Week 8 Impressions by Julia Calhoon

For my entry this week, I would like to write about a subject that is very close to my heart: Food. Food has been a central theme to my experience of London, starting from before I even arrived here. Back at home one of the top comments I received after telling someone that I was spending the semester in London was "Oh, you know that the food there is horrible, right?". After living here for seven weeks, I would like to announce that no, people, the food here is not horrible, but it will cost you approximately twice as much as it does back home, which has made for some pretty interesting culinary adventures. See, the per diem that is so kindly provided to us by Tom every two weeks comes out to 13 pounds a day, which is 26 American dollars. I know, you would think that this amount would be sufficient in keeping us properly nourished. You would also think that after three rounds of per diems I would have figured out how to sufficiently ration out my money over the two week period. But alas, here I am with more than a week to go, and just thirty pounds to my name. I guess it could have been that $10 gin and tonic I bought last night, or maybe my three recent shopping excursions to H&M, but whatever the reason, I have gotten pretty good at feeding myself with little money, even if it does mean eating nothing but crumpets and tea for a few days, both of which I have discovered to be dirt cheap.

There are actually several affordable food options available to the poor desperate college student in London; you just have to know where to look. One of my recent discoveries has been the Portobello Road market, which occurs every Saturday in Notting Hill. Three days ago I set off to Portobello Road with my roommate Diana, with the intention of purchasing massive quantities of produce and other edible market goods for little dough. Walking through the stands, we were amazed with the abundance of fresh fruit and vegetables, all of which were being sold at seemingly to-good-to-be-true prices. Our most amazing purchase of the day was a box that contained about fifty plums for one pound, a steal that we heartily congratulated ourselves on, only to later realize that about 85 percent of the things were rotting. We did manage to make it back home with about nine bags of various other non-moldy food items though, so our trip was anything but a failure.

Another thrifty meal choice here can be found at the late-night hot-dog and sausage stands that litter the London streets at ungodly hours every night. These stands are craftily located right next to every bus stop in the city, taking full advantage of hungry drunk club-goers on their way home. The first night that I encountered them, I judged these stands to be very sketchy and downright unsanitary but the smell that wafted up from the sautéing of onions and sausages was one that I knew would eventually break me. Sure enough, I finally caved and bought a hot-dog late one night when coming out of a club with Meg and Lauren. After giving the old vender man a ten pound note, he claimed I had only given him a five, and refused to give me change. Apparently I can be pretty scary at 6 am in the morning when extremely hungry and tired and agitated with all of humankind in general, because I started yelling at the poor guy and he forked over my change. Anyway, the thing tasted pretty amazing, although we later decided that it was probably made out of dog meat.

As for the more traditional British food items, I have experienced a wide range of highs and lows, from the best fish and chips of my life, to disgusting warm beer, to a very strange thing called the "full English" breakfast that consists of eggs, ham, bacon, sausage, toast, potatoes, tomatoes, mushrooms and baked beans. I’m not sure who decided that baked beans would be an appealing or appropriate breakfast food item, but let me tell you, they were way off. London is also home to the most skilled tea makers in the world, an activity that the people at my work delight in, and seem to take part in more than they do actually working. This city has also produced the worst coffee I have come across in my lifetime, and apparently has no appreciation for the wonder that is Mexican food, a realization that that has put certain members of our trip on the verge of depression. If Indian food is your thing, however, you could eat at a different restaurant on Brick Lane for every day that we were in London. Or, if you wanted to spend your entire per diem in a matter of minutes, you could stroll into the amazing Harrods department store and buy exotic fruit, fine cheese or gourmet Belgian chocolates, although just going to look was likened by my roommate to a trip to Disneyland.

Back in our flat, I have been quite impressed with the range of culinary endeavors taken by my classmates, especially considering the fact that our kitchen is roughly the same size as my shower. Some people in the group have taken to making elaborate dinners of chicken fajitas or stir fry. Anything that Lauren H. makes looks like it came out of a gourmet organic cookbook, and Andrew has been consuming pita and hummus like it’s nobody's business. Oh yeah, and Lauren B. eats a whole lot of Special K and toast. I mean…she eats a whole lot of vegetables, don't worry, Lauren's Mom. As for me, I can't say that I have had the healthiest of diets since I have been in London, but it has definitely been a culinary experience to remember. At the end of the day, I think that my body will forgive me for the greasy pub food, the beer, the dozen or so Cadbury eggs and erratic eating schedules, and be thankful that it got to come along for the amazing ride.

Week 8 Impressions by Meg Miller

This week my internship was cancelled. Hanover Primary School was taking its half term break. I was left to my own devices for three whole days. I was terribly distressed. I felt abandoned and oh so alone. How could these kids take a break only a week after my arrival? I considered scheduling a meeting with the headmaster to have him revoke the break and enforce mandatory school session. What could I possibly do? Where would I go? I had visions of myself sitting in my tiny dorm room glued to my computer watching Grey’s Anatomy for 72 hours straight. But, in the name of children everywhere, I took it upon myself to let them have their little break. After all, there were grandmothers that needed to be visited, and villas in the south of Spain that needed to be looked after. I would somehow have to learn to enjoy this five day weekend and make the most of it. I know what you are thinking, how did I possibly continue? Where did I find the strength to go on? What would I do without my 27 little kids from 8:30-4:30 each day? Who in their right mind could take joy in this break when they could be running after seven year olds all day? It was not easy, but I forced myself to carry on.

In all honesty, after doing some volunteer work to make up some of the missed hours at my internship, I jumped on the first train out of London. I literally leapt on to the train, one of those, “I’m free at last” leaps. The kind where your head goes back and your arms fly out to the sides. In a Broadway musical, this was the kind of leap that is followed by a song about the joy of travel and the open road. Choruses of singers would pop up out of the seats in glittery outfits and dancers would parade down the aisles with top hats on. Ok, so there was no glitter or top hats, but I was indeed free. Once I regained my balance and apologized to the old man I nearly ran over after said leap, I took my seat on the train and settled in for the roughly three hour train trip to Liverpool.

Trains have definitely snuck their way up to my favorite mode of transportation, right in front of the all-mighty Tube. Now, I am fully aware of the fact that planes are very functional and practical, and perhaps hot air balloons or po-go sticks offer a bit more thrill. But there is something about a train that tickles my fancy. They are fairly affordable, especially with our BritRail pass, and they are also relatively efficient. There is little hassle with tickets and security, unlike on an airplane, and they offer comfortable seats, heating, and even refreshments, unlike po-go sticks or hot air balloons. I mean, let’s be honest- trying to munch on some crisps or a sandwich is hardly safe on a po-go stick, even with a crash helmet.

So, yes, trains are number one on my list. You sit back and get a comfortable connection to the distance you are traveling. You have the opportunity to process the land you cover, observe the changing scenery, and soak up some sense of direction. Everything seems frozen in time as you float through the changing landscape. Birds hang in the sky, water slows to a still, and sheep stand quietly- then they are gone. Smoke from a chimney pauses as it climbs into the sky. These are the moments of life rolling past my eyes as I travel closer to my destination, brief encounters and glimpses of the world going by. Just as I began to think that perhaps a po-go stick could offer a similar experience, the rain began to fall and reconfirmed the train as my number one mode of transportation. Liverpool was great fun and I listened to the Beatles as I sat comfortably gazing out the window on the train ride home.

A Punter is Born by Tom Schoeneman

On Saturday, February 24, 2007, Mary and I decided to add a new dimension to our experience of Great Britain by attending a sporting event. We live a stone’s throw away from Chelsea Football Club’s stadium. On weekends, we can hear the roar of the massive crowds drift over on the often considerable London breeze. But Chelsea Football was not to be our introduction to British sport. Chelsea are the New York Yankees of soccer: The owner is rich and has stocked the club with high priced talent (yet, as I write this, they are in second place in their league). Tickets cost £100 each and besides, you can’t get one anyway. So instead of football, we chose the second most popular sport in the UK: Horseracing.

In particular, we went to see the rugby of racing, the Steeple Chase. This choice was a natural one, although it took nearly five weeks in Britain for the light bulb to appear over our heads. I have read every novel Dick Francis ever wrote—there are about 30 of them—and Mary is a retired English rider and jumper. We had seen the Steeple Chase in movies such as Phar Lap, and as far as I know, most if not all American horseracing is “flats.” So we googled “steeplechase” and found the website for British Horseracing. Kempton Park Racecourse, the closest venue to London, was charging admission of £15 for the Paddock and £20 for the Premier Suite. What the heck: We paid our £40, received our tickets in the mail along with all sorts of informative brochures aimed at the novice, and went off to Waterloo Station to buy train tickets at £12 each.

On race day, we dressed in the required “smart casual” (which for me, was my usual uniform of button down shirt, jeans, and tweed sports jacket) and boarded the train at 12:12 pm. Our car was full of people quietly conversing while poring over the racing pullout sections of the local papers. Then and there I realized my first mistake: Lack of preparation. I intended to bet, you see. Mary had no interest in betting: She just wanted to look at the horses. But I had grandiose dreams of betting with enough success to break even, dreams that alternated in a kind of manic-depressive counterpoint with the suspicion that I was about to become the UK’s biggest idiot.

Post time for the first race was 2:05 pm. We arrived after a 45 minute train journey at around 1:00 so that we had time to orient ourselves. First, we needed to see what the extra £5 ticket price bought us. Our tickets were small white tags with the words “Premier Enclosure” printed on the front and the dress code on the back: “Smart Casual. No sports shorts. No ripped, cut or torn denim.” We first established that the Premiere Enclosure was upstairs and the Paddock level was on the ground floor. “Paddock” meant that you could watch the races from the lawn in front of the track or inside the building on the monitors. That indoor scene was a roiling, packed mass of people eating, drinking pints, and betting. Upstairs in Premiere, it was the same scene indoors, but with a slightly less dense crowd of better dressed people. Premiere also allowed access to the stands so that you could watch the races from an elevated viewpoint, either standing or, higher up, seated. If you were particularly rich and had the foreknowledge to book ahead, you could go upstairs even further to the Panoramic Bar and Restaurant, where you could sit at a table, eat a leisurely lunch, and watch the races from a spectacular vantage behind floor-to-ceiling glass. This would set you back £55-65, but that includes the price of admission.

Post time was approaching. A bet needed to be laid. I could choose to do this at the Tote, which is the racetrack’s betting operation inside the enclosure, or I could go down to the Paddock and bet at one of about a dozen stalls operated by independent bookies. OK, snap decision: the Tote. It’s closer, easier. What to bet on? I know better—or I thought I knew better—than to bet on the basis of a horse’s cool name or the jockey’s lovely colors. Odds! I needed odds. After a scramble and some inquiries of helpful racecourse personnel, we located a racing form (cost: £2.50).

The first race was a Novices’ Hurdle. Five horses, all inexperienced 4 year olds, would be going over shorter hurdles on a shorter course. The hurdles are shrubberies trimmed to a flattop. At this time of year, they are basically a bunch of densely packed sticks coming out of the ground. After quickly looking at the form, I somehow settled on a horse from France named Oslot. I went to place my bet and made my next mistake. I had decided to place “each way” bets on all of the races. “Each way” means that you bet on a horse to either win or place (come in second). I strode up to the betting window and announced “£5 each way on number 3.” The lady behind the window said “Ten pounds, please.” It turns out the £5 each way means £5 to win and £5 to place. Well, duh. But hey, there were only five horses and Oslot just needed to come in first or second. And he was the favorite.

We went up to the seats and watched the horses trot past to the starting point. The gate wasn’t a gate—it was a rope stretched across the track. The jockeys directed the horses into a semblance of a line, the rope dropped, and they were off. The race was for two miles, just over one circuit of the course. At that distance, what we could see on the far side of the course was a bunch of tiny specks with pinpoints of different colors. To compensate, there was a video feed on a big screen, but in my first timer’s excitement and confusion, I had no idea where my horse was until the pack came around the home stretch and took the final jump. First horse over: Not Oslot. Second horse: Not Oslot. Third: There he was, number 3. And that’s where Oslot stayed. I bet on a horse to come in first or second and he comes in third. One consolation was that I didn’t place a sentimental bet on the only American-owned horse entered in any of the 7 races: Cavallini came in last, about a minute behind everyone else.

OK, so: Lessons learned from the first race. First, steeple chasing is brutal. Mary, used to the stately pace and flow of English-style jumping shows, was amazed at the length of the course and at the form, or lack of it, of the horses at the end. They were exhausted. Those last few hurdles were very dicey affairs. The home stretch was a raggedy scramble of flailing crops and hooves. Lesson two: Don’t bet £5 each way. The minimum of £2 each way is sufficient to exhaust one’s treasury. Lesson 3: Study the damned racing form and figure out what the heck it is saying.

For race number two, I figured out where the probable odds were listed. I decided on a strategy of each way betting on the second or third favorite horse. Result: Yes Sir blew it. Another £4 in the hole.

The third race was the big race of the day, the Racing Post Steeple Chase. I had seen a newspaper article on the favorite, Lucifer Bleu, and perversely decided not to bet on him. I chose the second favorite, a German horse called Limerick Boy. This was a three mile race, the longest of the day, with 10 horses. Lucifer Bleu led the pack by many lengths for 2 1/2 miles, followed by Limerick Boy in front of packed group. So far so good. Then, coming around into the home stretch, a horse cleared a jump and surged past the favorite. Which horse? The crowd roared as down the home stretch came . . . Simon, the third favorite. Another £4 in the bin.

I was starting to re-evaluate my fantasies of breaking even. But what the heck, I had a budget of £4 per race—might as well stick to it. The fourth race was another novice’s hurdle with 6 horses. The #1 and 2 horses, Parrain and Poquelin, were first and second favorites. I chose horse #4, Punjabi, based on a statement in the racing form: “It would be no surprise to see him figure at the business end.” 20-20 hindsight reveals that comment as masterful weaselry indeed. Punjabi was a British horse; the favorites were French. The rider was a jockey named Mick Fitzgerald who wore a grey jersey with pink epaulets and a grey and pink quartered cap.

The horses lined up, if you can call a bunch of milling beasts a line-up. The rope dropped. The horses continued to mill about. Over the loudspeaker, the announcer said, “Do not adjust your sets, the race has begun.” After a few seconds of confusion, the novices got the hint and began running. And there was Punjabi out ahead of the pack. Oh no, I thought. Halfway through the 2 mile race, Punjabi was ahead by 20 lengths. No, no, no, this is going to end SO badly. At the three quarter mark, the lead was down to 10 lengths. Typical. Around the home stretch they came. Good grief! Still ahead by 10 lengths. The crowd cheers. “Go Punjabi, go!” And he did, winning by 10 lengths.

With no idea of the odds, I queued up to collect my winnings. My £4 each way bet paid £12.80. Not bad! I should have bet a tenner.

Race number five was reverting to form. My grey horse, Fork Lightning, was racing in third place ahead of a pack that was well behind the two front runners. Ho hum. Then, at the last hurdle, the second place horse pulled up and refused the jump. Great! Fork Lightning could now take second! More money in my pocket. Except that the balky horse, standing by the hurdle, skittered sideways into Fork Lightning as he went up over the hurdle. Using our clunky digital camera, Mary managed, against all odds, to get a perfect picture of horse and jockey each doing a face plant on the downside of the hurdle. The horse ran on, riderless. The jockey stayed in a ball on his knees for a minute, but eventually got up and walked away. So all ended well: Horse and rider were OK, an exciting finish. And another £4 gone.

In the sixth race I picked my horse, but then noticed another horse from Ireland named Portland Bill, named no doubt after our home town in Oregon. So what the heck, let’s bet on a horse based on its name. Portland Bill came in second: My £4 bet returned £4.40.

Final race: Sun setting, people leaving early. For the last three races, Mary and I had taken a position at the rail so that she could watch the horses from up close. We shared a pint of Fuller’s London Pride and took in the scene around us: Three boys playing horse race on the lawn, one reliably crashing to the ground every time, squirming and flailing like a fallen horse. Out on the track, a guy with a pitchfork flipping over the divots from the previous race. A professional photographer walking by inside the rail, asking if we got a picture of the fall. (“Maybe,” we said.) A sky of broken clouds lit sidewise by the setting sun. A good day, we concluded. And it was over. Race number 7 was an anticlimax featuring novices, no hurdles, There were twelve horses, 7 of them in their first race. My experienced choice came in 7th.

The train back to London was uproarious, a sardine tin full of people who had been drinking pints all afternoon. Not what we are used to in London mass transit: On the tube, everyone buries their nose in a book or newspaper to avoid conversation and eye contact. The 5:48 from Kempton Park to London was the anti-tube. The loudest conversations were about, of course, football.

So in the end, how did we do? Expenditures were £40 for admission, £25.70 for the train, £11.70 for food and drink, £2.50 for the racing form, and £34 in bets; winnings were £9.20. Bottom line: £113.90 spent, £9.20 earned. Do the math. In the end, I have to conclude that (a) economic theories featuring the rational man are bunkum, (b) our afternoon was cheaper than two tickets to Chelsea football, and (c) we should do this again!

Week 7 Impressions by Sasha Shybut

Waking up earlier than usual on a Saturday morning, the group of LC kids laced up their shoes for a day of travel to Cambridge, a place that we all know for its academics and small English Town sentiments. It seems that the group has developed their traveling skills, as we didn’t all meet together as one giant loud group. Smaller groups made their ways to the train station with a hope of making it on the earlier train ride to explore Cambridge before the scheduled tour.

As we made it onto the train we all quickly found our seats and admired the changing view from our windows, from the crowded city of London to the smaller suburbs, which were disappointingly similar to home, consisting of large “car parks” and oversized retail stores. As we rode further out the suburbs disappeared, revealing a brief area of countryside. The green grass was impressive but the hills were lacking. The train ride was rather short. The dysfunctional family wandered into town to explore before our much anticipated free lunch with Tom and Mary!

Lunch consisted of Pizza Express, a name that conotates a small generic chain restaurant. To much of our surprise Pizza Express was in a historic building offering large luxurious leather chairs and couches for our hungry bodies. Yet again we were seated at a long table with Tom as the head. We should grant him the head seat considering he is our source of free lunches and per diems. As we looked at the menu I imagine myself looking like a person who had been living in the wilderness for months with little food to eat, as the menu made me look bewildered. The godfather pizza or the garlic bread and chocolate fudge sundaes?! As soon as our much-anticipated food came we quickly realized how quiet the room became. Our mouths were taking in food and conversations dropped.

After lunch we met at the markets in the central downtown area of Cambridge. Some people took a few minutes to explore the markets before meeting up with our tour guide. As we waited in the cold for the last stragglers to make it, some enjoyed a fresh cup of carrot juice, which was surprisingly refreshing. The only odd thing about it was it wasn’t really juice but rather carrot juice with mashed bits. The tour started by walking towards Kings College. Our tour guide began with an overview of the history of Cambridge and its beginnings. She elaborated on the rivalry between Cambridge and Oxford, or as she said “the other place”. On the way we stopped outside of a gift store that had on display all the different colors for the 32 colleges in Cambridge. In the farthest window we saw the much-coveted powder blue sweaters and jackets that only the elite student athletes of Cambridge wear. The store was also the true center of town. Lists of names were in the windows of which people had made which sports teams. At this point I couldn’t help myself but think that Cambridge was living up to the stereotype of being a classist society. Certain colors denoting superiority in academics and sport could be applied to the general hierarchy that I see as a characteristic of Britain. The tour continued to the front of Kings College where we were told about the process in which the buildings were built. The cathedral was high gothic while the building adjacent to it was Victorian. The buildings did not belong together. However, due to lack of money the buildings were constructed whenever funds permitted.

We went into the Chapel, and were amazed by the architecture, especially the fan vault style ceiling. The stained glassed windows were all original, something that most Cathedrals in England cannot claim. During WWII the windows were painstakingly removed in order to preserve them. We learned about the Christmas and Easter celebrations that take place in the Chapel. Young prepubescent choirboys are the main event in the Cathedral during celebrations. They apparently have a very genuine voice at such age that cannot be achieved by older people. Of course because this is a British tradition, there is a hierarchy of 12-year-old boy singers who try out for the solo piece. If they do not make the cut they are sent down to less prestigious Church services.

As we left the Cathedral we walked to the river where people were punting, an odd way of traveling on the river. A small wooden boat with a person who pushes the boat along with a long wooden stick. It all seemed very crude to me, but perhaps that’s because I’m used to rowing a boat, not pushing.

After that we walked around the college grounds. We walked around Trinity College, the most prestigious college in Cambridge where Prince Charles graduated. We even walked outside of the room where he lived.

After that we walked by the old original grounds of Cambridge where the former library stands today. I think at this point our tour guide realized how cold everyone was and let us out into the streets of Cambridge.

After having a nice historical tour of Cambridge the dysfunctional family was ready to rest on the train ride back to London where we would party all night in celebration of Nikki’s birthday.

Week 7 Impressions by Steve Fisher

This was the week of birthdays. First we had Nora’s birthday on Tuesday. I’m not sure if it’s sad to admit this, but we had breakfast for dinner to celebrate, and it was one of the best meals I’ve had in a long time. Nothing is more satisfying than French toast and bacon at 8:00 at night. We also had plans to see the musical Billy Elliot, but that has to wait until April. Apparently it’s very popular.

Next came Nikki’s birthday on Saturday night. This was the big bash of the week, and it took place at the biggest club I have ever been to: Fabric. It was also possibly the most chaotic venue I have ever been in. Three levels of smoky, sweaty, and drunken people writhing to the sound of three European trance/techno DJ’s, played at a decibel level adequate for a massage, but not so good for those who wish to hear past age thirty. The lights were incredible; most of the time I could see through the haze in only green or red, depending on the room, though there were moments when the lights flashed in a seizure-inducing fashion so I couldn’t see much of anything. The prices were astronomical: £3.90 for a Stella! Nevertheless, I think that most people had a good time (minus those who were accosted by creepsters), and, most importantly, the birthday girl had a blast.

I spent most of my time following the group, trying desperately not to get separated, which was pretty much everyone’s plan. Naturally, our plan failed miserably; our group mysteriously shrank throughout the night, and suddenly, after a trip to the bathroom (the weirdest bathroom ever, I might add), I found myself alone. Eventually, I found Sasha; we stayed for a while longer and then left at around 2:30 in the morning. It took us two hours to get home since the Tube was closed, we were a bit lost, and the bus drivers had no clue what they were doing. Finally, after walking halfway across London, I got home and collapsed.

I discovered the next day that some in our group had stayed at the club until 7:00am, so I don’t feel quite as tired now as I might have (amazing how self-pity can change your perceptions). My next challenge: staying awake in class on Monday.

Week 6 Impressions by Alex Hickok

By far the most interesting thing we have done this week is visiting the Houses of Parliament. Allow me a minute to paint a picture of this historic institution. First of all, it’s massive. It contains some 2,000+ offices, 12 restaurants, at least 4 pubs and spans many city blocks next to the River Thames. Apart from the imposing physical nature of such a building, the whole thing is surrounded by large fences and patrolled with guards packing sub-machine guns. They appeared not to be messing around, but very relaxed knowing they are the only people around with firearms, let alone automatic ones.

We all arrived at the tourist entrance, and met our tour guide, Ian, who was quick to poke fun at America’s oil consumption as well as Prime Minister Tony Blair in a typical dry British way. He also claimed that he did not normally give tours, but seemed to know much more than any of the other tour guides we overheard inside the building. Go figure. Anyways, our tour started at the entrance the Queen uses once a year to open Parliament. After passing through the security checkpoint, which consisted of x-raying bags, a metal detector and a pat down (much like airport security, only more efficient), we were informed that all mobile phones had to be turned off and cameras could not be used while inside. This was disappointing, as the whole building is basically a work of art; every surface is embellished with decoration in one matter or another. If it was any consolation, we were allowed to bring pocketknives with us (unlike airport security) as long as the blades were shorter than 4.5 inches!

Next we found ourselves in a lobby with many busts of previous Prime Ministers, which was a reoccurring theme throughout the tour. We continued to follow the path the Queen takes when she opens Parliament, through her waiting room, and into another large room for entertainment of foreign ambassadors and leaders. This room was massive, with huge ceilings and two large (and I mean LARGE) paintings of British war victories over the French. Our quick-witted tour guide, amid pleas for us to stop “sucking down” the oil, pointed out the little hooks above the paintings, which could be used to cover up the paintings if the French were guests in the room. If relations between the two rival nations were not cordial, the curtains stayed off. Judging by the English-French track record, I would guess they didn’t use those little hooks much.

Next stop was the House of Lords, close to the real meat of the Parliament system. The House of Lords is the unelected part of the Parliament, and is represented by the color red, with a throne to for the Queen to use to open Parliament every year. If you ever have the chance I recommend watching a video of the opening of Parliament; it is hilarious. So the Queen enters the building much as we did (albeit with out the security check, I don’t think anyone would suspect the Queen of smuggling a gun/bomb in her gowns) hangs out in her waiting room while being tended to by her 20-or-so ladies-in-waiting, then proceeds to her throne in the House of Lords. She summons the House of Commons to the Lords house, and then reads “her government’s” legislative plan for the session, which is in fact written by the Prime Minister. This is where things get good. Technically royalty is not allowed in the House of Commons (which is in another room down the hall), so she has to send her representative, named “Black Rod” to get them. As you might surmise, Black Rod is a gentleman who, in fact, carries a black rod. He proceeds down the hall towards the open door of the House of Commons with a confident stride, only to get the door slammed in his face, literally. He then proceeds to bang on the door three times with his black rod, which is opened by the Ministers of Parliament (MPs), and amid insults hurled in his direction, he requests the presence of the MPs in front of the Queen. The leaders of the government and the opposition follow Black Rod back to the House of Lords, and squeeze in as many people as they can into the already packed room. Ironic in that the Queen summons her government into the House of Lords, which is too small for most of the MPs, to have a speech read to them that they had just handed to her the day before. After this is done, the Queen exits, and everyone heads for the nearest pub. You may ask yourself, why the hell do they do this crazy weird ceremony every single year? It’s origins come from the time of King Charles I, who after trying to arrest five MPs of his Parliament and was severely rebutted, caused a civil war. Thus then after, the Monarch never attempted to set foot in the House of Lords, sending instead trusty Black Rod to brave the angry MPs.

After the House of Lords, we finally made it to the House of Commons, where the real action is. This is where MPs sit (sometimes stand) and shake fists, point fingers, hurl witty insults, and somehow run a government. Every week they have a chance to grill their Prime Minister publicly about current issues, which is called Question Time, and happens for 30 minutes every Wednesday. I highly recommend it; I believe it’s televised on C-SPAN in the US. The House of Commons requires its politicians to actually stand up to intense debate and criticism, something I wish the US would do. It’s kind of like our Congress but with a two-drink minimum and in a very small room. Imagine seeing GW and his cronies getting grilled every week on TV by an angry mass of articulate, intelligent, cutthroat lawmakers. Just watch Question Time and you will see what I mean. The rest of the tour was ho-hum; mostly just some offices and finally a gift shop, as any good tour ends with.

Week 6 Recap by Katie Burnett

Greetings from London once again!! We have now successfully made it into the second week of February and it is hard to imagine that we have already been here for over a month. It’s going too fast if you ask me and I’m already trying to find ways I can stay over the 6-month visa limit; I think most of us are, actually, but especially the girls who may be on their way to a marriage proposal by the end of the trip.

This past week has been jam-packed. We with started out with interviews for our service learning placements. I was the first out of the group scheduled, but upon arrival I was informed that my supervisor was ill so it was rescheduled for Thursday. While I was frustrated, I do have a tendency to get lost so I now look at the incident as a very successful test run. For those of us not interviewing on Tuesday, we had another full day of classes. We received our first graded papers in Diaspora Studies. Most of us were clenching our teeth because the teachers here have been raving about the high quality of UK students’ work, which made us a bit nervous, but to our pleasant surprise everyone did very well. It was a great way to start off the week if you ask me! After class we all rushed home in a mad dash for the kitchen. I think all 15 of us squeezed in at some point without hurting each other in the process—you can probably tell that we are pretty much family at this point.

Once we were sufficiently stuffed, the club goers threw on their gear and headed out. One group went to a Hyphy club in Soho, one to the Gardening Club in Covent Gardens, and another out to a pub. I probably should clarify when I say the word Hyphy because I had no idea what it entailed until I became roommates with a lovely Northern Californian native named Lauren. I felt a bit out of the loop so I looked Hyphy up on the internet. Wikipedia describes it as a type of music distinguished by gritty, pounding rhythms. “An individual is said to ‘get hyphy’ when they act or dance in an overstated and ridiculous manner.” Lauren has not showed me the specific dance moves but I am sure we will get a glimpse some time soon. While I did not attend the hyphy club, I am now aware that it is more of a life style than anything.

Wednesday was our day off from school and we had the pleasure of attending the Hogarth exhibit at the Tate Britain. With free entrance, we arrived between 12 and 12:30 in the afternoon and basked in Hogarth’s vivid depictions of British culture. His work embodied a wide range of themes and emotions. Both satirical and heart wrenching, informative and cartoonist, and realistic and lively, Hogarth’s work was captivating. I was most impressed by his detailed etchings and prints. When looking closely you can see each and every stroke of his pen and feel the precision in his technique. After the Hogarth exhibit, we went our separate ways—some stayed to explore the Tate Britain while others returned to do homework.

Thursday brought yet another wonderful surprise, SNOW!! We awoke that morning to a white, snowy London and of course, no one wanted to get out of bed. Lucky us, our first class was cancelled and we had luxury of having a morning filled with relaxation. Being from southern California, any time I see snow I have an uncontrollable reflex that propels me outside. Rocki was kind enough to humor me and the two of us went on a walk to frolic in the snowy wonderland. Unfortunately, we soon found out that wet snow is not the most ideal for frolicking so after making it to the market (only down the road) we quickly turned back and rushed home so to avoid getting soaked. Later that day we had our Social Welfare course and went to bed early, eagerly awaiting our trip to Parliament.

I have to say that Parliament was the highlight of the week. We went as a group and had a hilarious tour guide who made it quite known that he was not a fan of Tony Blair. It was a wonderful experience to finally put a picture to what we are learning in our Contemporary Britain course, especially the dent in the door from Black Rod—the man who vigorously hits the door of the House of Commons to summon them to the House of Lords. I could go on for days about Parliament however I am going to hold off on a lengthy description because I know Alex is going to give a nice recap. After Parliament we had our afternoon Area Studies course during which we had our second test. Lets just say we were all ready for the weekend to begin... Friday night was very fun and a good group outing. We all went to a new club called Crazy Larry’s, which definitely lived up to it’s title. However, in the beginning, we were the only ones there; we like to avoid cover charges.

Saturday and Sunday were filled with shopping and market jumping. As for me, I went up to Oxford on Saturday afternoon to stay with my best friend Ali who is studying at St. Anne’s. Oxford was surprisingly easy to get to and it was a much-needed getaway. It actually ended up reminding me of Lewis & Clark—small college town and even smaller student body of only 400. Saturday night Ali and I went to their annual St. Anne’s club night, which was themed “Bond and Bondage.” Yes—Bondage…I was surprised too. I did not think Oxford would be crazy but we had a great time. Some of the costumes were pretty wild and I enjoyed meeting new people. I returned on Sunday afternoon to a quiet dorm; everyone was out and about visiting museums, doing homework, and shopping.

That concludes our week’s recap. This coming week should be a fun one—it’s our first day of work this Wednesday, which happens to be Valentine’s Day. The girls are hoping for a nice dinner from the boys (who happen to all be very gourmet) but we’ll see. We miss everyone back home and hope all is well!

‘Til next time,

Katie

Week 5 Recap by Rachelle Nicolai

Hey everyone! As usual we have had a very eventful week. We started off with a bang…we all found out more precisely what our internships would be like and what night next week we have to refrain from the pub/club scene in order to seem respectable for our interviews. That night we celebrated Andrew’s 21st at Roadhouse, which was an attempt at an American bar, but as Steve said, they didn’t have beer on tap. But they did have a good happy hour, good music, good company, and Andrew successfully made it past 21, what more could you ask for?

Wednesday night ended up being another late night: our first paper was due Thursday. Needless to say, morning class Thursday was rough. That afternoon we ventured to the British Library for the London: A Life in Maps exhibit. They had maps showing everything from Roman settlements to cholera breakouts to Google Earth on display. We all revelled in our reprieve as we were informed we could have class time Friday to write the other paper due this past week. Being studious, responsible students, we of course finished well before the new due date of Monday night. In our Contemporary England class we were pitted against each other as we debated over the abolition of the monarchy. We prepared ourselves by watching a real Parliamentary debate, and because most of you have not seen such a spectacle I’ll brief you. There is a lot of avoiding the question by instead wittily insulting the other person, lots of finger wagging, lots of cheering from the peanut gallery, and lots of “I got you good” smirks. In our best attempt to simulate such a debate we attacked each other’s reasons for keeping or abolishing the monarch. I think we decided that the British like the Queen but have absolutely no idea what she does with the £35 million they pay her annually. In the end we weren’t quite sure if it was so much an educational experience as funny for a British professor to see Americans pretend to be knowledgeable about the monarch.

That night a large group of us ventured to Tiger Tiger, of course making it in just before the cover. It was unlike other places we’ve been. It had a live band for a portion of the night, a restaurant, a lounge, an upstairs bar, and a downstairs club. After realizing that the number of people crowded in the place was going to make me have a panic attack I ended the night earlier than most. Saturday began by a bit of shopping. The sheer number of people in any given store was suffocating. The best purchase of the day was Andrew’s robe. Saturday night was a bit more relaxed: we hit up a local favourite, Kavanagh’s. Sadly we missed Australia day celebrations a week ago, but a few of us were fortunate enough to witness some of the New Zealand Day celebrations occurring Saturday. Most of you should now be aware of what a pub crawl is (think Sasha’s birthday). Ambitious New Zealanders (and people who like to have any excuse to party) dress in all black, jump on the Circle Line on the underground, and pub hop around the 26 stops. I have no words but “impressive.”

Sunday found Nicole and I wandering around a Brick Lane-ish area getting wrong directions and successfully making circles around Spitalfields market, our hoped-for destination. We finally made it and wandered around a bit before freezing when the sun disappeared behind the clouds again and headed home. That night we had big plans to head out to a bar for some Superbowl action, but we didn’t quite make it out. We did manage to wander down to the common room to catch most of the game. We were fully disappointed to discover we didn’t get to see any “epic” commercials, and that Prince would not be performing enough of his classics. On the upside, we got to hear commentary from a tiny British man, a rugby Neanderthal, and a token American.

As for Monday, people have been winding down, getting back to business of classes and preparing for interviews. The first few of us had them today: so far, good things! There will be news to come shortly on those…. A few people went to see Twelfth Night, a few of us had reading to catch up on; all in all it’s been a quiet night around Metrogate. Just a note, for those of you who are really attentive, we should have gone to Cambridge today, but due to internship interviews the trip had to be postponed. Hope this note finds you all well, and expect exciting news about upcoming trips.

Rocki

Week 5 Impressions by Andrew Barnes

An Epic Week

The last seven days have seen the group’s outlook on life in London swing from exuberance to academic hell and back again. The week was filled with parties, papers, and a much appreciated free dinner. I had the joy or misfortune of experiencing my 21st birthday in a country where the legal age of alcohol consumption is far from the aforementioned lofty American requirement. I was somewhat uncertain how such an American celebration of coming-of-age would translate across the pond. Far from family, friends, and home I feared that it would be a night of unfulfilled expectations. But I have come to realize that the individuals of this trip have come together to form our own unique dysfunctional family that I absolutely love and thoroughly enjoyed spending time with in London. It is a teeming mass of endless energy and ridiculousness that one of the group so keenly called an amoeba: We are a group of undefined shape and identity that has developed an overwhelming sense of camaraderie.

This idea of identity was to many a central idea for the week. The Diaspora Studies class assigned a 2,000 word essay that looked at British identity and community. This paper was not of exceptional length when presented to a L&C student, but for some reason it was the bane of everyone's existence. It could have been the lingering remnants of my birthday party the night before, but everyone seemed to run into difficulties forming coherent ideas and putting them to paper. A long night was had by many, clearly evident by the tired looking crazy eyes and heads nodding the next day in class. Perhaps merely by circumstance, Tom had organized a dinner for the same day that our paper was due. I think everyone was craving a chance to experience any sort of food in London through the wallet of another, and allowing the opportunity to save some portion of one's precious per diem. Tom of course made a superb choice of location at one of the local pubs, the Anglesea Arms, where pints and almost exclusively fish & chips were had by all. I think it may have offered the first time in some time where the entire group met in a social environment where conversation could actually be heard without the presence of bumping techno music at a club or bar intruding into the conversation. Of course my end of the table took full advantage of this opportunity and had serious discussions on the production of beer and what parasites from around the world we would avoid at all costs, clearly topics appropriate for our quasi-family dinner.

There is a growing skill within the group to recognize Americans from afar, a skill that we have nurtured to exceptional prowess. We avoid Americans like the plague. Those North Face wearing floozies are a group we would not like to be associated with. The group, although not always successful, has made a conscious effort to not be stereotypical loud Americans through behavior or dress. This was clearly on display this weekend at Kavanaugh's, a local bar which we have previously enjoyed for its eclectic 90s cover band and collection of authentic British boozers, The crowd that night was overly American, and it made an impression in our minds not to go back. I’m not exactly sure what that says for our sense of American identity, but it may be related to the bubble that is Lewis & Clark life or the fact that we are just so much cooler than everyone else.

The academic highlight of the week came from the Social Welfare class. With everyone still dazed and confused from their less than stellar essay writing performances, a field trip had been scheduled for the British Library to see an exhibition called “London: A Life in Maps”. To our delight, I think most found the exhibit to be very interesting and enlightening. The exhibit was a collection of maps giving a visual representation of the growth and development of London. The exhibit contained a variety of maps, ranging from maps reporting cholera epidemic deaths to unemployment distributions within London. It offered an interesting chance to remove the vast size of this metropolis from one's consciousness and see how issues of social welfare and infrastructure actually play out across this vast city.

The group is about to embark upon a totally different academic journey in the next week. Internship interviews have begun, and the days of long weekends are over. The joy of finally starting our placements, and getting out there and doing something currently is making the loss of free time acceptable. I personally am somewhat sad to see those days go. These past few weeks have seen the growth of so much friendship, and so many good times have been had, but the camaraderie will remain to take care of those who have had too much fun or to pick up those who have fallen over benches, and to sit and laugh about trying to break into the locked kitchen for the all important warm bread.

Week 4 Impressions by Lauren Bryson

Dear blog,

I had a very hard time coming up with a theme for you. I wanted something informative yet humorous, something British but not completely stereotypical (which is a word I have come to have a love/hate relationship with), and interesting while appropriate. By the way, hi mom! I’m eating vegetables. So many different ideas were floating around in my head. I could write about the insane pigeons that have no fear of anything, the obscene amount of mayonnaise that is put on everything, how someone in our group almost gets taken out by a car daily, the vending machines at the tube that dish out miniature sized Cadbury cream eggs, or the excitement that I display when watching a Manchester United game at a pub with people who know more about the team than the usual response I get back in the states of “oh yeah, the team in the movie Eurotrip.” I could write about the monstrous deserts and doughnuts that tease me daily through the windows of the bakeries while I walk to class, the thrill we all get when coming home late and finding the kitchen door to be open, or the ridiculously amusing British television programs I have quickly come to love. Those can be for later writing times, but now it is time to write about something that is everywhere in London – in stores, at pubs, at restaurants, on our floor, at clubs, on the streets, in the tube station. I’m talking about music. Every place that I go in this city somehow has some form of music playing in the background. The vast variety of these songs is something that amazes me every day. I’m always straining my ears for a new theme song of the week to come home and download.

One of my favorite jams is called “Put Your Hands up for Detroit” which I’m actually listening to as I type this. It is played religiously at every club and bar we go to, sometimes in multiples if we’re lucky. One night I found myself explaining to a London native that you didn’t really want to go to Detroit. Yet he was thoroughly convinced that if he ever went to the states, Detroit would be his first stop. That example of the sheer power of a Euro-trash techno song is what makes me so excited about music in London. One of my loyal floor mates updates me with different artists to check out throughout the week, which is my favorite time of day. Other places, mainly places in which you shop, can usually be found playing hits that would usually be found on the Top 40 charts in the states back in 1998. When we were at the Camden market the past weekend one store was playing Madonna while the one right next to it was blasting some Nsync.
If you’re lucky enough to make it to a pub to see a live band, you will usually be pleasantly surprised by the stage presence and musicianship. Usually. OR if you’re really lucky, like my neighbor down the hall, you can be graced by a rendition of Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” by a group of middle aged construction workers.

Put your hands up London. I LOVE this city.

Week 4 Recap by Nicole Greenberg

I have to say that this past week has flown by. Last time you heard from the group was a week ago, which you learned about our past two weeks in London, which were jammed packed with field trips and group activities, and our first week of classes. Now that we are into our second week of classes the workload has begun to hit us and our free time to go out and explore the city is slowly diminishing. However, we have made time to go out and seize the time we are not sitting at our extremely small desks listening to our professor’s lecture. On Wednesday our group had the opportunity to visit the Freud Museum. It was the house that Sigmund Freud spent the last year of his life. He came to London in September of 1938 as a refugee from the Nazis. Most of the group, being psychology students found it to be pretty exciting getting to see the couch in which Freud used to psychoanalyze his patents, and pick their brains about what lie in the patients subconscious. It looked like a very nice place to cuddle up and take a nap to me. The museum also had a temporary exhibition titled “Paranoia” which presented works of international artists exploring the essence of paranoia through digital technology, conceptual work, performance, photography, video, installation and drawing. I have to say that the signage was fairly poor and some of the pieces needed to have further explanation in order to understand the artist paranoia. One of the artists I found interesting used photographic portraits of middle eastern women going about their everyday lives and included a personal story about how they face racism in their everyday lives and how these young women are questioning their identity within British society.

After the museum most of us returned to Metrogate to work on our extensive packets of reading for Diaspora studies and a ten-minute presentation for our Social Welfare class. Thursday we began class at 9:00 am titled Diaspora Studies in which Rocki and I presented to the class about the history of the Notting Hill Carnival. Just to clue you in if you ever wish to visit London during the month of August for the carnival. The carnival began in January 1959 and was a response to virulent British racism that stemmed from the Notting Hill Riots that took place in 1956 between the white working class and the Caribbean population in the area. Instead of fighting back the community of immigrants came together to celebrate their diversity through song and dance. The carnival is based on a Trinidadian tradition going back to when slavery was abolished in 1833 called “Mass,” which has reminisce of a masquerade. Today the celebration last for three days and includes parades, music from local bands, steal drum competitions and food from all over the world. It brings together all the different groups in London and celebrates London’s “multi-cultural” identity.

Later that afternoon in out Social Welfare class we had ten-minute presentations that looked into social welfare issues in London. The topics ranged from homelessness, to what is being discussed in Parliament to prostitution and people living with disabilities in the city. It was pretty interesting to hear how London has dealt with certain issues and have overlooked many, such as teenage pregnancy. Our class ended at 5:30 and we all came back and cooked dinner for ourselves. Let me tell you it is such a sight when it comes to dinnertime. Have you ever seen fifteen students trying to cook for themselves in a kitchen that is as small as a closet? You have to laugh some of the times because it is so overcrowded.

After a long day of class on Friday we finally had the opportunity to hit the town. We quickly learned that in London on a Friday night if you want to go dancing at a hip club you better get there before ten when there is no cover charge and no queue. A group of us ended up going to a club called Camouflage and danced into the wee hours of the night to hip-hop. While dancing we quickly became aware of being one of about fifteen white people at the club, which we don’t find very often at Lewis and Clark. It was an experience to remember, purchasing our tickets at the tube station and begin escorted to the club by a guy who was from Minnesota…small world.

On Saturday Katie Burnett, Andrew Barnes and I went to Borough Market located off of the London Bridge tube stop. It was an adventure getting there because both the Circle Line and the District line were closed for maintenance. The food was amazing and we ended up stuffing our faces with venison burgers and cheesecake. Later that afternoon we took a walk along the Thames down to the Tate Modern museum and spent two hours exploring only one of the five floors of modern art. Later that night we ended up meeting up with my family friend and went to the bar/club titled G-A-Y. It was AMAZING!!! I love dancing with gay men; they know all of the words to the best 80’s music and can dance like nobody’s business. The plan was just to go and grab one drink from the bar but it ended up being one of those nights to remember. Just to put it into perspective Katie and I did not get to sleep until 5:00 am Sunday morning. We also experience our first run in with sexism. We were trying to get into one of the clubs and we were turned down by the bouncer, take out of the queue because we were women!!!! We had a fit and talked with the bouncer and he made up some stupid excuse that made no sense what so ever.

Sunday and Monday have been filled with reading articles and working on our papers. It has been pretty quiet on our floor. Tomorrow we get back to our third week of classes and it is Andrew’s 21st Birthday so we are going to do something special for him. You are going to have to wait to hear about the night next week. Hope all is well back in the States!

Week 3 Impressions by Diana Freeburg

It has been 2 weeks since we got here. Part of me feels like this is the makings of an epic adventure, but the other part of me feels like I am on an extended 5th grade field trip, bus rides and chaperones included. To convince myself that this trip is the former, and not the latter, I have been trying to seize every opportunity to go out into the city and embarrass myself.

I arrived not fully knowing what to tell people about where I was going to be staying and learning, and I still don’t have a good answer to the “where are you studying” question that is invariably asked when you tell a local that you are studying here.

Luckily, one of the first things that happened on this trip was Sasha’s 21st birthday, which culminated in a pub crawl that forever bonded the individuals on this trip. British bar patrons and bartenders could not hide their disgust for our group of American students rolling fifteen deep and being rowdy as all hell. We really weren’t concerned about them though, we were just getting over our first day nerves and starting to enjoy ourselves. It has been a tremendous cultural adjustment, but I think the group has really learned to embrace British pub culture and the club nightlife that was so much easier to justify before classes started. The pubs and bars really are the best places to meet British people--the girls on our trip have especially had good luck.

A more challenging adjustment has been to the small living spaces, and for many of us, the reintroduction of a roommate. Our kitchen is so small that even trying to make toast when there are more than two people in there is a trial of one's patience. I have taken to eating a diet of mostly fruit, cheese, and funny British biscuits, as to avoid using the kitchen.

British biscuits that are, by the way, from the most fun place to shop in the whole world. Sainsbury’s is the big, cheap, grocery store nearest us and Julia and I go there about every 3rd day. We have spent a lot of time puzzling over what “salad cream” is or “brown sauce” or why on earth there is such an extensive selection of tiny yogurts. I enjoy grocery shopping in Oregon quite a bit, so it seems obvious that putting a British spin on it would make it that much more fun. Now we know where most things are in the store, which to me, is a good indicator that we are not simple tourists. I think to say that we are “living here” is a bit of a stretch, but these little bits of familiarity we are forming give me a sense of satisfaction, satisfaction that I’m not getting from sitting on tour busses and walking around in a giant amoeba of American students.

All in all, everything here is divine and I am totally jazzed to be a part of this group. I love that we went to Stonehenge and Bath together, two audio tours in one day. Our surroundings are inspiring, the energy in our group is palpable, and I cannot wait for what is to come.

Week 3 Recap by Nora Germano

Greetings from London! We seem to be settling in here at the Metrogate House. We’ve located the nearest grocery store, tube station, Starbucks, and cheapest place to eat. That last one is The Sandwich Shop, just down the street where you can get a baguette sandwich and a complimentary apple for a £1.50. I’m pretty sure everyone on the trip has eaten there at least once so far.

We’ve hit the museums, the markets, the parks, and identified our favourite pubs and clubs. We’ve also taken our first classes: Diaspora Studies, Social Welfare in the UK, Contemporary England, and our Service Learning/Internship class. As dutiful college students, we have also already been complaining about the reading.

Our first major field trip was today. We saw Stonehenge and Bath. We had an 8 am departure so naturally many of us were sleeping on the bus for the drive to Stonehenge, but once there we startled awake by the bitter cold. I had longjohns, wool socks, boots with lambswool lining, a t-shirt, a wool sweater, a scarf, a long coat, a hat and gloves and I was still freezing! We were given a free audio tour. (Prices here are weird- food and clothing is super expensive and most museums are totally free). It was interesting to here about how Stonehenge was built and theories about why it’s there. I enjoyed seeing it simply as a feat of engineering—the stones was approximately 50 tons a piece and the nearest stone is 30 miles away. I think that’s what I found most striking about Stonehenge—the fact that it is this immense, obviously humanly created thing just sitting on a hill surrounded by miles of open countryside. (Actually, our tour guide said that the area used to be totally forested. I’m not sure what happened to the trees…)

After we saw Stonehenge we went to Bath, which was originally a Roman city built in 48 A.D., although the city that stands today was built in the 18th century. We were given a chance to walk around and find ourselves some lunch, so four of us went to Sally Lunn’s, the oldest house in Bath. From the Kitchen Museum in the basement we learned that Sally Lunn was a French refugee who arrived in bath 300 years ago and started baking a special bread known for being rich, light, and slightly sweet. These became famous as ‘Sally Lunn Buns’. We got the chance to try them and they were quite good. You can even buy them to give to friends and family, but unfortunately for those of you back in the States they’ll only last about four days.

After lunch we went into the Roman Baths and did an audio tour of that as well. We were given free reign to explore until 4 pm, but I got tied up in trying to listen to ALL of the commentaries and so had just enough time to when I was done to sample the Bath water (insert laugh here) and then pop into the Bath Abbey for a look around.

The water was warm and tasted very irony. We found out that there’s 43 minerals in it!

Bath Abbey was beautiful. Huge stained glass windows, inscriptions and memorials covering the walls and floor (people could be buried there until 1908), and I had the fortune of going in while an elderly woman was playing the violin.

All in all, it was a long day but I think we enjoyed ourselves. Next up: classes Tuesday and a trip to the Freud Museum on Wednesday.

Welcome!

Welcome to the blog for the LC kids studying in London for Spring semester 2007.