Week 6 Impressions by Iman Sebunya

After a month and a half, London is starting to feel more like home. Really, it wasn't a difficult adjustment especially since all my life I've been moving and home was any place my parents chose to live in at any given time. The funny thing, though, is that here people tend to remind me very quickly that I am not really at home. They often approach me with the question; "What part of America are you from then?” ……Really?? I didn’t realize I have developed an American accent until I came to London. In the States, no matter where I am, as soon as I open my mouth, people ask me “where YOU from?” Which for me is a pretty complicated question that does not receive your typical straightforward answer. However in London I get the feeling they are a lot more familiar with the kind of multicultural nomadic identity that I bring to the plate. That I guess has to do with London for centuries having been the center of a global empire. Also I get the sense so many Londoners are transitory and move in and out and that speaks to me on a personal level.

I find so many things about London to be very familiar and comfortable. I grew up in countries once colonized by the British. So small things from phrases, to snacks, to candy, to school uniforms, to how the window pops open, all remind me of my childhood and the countries I lived in that still have a strong British influence. I remember the first days I got here I filled my trolley at the supermarket with all these familiar treats that others on the trip found foreign. Or when I saw kids walking back from school in their uniforms, it took me back to my primary school days in Kenya where my school followed the British curriculum and system. We even took the same exams as they do here, which are sent to England for marking. The large South Asian community here also reminds me of my time spent in East Africa, as it too has a large South Asian population. So being surrounded by their culture again is also familiar. (Not to mention that I have missed being able to get a good curry!!)

Although a lot of my experiences here have been nostalgic, they have also made me realize how Americanized I have become. I miss American customer service and on numerous occasions I find myself holding back from being too much of a demanding customer. When I go to the chemist to pick out a lotion - I can only pick among maybe 10 different types instead of the huge selection on offer in American pharmacies. Not to mention the bottle of lotion in it’s self is half the size and looks like it can only last me about two weeks if I’m lucky! When ordering coffee no longer is there bewildering choices including half and half, soy, 2%, whole milk, fat free, lactose free, or skimmed. There is simply whole or skimmed if you're lucky. In some ways it's a relief not to be paralyzed by too many choices to make but my years in America have taken a toll and I find I am looking for those choices and even feel somewhat entitled to them. It’s funny how we adapt and evolve according to our surroundings, I wonder what typically British customs I will get used to in my short stay in London.

Week 5 Impressions by Julia Wilson

This past week in London was an interesting one. However, I’m starting to get used to the nuances of living in the city. When we first arrived, if things didn’t go according to plan, it threw us off. Now, it’s pretty much assumed that when we go out somewhere, things probably are not going to be going according to plan. Often times, we take the wrong train and get off at the wrong stop. Or we plan on taking a train that isn’t even running on that day (ie the Circle Line on weekends). But now we’re approaching the point where we know how to work around those types of inconveniences.

Now when braving the Camden Market the intimidation of all the people coming at you from all directions is decreasing. The pushiness of the vendors is starting to become trivial as well. Knowing who to duck and dodge is becoming engrained in my mind. I’ve even started to be just as pushy back, in order to get a good bargain, of course. The Camden market is not for the faint of heart, especially on a Saturday. I’m still in awe of this establishment, everything you could ever want or need, all in one place. More types of food then you could ever hope to try, and more types of clothes then I could even fathom.

It’s getting to the point where now after a long day out at the market, or having little adventures, returning to that small single bed is starting to feel pretty nice. That flat is starting to finally feel like home. Getting adjusted to London is starting to feel like a process of the past. I’m finding out where the cheapest and most authentic places are to shop, and make no mistake, they are not in Kensington and probably not Soho either. It feels like now we’re actually living in London instead of just having and extended stay here.

One thing I do appreciate about being here, is learning all of the history that goes along with it. Making different faux pas while mingling with the general British public isn’t the most attractive characteristic that I have to offer, so learning a bit of history and context is definitely remedying that problem. Overall, with every passing day my experience becomes even better here and I become more confident in my daily pursuits whether they be stopping at the corner market for a sandwich or going to the other side of town by myself to do some shopping. Either way, being more independent has now started to become the theme of my outings.

Week 5 Impressions by Hannah Noll-Willensky

Yes, I realize that this study abroad trip is taking place in London, but every time I step into the office I work in, I feel like I’m somewhere very different. My internship is a little like Inception, but instead of dream within in a dream, I’m in a foreign country within a foreign country. I work at the Latin American Disabled People’s Project, designed to help disabled, Spanish-speaking refugees and asylum seekers to improve their quality of life and sense of independence.

Though coming to London was at first disorienting, the transition into British culture wasn’t all that difficult. However, it is now my fourth week at my internship and I still feel the culture shock. But it's not just one culture; the list of countries represented at my internship is extensive. Already I’ve met people from Colombia, Paraguay, Spain, Chile, Argentina, Portugal, parts of Africa, and Brazil. And a large part of my struggle to adapt stems from the fact that I am completely lost in translation. I have quickly learned that five years of mostly high school Spanish cannot keep up with the many different accents and Speedy Gonzalez-like rates at which my co-workers speak their varying types of Spanish. I so desperately want to improve my Spanish in order to understand the conversations flying across the office that, when no one is looking, I play Spanish tutorial games on the Internet. Pathetic, I know. I try to speak Spanish with the clients, but most of them want to practice their English, being new to the country, and I’m the only English-speaker around. A typical conversation goes something like this: Me: “Buenos Dias!”, my supervisor, “Good morning Hannah”, Me, “Como estas?”, my supervisor, “Fine, thank you, now would you like some tea?”—“Si.” Needless to say, the conversation ends in mutual frustration.

Though my work is sometimes confusing, and would definitely make for a comical reality show, it is also extremely gratifying at the end of day. Even though the atmosphere in the office is always lighthearted, the issues faced by the clients are very serious. Many of the members have physical or mental disabilities, or are suffering from terminal illness. They also face the added challenges of integrating into an unfamiliar country, finding housing, finding employment, and getting legalized. I’ve worked with a woman who needed to have her husband’s diagnosis of bone marrow cancer translated into Spanish because no one at her clinic could speak Spanish and she didn’t understand what was wrong with him. I’ve translated marriage certificates to be sent to the legalization office, and recruited volunteers to become weekly companions for housebound, elderly clients. Not one day has been the same as the next and despite my often embarrassing misadventures in language, the experience has been very rewarding, sometimes heartbreaking, and always a surprise.

Week 4 Impressions by Taylor Simmons

The tube is an interesting place to be. The first time I went I was overwhelmed by all the people that surrounded me. I thought to myself “how the hell am I going to use this on a regular basis?” However it was like anything else you practice for a while. Practice made perfect. Now that I am comfortable on the tube I am more prone to take in my surroundings while on it rather than worrying about missing my stop. At some times during the day taking the tube is a very quiet experience. At these times I tend to listen to my music because the silence is too much. Even the bobbing of my head to the beat of the music attracts attention at these times. As I notice glances and sometimes even blatant stares I try to stand still and just blend in. At other times the tube is packed with little kids running about. The children mill around the tube amongst the people, trying to avoid the big feet of the people surrounding them. Sometimes talking to each other, completely ignoring the glares the silent people around them are giving them. These kids have the right idea in my opinion. The tube is like this at rush hour in the morning and the evening.

At night, especially on the weekend it turns into the transportation for those looking to have a good time. The average age at this time is at least 15 years younger than when I take the tube in the morning to work. The silent glares are no longer as common. Everybody is chattering away. The business suits have come off and the high heels and mini skirts have taken over. At this time of night you no longer feel self conscious. In fact I have found that it can be quite a fun place if you let it be.

The tube can also be a place to hear some funky music. As I boarded the tube one night this man had his violin in his lap. I thought, “well, that’s kind of odd,” and just went on ignoring him. As he raised his bow to the strings it became a different place in that tube. Everyone turned their heads. However, instead of intense glares, wide smiles took over their faces. The tube stations are also a good place to experience live music. I’ve seen people playing anything from guitars to instruments I have never seen before. This is much more common then the violinist on the tube, but it never fails to put a smile on my face. I don’t know if it is the music that makes this next observation a reality, but the one thing that I have noticed about the tube is that it is thought of as a proper place to show huge amounts of public displays of affection. I find this ironic. I cannot bob my head without some sort of attention but a couple can be kissing quite vigorously without much attention paid to them. It’s an interesting concept to me. I wonder what they think when they get on that tube. Maybe it’s a kind of aphrodisiac. In any case, it seems to be the place to go if a couple can’t wait to get home to kiss and fondle each other. If you ask me it’s a little unsanitary, but I can’t say what I would do if I was in the same situation.

OK, this may sound silly, but the tube is kind of magical. Think about it. You get on at one stop. You ride it for a couple of minutes and then BAM you are in a completely different part of London. As I got off the tube in East Ham I was amazed at how different it is from the area I work in. It is the most diverse place I’ve visited. As I walked I heard every language I was able to recognize and some that I didn’t at all recognize. I couldn’t believe a fifteen minute tube ride had taken me here.

As I ride the tube more and more I keep expecting for it to be the same as a ride that I have taken before. However, I don’t know that this will ever happen.

Week 4 Impressions by Maddie Eggleston

Upon arriving in England I knew that different areas would be marked with many different kinds of people, but for some reason I had a picture in my mind that London was not exactly this way. I wrongly assumed that most people would extremely posh, well dressed and overly polite, but I have come to realize that this is not always the case. On Friday night Shaun, Steph, and I decided to venture into Camden to go to a Burlesque show. We got a teensy bit lost and wandered into a pub called the ‘Wheelbarrow Arms’ to pee before heading to the show. After going to the bathroom…I mean toilet…we thought we might have a little fun with the open container law. But unfortunately, in areas where it is marked you can receive a £90 fine. We did not like these laws…so, beneath little black plastic bags we sipped on our wine coolers and gin and tonics as we made our way to the burlesque show.

We then got to the bar and encountered a rather stubborn bouncer. We tried for a few minutes to convince the bouncer that we were all lesbians just looking for a good time and some hot ladies and he only responded with: “Yeah…right”. After feeling awkward that (1) we couldn’t pass as lesbians and (2) he let everyone else in for free but would make us pay we decided that maybe we should just head back to the ‘Wheelbarrow Arms’. When we first walked in I got an overwhelming feeling of Portland. There were so many people in plaid flannel, tights, boots, and ratty vintage tees I could barely control my excitement. The DJ was playing tunes like Tina Turner, Jet, the Beatles, and Michael Jackson, songs that I am very familiar with and songs that everybody can dance to…even if they don’t look good doing it. The DJ was very skinny with long dark hair, and was wearing a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and very skinny jeans…an image that reminded me of Portland even more.

After dancing for a while and drinking a pint we met two men. One of them was a little old and creepy and the other was…well…short. After dancing for a while near them the creepy one asked us if we liked balloon animals, and who really is going to say no to that? He then proceeded to make Shaun a penis shaped balloon hat, Steph a cat, and me a pair of yellow glasses. This honestly did not seem as creepy as it sounds when it was happening…but nothing really sounds creepy after a pint of cider, I guess. Shaun asked the short friend if making balloon animals ever actually got him any women, and he replied: “no, unfortunately not. But he tries anyways”.

Going to this pub really showed me that London is not only diverse because so many cultures are present here, but also because there are cultures within those cultures. Most of the people we met that night were British but still seemed to have a very different way of dressing and acting than I thought most Londoners would. That night gave me a little taste of being back at school and reminded me that maybe we’re not so far away from home after all.

Week 2 Impressions by Ian Feis

Up until late last night I had every intention of writing my current impressions of British culture on the spectacle that is Harrod’s. However, after last night, there is no way I cannot write on my newfound obsession with British television. While sitting in bed pondering when I would muster up the energy to write my blog, I stumbled upon a show that literally sent some girls on my floor into an uproar…The Joy of Teen Sex. It is not difficult, from the title, to extrapolate what this show is about. Even for the most liberal of minds this show is a little unsettling, but I think that’s because during the day, British public television is saturated with shows that have themes like: look at all the old shit I keep in my house and now want to sell, antiquing competitions, and the pride of antiquing. This show exists to combat Britain’s high rates of teenage pregnancies and the occurrence of sexually transmitted infections by teaching teenagers safety strategies and celebrating sexuality. I think the existence of this show highlights a different method, and possibly priority system, for trying to combat social and health problems in the UK than in the States. For example, our government sponsored sexual education system is what I would consider the complete opposite to the British approach, abstinence only, which is steeped in both sexism and heterosexism. On the television show The Joy of Teen Sex, the doctors and therapists help a diverse set of teenagers with a continuum of problems, including: the importance of testicular exams, oral sex, lesbian sexuality, safe anal sex, organ piercing, contraception, etc. What is clear via this public programming, is that Britain is not leaving its teenagers blind and in the dark about sex and sexuality, rather is working to educate teens about making safe, healthy, and fun decisions. On this trip we have casually joked about the third page of widely circulated newspapers, The Sun or The Star, which feature naked women, but haven’t gone further to explain the cultural significance. Again, using my love of television and all that is tasteless, I turn to the BBC for insight into British values. What I found was broad programming of soap operas covering controversial topics that get at the essence of the struggles families and communities in modern working-class Britain. Not once did I channel surf into a warzone or high-speed chase or anything having to do with violence, nor have I seen any billboards or advertisements depicting these themes. Maybe this is because all around, top-down or bottom-up, however you want to spin it, the British do not fear their bodies, rather fear the violence that somebody else can inflict. This thought gets more pervasive when applying ideas of social learning, parenting, morality development, etc. What are the priorities and what is the value system of my homeland? Now, we have the opportunity to live in a culture with a different set of values, and examine alternatives to the American right.

Week 3 Impressions by Tom Schoeneman

Kiwi Invasion

“London is so large and so wild that it contains no less than everything.”

--Peter Ackroyd, London: The Biography

Saturday, 6 February. Mary and I had spent 3 hours wandering through the Imperial War Museum. On our way back to our flat on Finborough Road, we stopped at mid-afternoon at the Gloucester Road tube station to go to Waitrose for dinner food. The first sign that something was amiss occurred on the platform opposite. An eastbound District Line train disgorged a couple of dozen young men and women dressed in day-glo yellow vests and hard hats who were VERY LOUD. Not just British loud—speaking above a murmur—but yelling and screeching loud. This roiling mass congregated on the platform and began yelling up the stairs to some mates. Two members of the Metropolitan Police in their own day-glo vests leant on the balustrade at the top of the stairs and looked down, placidly, at the turmoil.

Mary asked “What do you think that’s all about?”

“Some sports fans,” I guessed. The Six Nations rugby games had just started in Cardiff.

The mob of apparent public works crewpersons began boiling up the stairs. At that point, my only thought was to get to the top of the stairs from our platform and beat them to the turnstiles. “We don’t want to get stuck behind that lot,” I explained to my footsore spouse.

In my haste, two notable things barely registered to my single-purposed mind. First, the crowd ascending was met at the top and melding onto another crowd who were dressed as . . . cows: Men and women dressed in white pyjamas inked over in great black spots, many sporting inflated pink udders fastened to their crotches.

Second: As we beat the crowd to the turnstiles, we noticed that the noise was getting LOUDER. We emerged from the Gloucester Road station to a riot of some kind. Gloucester Road had been cordoned off at the corner of Cromwell. The entire street for several blocks was filled with boisterous people. There were police everywhere. A demonstration? But who demonstrates wearing inflated surgical gloves over their naughty bits? And in addition to public works crews and cows, their were faux doctors and nurses, people dressed as beer cans or cloaked in a vaguely British looking flag, and more and more, in a bewildering variety.

We struggled through the crowd to the Gloucester Arcade. Inside, the broad hallway in front of Waitrose was trashed: The white linoleum was strewn with bags and litter. Finally, Mary stopped a young man and women dressed in pink pyjamas to ask what was going on.

“It’s New Zealand Day!” exclaimed the pair. “We’re Kiwis! There are 8000 of us in London.”

OK: So how is it that a good portion of these thousands made Gloucester Road their own?

“It’s supposed to be a pub crawl on the Circle Line,” said the young man. “But the Circle Line is closed for the weekend.”

As it turns out, on February 6, 1840, the Treaty of Waitangi founded New Zealand and made it a part of the British Empire. And every year on this date, the good Kiwi ex-pats of London go on quite a tear. We had a nice chat with the proud Kiwis outside of Waitrose. We established that the only part of New Zealand that Mary and I had visited—Auckland—was rubbish and that the next time we needed to visit the north end of the south island as well and the south end of same. “Not that I’ve ever been there,” said the young blonde woman about south South. We presented ourselves as ex-pats for four months, which was quite impressive to our new, pink friends.

“You know,” said the young man, “you are the first who have stopped to ask us what we were doing.”

I said, “Well, of course the British wouldn’t, would they?”

“No, of course not,” he agreed.

We took our leave with mutual wishes to “have a good time.”

Inside Waitrose, it quickly became evident that the store was doing a booming business selling six-packs of beer to strangely dressed people who spoke English with non-British accents.

In the checkout line, one such gentleman responded to my query of “Kiwi?” with “No, actually, I’m English. But I lived there for a few years.” His t-shirt front had a panel on the left that said “I am not a whingeing pom.” On the right, a tui bird (indigenous to New Zealand) responded, “Yeah, right.” The shirt was an advertisement for Tui Beer, a company whose motto is “Distracting the boys from the Task at hand since 1889.”

Outside, Gloucester Road was quickly filling up with empty beer cans. Mary snapped a few photos for posterity:

We pushed our way through the crowd and descended to the oasis of relative calm and quiet that is a tube platform. And so ended what should have been a routine trip to the grocery store. Ah, London!

Week 3 Impressions by Stephanie Schwartz

The Daily Grind

This past week marked our first “full” week of work at our internships. By asking around about every one else's internship experiences it seems as though we've got quite a wide variety of daily activities among the group. From phoning newspapers to inquire about publicity possibilities to cooking with special needs adults to entering client data into spreadsheets all day, between the twelve of us we literally do it all. Our work days range anywhere from the traditional nine-to-fiver to ten-to-four or two-to-seven. Travel times vary as well - anywhere from twenty minutes to an hour and twenty minutes! For some the approach of Wednesday means finally getting to meet the 73-year-old wizard slash Knight we were named after, and for some it means having to sit in front of a computer all day playing Bejeweled and maybe getting a free lunch.

During FIE orientation we were essentially told to expect very little from our work place environments. It was made very clear to us that our coworkers would likely not be friendly nor welcoming to us fresh-off-the-boat interns. I expected to be making tea for my boss and perhaps be taking out the recycling. Thus far, this has not been the case and I have been pleasantly surprised. My own work-place experience has been very good. One thing FIE warned us about has turned out to be true: I am given very little direction for my work. So far I have entered client data (I work for Smoke Free, a branch of the NHS) every day for about four hours. The rest of my time has been spent shadowing the Smoke Free advisers (aka my bosses) while they lead clinics or do public outreach. Friday I went to a local mosque to give out information about second hand smoke and the harmful effects of smoking on women in particular. As the mosque was sex-segregated, I was only able to talk to women about the benefits of our program. Interestingly enough, none of them would admit to smoking or even knowing any smokers. I have to say I have my doubts about the validity of such claims. In any case I ended up helping out other NHS reps promote healthy eating. My job was to hand out smiley faced fruit stickers to little kids with too much energy for their own good. It went well.

The British sense of humor has become increasingly salient to me throughout my work experience. I went tanning for the first time ever the other day (seriously, I'm really really pale) and I shared this fact with my co-worker. Her response? “I don't think it worked.” Besides my official duties, my typical day includes providing a free dream interpretation service for another coworker and being told that I can literally do whatever I want, eat whenever I want, wear whatever I want and leave whenever I want. This, of course, doesn't mean that I won't get made fun for whatever I wear, eat etc. My coworker (maybe she's my boss?) frequently doesn't get her work done on time but promises to get it done soon. This would NOT have been OK back during my days at the Dollar Tree. I literally do the work that is meant for others (who get paid, but I digress) and they are very thankful. They give me giant cookies and say things like “there's an American sized cookie in the office, you'll love it!” At that point, is it socially acceptable to eat the whole thing? As I cause effectively zero problems for my bosses, I am told that I am a “perfect angel” and could do no wrong. Good to know. At times it is almost as though they've got no work left for me so they entertain themselves by making up mini projects and tasks for me to do. I don't mind because I'd rather this than have nothing to do.

I may be wrong, though I believe the general consensus seems to be that our internships having been getting more comfortable every day. Come six pm daily when we all return to congregate in the kitchen, there are always plenty of stories to be heard. Whether it be sad stories of families visiting loved ones in prison, or learning that your friend had her story published on her organization's website, there's always a new or exciting experience to learn from!

Week 3 Impressions by Leah Wyllie

Transportation in London

My favorite thing about visiting new cities is learning to navigate. Knowing where I am going makes me feel so powerful. Here in London, I have been spending a decent amount of time on Google Maps and studying the tube routes. In the past month, I have made a few important observations about walking and using the public transportation in London.

The first days of walking in the city were certainly interesting. As you may know, traffic in the UK operates in the opposite direction than traffic in the US. Thus, the thought of crossing the street was initially daunting. I have actually found that it is not so bad at all. Most roads have medians separating the lanes of traffic, so one can scuttle across one lane to the median and stop to take a sigh of relief before attempting to make it across the rest of the street. “Jaywalking” is completely legal here, so as I started to become comfortable with crossing streets, I was able to begin darting back and forth between breaks in traffic. It makes me feel like a rebel. In fact, I often find myself so focused on watching the traffic that I do not realize that the walk light has already turned green. Some intersections have zebra crossings (pronounced “zeh-brah” not “zee-brah”). The most famous of zebra crossings is probably the one pictured on the cover of The Beatles’ album Abbey Road. At zebra crossings, cars are required to stop for pedestrians; however, I find zebra crossings the scariest of all crossing points. London drivers are similar to American teenagers in that they slam the breaks suddenly. The technique that I have found most useful at zebra crossings is to ignore the urge to brace for impact and to just go for it. It may look like the car is not going to stop in time, but so far, it always has.

For whatever reason, I used to think that double-decker buses were mostly used for city tours, so I was surprised to discover that double-deckers are very much the regular bus here in London. I must confess that I have only rode the bus a couple times. The first time I boarded the bus, I went straight for the upper deck. For me, the weirdness about riding a double-decker bus does not stem from being above the rest of the traffic, but from the idea that there is no bus driver at the front (he or she is downstairs). I would liken the experience to that of a roller coaster minus the upside-down loop.

I love the tube. London’s underground is much cleaner and much easier to navigate than the subway in New York City. Weekends, however, have proven to be problematic as at least two lines have been closed each weekend that we have been here. When one line closes, people have to take alternate routes, which usually results in craziness as everybody tends to choose the same detour. Everybody crowds at the entry to the platform in order to fight for a spot on the next train. Once on the train, people do not fill in the aisles, so there is a clog of people near the door. It is very cozy and awkward at the same time. At one point, I was completely flat between a stranger and the wall, struggling to keep my face from coming into contact with the germs on the side of the train. This may sound like a nightmare, but these occurrences have been some of my favorite moments. When riding a full tube with classmates, there is always lots of laughter-especially when we fall on each other.

The Lewis and Clark students in London are very lucky to be in such a wonderful city. When walking around, there is always something amazing to see, and when the destination is too far for walking, we have an amazing transit system that takes us wherever we need to go. Whichever mode of transportation we choose to employ, we are guaranteed a new experience of some sort.