A month of triumphs

Dear America,

I have been cranky the last few days because of the massive inconvenience that my visa, English transportation, English bureaucracy, and my inability to find hot apple cider have caused me. But I think I just need to step back and put everything into perspective, so this post will be a list of triumphs.

Triumph 1: I went to public school in America. This is a triumph because English students where uniforms, which means that pictures of other English students in uniforms only hearkens humiliating memories of adolescence. Every time I see other English students in uniforms I think of the only other image of English students in uniforms I have ever been presented with. These children attend Hogwarts School of Witchcrat and Wizardry (yes, I am still on my Harry Potter streak).

Triumph 2: My excursion to Burnham market, conveniently located just 1 hour from Norwich (or 3-9 hours from Norwich if the bus times are listed wrong, a seemingly delightful old lady named Ethel in Sheringham incorrectly informs you that the buses don’t run in the winter, and the bus home takes you to a different train station that is listed online forcing you to take an extra 3 hour stopover through Ely). In between my glorious visits to Belgium and Scotland, I had to visit an English town for a class project. So after frantically spending the morning quadruple checking the bus times and spending the requisite 3 hours to top up my phone, my friend, Mel, and I headed to Burnham Market, arriving just after sun down, 4PM. Despite the bus delays it was a fun-filled adventure resulting in a miraculous discovery:



The emblem for this popular brand is a aristocratic duck holding a cane and wearing a top hat.



Triumph 3: I finally got to see an artsy thing in town! Yes, I missed the bus getting there, and yes, my friend Becca and I got lost for half an hour, but we triumphantly arrived just before the first act came on. And do you know why that is? Because I have finally beaten the bus system. I leave 2 hours early and then the joke is on England, when the bus thinks it has inconvenienced me by arriving at the wrong time or being delayed. Another point for America, the Beautiful. Even more triumphantly, I thought it was going to be a comedian, but it was actually a poetry/rap/comedy show (I say comedy not just because English people rapping is hilarious, but also because there was intentional comedy). The main act was hysterical. She wrote this dramatic poem about going on holiday to the beach and crazily insisting on having tea on the beach despite the freezing cold and constant rain.

Triumph 4: I found American apple cider! In America, cider refers to a delicious mulled hot apple drink served in the fall to the delight of smiling children as they scamper through corn mazes (the greatest drink in the entire universe). In England, cider is the cheap alcoholic beverage that underaged teenagers drink in the parking lot after school (the Natty Ice of England, if you will). I traveled to the farthest reaches of England in search of this glorious elixir of appley of goodness. I have slain dragons, and moved mountains, and waited in nonsensical English queues in hopes of one day again finding my most beloved of seasonal beverages. And with what fretfulness did I quake as I reached the end of November, the apple cider season, and still its fruity mulled bounty did not reveal itself to me. Time was running out. I had nearly given up hope. English friends and shop owner offered to microwave boxes of apple juice to alleviate my grief. They just didn’t understand. But then, like the shining beacon of light that the torch of the Lady Liberty provides for the poor huddle masses of everyone who is not from America, mulled apple cider was for sale at that comedy thing I went to.

Triumph 5: I also found peanut butter. I recently discovered that England, a country of heathens with its exotic Godless temptations like Nutella, does not like peanut butter. There are no peanut butter and chocolate candies; college students do not line their cupboards with discount super value brand peanut butter jars, and most importantly PB&J is just not a thing here. This has led me to another fascinating gap in my England research: What do these people eat for lunch every single day in their Ninja Turtle lunch box for the first 12 years of their lives? To add to my confusion, they only know of this classic combination as a vague possibility called “peanut butter and jam.” Apparently the American word jelly translates to the English word jello. I wish I could say I had gotten one of my flatmates to try a peanut butter and jello sandwich before discovering this difference, but like George Washington (a far better George than King George III of England) once said in a made up story, I cannot tell a lie. (Can we pause for a moment and imagine how funny that would be, though?)

Triumph 6: I finally went to see the inside of Norwich castle and it is everything I hoped and dreamed. It was a regular king’s house castle, then a prison / place for public hangings for a while, then a fortress and now a museum. My favorite part is that they have maintained the main part of the inside of the castle, so it’s still old and castley and medieval, but they also decided that the main part of the inside of the castle would be the best place to put a day care center, smack in the middle of the exhibits. This is actually something I love about English museums. They always have really interactive, child friendly sections. Anyway, there are children with crayons and blocks running around shouting amidst the royal tapestries.

Triumph 7: After weeks, the cleaning ladies finally came to restock the toilet paper, so I secretly took like 5 rolls. The siege is over. I ration no more.

Triumph 8: Thanksgiving! We had a regular Thanksgiving meal with our professor and the other Americans on our program, and when all of the panic of finals dies down, Holly and I plan to have a traditional college Thanksgiving with the rest of our flat. College Thanksgiving means instant mashed potatoes, turkey lunch meat sandwiches, instant gravy, microwave green beans, etc. I’m going to buy decorative gourds and insist that everyone make crayon hand turkeys. My flatmates stared in wide-eyed wonder as we explained pumpkin pie. I’m excited.

Triumph 9: My triumphant return to London. This is perhaps my favorite triumph. I return to England and go to Frisbee practice. Disaster strikes! I pull my quad muscle, (this is actually the longest I have ever made it through a semester without a sports injury. Hooray!) and then I do what I always do, which is to adhere to the Ostrich Clause. That is, if I cannot see it, it does not exist. Thus, I proceed to play on it, injure it further and ruin my chances of going to sectionals this weekend. Major bummer. However, to use a cliché, when a door closes, a window opens. And America, land of the pilgrims' pride, do you know who is in the habit of exiting buildings via windows with his beloved pet owl? Harry Potter, the world premiere of which happened to be playing in London that selfsame weekend causing a large group of my currently diaspora-ed Dickinson friends who are otherwise sprinkled across Europe to congregate in London. Returning to London was almost like returning home for me. I love that city. Plus, I thought Norwich had fantastic Christmas decorations, but nothing can compare to London Christmas decorations. Every other street is covered in lights and trees. Half of Hyde Park contains a huge Christmas fair, complete with carnival and ice skating rink. (America, I proudly recite the first amendment of the Bill of Rights every morning in the mirror before I brush my teeth. I reflect upon my love for separation of church and state as the mirror reflects my patriotic face. But these Christmas decorations are just awesome.) So in addition to seeing some of my best friends, I also got see fantastic Christmas lights and navigate London since I actually sort of know where I’m going now (England does not like to label its streets. I think it’s a way to weed out foreigners.)

Going back made me appreciate my month in London even more, which I didn’t think was possible. I keep having these revelations where I suddenly remember that I am in England. I’ve been here for over three months now and it’s still too exciting to be real. Seeing so many Dickinson friends of course made me miss Dickinson and all my other friends at home, though (there was a lot of fond reminiscing of caf-sitting on this particular London excursion). I’m looking forward to getting back next year.

Mustachioed, beer drinking angel decorating one of the carousels. Notice the British flag in the background.

Triumph 10: Possibly better than triumph 9, and beginning in roughly the same manner… disaster strikes! England decides to throw me another curve ball in a series of curve balls that if graphed on a Cartesian plane would form an asymptote, the limit being the actual attainment of my visa. (Here is a graph to aid that metaphor).

The two lines never intersect

I must now stay in England rather than going back to America, even though I have already bought a ticket from England to America. America door closes. So as not to waste the ticket, I have to travel from India back through London to America sometime in May. The “Sometime” being two weeks after the end of my semester in India. The space between India and “Sometime” being a glorious backpacking adventure in Europe with my brother, Connor! Dynamic-brother-sister-adventure-duo window opens. This is only the best thing that could possibly happen in the entire universe. No big deal.

Some final notes: 1. I discovered that the part of India I am going to considers the use of the left hand is very offensive. I am left handed. India, prepare for some hilarity as I relearn to use a fork. 2. I am writing this to keep myself awake as I will be triumphantly taking a train to London at 3AM to triumphantly (finally) turn in my visa application because England does not like to let you pick your own application submission time. 3. In Ireland this weekend it was so cold that I layered plastic sandwich bags between my three layers of socks, and people couldn’t figure out why I made crinkling sounds when I walked (they’re very insulative and water proof). I used to think my mom was crazy because she made me do this when I was little in the snow. But now I think it’s pretty much the best idea ever (my mom is still crazy).