To continue from my previous post:
After fetching my bags at the airport, I came out into a maze of taxi drivers, all standing there holding up signs with people's names written on them. I had pre-ordered a taxi and knew that one should be waiting for me, but I passed what seemed like a million signs, typed on iPads, handwritten on the backs of papers, neatly printed out, underneath a million bored faces and above a million blue uniform suits, and not one of the names was mine. Shoving my two towers of stacked baggage and looking lost, I turned around to review the entire maze again, and a small older lady in a bright yellow shirt nearly ran into me.
"Are you a student?" she said, almost immediately and with great enthusiasm.
"Y-yes," I stammered, wondering exactly how she knew (well, besides the utterly lost expression). I cleared my jet-fogged brain and read her shirt: "Meet and Greet!" In her hands was an orange paper, writ large with the words, "Student? Need help?"
It turns out she was part of a Christian ministry called Friends International, which organizes greeters for arriving international students. She handed me a little guidebook to life in the UK, complete with an email to contact the "Friends" in your area, and helped me figure out the process by which the taxi drivers line up. Since I was 15 minutes before the time for which I had ordered my taxi, she suggested that my driver probably wasn't there yet, and showed me the "Meeting Point," so labeled by a large sign on the airport ceiling. I thanked her profusely and stood where appointed.
My taxi driver met me there with ease, and helped me roll my luggage to the car. He cautioned me that what would ordinarily be a twenty minute drive into central London would instead take closer to an hour, and he was right. It wasn't bad, though. Being driven on the wrong side of the road was, of course, still quite odd, but not so terrifying as the first time when I was in the coach (bus) in Scotland. The very first time, you feel as if you are constantly headed into incoming traffic!
The drive in was green, sunny, and otherwise unremarkable. I do love the British (I say British because it applied in Scotland as well as in England) proclivity for lace curtains in windows, though. It makes even the shabbier cottages you pass look so charming and storybookish.
The driver dropped me off at the Fulbright Orientation accommodations, where I arrived earlier than most students, and went through quite an ordeal getting my internet connected, as both the Ethernet port and cable they had provided for me were broken.
While wandering the building, I met another early arrival student, Julia, and, finding confidence in numbers, we set off to find lunch in the area around our accommodation, and, having found cheap sandwiches, ate them in a peaceful little garden.
Especially on that lovely sunny day, the whole atmosphere was so quaint, so cute, so...entirely what one might expect of a quiet autumn afternoon in London. It really is surprising what illusions are happily fulfilled, sometimes, and found not to have been very illusionary at all.
The day ended with a pub meet-up for the scholars, at which point I was entirely too tired to learn anyone's name. By that point, I started desperately missing the people from home, too, and it made me rather unwilling to socialize. But I think that what I will do is narrate the first week's events for the next few days, then go back and track my mental-emotional state in a separate post, to keep the length manageable.
Love you all!
Next up will be probably a post combining the first two full days of orientation - today was by far the more interesting. I met titled minor nobility and an ambassador, today! Find out which ones and where and why by coming back next time.
From: http://arttattler.com/archiverussiancourtprotocol.html
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
The Transit and Arrival
Hello! First of all, I'd like to reassure all of you who haven't seen on Facebook or email that I am indeed safe, well, and in England!
My flight into London Heathrow was uneventful in the good way, though I did have a few memorable moments in airports throughout the journey.
In New York, after I managed to lug my bags to the international gates, I happened to sit down next to a lovely great-grandmother named Mary, who also, it turns out, travels and blogs. She and her twin sister Martha have been all kinds of places over the years, and what started with her wondering where there was a restroom and me wondering where there was food led to a lovely conversation about our respective adventures. You can follow her adventures (if she doesn't mind my sharing) at www.the-traveling-twins.blogspot.com.
About the time that first class started boarding, I got up to do some ballet stretches by the window, since it was effectively the last time I would be able to move for six-and-a-half hours, and while I did so, a Jewish man stood up further down the window and appeared to do some kind of prayer. Pardon my complete cultural ignorance of Jewish custom, here, but he appeared perhaps particularly Orthodox or Hassidic, with a long black coat and large black hat, a full beard, and the curled locks of hair by his ears. He took off half his coat, rolled up his sleeve, and wrapped a complex set of leather straps around his bare arm and over his head, then stood before the window with his arms upraised. I stood at a short distance, watching his deep calm as I bent sideways over my leg, propped up at ninety degrees on the window ledge. There seemed to be something introspective and self-sufficient about him, as if he were content with conversations and experiences held inside himself, and therefore observed and perhaps enjoyed the passing world, but could also easily drop it from his mind for bigger things.
On the plane, I got an aisle seat, which is fortunate as I really can't sit down for six hours at a time, and people do make such a fuss when I have crawl over them every hour or two. I actually fell asleep for a little bit, with the aid of a lovely mix CD I had with me. First time I've ever slept on a plane, and it did much to improve my mood upon arrival.
After the jetway got stuck in midair about halfway to the airplane, and the engineers came and repaired it for us, I had to pass customs, which is a thing not lightly done in any country, I am coming to discover. There was a separate line just for International Students, and so I joined it. The vast bulk of the other students in line were Asian, many Chinese as I could see by their red passports and the English labels on their Chinese health certificates.
Having a long time in line, I observed all of the non-student comers to the non-UK/EU passport line, and learned that, while of course no country is clearly distinguishable all the time, by and large one can identify other Americans as the people with the blue passports and too much luggage. Above my line, there were scrolling screens and televisions that aired short programs, without the sound, sponsored by VisitBritain. Sometimes I have heard Americans wonder why things like Wills and Kate and the monarchy, or old castles and quaint villages, can become such a big deal to people in the US. Surely, the subtext runs, those are very stereotypical things to excite you about modern Britain? Well, if they are, then I can tell you conclusively that stereotypical things must sell, because the VisitBritain short films I saw detailed various areas of England, in all its pastoral, castle-filled, Royal Wedding glory.
However, the screen with still slides was actually my favorite. Mostly it was dull information about which documents students needed to show to pass customs, but one screen warned of "Detector Dogs at the UK Border," and featured a large picture of a thoroughly goofy Springer Spaniel, standing next to someone's bag with it's pink tongue lolling out of its amber-eyed, droopy-eared face, and its tail half-wagging behind its liver-and-white spotted body. It was the least intimidating, friendliest photo of a drug-sniffing dog that you could ever imagine!
After customs, I went to collect my bags. I found the carousel marked, and started to get a sinking feeling as minute after minute went by and the same bags, none of which were mine, trundled 'round and 'round. After about half an hour, I worked myself into a state of some panic, and started wandering anxiously around to all of the carousels. On the way, I ran across an American Airlines kiosk, where apparently American had already pulled my bags and had them waiting for me, I suppose because I had taken so long to get through customs. At any rate, I strapped all my four bags together and off we went.
To be continued...
(Time for shower and bed, here.)
My flight into London Heathrow was uneventful in the good way, though I did have a few memorable moments in airports throughout the journey.
In New York, after I managed to lug my bags to the international gates, I happened to sit down next to a lovely great-grandmother named Mary, who also, it turns out, travels and blogs. She and her twin sister Martha have been all kinds of places over the years, and what started with her wondering where there was a restroom and me wondering where there was food led to a lovely conversation about our respective adventures. You can follow her adventures (if she doesn't mind my sharing) at www.the-traveling-twins.blogspot.com.
About the time that first class started boarding, I got up to do some ballet stretches by the window, since it was effectively the last time I would be able to move for six-and-a-half hours, and while I did so, a Jewish man stood up further down the window and appeared to do some kind of prayer. Pardon my complete cultural ignorance of Jewish custom, here, but he appeared perhaps particularly Orthodox or Hassidic, with a long black coat and large black hat, a full beard, and the curled locks of hair by his ears. He took off half his coat, rolled up his sleeve, and wrapped a complex set of leather straps around his bare arm and over his head, then stood before the window with his arms upraised. I stood at a short distance, watching his deep calm as I bent sideways over my leg, propped up at ninety degrees on the window ledge. There seemed to be something introspective and self-sufficient about him, as if he were content with conversations and experiences held inside himself, and therefore observed and perhaps enjoyed the passing world, but could also easily drop it from his mind for bigger things.
On the plane, I got an aisle seat, which is fortunate as I really can't sit down for six hours at a time, and people do make such a fuss when I have crawl over them every hour or two. I actually fell asleep for a little bit, with the aid of a lovely mix CD I had with me. First time I've ever slept on a plane, and it did much to improve my mood upon arrival.
After the jetway got stuck in midair about halfway to the airplane, and the engineers came and repaired it for us, I had to pass customs, which is a thing not lightly done in any country, I am coming to discover. There was a separate line just for International Students, and so I joined it. The vast bulk of the other students in line were Asian, many Chinese as I could see by their red passports and the English labels on their Chinese health certificates.
Having a long time in line, I observed all of the non-student comers to the non-UK/EU passport line, and learned that, while of course no country is clearly distinguishable all the time, by and large one can identify other Americans as the people with the blue passports and too much luggage. Above my line, there were scrolling screens and televisions that aired short programs, without the sound, sponsored by VisitBritain. Sometimes I have heard Americans wonder why things like Wills and Kate and the monarchy, or old castles and quaint villages, can become such a big deal to people in the US. Surely, the subtext runs, those are very stereotypical things to excite you about modern Britain? Well, if they are, then I can tell you conclusively that stereotypical things must sell, because the VisitBritain short films I saw detailed various areas of England, in all its pastoral, castle-filled, Royal Wedding glory.
However, the screen with still slides was actually my favorite. Mostly it was dull information about which documents students needed to show to pass customs, but one screen warned of "Detector Dogs at the UK Border," and featured a large picture of a thoroughly goofy Springer Spaniel, standing next to someone's bag with it's pink tongue lolling out of its amber-eyed, droopy-eared face, and its tail half-wagging behind its liver-and-white spotted body. It was the least intimidating, friendliest photo of a drug-sniffing dog that you could ever imagine!
After customs, I went to collect my bags. I found the carousel marked, and started to get a sinking feeling as minute after minute went by and the same bags, none of which were mine, trundled 'round and 'round. After about half an hour, I worked myself into a state of some panic, and started wandering anxiously around to all of the carousels. On the way, I ran across an American Airlines kiosk, where apparently American had already pulled my bags and had them waiting for me, I suppose because I had taken so long to get through customs. At any rate, I strapped all my four bags together and off we went.
To be continued...
(Time for shower and bed, here.)
Monday, September 9, 2013
Off on the Grand Adventure!
In my brother's bedroom, my two rolling suitcases are packed and locked, and my two carry-ons are waiting for last minute filling with my toiletries and my purse.
I have packed everything I will need for a year in two medium-size rolling bags, one rather large carry-on, and one rather reasonably-sized carry-on, which, for a Texan woman, is a Herculean accomplishment. I suspect it may be aided by the fact that my clothes and shoes are all slightly smaller than average. Originally, I had packed a very large rolling bag, but it had to be unpacked and returned when I discovered that, far from lifting it, I could hardly manage to roll it when fully stuffed, seeing as it weighed something over half of what I do.
It is difficult for me not to compare this English adventure with my time in Belgium, but I try not to. I really had very little impetus to go to Belgium, besides the fact that I had heard that study abroad was good for both the soul and the resume, and I had been told that Scottish brogue did not qualify as acquiring a second language. And, while I did have some lovely excursions on the continent, I really did not much enjoy my time in Brussels, and it has given rather a bad taste to "study abroad" in my mind. So, I am consciously attempting to think of this as My Grand English Adventure, a thing much more exciting and charming than mere study abroad.
And really, I think that this time around, things will go much better. I am actually excited the night before, rather than shaking in fear. Oh, I'm nervous, of course - anyone would be, on relocating to strange climes for a year. But there are several thoughts which never cease to calm my fears...
First, and foremost, I have the prayers of many dear friends and the grace of a perfect God going with me. How easy it is to feel the Lord's love when what seems like a thousand friends are ranged as my prayer warriors, asking for my safety and my sanity and that I be used as a light to others.
Second, it must be admitted that the (ostensible) lack of a language barrier comforts me. While I know that British English and American English are probably more different than I have yet realized, the essential fact is that I should be able to communicate coherently with the average person on the street, without having to rack my brain for obscure verb tenses and odd vocabulary words not taught in class. I had a thoroughly useless habit when speaking French of falling back into Latin when I lost the French word for a thing...a dreadful side effect of private school, I suppose, is that it becomes slightly inconceivable that the whole world has not been educated in basic Latin.
Third, I am simply thrilled by all the descriptions of the MA program I am going into! I get to roll around in reams of details about English country houses and Victorian novels and the social status of children and all that sort of thing that turns me inside out with mental delight.
Oh, AND I get to spend more than a week in London!
That's what I'm doing first, actually. I go to Fulbright Orientation, then I have a week in London before my accommodation in Leicester opens its doors. And so I intend to see Westminster Abbey and the Tower of London, the Victoria and Albert museum and the Windsor Castle Victorian doll collection, the Thames and Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament and everything! I want to ride a double-decker bus and go into Harrod's and take the tube and wander in bookstores and generally soak in history until I am drunk on stories.
And so I and my four suitcases (and one loveable, long-suffering, and currently rather squashed stuffed pony) are about to set out on our Grand UK Adventure.
My friends, relations, and loves of all descriptions - I welcome your prayers, your suggestions, your communications, and your thoughts. Thank you for all you do for me -
Now read along and (almost) come with me!
I have packed everything I will need for a year in two medium-size rolling bags, one rather large carry-on, and one rather reasonably-sized carry-on, which, for a Texan woman, is a Herculean accomplishment. I suspect it may be aided by the fact that my clothes and shoes are all slightly smaller than average. Originally, I had packed a very large rolling bag, but it had to be unpacked and returned when I discovered that, far from lifting it, I could hardly manage to roll it when fully stuffed, seeing as it weighed something over half of what I do.
It is difficult for me not to compare this English adventure with my time in Belgium, but I try not to. I really had very little impetus to go to Belgium, besides the fact that I had heard that study abroad was good for both the soul and the resume, and I had been told that Scottish brogue did not qualify as acquiring a second language. And, while I did have some lovely excursions on the continent, I really did not much enjoy my time in Brussels, and it has given rather a bad taste to "study abroad" in my mind. So, I am consciously attempting to think of this as My Grand English Adventure, a thing much more exciting and charming than mere study abroad.
And really, I think that this time around, things will go much better. I am actually excited the night before, rather than shaking in fear. Oh, I'm nervous, of course - anyone would be, on relocating to strange climes for a year. But there are several thoughts which never cease to calm my fears...
First, and foremost, I have the prayers of many dear friends and the grace of a perfect God going with me. How easy it is to feel the Lord's love when what seems like a thousand friends are ranged as my prayer warriors, asking for my safety and my sanity and that I be used as a light to others.
Second, it must be admitted that the (ostensible) lack of a language barrier comforts me. While I know that British English and American English are probably more different than I have yet realized, the essential fact is that I should be able to communicate coherently with the average person on the street, without having to rack my brain for obscure verb tenses and odd vocabulary words not taught in class. I had a thoroughly useless habit when speaking French of falling back into Latin when I lost the French word for a thing...a dreadful side effect of private school, I suppose, is that it becomes slightly inconceivable that the whole world has not been educated in basic Latin.
Third, I am simply thrilled by all the descriptions of the MA program I am going into! I get to roll around in reams of details about English country houses and Victorian novels and the social status of children and all that sort of thing that turns me inside out with mental delight.
Oh, AND I get to spend more than a week in London!
That's what I'm doing first, actually. I go to Fulbright Orientation, then I have a week in London before my accommodation in Leicester opens its doors. And so I intend to see Westminster Abbey and the Tower of London, the Victoria and Albert museum and the Windsor Castle Victorian doll collection, the Thames and Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament and everything! I want to ride a double-decker bus and go into Harrod's and take the tube and wander in bookstores and generally soak in history until I am drunk on stories.
And so I and my four suitcases (and one loveable, long-suffering, and currently rather squashed stuffed pony) are about to set out on our Grand UK Adventure.
My friends, relations, and loves of all descriptions - I welcome your prayers, your suggestions, your communications, and your thoughts. Thank you for all you do for me -
Now read along and (almost) come with me!
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