Brighton Way

So it is time to finally say goodbye. I've been back in the states for 18 days now. I feel like I've just been hiding in my parent's house trying to trick myself into feeling like I am still abroad and not dealing with the fact that I am back in St. Louis. Maybe writing this will help.

As I was driving around my neighborhood (major down side of being in the U.S. is that I have to drive. I HATE driving), and I started noticing that all the streets and neighborhoods are named after places in the UK. There is a group of streets near my house called Westminster and an apartment building called Chichester. It's laughable. But then I saw a street sign that said "Brighton Way" and I almost drove into oncoming traffic because I was so distracted. It really warmed my heart that there was something in St. Louis named after my favourite (yes I spelled it the Brit way) place in the world right in my own home town.

Even though it is sentimental and a bit silly, that sign represents to me the intersection of my time abroad and being home. That even though I have left Brighton physically, living in the UK has changed me in a lot of ways, including:

1) I enjoy meeting and hanging out with new people a lot more. I used to just hang out with people I already know, but I've realized I miss out on so much if I ignore other people just because I don't know them yet.

2) I'm much better at finding the good parts of any place. I used to think St. Louis was boring, but now I've discovered there is a lot of great art exhibitions, restaurants, bakeries, custard places (ok, most of it has to do with food) here and I'm better able to seek out and enjoy the good in a place.

3) I'm better able to deal with change. Hopefully this will help me as the big "G" (the-event which-must-not-be-named, Graduation for all you thick people) approaches.

Alright, enough gooshy emotions. Time to say goodbye. For all the people I met at Sussex, there is an open invitation for you to come visit me in St. Louis or wherever I happen to be, and hopefully our paths will cross again because I loved getting to know you. And thanks to everyone who took time to read my blog.

Last comment/expression of my feelings: I'm just so excited to see what happens next.

Progession towards the END

My last week in Brighton is so fun to look back on. I hit up all my favorite Brighton places with all my favorite Brighton people. I finally had fish and chips (well, chicken and chips) on the beach, complete with vinegar on my chips, and I praised the ingeniousness of such a tasty meal in such a perfect setting. Although, the highlight of that week was going to the bars on campus drinking with Olivia and her flatmates Aoife and Amy. It was so nice to spend my last night in Brighton with my adopted flat and just feeling a part of campus, since all the third years (seniors) has just received their results and were celebrating, or drinking away the sorrow, depending.

And then of course there were the goodbyes. I got to say goodbye to most people, though of course there are people that I missed saying goodbye to, which is incredibly sad but also spared me the heartache of actually saying goodbye.

After I left Brighton, I lugged all my luggage up to London and enjoyed my last bit of London with Cecily. We went to the Tate Modern, which I enjoyed. And being a hard person to please (I generally hate modern art), showed that once again, London museums are superior. There was one room that had a giant table and chairs which made me feel like I was in Alice in Wonderland.

Then after London I went to Dublin to meet up with family friends from when we lived in Bangkok, Thailand. They were so hospitable and I really love Dublin as a result. The city also reminded me a lot of Edinburgh, in that it has really Incorporated nature into the city. In fact, it feels like the city is second fiddle to the surrounding hills and scenery. And we went to a pub in Dublin and the bartenders were as friendly as Irish people are rumored to be.

We also went to Belfast, or near Belfast. On the drive there, as we pulled into their neighbourhood, there were Union Jacks and the flag of Ulster everywhere. In fact, there were more union jacks flying in that one small neighbourhood than I've seen in the rest of the UK. The reason for all the flags is that July 12th is coming up, which is when the Protestants (I was in a protestant neighbourhood) celebrate the Battle of the Boyne in which a protestant king defeated some catholics (my knowledge of history is astounding). So they celebrate this event my holding a parade, which goes through catholic neighbourhoods and obviously trouble ensues. I hadn't expected to actually see evidence of "The Troubles" during my very short stay (less than 12 hours) in the Northern Ireland, but I did.

Then I came back to London to collect my things, and get on the coach to Paris. I thought it would be a nicer and greener was to travel given that I've been taking so many (too many) flights. What a horrible, horrible mistake. I felt like such a snob, but honestly the people who were on the coach were the weirdest bunch of people with whom I've been forced to share an enclosed space. Just to give you an example, one guy laughed in his sleep, loudly. I felt like I was in a moving insane asylum. And the bus smelled.

I cried as we left Dover. I think my sadness was increased by how awful the coach was, but I was really sad to leave. I told people that I will be back soon. And hopefully I will. If I could control the future, I would move to Brighton after graduation. But given that my bank account is hurting, and that I learnt that we have very little control over where life takes us, I honestly don't know when I will next be in the UK. And I met so many awesome people and really got used to living there.

Enough whining. So, Paris. I had a great day in Paris consisting mostly of eating and looking at art. I don't know how the french do it, but they manage to make something as simple as flour, eggs, milk, butter and sugar (ingredients for a butter, sugar crepe) taste so mind-blowingly great. I also made a stop at the Louvre, and while running away from the annoying crowds (I actually had someone ask me to move out of their picture while I was trying to enjoy the art!!! I accidentally gave them such a glare) I found a couple of cool rooms of Northern European religious art.

As I left the Louvre I walked back to the apartment I was staying in near La Fontaine St. Michel and watched the sun set on the Seine with all of the people picnicing. Taking my inspiration from them, I decided to get a baguette, some brie, olives and a bottle of Cote Du Rhone wine and that was dinner. A prefectly tasty ending.

American Pancakes

I find myself missing the oddest things from the U.S. I miss the bacon turkey bravo (a sandwich) from St. Louis Bread Co., and I don't even really like Bread Co. I miss California, and while I've been there a lot, I'm not from there. And the worst craving of all, is that I miss American Pancakes. Here, the word "pancake" refers to what Americans, and more importantly, the French, call "crepes. " So finding "American pancakes" has been a struggle. I could make my own, but I'm lazy and my kitchen in York house is growing new kinds of mold never before seen on earth, so going in there might be damaging to my health.

But I found a restaurant that had American pancakes on the menu. I decided to go with my friend Amy as a post-exam treat (although I've been celebrating being done with course work for three days now). The cafe we went to had this great outdoor terrace and was so relaxing. I was so excited to dive into some big, fluffy, butter-smeared, syrupy pancakes with a side of bacon. But when my plate arrived, there were three small (hand palm-sized) pancakes stacked on top of each other with layers of bacon and strawberries in between. Most unorthodox of all, the so-called "American pancakes" were served with a SIDE SALAD of rocket. The American pancake experience was almost as upsetting at that time that I ordered a fajita and it had mayonnaise in it. Ewwwww.

However, while the American pancakes weren't what I had expected, they were still tasty. I don't really have time to phrase this nicely (I'm racing the sun--I want to go outside and read in the sun, but I'm worried the weather will change suddenly and ruin my plans) so I am just going to say it plainly. Basically, I think it is unfair to bring all of my expectations and comparisons based on the U.S. to England, which is another country and culture despite the shared language. So my dissappointment at that nice cae was really my own issue instead of any relfection on the cafe.

I've been thinking about this a lot, mostly because the Americans here have been complaining about England a lot. They don't like the food, the customer service, the weather, how all the shops close at 4:45pm etc. But the truth is, if you stop having expectations that are based on your experiences in the U.S., all those annoying parts of England seem less significant,. Yes, there are some waiters who forget to refill your water, or take forever to get the bill etc., but there are also really nice enthusiastic shop sales people who like to tell you all about how the shoes in their shop were designed in Brighton etc.

So while my American pancakes (and even the gross fajita) weren't what I expected, they were still good, just different (I'm being very generous towards the fajita). And I guess that is what study abroad is about: adapting to a different situation and trying to make it successful. Too bad I finally realized this two weeks before I have to leave. Maybe I'll just stay...

Quick sidenote: I keep meeting really cool, interesting people right before I have to leave. WTF, life? Life is cruel.

Just Another Benedict Arnold

So I've been entertaining traitorous thoughts in many forms.

The most shocking is that, unlike France where I would (quite pathetically) stalk Americans just to hear English spoken in an American accent, I have begun finding American accents really difficult to hear. Of course there are exceptions. My American friends at Sussex are alright. But if I am sitting on the bus, walking around Brighton or generally going about my life in the UK, and I hear an American accent, my ears start to shrivel because the accent sounds so harsh. Like blunt knives attacking my eardrums. I might have to invest in ear plugs for my first few weeks back in the U.S.

I previously posted things I am going to miss about the UK, but losing the diversity of accents is really going to hurt more than anything else. Here in the UK, the amateur linguistic part of my brain is constantly stimulated. It will be sad to go back to a place where everyone sounds about the same.

Scotland was even better for hearing a diversity of accents. One night in Edinburgh, when Daniel and I were deciding what to do, I told him that I just wanted to go someplace where I could sit and hear Scottish people speak. Luckily, we went to a pub that had Scottish music and we met these older Scottish guys (around 60) who told me about Robert Burns (Scottish poet they all pee their pants over), traditional Scottish music (they sometimes use spoons for percussion) and offering me their sons for marriage. I would have taken the offer. Can you imagine having Scottish babies?

So my second treacherous thought is that I think I might prefer Scotland to England. When I mentioned to the older Scottish guys that I have been studying in England and that I really like it, they responded with dead silence. I quickly picked up that my love of England was not an acceptable expression in a Scottish pub and a rushed to say that while I like England, I love Scotland, and that seemed to placate them. And though I was altering my feelings so as to not upset them, it is somewhat true. I think the Scottish are more similar to Americans (in a way I enjoy) in that they are really friendly and warm. And from the walking tour we did, it seems that the English really have been major bastards to the Scottish. For shame.

Last night, I was hanging out in Olivia's flat and I had been showing her flatmates the Lonely Island videos (they hadn't seen I'm on a Boat!!!), and I blurted out, "I miss America!" They looked at me rather bewildered. And I was bewildered too. Because while it is true, I do miss home, as soon as I said it, the other part of my brain said, "Don't be silly, it is much better in Brighton."

Basically, study abroad is making me have multiple personality disorder. Fabulous.

Everybody Limbo!

So I think my last month in Brighton is going to be characterized by "Limbo." The problem is that I am genuinely starting to feel settled into Brighton. I'm now starting to accidentally pronounce words in an English accent and I am using new idioms with abandon.

But most importantly, I have finally, finally, found eateries that I want to return to and count as one of my "places". Before, when asked about the restaurants where I had gone out to eat in Brighton, I would usually respond, "it was alright. You know, good, not great." And it was true. Everywhere I have eaten in Brighton (that I could also eat at frequently with my budget) up until this month was decent, but never inspired a return trip.

Well, we have recently discovered a couple of places in the North Laines that I have frequented almost everyday this week. The first love is Brighton Coffee Co. The coffee is good, but not mind blowing. Its the attic that attracts me. Whenever I go up there I feel this wonderful mix of peace and creativity. The space is simultaneously enclosed--its feels isolated and private--and also expansive since the window looks out onto the rooftops of Brighton. And they play interesting, mellow music, so it is not oppresively silent and then just quiet enough to think or read. I want to live in their attic. Maybe I will make it my happy place, and revisit it mentally next year when the stress of WashU living hits.

My second love is Lick. It is froyo, but it is literally just yogurt they have frozen and is fat free and probiotic, i.e. healthy! Plus when you put honey on top the honey slightly freezes which makes it thicker and the texture is just...well, if I go on I might pass out from happiness.

And lastly there is RedVeg which serves vegetarian hamburgers, fries, falafel, and other wraps. This place satisfies my craving for an American style greasy burger, and takes away the enviromentally-concious-guilt I usually feel from supporting the cattle industry. Plus, they have this sweet, jelly-like, spicy sauce that you eat with the chili potato wedges. I was so happy to find food (especially potatoes) with actual flavour.

At long last I have found food I like in the UK! Hurrah!

But the feeling of Limbo comes from the fact that I am ready to go home in some ways. Two of my Sussex friends left for the U.S. this past Monday. And this is just the beginning of a steady stream of people leaving to go home. Other people leaving makes me think what it would be like if I left, and then I start losing the place I've created for myself, in my mind, in Brighton.

So, Limbo it is and Limbo I will learn to be comfortable with for the next month. It's not so bad, really.

Lists Rock

I am susceptible to my generation's obsession with lists (the fb notes, the countdown shows etc.) and can't think of a better way to pass the time.

I'll start with the negative so that I can end with positive.

10 Things I am Happy to Leave in Brighton:

1. The Seagulls

The Seagulls here are the size of chickens. Bigger. And they are the meanest bastards you will ever meet. I am a generally peaceful, nonviolent person, but the damn seagulls here are so infuriating that they make me want to kick them. I considered hunting one of them and stuffing it to bring home as a souvenir. I might have problems at customs though.

2. Messy Freshers (that means freshmen). Uni of Sussex doesn't have a meal plan, so everyone has to cook for themselves. Imagine what WashU might have been like if we were all given and expected to use kitchens during our freshman year. There has been a box of dirty, hazardous to your health, dirty dishes that the cleaning staff is threatening to throw out. And the smell. Oh god its bad. Plus, there is so much litter on campus. Lots of people go up to the hills around campus to drink and eat, but then they'll often just leave crumbled up cans and wrappers strewn everywhere. It breaks my heart because the countryside here is so beautiful. I might even cry one solitary tear.

3. The pound. My money is worth shit here. And I constantly feel poor and like I shouldn't buy anything.

4. Missing people I love back home.

5. Paying £3.60 to get into Brighton by bus and then having to pay an extra pound after midnight, which works out to be more than five dollars. I know someone at Sussex who drives a car because it works out to be cheaper than taking public transit. So while the public transit is much more extensive, it is also more expensive.

6. Customer service, or lack there of. Speed doesn't seem to be as much of a priority.

7. Everything closing early. The pubs will often kick you out at 11! And you can stay out at night clubs, but if you just want to sit in a coffee shop or at a bar, you're out of luck.

8. Lack of work. While I love having very little school work, I do feel really lazy and I am ready to get back to my American work ethic.

9. The academics. In my English course, it is expected that all of the opinions you express in a paper are back up with secondary sources written by scholars and critics. They really don't seem interested in just hearing your own opinion, which offends my sense of individualism.

10. Drunk and loud people. I don't know if I don't notice it as much back home, but my impression is that the U.S. is a lot less tolerant with public displays of drunkenness. And honestly I find super drunk people a little frightening.

10 Things I Will Miss About Brighton

1. DESSERTS: scones, clotted cream, the thousand different kind of biscuits (cookies), cadbury's products, and how cake is an acceptable afternoon snack.

2. The Brighton beach. The old pier is, cliched as it is, hauntingly beautiful.

3. The English countryside. I can't define it but it is definitely different from the U.S. And when the weather is nice here, it is so much more magical just because its rare.

4. Villages. We have nothing like it in the U.S. In Rottingdean the neighbourhood tea room was built in the 1500s, which is 200 hundred years before the U.S. was even created.

5. Theater/music/art/comedy. All four of those things are so accessible and plentiful here. I went up to Falmer village recently to buy some veg and someone had installed this eerily beautiful sculpture of a man and a woman leaning towards each other in the middle of the village pond. It just seems that artistic expression is more integrated into life here. You don't have to go to a museum to see art.

6. But if you do go to a museum (in London at least) it is free and phenomenal. The mark of a good product, in my opinion, is if it makes you want to create something as well. Bad sentence. I mean that, a really well written song makes me want to write songs, a really funny comedian makes me want to do stand up and the museums in London make me want to study art history and be an art curator. The picture on this post is from the British Museum.

7. Travel accessibility. London is an hour by train, and most of Europe is only a three to four hour plane trip.

8. The people. I've met some really fantastic English/Irish/Welsh/Scottish and American people here. And I feel like I've barely had time to get to know them.

9. Lack of work. Adjusting back to having more responsibilities and courses, plus senioritis, is going to be rough. And I just feel so much healthier in some ways this semester (def not in others, I've eaten too much pasta and potatoes) because I've had so much less stress.

10. Variety of Accents. Even when my lectures are incredibly boring (most of the time, in fact) I can still amuse myself by listening to the lecturer's accent and trying to mimic it under my breath. No wonder no one sits next to me at lectures, wah-wah.

Oh Hell No

I hoped that this day would never arrive. If there is one thing I am more afraid of than being attacked and/or popped on by a seagull, its that I will develop a Madonna-esque fake English accent. If I can avoid both of those, then my time in Brighton will have been a success. Its just so horribly pretentious, and SO uncomfortable when I know that someone is American and they are trying to pretend like they have an English accent. I cringe inside, and sometimes I physically shudder as well.

For example, there is this girl in one of my seminars who I am sure is a decent, nice person, but she puts on this fake English accent and I know she's from Seattle. Even more embarrassing, her "English" accent is especially strong when she is impersonating someone pretentious. I keep wanting to pull her aside and tell her, "You aren't in the states. You are in ENGLAND. We are surrounded by people with the accent that you are making fun of. We are out numbered and they could hurt you."

So I've been monitoring my accent and trying to stay as A-meRr-ican (how George Bush says it) as possible. Although with Maryse visiting I started to realize how many English-isms I've picked up, such as "doing the washing up." But today I was buying frozen yogurt in the laines with some friends and I was saying which toppings I wanted. I asked for cookies and cream (they were plain old oreos), and then, a moment I wish I could take back, I asked for "Bah-nah-nah." After I heard myself pronounce "banana" in this way I flipped out and corrected myself and apologized to the worker who was helping me. He just smiled in a conspiratorial way, which was cute. I also dropped my two pound coin and it rolled away for a really long time. All in all it was undoubtedly the most bizarre frozen yogurt buying experience of my life.

So even though it was scary for me, the frozen yogurt worker's reaction was nice. And then we went to another dessert place (yikes!) called Choocywoocydoodah (the picture is of this store). And I asked one of the workers there (they are all really cute and I have a big crush on them, the store, the whole package really) what some other customers were drinking (hot chocolate with a ton of whipped cream). He asked me where I was from and I think he was kind of impressed that I was from Missouri, which is probably a first for me. He said, "Missouri is a long way from here. Do you like chocolate, have some," and then he gave me free chocolate! So, I'm in love. He had tattoos too.

So, Brighton is really growing on me, despite an unfortunate trend on my part of adopting some of the accent.

Amsterdam

We (btw, "we" refers to Nora and I, we planned, and executed, this trip together) arrived in Amsterdam at night, which was a mistake, and also very appropriate. I have mixed feelings about Amsterdam. It was the kind of place (this also includes Barcelona) where I could see how people could have a much better experience than I did. I found the place to be too shady for me to stomach.

As we walked around Amsterdam we saw many a sex shop. I've never seen so many vibrators in my entire life. And of course there were a lot of coffee shops, which is where they sell pot. We met this guy in our hostel who knows some people at WashU, and he went to a coffee shop and I'm pretty sure he got sold a fake space cake and a joint that smelled overwhelmingly like basil. So, I was a little wary of the coffee shops and did not participate in the typical Amsterdam experience.

We did, however, find the red light district. In fact, our hostel was located in a mini red light district. I didn't realize that the sex workers actually stand in windows, and they are super close to you as you pass by. Nora couldn't look at them, but I could. And they looked unhappy and bored. Occasionally we saw them texting. I also saw a couple of men walk out of the houses, and they looked really unhappy. One guy looked like he was about to cry. Before seeing it, I had imagined that legalized prostitution would take some of the sexist, oppressiveness out of it. It didn't. Of course I know that people can choose to be sex workers and that it is a personal choice of what to do with your own body, but a lot of what I saw was just depressing.

In fact, Amsterdam was the place where I experienced the most sexism and creepiness of any place we went. Well, that leads into my creepy hostel stories. Not one, or two but three creepy hostel stories.

Sketchy story number 1.

It all begins when Nora and I get back from walking around Amsterdam at night. Since I thought the Dam was a sketch place to begin with, I was already feeling weird, and then we walk in and see basically porn on the TV in the room. I didn't even know that there was a TV, and suddenly there were images of buxom blonds rubbing themselves and asking the viewer to call a sex line. So that was weird. Then we keep walking into the room and find that one of our roommates was incredibly high. He didn't even register that we had walked in, let alone change the channel. He just continued slowly eating a bag of chips.

Nora and I flipped out and so we ran downstairs to tell the management that there was a weirdo in our room, and first thing the hotel guy said was, "is he big?" We responded that he was medium sized, and so he said that we should just take him if he gives us problems. He told us to be "two strong women." He was not reassuring. So we went back and druggie boy gave Nora the remote so she turned off the porn and he went to sleep. He occasionally laughed in his sleep. Maybe he was dreaming about the look on our faces when we walked in and saw the TV.

Sketchy story number 2.

The morning we left for Berlin, we get up to pack our things and head to the train station. I should start by saying that Scottish people had taken over Amsterdam the weekend we were there. They all descended for a football game. They mostly wore kilts, and carried Scottish flags and bagpipes. At one point, I looked around and realized that 50% of the people we could see were wearing kilts. At least one of the guys in our room was Scottish. I know this because his kilt was on the ground. Well, I guess he wore his kilt the traditional way (without underwear) and instead of putting pajamas on, he just took it off and went to bed. In the morning we awake to find him completely naked. And mind you, this room has five other people staying in it--two of them female. And the covers weren't covering anything. So we had to try and pack up our stuff while dealing with a naked Scotsman in our face. It was not pleasant.

Sketchy story number three.

This is a quickie. At one point Nora needed a nap and so I decided to write in my journal in the hostel lobby. My company for the evening was a middle aged lady who looked a lot like my Grandma did when she was middle aged. She had purchased a huge spread of McDonald's and laid it all out, but she wasn't eating. Instead, she had the TV remote in her hand and was changing channels mechanically, as if she wasn't really seeing what was on screen, but just pushing buttons. And then, periodically, she would laugh, but there was nothing funny on screen. Meanwhile, some super drunk Scots were harassing the hotel management about how they thought the breakfast was shit. The hotel management responded by getting frustrated and saying "I shoot you, I shoot you" and pretending to hold a gun. And all the while, I can look out the hostel windows and see sex workers in their neon lighted windows. I felt like I had accidentally wandered into an insane asylum.

There were nice things that happened in Amsterdam as well, but unfortunately the weird experiences stick out the most. The last weird experience of note takes place in the little exhibition space at the end of the Anne Frank house. I believe it was called "You choose!," but it was a space where you could vote on issues of free speech. So for example, the video would show clips of media coverage of a neo-nazi protest outside a synagogue, and then ask, "should anti-Semitic groups be allowed to protest outside of synagogues" and you could press a button, indicating yes or no.

Well one of the questions concerned the way the Catholic church in Poland promotes discrimination and violence against homosexual people. So the video asked, "should the catholic church in Poland be allowed to target homosexual people?" (or something along those lines).
There was this big group of French teenagers and this one kid leans over to Nora and I and told us to "press yes, press yes, press yes" in an aggressive manner. I could only conclude that he wished to express to us how much he dislikes gay people.

I couldn't believe that this kid had just gone through the Anne Frank house and could still act that way. I also think that was the first time I had experienced someone being openly and enthusiastically anti-gay to my face, which means that I have been extremely lucky.

Freiburg im Breisgau

Today was another gorgeous day in Sussex. I just hope this lasts until all of my visitors (Daniel, Maryse, Martha, Eric, possibly Jordan) come. I've heard it gets rainy again, but I'm choosing not to believe. Instead of doing work, I went out and took pictures of the stunning Sussex countryside, which is fast becoming my favorite activity. And I will probably continue to post an annoying amount of photos on facebook.

So, to start recounting my travels. My first stop was Freiburg im Breisgau. I flew from London Gatwick to the Basel-Mulhouse-Freiburg Airport, which straddles three countries: Switzerland, France and Germany. I was happy to find that I could get around the airport just speaking French, in fact, that is what most people spoke, but as soon as I got on the bus, I was expected to speak German, because the bus was going to Germany. I wanted to tell the bus driver, who only spoke German, "but, they're speaking French twenty feet that way" (in the airport), but alas, my German skills are limited to asking "Do you speak English?" and "Hello, and thank-you".

At first it was super frustrating not being able to speak the language. I've never been to a place where I don't speak the language, or have a fluent speaker with me (Brazil and Thailand), and I wondered what I had got myself into, because none of the countries we were going to spoke either French or English. I also kept responding in French to people speaking German to me. I guess my knee jerk reaction to any foreign language is to speak the only language I (barely) know besides English. It was embarrassing.

Although, knowing French really did come in handy in Freiburg. At one point we were trying to find a museum of tin figurines (it ended up being closed) and so we stopped in at an information point. But the man there couldn't sprechen sie englisch, so we walked away, but then I remembered that I should try French, and he spoke French and that's how we found out that the museum was closed. Wah-wah.

But the craziest linguistic experience we had occurred in this really cute market set up around the church. We had decided to make a picnic of bread, cheese, fruit and honey for ourselves for dinner in the airport before taking our flight to Amsterdam. So we went to buy the cheese and were standing in line when I noticed that the cheese seller was speaking French to the man buying cheese and he was speaking German to her. She would also throw in some German words, but they completely understood each other despite speaking in different languages. When it was our turn to pick out cheese I tried speaking in French and she recognized my accent and said, "I speak English, what cheese would you like," and proceeded to tell us all about the cheeses and give us samples. She was one talented lady.

The same thing happened in the airport. I went to information to ask how to get to my hostel once I arrived in Freiburg, and the information person spoke perfect English to me (with a French accent) and then spoke German (also with a French accent, so cool to hear) to her colleague, and I guessed that her native language was French. It was so mind boggling to me how these people were able to keep so many languages in their head. And more interesting, was why they decided to use which language at which time. Why was the cheese seller speaking French when she obviously knows German, and was in Germany? Was it a cheese thing?

The other highlight of Freiburg was the food. I think in each post I will end by describing the new food and drink I consumed. We had amazing sausage in a bun with mustard and onions for lunch, twice. And we went to a place called Schlappen and got an appetizer that was basically french fries with spaghetti meat sauce and a sauce that tasted kinda like sour cream and onion dip. It sounds gross but I've been craving it ever since I stopped eating it. And they were also really big on honey. We got a variety pack for the airport picnic and we even tried honey wine and honey liqueur. SO tasty. They were also big on fruit flavored alcohol. We got a small bottle of coffee liqueur and made White Russians in Amsterdam.

After Freiburg we went to Amsterdam by plane, which was so odd. Just that morning we had been listening to the cheese seller dazzle us with her language skillz, and then that evening we were wandering around Amsterdam at night trying to find the red light district and eating french fries with mayonnaise.

It is so good to come home

I should go outside and enjoy the gorgeous (and possibly fleeting) weather that Brighton has right now. Its been sunny and warm everyday here since I've been back and I've been going to Brighton beach everyday to enjoy it before the tourists really descend on the south of England.

But before I go wander the hills in the style of Elizabeth Bennet, I wanted to blog a bit about my recent travels. I was lucky enough to be able to go on a long trip to parts of Europe. The trip was a bit excessive, but I figure this is my chance, and I don't know when I'll ever be in Europe again.

So the trip started in Freiburg im Breisgau then proceeded to Amsterdam, Berlin, Prague, Budapest, Barcelona and Madrid. Berlin and Budapest were my favorite places, without a doubt. I didn't want to leave. In both places I mused over whether it would have been possible to just find a job and stay there forever. But then I remembered how much I miss all the people I am seperated from, and so I kept going. When I tell people at Sussex about the trip, they look at me funny. I guess for them its silly to rush through all those places like I did, which it would be if Europe was in my backyard.

There were a couple of themes and highlights of the trip. I was strongly impressed (meaning it made a strong impression) by how much Europe's recent, and often painful, history (primarily the holocaust and communism) visually marks its cities. I had been expecting to do a lot of acitivites centered on the holocaust (going to the Jewish Museum in Berlin, the old Jewish cemetary in Prague) but I wasn't expecting to learn and experience as much as I did about communism in Europe. I feel like we don't really learn much about communism in Europe in the U.S. except from the perspective of what the U.S. did to try and stop it.

Really gaining a love of new (to me) artists and art movements was another surprising result of the trip. The Prado in Madrid was the absolute best museum I visited. Not really because of the way it was set up, because the museums in London are so much better in that regard, but it just had so many stunning works. My favorite works from the whole trip were from Rembrandt (in Amsterdam), Mucha (in Prague), and Goya, Bosch, Frederic Leighton (all at the Prado). And though I feel pretentious while I do it, it is so nice to be able to have animated conversations with people about certian museums and particular artists. If only I smoked and wore a beret.

Ok, well that's a general sketch, but I plan on writing individual posts telling the best stories I have from each place. But right now the Brighton sun (and all of my work) is calling.

Crypts and Crepes

So made it to Paris in the end. My amazing Sussex friends helped me out so much. Plus, there was a series of fortunate events. First, I was able to get a hold of Sam, my roommate from the beginning of the semester. She was about to leave for Birmingham and the Cadbury factory, but they pushed back when they were going to leave.were able to get the porter to let them into my room, grab my passport, run to Falmer Station, hand off my passport to Nora who happened to be comng into London that same day and then I met her at Victoria without any problems. Had Sam left earlier, or if nora had already taken the train into London, I would've had to spend three more hours, at least, traveling back to my room on campus.

As it turns out, after I met up with Nora at Victoria, we went to the National Portrait Gallery, which I found out I love. The Tudor rooms were especially impressive. You know that portrait of King Henry the Eighth with his legs spread apart in a really commanding stance, and he looks massive? I saw it. Plus, what I didn't realize is that the backgrounds behind the Tudor-era portraits are really vibrant jewel tones. It struck me as oddly modern.

The other benefit to forgeting my passport was that I got these really funny "refusal of entry" forms. My plan is to go around with me holding the forms and taking pictures in front of really french things. Today Maryse and I got a picture of me and the forms in front of a poster advertising a movie with Gerard Depardieu, the consummate french actor.

In the two days I've been here, I've accomplished almost everything I wanted to do in two short days. The first day we spent most the day in the arrondisement with the Eiffel Tower. So I got to see it from many different angles. The best was at sunset and it was beginning to light up. And, on the all important subject of food, I've had amazing falafel in the Marais (Jewish and gay--i.e. Daniel quartier), steak frites followed by mousse au chocolat washed down with cote du rhone wine, and an indecent about of pastries, breads, and general desserts. I also got to go to the Musee Rodin which I've been dying to see for a while.

Tomorrow we are going to Cimitiere Pere Lachaise, to pay homage to Oscar Wilde. Apparently you have to wear red lipstick and kiss his tombstone.

Down and Out in Paris and London

This title is from a novel by George Orwell. It is somewhat fitting for this post. While I am not "down and out" in Paris or London, I am sitting in a Pret a Manger in London (ironic since I am meant to be on my way to Paris now) down the street from Victoria's Station in London because I made the second worst traveling mistake of my life.

The absolute worst mistake I made was two summers ago when I missed my plane back to the states after traveling in France. I ended up calling my parents at 5am their time to leave a panicked, teary message in which I predicted the end of my life and the world. It did feel like the end of the world because all the flights were booked and I had to wait three days for the next one. To top that, I was completely unprepared to stay in Paris: I had thrown out my guide book (too bulky to pack), I threw out all my toiletries to make room for souvenirs, all my clothes were dirty, I had run out of minutes on my phone, and had run out of euros. I had no idea where I was going to sleep for the night. I considered being a hobo.

But it all worked out really well. I found a cheap hotel for the night run by this really cool Italian couple who became surrogate parental figures to me. The guy really liked to tease me (mostly about missing the plane) and I really enjoy when older people tease me. The porter at East Slope (where I live now) likes to see if he can make me blush. I love him. And after the Italian couple, I met a family friend who has lived in France for forty odd years and she put me in this REALLY nice apartment from which you could see the Notre Dame.

The woman who used to live there was a journalist and she was living in Paris when JFK was assassinated. She had been out at the Opera and a Frenchman heard her accent and said something along the lines of "something terrible has happened in your country." When she arrived home she had a thousand messages on her phone because years earlier she had interviewed Lee Harvey Oswald in the Soviet Union when he was "defecting" his citizenship, i.e. giving it up so he could join the Soviet Union. Everyone wanted to speak to the journalist who had interviewed Lee Harvey Oswald. So, staying in Paris a couple of extra days was pretty cool.

But today, maybe not so cool. I was supposed to take the Eurostar departing at 1:37 from London and arriving in Paris around five. I, however, forgot my passport. I had a nice little interaction with the french police. I wish, for the sake of adventure, that I could say that they roughed me up and asked why I was trying to illegally enter their country, but the sad truth is that I just had to fill out some "refusal of entry" forms and they exchanged my ticket for a later time. And my amazing friends from Sussex got my passport and delivered it to London for me. In fact, I have to go meet Nora at Victoria's Station right now. I'm sure all the hassle will be worth it. I'm so excited for Paris!

Sausage, Mash and Peas

I titled this entry after the delicious meal that I just consumed. Sausage, mash (mashed potatoes) and peas is the best meal ever invented. Especially when you use vegetarian sausages instead of the greasy meat version. I cook for myself here, so when I happen to make something tasty, I tend to over celebrate.

About a week ago I went to see Milk (the biopic of Harvey Milk's life) with the Sussex LGBT group. I had already seen it (movies come out way later here, Vicky Christina Barcelona is just about to come out), so I really went for the company and conversation. Like most American-related things I encounter while studying abroad, it is really interesting to try and see it through other people's (usually Brits') eyes.

The mostly British students I went with said many interesting things about the LGBT movement, and a couple of points struck me as particularly effective at highlighting the differences between the U.S. and the U.K. Someone said that the movement towards LGBT rights in this country was less dramatic. And that really seems to have been true. Since they don't have a supreme court or constitution, Tony Blair was just able to write into law a whole bunch of gay rights initiative such as same-sex partnership benefits. I need to look into it more, but as one of my friends noted, it seems as though the government here acts ahead of the people, whereas in the U.S. the government plays catch up with societies' views because the system is based on precedent.

It is surprising that we are the more conservative country since we are relatively new. You'd think we'd be more open to change sense nothing has really been around for that long. Perhaps our short memories combined with a need to appear as legitimate as older countries leads us to be more protective of our traditions?

Side note: I'm often struck by just how young the U.S. is, especially when I happen to have cream tea in a tea house that has been around for five hundred years--twice as old as my country.

So, back to Milk. So during our post-movie debriefing conversation this really cool guy I met named Zia said that the movie made him want to become more politically active and to have him voice heard, but that he'd have to decide what was worth fighting for. I guess his reaction is partly informed by the fact that LGBT people pretty much have all the rights that we are fighting for in the U.S. : adoption rights, partnership benefits, and anti discrimination laws.

The conversation made me appreciate that we do have something distinct to fight for, which really surprised me. In a weird way, we benefit from having to band together to fight for equality. I feel really lucky to have born at a time and in a place where I am able to fight for the causes that mean the most to me. Of course I wish we didn't have to, but being here did highlight the positive side of...oppression? It even sounds weird. And since I live a privileged life, I benefit more than others. Part of the reason why I am able to do and enjoy LGBT activism is because I'm not constantly worried about my safety, whether I'll be able to get a job or keep custody of my children.

However, even if we didn't have specific rights to fight for anymore (or as many), I don't think we would lose "what makes us, us." During the Prop 8 fiasco, some (very foolish) LGBT people said that they didn't want marriage equality because it would make us too "normal" or/and we'd just be buying into a heterosexist society. I think that under that sentiment, there is also the fear that if we have the same rights as straight people, then we won't have anything to bind us together. Hanging out with LGBT people here, I've realized that is not true. There is still something different and wonderful about being in a group of mostly LGBT people. LGBT people will always have different experiences from straight people and we can bond through those experiences if we wish.

Language update: The Brit way of saying "tramp stamp" (tattoo on lower back, usually sported by women of questionable morals) is "slag tag". A little anti-feminist, but funny.

Let it Snow

So last Monday Brighton experienced a once in a decade snow storm. I guess I have good timing. Sunday it began to snow and over night it snowed four inches. Four inches is more than a dusting, but St. Louis received eight inches last week and everyone still had to go to classes, as far as I am aware.

With only four inches on the ground, all the buses stopped running, no trains were running from either Brighton station or Victoria's in London, and the London tube shut down. Nora (one of my fellow WashUers studying here) said that the board at Victoria's which usually shows the schedule for departing trains was just completely blank. Classes were canceled because people couldn't get to the campus for work.


Just comparing the four inches here with the right in St. Louis, and the difference in reactions was pretty hilarious. I mentioned this someone I met Tuesday and she said that Northerners (in England) always make fun of Southerners because, "They can't deal with a bit of weather." I liked the way she phrased that.

But actually the snow day was pretty exciting. I woke up to my flat mates screaming about the snow and taking pictures, the darlings. Everyone went outside for snowball fights and sledding. The snow also produced a lot of creativity, mostly in the form of substitute sleds. The land around campus is mostly hills, so there was a lot of choice sledding spots, but most people didn't bring sleds to Uni. So they improvised. I used a trash bag, but the more innovative substitute sleds include a stripped down ironing board, fridge doors (but I wonder how they put them back, or if they just ruined their fridges), mattresses, cooking pans, and I even saw someone hauling a kayak up the hill. Who has a kayak at Uni, I wonder? All in all, it was a fun day.

My Alternate Lifestyle

After almost three weeks here at Sussex, I have started to settle into my new, alternate lifestyle. And there are some pretty huge, and enjoyable differences from WashU.

The drinking culture here is the most obvious and interesting (particularly to college students). There are a couple pubs on campus, and one is a three minute walk from my room. A pint of Guinness or Strongbow (really tasty cider) is never far away. People also just seem to drink more often and more openly here. Last night, a friend and I found little cans of gin and tonic at a supermarket being sold as if they were soda.

The picture to the left is an old advertisement for Guinness that says "You've had something more than a drink when you've had a Guinness." And the foam has a creepily smiling man in it. Luckily, he hasn't popped up in any of my drinks, yet.

Part of the change in the drinking culture is that students at the University of Sussex go out during the week because cover charges at clubs go up sharply (as much as 10-20 pounds) on the weekends. So far I've gone out on a Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. And then we tend to travel on the weekends, and still want to get a drink, so the entire week becomes acceptable drinking time. This could be problem for my pocket and liver.

Another huge difference is that I actually do have time to go out during the week. I live a leisurely life here at Sussex. Classes are enjoyable, but really seem to be background to my traveling adventures. I only have two classes (both English Lit) and I am only in class six hours per week.

As an example of my new lifestyle, yesterday, I woke up at noon and took a really long walk around the countryside (they call the hills which make up the country side "the downs"). I walked to a manor house which used to house the people who owned all the land on which the Uni is built. The manor house is in Stanmer Village which has what every English village seems to have: a church, village pond, tea room and pub. Then I went to an hour long lecture (funnily, it was about the cult of leisure in 18th century poetry) and after lecture, I jumped on a train to London and saw Lady Gaga at the O2 arena.

What I love about living here is that I have that enclosed campus feel, and then if you step off campus I'm in the countryside and its easy to forget that campus even exists. Then I can walk 10 minutes to either Stanmer or Falmer Village, and boom I'm in a picturesque English village with sheep, ponies and ducks running around. And then I can go into Brighton or London for fun clubs and cute shops. Brighton has a particularly cool area called the Lanes. They are, well, lanes. A system or small roads that wind around and are full of second hand or unique clothes shops and funky bars and restaurants. This picture is from some graffiti in the Lanes. Who knew James Brown was so popular with an English audience?

Two nations divided by a common language

I'm going to keep track of all the language differences between the Brits and Americans.

American word=British word

Band-aid=plaster
Detour=Diversion
Exit=Way Out
Line (standing in)=Queue (pronounced the same as the letter"Q")
Cilantro=Coriander
Eggplant=Aubergine (sidenote, they don't seem to have eggplant parmesan at all)
Candy=Sweets
Bathroom/Restroom=Toilets (they don't muck about)
cookies=biscuits
fries=chips and chips=crisps
apartment=flat (which I've actually started saying--it's quicker)
College=University or Uni for short. College is their high school
Societies=Clubs (student clubs)
Doing the dishes=doing the washing up

And my personal favorite: What we call Canadian bacon is their regular bacon, but our bacon, they call stripey bacon. Which makes me think "Stripper bacon" and I visualize a piece of bacon doing a sexy dance.

British-isms:

They pronounce a lot of herbs differently, including pronouncing the "h" on herbs.
Basil=Bah-sil
Oregano=O-reh-gah-no (stress on the gah)
Parsley=well, its actually just the elongated 'a' but it sounds more noticable in names of herbs for some reason...

People usually say "Hiya" instead of "Hey"
"You alright?" instead of "How are you?"
"Cheers" instead of "Thank-you"

Brit Slang:

One of my flatmates is from London and uses a lot of London slang.
He calls his neighbourhood "my ends"
"Safe" is cool.
He says "ja understand?" as a "u know what i mean?" thing.
"Getting bubbly"=partying.
"Ace" instead of "Cool"

The Continuous Stream of Good Things

I'm just going to list in order the wonderful series of events that made up the best day ever.

1. I woke up to a couple of lovely facebook messages from people back home, you know who you are.

2. I went into Rottingdean, a village where Rudyard Kipling used to live. He wrote Jungle Book, which the museum about him was very proud of, but they "forgot" to mention that he also wrote, "The White Man's Burden" (hugely racist poem which advocated for imperialism).

But the great thing about Rottingdean is the cream tea at "Ye Olde Tea Cottage." "Cream tea" refers to the entire spread of things you eat and drink at tea. So you are served tea with milk along with sandwhiches (tuna being my favorite), scones, and cake. The scones here are very different from the ones you can get in Whispers. They are also more like biscuits. And you put clotted cream and jam on them. Absolutely heavenly. I would say they are even better than chocolate. The Americans here are completely obsessed with scones.

3. Then I found out that I would get my own room (before I had a roommate--who is a really cool person, but I just like my privacy).

4. Then I found out that Gene Robinson was going to be included in the inauguration celebrations.

5. And finally I got a call from the BBC! The fuckin' B-B-C because they want to interview non-British people who listen to their World News Radio programmes (ME!). And they are going to pay for my travel to London and give me fifty pounds to talk to one of their reporters in an office in London. Don't tell them, but I would do it for free because I love the BBC so much.

6. And then that night we went out to a couple of pubs and clubs in Brighton.

A very spectacular day.