My outerspace themed week

A quick recount of my last days in England before I start on Norwich (I LOVE NORWICH).

We had cleaning ladies, which was totally awesome in theory. Except I’m pretty sure they made a game out of hiding the left shoe of every set of shoes that I own except my sneakers. This wouldn’t be a problem except sneakers in England are like a neon sign “Direct disgruntlement and generalized xenophobia here.” As we were leaving I, of course, had to have my loud obnoxious American tourist moment. I asked to borrow one of the vacuum cleaners so I could seal my awesome vacuum sealed NASA astronaut luggage bag thing, and the Portuguese speaking cleaning woman interpreted this as “You are not doing a good enough job cleaning, let me borrow the vacuum,” at which point I did what any sane, reasonable person would do in such a situation: frantically attempted to pantomime vacuum sealed NASA bag and shouted excitedly. I always vowed I would never be that American. Damn.

Anyway, Norwich is really great so far.  The town is only a 20 minute bus ride, and it has a market, a ton of cool shops, and some of the most bizarre and idiosyncratic night life I have ever seen in my life. More to come on that later though. I have the best park EVER right across the street from our apartment complex. Think giant grassy fields, crazy hedge mazes in deserted ivy covered old buildings, and miniature stone henge. I am so excited. I’m also just a 15 minute walk from campus, a bizarrely designed complex of floating walkways and weird cement pillars intermittent with more ivy covered walls (so collegiate) and the bar/pub below the Union center that apparently takes the place as social center of campus that the cafeteria serves for Dickinson (so college.) Stranger than 25/27, more convoluted than Hogwarts or an M. C. Escher painting. The view is beautiful. Behind campus there are more fields, a huge lake, willow trees, and really cute little kids feeding really cute ducks.

I have grown to love my pod, the term the British affectionately use to describe the weird little single rooms they give to the freshman. My NASA bag is very happy here. I cannot think of a better word to describe it than pod actually as it is about the size of a small space ship pod, although well equip for storage (secret compartments under the bed, random shelves). My bathroom (or shoilet as I am now calling it) saves space equally well, as it has a little airport toilet with the shower almost directly overhead so that I can tinkle and shampoo at the same. Two of my flat mates have moved in. (They call it a flat, but it’s really just a dorm hallway with a bunch of singles because British people are weird and like being isolated). They’re both very nice. One of them has about 5 inches of hair that sticks straight up in the air, the most glorious fohawk I have ever seen.

Sadly, today was not as filled with excitement as I’d hoped, unless you count the bureaucratic adventure that filled my morning as I attempted to get paperwork filed and was redirected to a myriad of different departments all in different sections of the floating walkways and weird cement pillar subsections. I also discovered that because freshman only have pass/fail courses their first year and that alcohol is not only legal for people over 18 (coincidentally the same age that the freshman will have just turned) in England but also provided by the school, that I should expect freshers week to pass like a booze fueled version of Lord of the Flies. I’m not too worried about it though. Everyone I’ve met seems really nice and apparently there is a ton of stuff to do that is slightly less terrifying than school sanctioned binge drinking for a bunch of kids who are away from their parents for the first time and just recently legal.

I’m very excited for everyone to get here and classes to start. Here is my address, you know in case you want to send me a postcard, or cookies, or a pony:

Jesse Battilana
UVCA05B UNIVERSITY VILLAGE
UNIVERSITY OF EAST ANGLIA
NORWICH NR4 7TJ

P.S. I don’t know how this happened, but I now appear to be following myself on this blog and have no idea how to unsubscribe, which makes me look like kind of a jerk.

I MET GANDALF

Mom keeps reading the blogs my classmates and I have to write for class on the Dickinson account (I know this because she told me so when I was skyping with the cat today), so she gets to see all my cranky evaluations of the English class system never quite measuring up to the egalitarian utopia that American Studies has brainwashed into me. Seriously, Mom, stop reading my cranky Dickinson blog. Conversely, Prof. Karl Qualls (you remember, the guy that doesn’t wear suspenders or play the oboe) is now reading this personal blog because I’m trying to get academic credit for my very philosophical musings regarding the state of skinny jean appropriateness in England and the possible presence of zombies in Russell Square.

Another glorious week has passed, and I am no closer to cracking the code of the mysterious British nor their mapping system. I still attract strange looks, and I still get lost every time I leave the hotel. To be fair to me though, there is no grid system, the streets change names for no reason, the numbers have semblance of order, and most houses are either unmarked or decided to grow an enormous shrubbery in front of the address. I have, however, managed to master an ambiguous foreign accent which I can adopt when talking to strangers so angry that British people won’t attack me (seriously, the other night this guy told me to go back to America just because I was preaching the glories of the Razor Scooter). It is a rare combination of Philadelphia suburbs and New Zealand (from watching too many episodes of Flight of the Concords). I successfully purchased a scarf with it just yesterday without being bludgeoned to death or asked about cowboys.

Rather than travel, a lot of this week has been devoted to research for my walking tour project which we just finished this morning. It was on the Kray Twins, Britain’s most famous gangsters. But they were British. Which means they drank tea. And possibly wore top hats. Just saying.

Speaking of top hats, we had cocktails with President Durden and a bunch of alumni at Barclay’s Wealth this week. I say “speaking of top hats” as both a metaphor for how this event was more horrifying than that time Dad and I went to visit Princeton and they took us into the impressive hall-of-austere-old-gentleman-paintings for the two hour info session in which the father of one of the frantic note scribbling high school freshman asked about the “psychological repercussions of being rejected from a Princeton eating club” and because I literally saw people on the Barclay Wealth street wearing top hats. They were not dressed up as the Planters Peanut; they were the real deal. Anyway, I’m pretty sure I successfully tricked the Barclay’s people into thinking I belonged in the world of cucumber foam hors d'oeuvres on hilariously bent Matrix spoons, (for instance, I did not trip even one time in my heals and someone helped me put my make-up/war paint on) until I started talking to Durden about the caf.

My recent adventures have been more exciting. I got to go to a synagogue and a mosque this week (which were both the best thing in the whole universe), and saw a few more performances – 39 Steps (another best thing in the whole universe. 4 actors to play about 100 different characters. Hilarious). We also went to see this play called The Habit of Art yesterday which was definitely not the best thing in the whole universe, but Gandalf was sitting 5 seats away from me. I’m serious; Ian McKellen was there. I was going to shout “YOU SHALL NOT PASS,” when he tried to climb by to get out of the row, but I thought it might be rude. He does not wear a wizard hat in real life. Also a side note: literally every single play we have seen has contained cross dressing, even the really serious ones. I have no idea why.

I’ve also visited a few parks around here now. They’re insane. I walked around Hyde Park for like 2 hours yesterday. Imagine the most awesome landscaping you could possibly do when you get to the upper levels of Rollercoaster Tycoon, you know with the decorative cottages, crazy marble statues, hedges shaped like mythical creatures, and duck ponds complete with gazebo and elaborate fountains and multiply it by a million. I’ll have to go back and take some pictures. There aren’t a lot of open fields, though, so you can’t play sports. It’s just this big picturesque labyrinth (there are giant hedges everywhere and no visual confirmation that the city outside exists once you enter. Sort of like how there are no windows to remind you there is a world outside when you enter a Walmart, except Hyde Park is pretty and not soul sucking). Sadly no Triwizard Tournament trophy at the middle.

My newest and most exciting adventure of today: scientology protestors in V for Vendetta masks on Tottenham Court (pronounced Tauttnum Caut. I really miss the letters R and H). I went into the scientology clinic and talk to the scientologists for like an hour and then talked to the protestors for another hour or 2 (they invited me to go the pub with them! Unfortunately, my stranger danger instincts kicked in at that point). It was awesome.

These are my last four days in London. It’s been really awesome. I definitely recommend it to any sophomores thinking about it for next year. We’re headed off to Norwich to start orientation on the 22, so I’ll report back after that.

Seriously, Mom, stop reading the boring Dickinson blogs. I'm really proud that you're that creepy, but they're all super pompous, angry American Studies posts.

Jesse continues to upset delicate English balance by existing

I’m going to start with a small list of pet peeves, pet peeves that are more like the delightful misbehavior of a really sassy little kid or the purposely out of sync rhythm and harmony of obscure jazz music. Extremely annoying qualities of really great things that somehow characterize their greatness.

1. The Throat Clear – British people in their natural habitat are for some reason incapable of speaking to strangers. As a result, when I do a stupid American thing like surreptitiously stand out of the way in someone else’s surreptitious standing out of the way place, I receive the Throat Clear. Possibly akin to public shaming in British culture, it has more of a dog whistle effect on foreigners. It is not the same as an American throat clear, but a more piercing hate-filled yawping sound. It is my theory that British have differently developed throat capabilities that allow them to transmit entire thoughts and complex emotions through these throat clears which outsiders do not quite understand, leaving us only with a vague sense of disgruntlement. The throat clear often accompanies the Stare, which again, is very different than American stares as it transmits complex emotions (namely the feeling you get when a dementor sucks out your soul). I am beginning to develop an immunity, as I have begun to experiment with the fastest and most effective ways to elicit these reactions. Wearing bright colors has been effecient thus far.
2. Weird accordion buses – I don’t really know what else to call these. They’re really long buses that have accordions between each section. I’m assuming it’s supposed to help with turns. I’m mostly upset about these because they don’t make any actual accordion sounds, but I’m also really upset about the state of the floors of accordion buses. I was standing in a crowded one the other day and suddenly the floor started spinning around, like that one section in Super Mario 64 where you have to fight one of the bosses on the merry-go-round. Anyway, potentially the best thing in the entire universe except my enjoyment of the spinning floor (which honestly seems to have no other purpose than my personal amusement) earned me several Stares.

3. Crazy modern art theory – I really thought that all those crazy modern art jokes from Spongebob about a pile of pencil shavings and off-white paint on a white canvas as art were exaggerations. I was wrong. I went to the Tate Modern and one of the exhibits was a mirror on a canvas with a captioned “viewers are now confronted by themselves, thereby questioning a long-held notion of painting transcending reality.” They totally lifted that from that one scene in Neverending Story (the one costarring the delightful dragon puppet) in which the main character has to face himself in a metaphorical mirror to save the land of Fantasia. I’m only irritated about this mirror thing because it detracts from the other really awesome exhibits (i.e. a tree carved out of a giant block of wood, a perfect foam replica of a guy’s entire garage).

4. Leggings designed to look like skinny jeans – I am not sure if this is big in America now, too, but I’m really upset because last month I bought a pair of leggings with rips painted on them, which I thought was totally hilarious. But apparently everyone wears jean leggings seriously. This keeps happening to me. Years ago, I had this pair of awesome little girls’ rain boots to capitalize upon my weird munchkin feet and then they suddenly became stylish. What’s the point of wearing stupid stuff if no one else gets the joke?
But like I said, these are actually annoying things that I’m really enjoying. On to the adventures: I’ve gone to a few more too-beautiful-for-words type churches (Westminster Abbey, St. Paul’s again, a Hindu temple / probably the most beautiful and interesting place I’ve seen so far) and too-historical-for-history type museums and buildings (Victorian and Albert / awesome museum of totally random stuff, Buckingham Palace / the castle of pens more expensive than my college tuition, the National Portrait Gallery / hall of scary white people with creepy claw hands and comically regal head positions). I’ve also gone to a few more shows. One was at the Globe again (not as fantastic as I expected since it was supposed to feature people in an insane asylum and cannibals, but I have impossible standards of creepiness.) The other was Les Miserables, which is the best thing in the entire universe. Furthermore, it was the best thing in the entire universe on a rotating stage, which I thought was this groundbreaking futuristic technology and stage direction, but apparently is normal. Nonetheless, difficult singing and acting… performed on a giant merry-go-round (I think I’m just overly impressed by things that spin).

I also went to Speakers’ Corner, this corner of Hyde Park where anyone can just get up and start talking (unfortunately, no one was there the day I went, but I’m really excited to go back and listen to people!)

And now I’ll end by describing the surprising variety of stairs I walked up today (I make England sound so exciting). St. Paul’s Cathedral is designed in such a way that climbing to the top seems like a treacherous quest wrought with suspense, tests of faith, and awe striking cinematic moments. The first leg of the journey is composed of these really irritating, shallow stone steps that are just a little too close together for a single step but a little too far apart for the more advanced two-at-a-time step. Slowly, the steps transition from normal to a wide circle with a stone wall. At a certain point I believe that the steps will never end. I have entered one of those Twilight Zone purgatories and will continue walking up awkwardly spaced steps in circles until I’m driven mad. But then, just as I begin to lose hope, we reach the top of the inside of the dome. Decorated with medieval religious symbolism, the dome’s acoustics allows people hundreds of feet away to hear anyone who whispers into the side of the wall (this, of course, serves to further my suspicion that I have been transported into a magical alternate reality or cosmic holding place in which the captive have the ability to communicate almost telepathically). We do what we know we must. We keep going up.



The next set of stairs is a tight one lane spiral of steep stairs straight up. Many of the inside dome people have turned back. (This is pretty much the equivalent of when Frodo and Sam must break off from the Order of the Ring as the journey is even more perilous than before and must be continued with only the main characters). The tower is tall, and it is creepy. We reach another landing, and walk across scaffolding outside (don’t worry, Dad, it’s actually railed in and super safe, I just wrote scaffolding for dramatic effect… which is now ruined. Thanks a lot) to get to the final set of stairs. Up until now, we have been climbing dimly little gray stone stairs, but the last portion of the climb are white walls and black, intricately designed wrought iron spiral stairs that change spiral directions every few sets. I rightly expect giant weird clock gears that represent an evil mastermind that controls time, who will inevitably be a tall clay man with impossibly spindly appendages humming Tim Burton theme music. These expectations never come to fruition so I hum the creepy Tim Burton theme music myself as we final reach the top. It is everything we dreamed of, the thing we risked our lives seeking in hopes of a better world: a graffiti "Justin Beiber" heart.

Also this view:

When technology attempts to enslave the human race via a glitch in some robot program, I will be spared.

It’s been another magical couple of days. I discovered via yelling into the skype to my mother, who was yelling on the other end of the skype (because we still don’t understand computer witchcraft) that several of my friends and family outside Dickinson, including my home church have discovered my blog, which I am really excited about! However, for the rest of you, this means that I will no longer be discussing my long time addiction to cocaine or my latest murder victims (just kidding Mom) on this most public of forums.


The battle with my camera still rages, and I weary from the tribulations and hardships that accompany war. I have successfully inserted the batteries in the correct direction, but the camera has counterattacked, refusing to read the memory card. This has tragically cost me the ability to take a picture of an elaborate Rube-Goldberg-like toilet that also turns into a changing table, (and possibly a circular saw, I can’t tell) which I encountered in a shop in Bathe today. Fortunately, I managed to take pictures of the somewhat less impressive scenery at the top of the Bathe chapel (it’s one of the most beautiful chapels and views I’ve ever seen. Nbd). Small victories.

Backtracking, I have now seen Virginia Woolf’s house, Charles Dickens’ house, and the building that inspired George Orwell’s 1984. They’re within walking distance of my hotel, and there are people living in those houses. I’m really surprised that they haven’t been turned into museums, but I guess there are so many historical sites in England that the entire country would be a museum. The surrounding area is satisfyingly creepy. One of the public squares where people now sunbath was once the most crowded graveyard in London, so we're screwd in the event of a zombie uprising. While the Georgian architecture in the surrounding houses is really lovely, I find the spikey fences outside houses and children's playgrounds a little disconcerting (again, sorry no accompanying picture. Great Camera War of 2010. We all make sacrifices). Anyway, among other grand adventures, we visited the East End, which was really exciting because of all the books I’ve read about it. There was a sign that noted our entrance into the Good Behavior Zone (which really begs the question…) I also briefly saw the Tate Modern Art Museum, which was slightly less exciting because modern art museums are the best for people watching, and all British people wear skinny jeans, so I can’t figure out which modern art enthusiasts were also the kind that drive Hybrids and eat only organic food.

I also went to St. Paul’s Cathedral for an Evensong service (a service conducted entirely in song in a giant cathedral with acoustics so good they would make Ke$ha sound like an opera singer).

This, of course, brings us back to today, a day I have long awaited and which did not disappoint -- the day I got to visit Stonehenge and listen to crazy theories about aliens and the possibility that Merlin the wizard is responsible for the ancient structure (Take the audio tour: section 44). Then we went to Bathe, which is a really beautiful city (I know I’ve said beautiful like 30 times and looked it up in a thesaurus, but London really is the freaking prettiest place ever). Apparently, people used to write curse down and throw them into the Roman Bathes to extract vengeance from the gods against people that wronged them. You know, like stole their clothes while they were bathing. I’m not joking; this was in a museum. I’ll post a picture at some point. I also got to climb the Bathe abbey and see a view of the entire city, which I must reiterate is probably not as cool as that hilarious toilet I saw, but nonetheless a spellbinding (thank you, thesaurus.com) display of human and nature’s splendor. Also, I got to ring the bell. It was sweet.
I really miss everyone at home, but I’m having a fantastic time so far. I’m definitely starting to sense my Americanness now that I am a weird foreign kid, and I’m getting some really interesting insight about class and culture/excellent people watching opportunities/London is awesome. I don’t have a street address until next month, but as most of you know, I love all e-mails, facebook messages, and other forms of technological communication that I don’t understand.