflix.

After a long tube journey, we at last made it back home. A sort of farewell dinner began soon there after, comprising of pizzas from the nearby Pakistani owned Great American Pizza restaurant, and a lot of good conversation. So now, it’s to bid you all ado, as I have much still to do if I’m going to be ready to be out by 7.30 tomorrow morning for the hour plus tube journey to Heathrow.

I’ve really enjoyed London, and will be back in two years. Yes, I’m looking at, and with prior advice from a CLC-mate, will be going to graduate school here in London.

Commonwealth, Circles, and Cake

Alarm clocks gone wild.

Shoreditch, London – The first two business days of Week Three have been quite adventurous. It all began with a bucket, a workman, and a lightbulb. I had been dreaming about driving down K-7 just north of Leavenworth when there was a great clamour outside my room. Realising it was rather too light outside considering that my alarm was set for 8.20, I grabbed my watch from the nightstand where it sleeps to discover with my immense horror that it was in fact 11.45! Jumping out of bed (with kangaroo agility), I headed for my desk, finding my phone/alarm clock in its daytime home of a trouser pocket. Then, I ran out of my room, and after a quick wash up and dressing, rushed out the door to the tube station.

Despite my hurry, the journey was one of bemusement and horror. After transferring to the Piccadilly Line at King’s Cross (class was meeting at the Victoria & Albert), I was joined by a couple from Philadelphia who had just gotten off the train from Paris. The husband kept making a basic American tourist mistake, asking “How do I get to Lie-chester Square?” After 5 Londoners corrected his butchering of “Leicester” I gave it a shot, saying the name of the centre of the West End in my best Chicagoan accent. His response was not, “O, thanks!” but “You’re American!” “Yeah, I’m from Chicago.” I replied. “Ya know, as in the 2010 Stanley Cup Champions? Game 6, Overtime Patrick Kane goal in Philly?” -Luckily he and his wife got off at Leicester Square and didn’t have the time to respond, but the Londoners were rather bemused.

Then there were the Italians. A whole family of them. As the doors began to shut at Leicester Square, a late 20s Italian lady ran onto the train, getting stuck in the door. It opened, and she boarded, only to whirl about and let out a horrid scream, as her two sons were still standing on the platform. Her sister, who had boarded at the centre of the carriage (I prefer to stand at the ends by the open window) jumped off and hurriedly threw, yes threw, the two boys onto the train. They had to be about 8 and 6. They stayed on after I got off at South Kensington.

The run from the Tube station to the Natural History Museum, where my professor had said they would be was quite breathtaking, and bothering to my then still sore ankle. As I walked into the museum, I got a text from the good professor saying they were in the Science Museum. So, around the corner and into their third museum of the day, my first. Luckily I made it to class at 12.40, so I got to hear 20 minutes of his lecture. I at least got to see the world’s first steam engines and computer.

Asking what I could do to make up my tardiness, I was advised to go to the V&A and stroll about the galleries. So, that I did. I love the exquisite arts of South Asia and the Islamic World! On top of that, there were also some amazing Medieval European galleries, which I’d recommend to any historian interested in that period. However, I had to leave the V&A, as I had a much anticipated meeting and tour planned for the afternoon.

After another 30 minutes on the tube, I was at my meeting place, Caffè Nero at Westminster Tube Station. They have amazing blueberry muffins! That was my breakfast, at 14.00 BST. I met with my friend Abby to go and tour Westminster Abbey officially, as we had attended the organ recital there the evening prior. The Abbey was originally founded by St Edward the Confessor, the penultimate crowned Anglo-Saxon King of England (d. 1066). The Abbey has been the place of coronation since Harold Godwinson in 1066, and most recently hosted a coronation in 1953.

After the Abbey there was an hour and a half break before heading to Leicester Square for dinner before a group of friends headed to see Daniel Radcliffe in The Cripple of Inishman. After a brief problem of finding people, the group made it to the theatre, and I headed off down Charing Cross Road to my evening’s entertainment: Canada Day!

I was quite happy to find that there were very few Canucks sweaters in the crowd, mostly Maple Leafs, and a few Senators, Flames, and Oilers, though not many Canadiens oddly

enough. The day marks the Canadian Confederation, in which the three colonies of Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and the Province of Canada united into a single country. The party was held in Trafalgar Square, which sits in front of Canada House, home to the Canadian High Commission. Sadly though, the main reason why I went, the street hockey, had already concluded, and was replaced by a big rock concert, which was not to my taste. Though I did donate 20p to the Calgary flood relief efforts, which got me the little Canadian flag you see in the photo with Lord Nelson.

So, I headed back up Charing Cross Road, going to a pair of places that I had seen on the

way down. First was a local branch of Pâtisserie Valérie, for a sumptous double Belgian chocloate gateau, as a little treat for making it to at least 20 minutes of class that day, and then onto a local bookshop to browse their Classics collection. They didn’t have much of what I was looking for, mostly Lucreitus and Ovid, so I ended up getting the Oxford History of England volume on Roman

Britain (1982 edition) for £6. Then I headed back home to do some reading and work on amending my paper. With that done, and a bit of listening to Radio 4, I retired once again to that springy azure mattress that I’m calling a bed.

Morning came with a start. Having A More Human Mikado never did in Japan exist! stuck in my head, I made my way to class at the National Portrait Gallery on Charing Cross Road with some annoyance at myself for not being able to do the same the day prior. However, I must say this day’s touring was enjoyable nonetheless. In the middle of class, we were given an hour break to look through the remainder of the gallery (having gone through the Tudors to

the Georgians) and get some lunch at one of the local cafés. Rather than take a whole 2 hours and dine at the National Café, a friend and I settled on the National Gallery Café next

door, where I had a good selection of banana nut cake, chocolate, and other pastries and desserts. There wasn’t much in terms of food, per se.

We then returned to the touring, meeting back up with our class in the National Gallery, which prior to today I had thought was in fact that National Portrait Gallery. Anyhoo, we finished by observing a few Hogarths, and then splitting ways, I heading back to the University of Westminster at New Cavendish Street. There I met up with a friend, Ke’aria, who was planning on going to the Freud Museum in the Finchley Road area in North London. We made our way up there, by way of a couple stops, only to find the museum is closed Monday and Tuesday. But no matter, we had a quick stop by the Abbey Road Studios to pay homage to the place where Howard Shore recorded the music for The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit. O, and the Beatles did some stuff there too.

The evening was spent in two main places: Regent Street, and at the London Eye. We dined first at a rather unique restaurant just off Regent Street called Tidbits. I wasn’t a very big fan of the menu, which was vegetarian. My vegetarianism doesn’t really extend beyond a love of beef, lamb, fish, pork, chicken, squid, shrimp, and all forms of water fowl humour. I ended up eating a fine dinner of onion rings and chips with a couple plastic cups of tap water and a little thing of vanilla ice cream.

This was surpassed in greatness by what was to come. We made our way to the South Bank, where the visionaries of London gather to look through a big wheel at Westminster and attempt to figure out what the government is doing. The London Eye is a large circular viewing platform. Our group of 10 took flight for a good half hour over the Thames, taking many fantastic photos of the sights below and about us. Unfortunately, my camera died soon after taking off, so I don’t have any of my own photos, only one that I borrowed from a friend.

From left to right. Back row: Brooke, Chris, Caroline, Seán, Cara, and Allison.
Front row: Kendall, Abby, Allie, and Kelly.

The evening was certainly sky-high. If you are ever in London, do take the chance to go up into the Eye. It’s well worth the £16.50 fee.

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.

Wednesday Blog by Seán Thomas Kane

New Posts on Wednesdays

Category Archives: Study Abroad

Goodbye!

Eschatology

Commonwealth, Circles, and Cake

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”

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: