Dublin: Lots of Fun on Very Little Sleep

DAY 1: We woke up at 4:30am to catch the bus to Stratford (the bus/underground/train station next to the new Olympic Stadium under construction) because the tube doesn't run that early. Then we had to catch a bus from Stratford to London Stansted airport. It felt really early.

We went on Ryanair which has rather strict, small baggage allowances. As my backpack is a bit larger than the allowable dimensions I decided to take the safe route and carry my Tesco reusable grocery bag instead. After seeing all the other people and their futile attempts to get rolling suitcases on and the students who waltzed on to the plane with backpacks far larger than mine, I realize in retrospect that I would have been fine. Well... now I know.

The flight was uneventful. At least for me. You put me in a plane, bus, train traveling and I usually pass out. (I can not thank Robin enough for not capturing me sleeping on almost every mode of travel, I am sure with my mouth open, neck cricked, and legs shoved into awkward places. She DID however take pictures of just about everything else.) I took a picture of our bus ride to University College Dublin (UCD).

To recap the morning, we got a bus to the station, to catch a bus to the airport, to get our flight to Dublin, to get a bus to the City Centre, to get a bus to UCD, to get to Hilary's apartment where we were staying for our trip to Ireland. All in all, it was a long morning of traveling. But we got there with no problems or hitches. Amazingly.

At this point I'm going to give a shout out to Hilary, who while very sick, let us crash at her apartment and managed to be a great hostess. (She is our friend Cascade, from high school's, college room mate.) Thank you!

After dropping our stuff off, we decided to go back into the city centre and explore a bit. We actually didn't make it far because the growling noises coming from our stomachs were starting to scare small children. We saw the Gourmet Burger Kitchen that had a deal for €5. We were sold. Deliciousness ensued.

Then back out to the street to see what was going on. We saw lots shops mostly, deciding to do the tourist site-seeing on Sunday. My favorites were the antique jewelry dealers that had lots of sparkly things in the window. Robin did have to tell me to stop getting distracted by the sparkly things... so sparkly... and continue exploring. We found a Penney's , the Irish Primark, or like a US Forever 21 at rock bottom prices. I needed socks, and who can pass up 1€ socks? I can't. Robin got some tights, trying out this English fashion finally, but we will come back to those on Sunday.

Then some more wandering, the hunger growling noises were coming back for me, but Robin was very tired and I could see the cranky-monster looming in her eyes. We had been up since 4, very understandable. Suddenly the Tesco sign caught my eye. Dinner? Back at Hilary's? Great. We purchased food after much indecision, then caught a bus back to Hilary's.

We met up with Hilary's room mate by chance on the bus, who invited us to go out with them that night. Robin and I were far too tired and declined (thank goodness, because there was drama, drama, drama). Back at the apartment  we made our food while several girls were running around like busy bees getting ready to go out. I made some grilled cheese sandwiches with Irish soda bread (delicious) and some tomato soup. I was totally content.

We then watched Once (after waiting for the preened girls to leave for their night out) a movie set in Dublin. I had tried to watch it about a year ago, but fell asleep. I think it was far more fitting to watch it while in Dublin. Robin fell asleep on my lap though. I think it's a thing with that movie. Very good though. Then off to bed because we had an early morning tour the next day. (I slept like a rock and didn't hear the screaming match at 3am between Hilary's room mates. I told you drama, drama, drama.)

DAY 2: So for the second day in a row, Robin and I woke up at the butt-crack of dawn. We got ourselves ready and took a cab to the 'tourism center' to catch our tour bus to go and see the Cliffs of Moher. As soon as we got past the city limits I passed out again. (It was dark outside, I don't think I missed much. Also our driver put on soothing Irish music and there was an odd blue light, how was I not supposed to fall asleep?) I woke up when we stopped for a break at a gas station in some small village. I walked into some Kanye pumping and about 40 people lined up for coffee. It was slightly surreal.

Back on the bus, fell asleep again, woke up in Limerick. I got out of the bus in time to see Limerick's ABC (Another Bloody Castle) in front of the river and have Robin take some pictures before switching buses to head towards the Cliffs of Moher instead of towards the Blarney Stone . I decided that doing some high kicks and jumping would feel really good before getting on yet another bus. Robin laughed at me. Then copied. It was joyous leprechaun jumping in Limerick for about 30 seconds. Then we got on the new bus (with some strange looks from its occupants) and we headed off towards Doolin and the Cliffs of Moher.

What we didn't realize when we got on the new bigger bus, is that our new tour guide Gabriel had a penchant for singing. I slept far less on this bus ride because every time I started to nod off, here came Gabriel with another Irish ballad or drinking song. Doh! I don't think he realized that the whole back of the bus was really not into the singing because there were several enthusiastic German tourists egging him on from the front.

We finally arrived at the Galway Bay and the Burren landscape. It's really strange. They call it a lunar landscape, its basically all this smooth black volcanic rock for way back in the day with grass surrounding it. It was windy and drizzling, but we ran out of the bus, rock hopping towards the shore. It was more of a cliff edge. Robin and I were puddle-dodging, Robin taking pictures all the way. When I went to take this picture of her (above) a couple was walking towards the ledge on the right. As they turned around the get their picture taken a huge wave came up and covered them in water. I could not stop laughing. We ran around in the rain for a bit longer before getting back in the bus to head towards the village of Doolin .

Apparently there is a big music festival there in the summer, but it was a small place, almost quaint where we went to an Irish pub for lunch. I decided to be adventurous and get the special of bacon and cabbage. I should have taken a picture, because the bacon was HUGE! Very heavy this Irish food. Then back on the bus and off to the Cliffs of Moher.

There were a lot of places that Robin and I could have gone on our day trip, but the Cliffs are the #1 tourist attraction in Ireland. I picked it because we got to go hiking, the pictures were strikingly gorgeous, and let's face it, Harry Potter and the Princess Bride were filmed there. I'm going! (When I asked my Irish flatmate about going he said, "From Dublin? To the cliffs? But that is the other side of the country!" Americans and people from the UK and Ireland have a totally different concept of space and distance. Most Brits don't realize that all of Britain can fit inside Nevada, or that it takes less time to drive all the way across Ireland than it does to drive across California, Lake Tahoe to San Francisco.)

As we pulled into the parking lot, the bus driver told us the time to be back and then said, "We will see some interesting hair-do's when you all get back." I couldn't quite figure it out, until I stepped off the bus and was promptly buffeted backwards by a huge gust of wind. Oh dear. The wind had been breezy at all the other places we had gotten off the bus, but it was nothing compared to this.

Robin and I made sure everything was securely attached to us, all zippers firmly closed and headed up the pathway towards the cliffs. It wasn't too bad until we got to the edge of the cliffs and we were smacked in the face with fast moving air. The view was spectacular. It's like seeing the Grand Canyon, pictures and words can't describe the vastness, massiveness, and sense of awe that hits you when you see it. Just standing and soaking it in.

I got really excited when I recognized the Harry Potter cave. The wind was blowing so hard it was creating funnels of mist and dust at the edge, which you can kind of see in this picture.

Robin and I tried to make our way towards O'Brien's Tower, which was beyond a patch of swirling, intense wind. It was so ridiculously windy that all I could do was laugh. It was like a cartoon, leaning so far forward in the wind, that if it wasn't there you would fall down, you can't see anything because it's hard to keep your eyes open, you are getting pushed in all directions, arms swinging fighting the invisible forces pushing against you. And you are doing this with about 10 other people trying to get to the other side. I was laughing so hard that I nearly collapsed right in the middle of the pathway. I had to go back and basically run against the wind to get to the other side.

Once there we played in the wind a bit by the tower stairs. You could stand facing the wind, slightly spread eagled, jump into the air, and then wind would push you back several feet. It was awesome.

There are moments when all of a sudden you feel the freedom of being little again, no judgements, just play. The conditions that you usually experience are just so thrown out the window that everything is new and wonderous. In the wind at the top of the cliffs I felt free. I wish I could recapture that feeling much more often.

We finally made our way back down, looking and experiencing. The gift shop was a nice reprieve from the blasting wind. I asked the man at the information desk how hard the wind was actually blowing. He said 160km, or just over 100mph. Hurricane force winds. Awesome.

After going back for one last look, we went back to the bus. I was still glowing. We stopped at Bunratty Castle (which ended up being closed for a wedding) and it's unnaturally large gift shop. Even this blatant and almost forced consumership, which normally would have greatly annoyed me, could not put a damper on my spirits. Then back in the bus for the long drive back to Dublin. I slept little, Robin blissfully passed out near my shoulder, staring out the window as the sun sank and the green landscape turned dark, just thinking.

Once off the bus, back on O'Connell Street in the heart of downtown Dublin, Robin and I headed towards Temple Bar, the bar and restaurant sector of the city that has been there for hundreds of years. We were to meet Hilary for dinner, but as she was running a bit late we put our name in for a table at Gogarty's and went downstairs to get a drink from the bar.

Now Guinness is really big in Ireland. Either because the Irish are really into drinking and love the stout Guinness, or as the tour guide said, the Guinness family had done so much for Dublin that it's people, despite actually disliking the beer, drank it anyway out of gratitude. Either way, they drink a lot of Guinness. Robin and I don't actually like it though. (I know. I know! I went to Ireland and didn't drink a Guinness. So sue me.) I did have an Irish ale, Kilkenny, (after researching... super Irish, boo ya!) which was fantastic. And Robin got an Irish cider. So there.We happily drank our drinks, people watching until Hilary arrived and we went up to our table at the traditional Irish restaurant.

I feel that an integral part of traveling is trying new foods and especially the foods of the country you are in. Irish soda bread is fantastic. I wish I could get that stuff all the time. They also had Guinness bread (see I told you they were into their Guinness). I got some mussels, which were delicious but very different from US mussels (Robin had never ever tried a mussel. So I forced her to try just one. Her response was,  "Well it's not too bad, I kind of like the taste. But I'm never eating one again. Salt water." I think the texture got to her) and then some Irish coddle, which was potatoes and sausage and some other small veggies in a heavy creamy sauce almost like gravy. Mmm. Robin got a cheesy potato and Hilary got some Irish beef stew/casserole. Very heavy, yet delicious food. It's food that you can't eat all the time but is so delicious when you do get it.

Then back to the apartment. No partying out on the town for us. We were far too tired.

DAY 3: We reserved this day to just tour the city of Dublin. See the sites, as it were. We got up, finally a morning to sleep in. We realized at this point that it was Daylight Savings, so we got a whole extra hour of time to do stuff. We had some breakfast and set off towards O'Connell Street.

It was a slightly breezy, sporadically drizzly day. Robin wore her new tights. She told me about every half hour how amazing they were. "I can't feel the wind!" It is amazing what not wearing cotton will do for your warmth level.

We got one of those Hop-On Hop-Off Bus Tours which made loops around the city. We made our first stop at Trinity College to see the Book of Kells and the Old Library . We caught a student-run tour which was informative and very entertaining. Then going and seeing the Book of Kells which was written in about 800AD by monks was really cool. Then the Old Library seriously looked out of Harry Potter. Then, as all good tourists attractions do, we exited through the gift shop. While searching through the aisles of stuff, I accidentally stole a journal while putting my maps and pamphlets into my bag. I discovered this after we left. Bad Katie, bad.

The back on the bus (I feel like I have said this A LOT) and we toured the city, electing not to get off at Chrischurch and the Viking Museum, St. Patrick's Cathedral, or the Guinness Storehouse (Now I must tell you, though largely omitted from this post, there have been several pit stops for me to pee, and we did get off the bus for that.) We decided that we wanted to go to the Jameson Distillery. We also decided that we needed to eat before going and drinking whiskey. The Distillery is not in the greatest area, so on our search for food, which ended in a Spar (think 7-11), we were cussed at by a drunkard who told us to get out of his country.

Anyway, despite the slightly ominous beginning, we got to the Distillery and went on the tour with no hitches. I was selected to be a tester. And after the slightly hokey tour, they sit you down to compare the Jameson whiskey with a Scottish and American whiskey, these being a unnamed Scotch and Jack Daniel's. In my opinion, the Jameson was clearly the best tasting. But then I am by no means a whiskey connoisseur, although Jameson did give me a certificate.

For me the rest of the day was pretty glowy, a total of 2 shots of whiskey was more than enough to get me nice and drunk. We did a bit more shopping when we got back to the end of the tour (me making several pee stops after the alcohol. I think I have a problem), me constantly reminding that she did not have to get presents for everyone. Then back to Hilary's to get our stuff, grab some dinner, and we headed to her friend Aaron's place which was closer to the airport.

I think that college boy's apartments are pretty much universally dirty. I was very amused. We sat and watched some TV with them, and then some strange documentary about the Wild Horse brothel... at which point I decided it was time for bed. They had an electric fireplace in the room we were staying in that seemed very dangerous and easy to burn yourself on. Then off to sleep before catching a flight, again extremely early.

DAY 4: We woke up again at the butt-crack of dawn or, "o'dark thirty"and caught a cab to the airport, made our way through security and such and onto the plane, bidding a fond farewell to Hilary as she flew off to Milan and we headed back to London.

After landing we caught a bus to catch the tube back to school. Robin stayed and showered in my room while I went to class. Some Mondays are longer than others. After class, I came back and Robin went to get the bus back to Canterbury and I made it through my next class before absolutely crashing.

It was a great weekend.

Pre-Dublin Ruminations

So I meant to tell you all that I was going to Dublin. I meant to tell you to get ready for lots of Irish shenanigans and shamrocks and leprechauns and beer and all that. I meant to tell you how excited I was. I meant to tell you how excited I was to be going with Robin. I meant to tell you all this as I was waiting for Robin to get off the tube from Canterbury. But as usual I got distracted and failed to post all this.

Anyway, the distraction came as a knock on my floor. Yes floor. Drew who lives downstairs wanted me to come and play some drinking games with them downstairs. (This is the same Drew whose birthday we went to see Sister Act for, along with Cristin, Keelia, and Ruth) It was a very fun sticking-my-head-out-the-window conversation. So I went to play games, still waiting for Robin to let me know she'd arrived. Unfortunately her phone ran out of credit so she had to improvise, but we finally managed to get together.

We then Skyped with Kristen. There was a lot of laughter involved. It is good to see people's faces and catch up. She did get punched in the eye by her little brother while we were talking. It took us quite a long time to convince her to put something cold on it. The whole conversation was pretty funny. We said goodbye then we both went down to play some drinking games.

It was late to bed early to rise.

Some might say this is not the best way to start out a trip. Maybe. Maybe not. It was fun though. We did get to bed a bit late, and had to get up very early to catch a bus, to catch a... you get the idea. I think the name of this trip should be Dublin: Lots of Fun on Very Little Sleep.

I am finishing up the rest of the Dublin post(s) now. Get excited.

Crashing the Tate Britain

So on my second weekend this week, I had nothing planned. I got up early and decided to go on my room mate Amber's class trip to the Tate Britain. 

We were running a few minutes late, but miraculously managed to find her class right before the teacher started lecturing. She's in an art history class called The Age of Impressionism. I have never taken an art history class but know about Impressionism through theater studies (damn straight interdisciplinarity) and was interested to see the paintings. I was a little thrown off though, Impressionists were definitely from France, and this is the Tate Britain, meaning all British artists. So British painters influenced the Impressionists in several ways and that's what we were there for. 

Ok, I'm with you now. Fortunately for me the teacher had no idea that I was not in his class. As per usual, I kept finding myself standing at the front listening attentively and kept having to say, "No Katie, move away," to myself, "this is not your class." I thought it was interesting though.

So most of the kids in this class had obviously not done the reading. And when he asked about form, color, brushstroke, composition etc. they all just stared at him blankly. I had a hard time not trying to guess answers to fill the silence (I was also kind of shocked because he was like is this painting bright or dull? is this painting using big or small brushstrokes? I was like I can see that from way back here guys!) I also had a hard time not asking questions.

So when we went into the Preraphaelite room to look at the sweet colors, we looked at a painting called Ophelia. When he was asking who Ophelia was I couldn't keep my mouth shut. Hamlet. Duh. (This also reaffirmed especially to myself that I am really, really in to positive feedback. Still. I guess the overachieving high schooler will never really leave me.)

Amber was literally sitting there snickering at me. She was very entertained by my enthusiasm.

After her class ended, we spent some more time wandering around the museum. Then headed out to find some lunch. There was nothing close so we got back on the Tube to Leicester Square and found an Italian place. My pasta was yummy but the sausage in it looked like the pepperoni from Lunchables Pizza, so I was a little skeptical about it. 

As we were wandering waiting for Leah and Ashley to come and meet us after their classes, we found the National Portrait Gallery. I love that almost all of the Museums in London are free. We wandered through the historical portraits starting with Henry the VII and Henry the VIII and his wives all the way to modern day. Most of the ones in the late 1700's and through the 1800's were Lords and politicians who I had no idea about. They were really interesting though. Not only the myriad of people that they showed, but the style in which the paintings were done. I particularly enjoyed the artists room. :) 

Leah found us in the museum and we wandered through some of the 20th Century. Saw the Twiggy display, and wandered back out on to the street. As we really had no plan, we just wanted to see more of the city, we decided to go right. This was fortunate because it took us right into Trafalgar Square. We decided to climb up onto the pedestal that holds the Wellington Monument and the four Lions. 

Amber is going to kill me, but being shorter than Leah and I, watching her get on to the pedestal was absolutely hilarious. 

I finally made it on to one of the Lions. Because so many people climb on it, it is really slippery, so I got up there with a little pulling from Amber and Leah.

Then we wandered over to Covent Garden. Once we got there I had a flash back to when my mom took me to London when I was 13. It was pouring rain and we stayed in there for a long time. It's the first time I have really had that double, "I've been here before moment."

We explored the area trying to find Leah a cupcake from a store she knew was there. Now, as most of you know, I love sweets. I love baking cupcakes. So I was excited. But then I saw the cupcakes. All sorts of garish colors. Strange flavors. Sitting out in the open. And not a drop of buttercream frosting in sight. Who uses the hard frosting? No one should. I refused to get one. 

We wandered some more and decided we wanted some warm drinks. So we sat down in an Le Pain Quotidien (which just made me think of Rex and Bambi) and got some hot chocolates. I could not resist the carrot cake on the menu, and I was not disappointed. It was some of the best carrot cake I have had and the cream cheese frosting was fantastic. (I want the recipe) Take that strange cupcakes!

After wandering through the market trying to kill some time, we got back on the Tube and headed home. It was a fun, yummy, art-filled day. 

York. Haworth. YORK!

The City of York and York Minster

This weekend was my trip to York. Now, I don't think that I would have chosen to go to York all by myself, but USC organizes some trips for students studying in the UK. The other bonus to going, besides hanging out with some really fun Trojans, is that everything is paid for. And let's face it... I'm all about the free.

On Friday I left from King's Cross Station (I have not yet taken the obligatory Platform 9 3/4 photo, but it is coming) and rode the train to York. I have never really used the railways as a viable means of travel, so seat protocol was a bit new to me, and I must have sat down in someone else's seat and gotten up about 5 times before I found a seat that was unclaimed. Also after having done this, I ended up in the one car that did not list all of the stops and had a couple of panicky moments when I thought I had gotten on the wrong train (even though I had read the sign, sometimes the doubt sets in, you know what I mean?). Got to York in just over two hours, hassle-free, and made my way from the station to our Bed and Breakfast. 

I was the first person there. So I put my stuff down and promptly tromped out into the brisk wind to explore a bit of the city. As our tour guide informed us the next day, towns are places without cathedrals, this is regardless of size or population, unless of course you get special dispensation from the Queen. York, however, is a city because it has a cathedral, in this case York Minster. It was the only cathedral spared during the sacking of Catholic churches during the Protestant reformation. And has the oldest stained glass (from the medieval period) and the best kept statues and treasures. It is a beautiful building, towering above everything else, that can be seen for miles. 

York Minster

York has been an important city since Roman times. There is a long wall surrounding York with only four gates. It has withstood the Viking and Norman takeovers, and still surrounds the city, unbroken, today. I entered and explored the mostly closed-down city (everything closes at 5) through Micklegate. After a bit of wandering I decided that I was cold and hungry and nothing but food was open anyway, so I went back to the B&B where I met some other USC kids and waited until dinner. (I re-met Lauren, who has actually been to my apartment several times in LA and didn't know she was in the UK. I also, embarrassingly, could not remember her name immediately. Bad Katie, bad.) Some shenanigans at dinner, then bed.

The Wall around York

The next morning we got up for a 'traditional' English breakfast. Egg, sausage, bacon, beans, and tomatoes. While yummy, it seemed as though many things were straight out of the can. I will have try a real traditional English Breakfast before I leave. It was very nice to wake up to someone else making you tea though. I am finding that I enjoy tea far more than I did back in the US. After breakfast we all piled into a tour bus and headed out to explore Yorkshire. 

Our tour guide was Mike, Mike-on-the-mike, as he called himself (and rather bitter that some DJ in New Jersey has 'stolen' his name). He was a portly, slightly balding Yorkshireman in his early 60's. He was very proud of any and everything that had come from, passed through, or ever mentioned York or Yorkshire. He was a very enthusiastic, slightly rambling, and sporadically informative. I think he was flustered by 18 American college students honestly. 

Now on this tour Lauren and I made the rather unfortunate decision to sit in the front of the bus, to get the best views, of course. This was just a bit close to Mike, who when very enthusiastically extolling the barely visible moors or random Otley songs (or anything really) would send rather large globules of spit in our direction. We didn't want to tell him or put our hands up to ward off the shower because he was genuinely sweet, he just didn't know that what he was saying was not really that interesting or really didn't pertain to what was going on. Meant well though.

Statue of Thomas Chippendale

We were rather relieved to get off the bus in Otley. What is Otley you ask? You know. I still don't really know. I know that Thomas Chippendale, the famous furniture maker, was born there. But nothing of his actually survives, so we saw a bank building showing where his house used to be and a slightly graffitied statue in a random primary schoolyard. But other than that, not a whole lot. Lauren was also confused as to why this was on the tour. 

Lauren showing her emotions

We got back on the bus, Mike having miraculously shifted positions so the spittle was no longer pointed in our direction, and we headed to Haworth. Haworth is the home of the Bronte's. Yes, those Bronte's. Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre, you get the picture. Haworth is a very small village on a rather steep hill. Very picturesque. 

We visited the Bronte Parsonage Museum, which is a Museum made out of the original parsonage that the Bronte sisters and delinquent brother grew up in. The house had been put back to the way that it would have been when they lived there, furniture all in it's place. There was also the addition of costumes from the most recent BBC Production of Wuthering Heights... for some reason. Several of the paintings had been removed and replaced with modern photographs of the moors. Those two things stick out to me as very anachronistic additions to the house, but the rooms were cool to see. 

Haworth, just below the Bronte Parsonage

In the Bronte Parsonage Museum there are no pictures allowed, so there is no way that I can truly convey to you how utterly creepy the house was. I didn't quite realize how creepy until I got into the sitting room and read, "...this chaise is where she did most of her sitting, and where she died." Ah! Then walking into Charlotte's bedroom, they have some of her old clothes, her tiny shoes, her tiny gloves, her hair mementos... wait... what? Oh look, there is some of Emily's hair. It kind of made my skin crawl. Just seeing their handwriting, personal mementos and drawings made everything so much more real in a ghostly creepy sort of way. 

While fascinating, I was glad to get back out into the sunshine. I explored the pasture behind the parsonage, and the graveyard just up the hill from the Church. (So, fun story, there are 'officially' around 7,000 bodies buried in the graveyard, but scientists estimate there are about 40,000 bodies buried there. People just pushed them further down and buried on top of old graves. This became a problem during the Bronte's time because some strange, black, sludge decay kept seeping up through the Church floors... gross.) I loved that it felt like fall, the mists coming in from down the valley, small patches of color amongst the green, crisp wind in my face.

Yorkshire Countryside

We were starving though, so we stopped by a small local cafe to grab some food. I got some pumpkin and parsnip soup and a local Red Dragon ale and felt very full and happy. Then we had to dash back to the bus, and we drove to Saltaire, a city built around a mill that was the most fair to its workers at the time. We went into the old factory converted into an art museum/antique gift shop. There was not a lot of time, and I personally think that exploring the only planned city I have seen in Britain would have been more interesting... but alas, we glanced around and got back on the bus back to York.

Me, walking on the Wall, exploring York

This was a lot more fun. We went around exploring the city, seeing the sites. Again almost everything was closed, so it was mostly wandering. We saw the ruins in Museum Park. Got some roasted chestnuts. Climbed up Clifford's Tower and watched some of the people roll down the hill (I would have followed, but as everyone landed in some sort of smelly mud/dog shit, I decided that I would forgo that adventure), and we ended up in a pub, watching football (soccer) and rugby (and watching the people watching football and rugby), ordered some beers and throughly enjoyed the beginning of our evening.  

We then had a great dinner at a mediocre (great for Britain) Italian restaurant. This reinforced my theory that good company makes any meal better. As does wine. So as we walked, and some of us weaved/stumbled, to O'Neil's for some more drinks, we were all in very high spirits. 

As we walked out of O'Neil's we were still in very high spirits. Just as we get out into the street we hear Prith say, "Oh SHIT!" What on earth could be happening? We just left the bar. Unbenownst to us, Prith had a Blackberry and was keeping tabs on the USC v. Notre Dame game. Most of us had given up hope of finding the game much earlier in the day, so it was absolutely shocking and exhilarating to know the score. We came in at 34-27 with 10 seconds left in the 4th, Notre Dame on the 4 yard line, about to score. We went APE SHIT. 

For those that don't know, you can't go to USC and not care about college football. And you can't go to USC and not care about big rivalry games like Notre Dame. And you can absolutely not stand to lose to such schools that you have beaten for the previous 8 years (take THAT!). 

So we froze, all of us, in the middle of the sidewalk in York, packed like sardines around Prith as he frantically hit the refresh button. At 2nd and goal we couldn't take it anymore. Meg called someone in the states and was giving us the verbal play by play until both confirmed that we had in fact beaten the Irish again. 

Pandemonium. Cheers. Yelling. And together we all started singing the Fight Song, mimicking the band, and of course chanting "Beat the Beavers" for next weeks game. It was fantastic. (I must also add that one very inebriated boy kept yelling "Fuck the Beavers" all the way home, which was completely obnoxious, and to the 15 year-old boy inside us all, completely hilarious.) I love being a Trojan.

The next day we got up, packed up, had another English breakfast, and headed out. As people were coming from different places in the UK, some people left early. Lauren had to go back to Edinburgh to write a paper (who does school work when they are studying abroad?) so we went to the National Rail Museum and explored the old trains and train memoribilia before she had to say goodbye. 

Museum Railway Archives, look what I found!

Then I went back into the museum and wandered some more. Then I went to pick up my bag from the B&B before they closed the doors for the day, met up with some of the other USC people hanging around, and we went to the Minster to climb the Tower. 

While some people saved our spot in line we went to go get some lunch (they said it was at the Hog's Head and I was excited because of the Harry Potter thing... but alas it was Hog something-else) which was delicious. I got a turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sandwich. Yi was a bit braver and got a Yorkshire pudding, which was also delicious, he let me have a bite. Yorkshire pudding is not actually pudding, its a pastry... I felt a little cheated. 

Then we got back in line and headed up the Tower. There are 275 very narrow, very windy, very steep stairs. I took my backpack with me. It was awesome. As we go up we realize that both Prith and Jeremy were scared of heights. This resulted in me laughing and them freaking out most of the way up. Once we got to the top, we were caged in, so they felt much better (which I didn't really understand because in the small, windy staircase its not like you can see down) and we had fun looking around from so high up. 

Me, backpack and all, at the top of the Tower

Before heading down though, they started freaking out even more. So to calm them down we sang all the way down. We sang Mulan and Backstreet Boys. Which to my extreme surprise a) they knew the words to, b) did not completely annoy everyone in the staircase, and c) totally worked. Also, the people waiting in line to go up were laughing when we came out and someone told me I had a nice singing voice (I laughed out loud). It was very fun though.

Then we split ways, they went to the train museum and I wandered the city. I found some very yummy food stalls and got some snacks for the train ride. We all met up at the train station and got on our respective trains, most of us heading back to London. We sat as close as possible on the ride back and had some very good conversations before people started conking out. I even managed to get most of my reading done. Then back onto the over-crowded bus to Mile End (where us QMers got separated) because the Tube was down for weekend construction and back to lovely Queen Mary.

York would not have been nearly as fun and entertaining with out the other USC people that were there. I had a blast with everyone. So thank you Sharkster for organizing. I apologize for the lengthiness of this post. If you made it this far congratulations and thank you!

Cheers!

Off to York!

This weekend I am headed to York. A famous city in Yorkshire, surrounded by a wall and lots of history. I am also going to see Haworth, the home of the Bronte's, and some picturesque countryside. I might even get to go for a hike (for those of us from the Sierras, a nice walk)! 

Hopefully I will get to see the USC v. Notre Dame game from somewhere... but Fight On! And I will update all of you when I get back on Sunday night.

Cheers!

Sun and Gymnastics

As I think I have stated before, I have no classes on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. What this means is a) I have tons of time to procrastinate on the work that is due on Thursday (like I am doing right now) and b) I get to tour the city in the middle of the week, see things as Londoners do, and get out of my apartment.

One of the first things that was said to us when we arrived here was, "cherish the sun." I like the sun anyway, but after the intermittent drizzling that I am sure will only get worse, truly sunny days are something to be cherished. I woke up early on Tuesday morning to this.

This is the view out of my window in both directions. Those boats are canal boats, and people live in them. They roam all over the city just staying places for a week or two and then moving on. They are really cool! I went for a run in Mile End Park, the path goes on the other side of the canal that morning and a little further up canal there were like 40 of them, double docked. But I didn't bring my camera on the run, so you will just have to imagine. (Kyle, I am working on taking more pictures. Slowly but surely we will get there.)

I then did menial tasks like laundry (which is so expensive! 2 pounds for one wash!) and went to the grocery store. As I have been on a kick of making American food for my room mates, who have never had it before, I decided to make some chili. I have never actually made chili before, so my continued goal of getting better at cooking an trying new things was also appeased. I made some pork chili and had to use some chilies I have never seen before and improvise with certain ingredients, but it still turned out very yummy. I bought an entire pork shoulder, so I made it again on Wednesday night, and it turned out better and I have left-overs. Success!

Wednesday I designated as my day to explore. After being helpfully directed towards Time Out London, (they have one for LA, as I now discover, but it is far less helpful) I saw that Artistic Gymnastic World Championships were being held in London only two tube stops away from me! I had to go. 

It is held at the 02, which is where gymnastics and basketball will be held for the 2012 Olympics. So it was really like an Olympic preview. It was awesome. (During the breaks they showed time lapses of how they changed the soccer pitch and the arena into a gymnastics training quad and performance arena.) I bought the cheapest ticket and was sitting way up in the nosebleeds. It was cool to see the whole arena from this perspective. And to watch all the rotations at the same time. 

During the break between rotations they fixed the floor. And I decided that as there were several open seats down near the front, I would make my way there. First attempt, guy checked my ticket. Fail. Then I got some lunch and walked into a different section with my hands full of food and sat down as close as I could get. Success! 

Gymnastics is always entertaining to watch on TV, but to see it in person is just amazing. They really do flip that high. Those girls are so teeny and they hurtle themselves through the air. It is really quite startling to realize how fast they are moving, how high they are jumping and how much torque they are putting on their bodies. I couldn't do it.

Something that you don't get to see on TV is all the slightly lesser gymnasts, the ones from Egypt and India and other places you don't think of as having gymnastics programs. You also don't get to see people fall as much. As sadistic as it sounds, the uneven (or as the Brits say the asymmetric) bars are the most entertaining to watch because when they do it right, its amazing, and when they fall, they fall HARD. It's like Sports Center highlights plus American's Funniest Home videos all at the same time. 

The support for all the Great Britain gymnasts was amazing. I mean, AMAZING! It was qualifying rounds, during a school day, and there were so many little girls in their uniforms, the union jack flags in hand, screaming at the top of their lungs. The girl sitting next to me was 4 1/2 and hearing her little British accents say some of the most outrageous things. 

"Mummy, her feet weren't together in that spin, she's going to get marked off for that" 

"When I grow up I want to be like Beth Tweddle, but without the braces alright Mum?" 

"Mum, why is that girl in pink? (In reference to a Russian gymnast wearing a more personalized leotard) Pink isn't a national color." Her mother responded, "Well, sweetheart, that is just that gymnast's choice. She's from Russia." "Oh all right. No proper English gymnast would dress like that."

I was giggling at them the whole time. 

I got some pictures of Beth Tweddle, a UK gymnast in her routine. She fell pretty hard right after this, but she was really good. She didn't end up qualifiying though. This was my seat partner's favorite gymnast. She told me this was the best picture.

After experiencing the British home support, I think I understand a bit more about British sports culture. They are sports fanatics. Fanatics. If someone from their country is competing they are behind them 110% regardless of how well they are doing or are expected to do. I feel like this is not the case in the US. We want winners. (So do they obviously, but we expect winners I guess) Most people in Britain play sports of some kind, usually in a minimal capacity. But there are no sports scholarships, no competitive university sports, nothing like the sports culture that we have at home. So when you see an athlete at the peak of performance in Britain it is amazing to think how they go there. 

I thoroughly enjoyed watching the gymnastics. It was a great day out and about town. 

Now I have to finish my homework before class. :)

"Can I take a picture of your shit?"

The other day I was feeling a bit homesick, so what did I decide to do? Make burritos of course. Most of the fixin's are available in the grocery store, but some of them are most definitely not. 

In Sainbury's, the local large grocery store, they have a Mexican food section. It's about as wide as I am. It mostly consists of Old El Paso products, like refried beans. Mostly just the refried beans. They also have tortillas that won't go bad until March and salsa in teeny tiny bottles. Curry is also included in this section for spices. Not Mexican spices people. Also, sour cream? No. Soured cream. 

Anyway, the burritos were delicious regardless of their slightly improvised fillings. There were left-overs and today the refried beans were going to go bad... which is what prompted the comment.

My Irish room mate, Shea, had been fascinated by the quesadilla I made. So when I was using the refried beans he was absolutely shocked. "Those are beans? They look like shit. Like shit on a tortilla." This of course launched both Amber (the other American) into a fit of laughing. He whipped out his camera phone and asked, "Can I take a picture of your shit?" He then paused, realizing how awkward that sounded. Took this picture.

It does look like shit at this point in the process. I made him try a bean and cheese quesadilla, very basic, when it was done, to which he replied, "Hot, hot, hot, hot" and then, "Hmmm... passable shit." :)

I love cultural transfer.

Wandering through Markets...

I had my first weekend here in London to just explore, so what did I do? Did I decide to go and explore the myriad of world-class museums in London that are free because I am a student? Did I go and see some shows? Did I go and see the famous historic sites? No. I did what any responsible, normal, intelligent young woman would do. I went shopping. (I can just picture the grin on my father's face reading this.)

I decided to do an exploration of Spitalfields Market, and indirectly explored Brick Lane, and more indirectly explored Oxford Street. But we will get there. 

I have no classes on Fridays. This gave me a great opportunity to see some of the city when it was not so congested with tourists. (Alternately, this gave me a great opportunity to get some homework done, but I did not choose that option. Obviously.) I chose to go to Oxford Street. Here there are lots of department stores. Lots. I wandered in and out of them, just looking around (OK, I tried some things on. But figuring out US vs. UK vs. European sizes got the best of me). 

I got there around 11 and suddenly realized it was 4 and I was starving. STARVING. And I had to pee. (I honestly think that I realized I was hungry when I caught myself doing the pee-pee dance in a shoe store.) I found a Pret A Manger (chain sandwich place that Robin and I have frequented before) and sat myself down, at which point I realized how tired I was. 

I also realized that after 5 hours of wandering these department stores I had bought almost nothing. (I SHOULD have bought an umbrella, but alas, did not.) And frankly, despite being urged to "try new styles" I still can't justify looking like everyone did the year I was born. The oversized, undersized, oddly proportioned style is so 80's. (Also, why are Keds, cut-off jean shorts, lace tights, berets, and shoulder pads all in style again? They were not cool the first time around!) It's weird, and not all that flattering. I like sparkly things and bright colors, as evidenced by the way I dress on the ultimate field, but no. Just no. 

So I headed home, got caught for about 2 minutes in absolute dumping rain before making it to my apartment. Warmed up. Was going to go to a Cabaret night put on by the Queen Mary Theatre Company, but fell asleep. Sadness.

The next day I got up, went to the grocery store, forgot to buy plates but remembered the yogurt, odd (the plates are a problem, like I said before, we have no plates). And then headed to Spitalfields Market. I know the guide said that it wasn't happenin' on a Saturday, but I went anyway. 

I did have an alternate agenda of getting my 16-25 Railcard so that I can get cheaper tickets when I use the train. I had to go to the office though because I am not a UK citizen (grumble grumble, logistics). After the short walk from the station to the market area, I saw what looked like a huge glass warehouse on top of some trendy granite shops. There were obviously places for lots of stalls to be, but none of them were filled. It was quiet with the small, lulling buzz of regulars going about their day, having a lazy coffee with friends. 

As I went further into the expansive open-air market, into the newer part, I realized that there was some sort of festival going on. It turned out to be photomonth. There were about one hundred stalls set up with different featured photographers, selling prints, talking about camera techniques, swapping stories. I couldn't help but think that my friend Zack would have loved it, being an aspiring photographer himself, but he is alas across the channel in Paris. I had a lot of fun wandering from stall to stall. 

Then I left Spitalfields, as it was not very happening, and wandered towards Brick Lane. I happened upon an outdoor eating area, and by happened upon I mean lead there by the amazing scents coming from the alley entrance. Despite looking very sketchy, the food was fantastic. I sampled several curries, some chinese, and some ethiopian food before getting a houmous and roasted vegetable sandwich. (Yes, it is houmous and not humus) I was entirely satisfied and really wished that they sold their houmous and tzatziki sauce. Mmmm... food explorations. 

This area of East London, but especially Brick Lane, is known for it's vintage clothing, hipsters, and coffee shops (I also belatedly realize that it is know for its Bengali culture, so I will have to go back and explore more). It also has a lot of street vendors selling the most random crap ever, but not so much on this Saturday afternoon. I liked that it wasn't crowded at all. Sometimes the mass of humanity all swarming one place really upsets me. I had time to leisurely peruse all that Brick Lane had to offer. 

As I went into the shops, seeing all the old dresses, funky hats, well-loved shoes, and smelling that inexplicable smell of vintage (what is that smell? seriously.) I couldn't help but be reminded of 'The Loft.' It was where we stored all the costumes in high school. I spent more hours up there than I can possibly calculate, and it suddenly made me miss theatre and Niv more than I have in a long time. I did find some cool stuff in there. Also watching women fight over shoes that are umpteen years old and battered to all hell is very entertaining. 

I had fun wandering around by myself. I wandered into a Creperie, had a Nutella crepe, and overheard another American girl say, "British style is gross. You either look like you're in the 80's or like you're a Republican." I almost laughed out loud. I did snort a bit and choke on my crepe though. 

Then I went home, made some dinner and was invited to go downstairs and watch The Fellowship of the Ring with some friends. (I was hugely proud, and alternately slightly disgusted, with how much of the extended edition I can still quote. All of it.) It was a good day just to see the city and then relax with friends. 

Sunday, however, despite being very similar to Saturday, was not relaxing. I went back to Spitalfields and Brick Lane with my flat mate Amber, and our friends Ashley and Leah. So while Spitalfields Market is not a happenin' place on Saturday, on Sunday it most definitely is. There were shops and stalls selling almost every thing imaginable. (I didn't see any live animals for sale, but that doesn't mean anything.) 

We wandered, looked a lot and bought very little. Went to the same outdoor food market, enjoyed the few minutes of sunshine while enjoying some fantastic street food. There were far more stalls and many more things to sample. I ended up getting some wrap with chicken, cucumber chutney, apples, and "death spice" which was absolutely delicious and a sugar and cinnamon crepe. Yum!

We continued to wander into more market areas, and down Brick Lane. Brick Lane was sidewalk to sidewalk people. The entire street (which is supposed to be driveable, lies) was filled because many nefarious-looking people that had set up mini yard-sales on the sidewalk. I have never (and let me repeat, NEVER) seen such an odd/awkward assortment of crap ever displayed anywhere in my entire life. It was awesome. 

I was enjoying the people watching, but the other girls decided they wanted to go to H&M. So back to Oxford Street we went, which was packed with people. Like sardines. We made it to the store. Made it out quite awhile later and went back to QM.

Or rather tried. With the Olympics coming in 2012, London Underground is getting overhauled. So on weekends random closures happen all the time. We had to detour. On the last train, which we barely caught, I had to sit next to the smelliest man I have ever encountered. I say had to sit because everyone else in the car was pushed as far away from him as possible, so there was no more standing room. I have smelled some smelly people, the crowded, sweaty (people sweating on me) bus rides in Ecuador, the unwashed Eastern European club go-ers, and NO ONE has ever smelled that bad. It was like someone had shat diarrhea directly into my nasal cavity. I honestly think that the man was dead. I couldn't tell if he was breathing. He didn't twitch or make a noise. But I also couldn't make myself get any closer, and I was already FAR too close. I have never been so glad to get off a train. 

All in all it was a great weekend. Can't wait to go to York next weekend!

So... I have actually been putting out posts in a rather timely fashion. I am very surprised and proud of myself. (I don't know if this is a reflection of me not having really gotten into classes or having done any major traveling yet, or if my resolution to finally stop procrastinating is finally kicking in.) This being the case, the current title of the blog (I have, of course, been meaning to change it for awhile) is not really appropriate.  

Any ideas for a new one? Like it as is? Let me know what you think. 

Or just comment. I like comments. :)

My Dad's Favorite Joke

My Dad has told this joke, pretty much ever since I can remember. I always 'got' the joke. But after being here for a bit, it makes even more sense. It is really interesting seeing how people who have always been much closer to 'the Continent' react as well. Example, my Irish room mate almost snorted his juice when I told him.

Despite having to be reminded of the finer details when I Skyped with my father this evening, here it is... (please imagine me gesturing and putting emphasis on all the right words riddled with perfectly-timed dramatic pauses)

Do you know the difference between Heaven and Hell?

Well, in Heaven, the French are the cooks, the Italians are the lovers, the English are the police, the Swiss are the administrators, and the Germans are the mechanics.

In Hell, the Swiss are the lovers, the English are the cooks, the Italians are the mechanics, the French are the administrators and the Germans are the police. 

:) Thanks Dad.

Sister Act

On Tuesday night I went out with my friends Cristin (a friend from elementary school that I lost touch with and she ended up living downstairs), Keelia, Ruth, and Drew to celebrate Drew's 20th birthday. We went to dinner at a surprisingly inexpensive gourmet Italian restaurant and then to see Sister Act, the musical. 

Now, this would not have been my first choice of show to go see, but it was entertaining none the less. If you feel that you will be going to see this musical you might not want to read further because I am going to spoil parts. However, I don't know that you would really be missing anything by not going...

It was in the Palladium Theatre near Oxford Circus, which was a very nice, old theater. (The whole spelling theater/theatre thing is getting to me) Our seats got upgraded unexpectedly, and had a really good view of the stage. 

So it's obviously based on the movie with Whoopi Goldberg (Which if you haven't seen it, stop reading and watch it. Seriously. It's awesome.) and Maggie Smith. But they change a lot of things, like Whoopi's character, Delores, is much younger, and it is set in 1970's Chicago instead of 1990's San Francisco. So there is disco instead of hip-hop. The cop is also a former class-mate 'Sweaty-Eddie' and there is a love story. Many of the scenes go in a similar order, but there is obviously more singing, and everyone sings not just the nuns. There is no helicopter ride to Reno. I miss the ride to Reno.

There are some good songs, a lot of so-so ones, some fantastic costume changes, some genuinely funny moments, a lot of forced jokes, sweet set changes, and a lot of nuns. 

This was a musical through and through. And while I love a good musical, this one was simply a musical. It's something that high schools will do, not something that will live on the stage forever and become musical theatre canon. It lost something vital from the film, it became hokey and conventionalized and prescriptive. It lost its message.

I kept hoping that they would do one of the songs from the movie or give the characters real personalities instead of just stereotypes. I was disappointed. But at the last moment the conductor had a costume of the Pope and stood up. That was awesome. 

The woman that played Delores had some pipes. She sang beautifully. And partly because I have been listening to my flatmates try to do my accent, I could hear the actors 'American accents' which absolutely cracked me up, especially when they were using 70's slang. 

End verdict, I was entertained and had a great night, but I wouldn't pay to go and see it again. Or buy the soundtrack. 

But as my first West End musical, it was fun. And it was fun to see it with friends. Although I couldn't dork out quite as much as I wanted to about the tech stuff. :)

Freshers

Like I said in a previous post, while studying here at QM I am living in the on-campus apartments, which means with 5 other freshers or first years. After doing this once before (dorm vs. apartment, but still) here are some observations.

You know you live with freshmen when...

• There is a false fire alarm at least once a week that causes an evacuation, usually occurring when I really have to pee or have just gotten in the shower.
• One room mate accidentally touches the drying dishes and breaks two plates... meaning there are no more plates in the apartment.
• At least one person staggers in during breakfast with a raging hangover, regardless of the day of week.
• The bathroom is always awkwardly moist. And who's hair is THAT?!?
• There are never any clean bowls (besides the lack of plates) because they only eat cereal, canned soup, ramen, or pasta.
• Someone you have never met, and all of their flat mates, are sitting in your living room when you walk out of the shower in a towel. Nice to meet you too.
• Your only thought upon going to the bathroom is, "Please dear Lord, let there be toilet paper."
• ... and if there isn't toilet paper... "What the $#@&% do I use now?"
• You open the microwave, see amazing amounts of 'waved-on gook, take an experimental sniff,  and think, "What IS that?" And then decide whether or not it will taint the food you are trying to cook, and stick it in there anyway. 
• Milk is a quickly-vanishing commodity. There is never as much as the last time you put it in there. Wait. Which one of these identical containers is mine?
• Your flat mate updates their facebook status, and you have to decide whether to comment or actually get up and tell them how ridiculous/stupid/funny/unfortunate they are in person. 
• Everyone gathers in the kitchen because the building heat isn't turned on yet... and the oven leaks heat because someone who used to live here obviously stood on the door at some point. 
• On Saturday morning you can see several people who did not know the "take your shoes off before you pass out" rule, which is apparently international. Although 'wanker' 'poof' 'git' and 'blow job' are more popular than penises apparently. 
• Everyone will ask others last names upon first meeting so that they can facebook you the instant they get home. Almost no one can remember 200 names in the first week though.
  

That's all I have for the moment. But its been interesting taking a small step back in time. There are a couple (well lots) of differences between here and the US. 

• There are no RA's or anyone watching you all the time. 
• They can't legally give out condoms. So no candy and condom bucket. (I think that this is silly, because we all know that teaching abstinence doesn't work).
• Oh, and it's LEGAL to DRINK. Which just furthers the chaos and allows for a bar on campus.

Cheers!

Smoking and Fire Alarms

Fire induction today got me thinking.

Alia, my teacher, wrote me a lovely email when I first got here saying, 

If I may, I'd like to offer a bit of advice that I would give to any friend living in another country.  Of course you can take it or leave it.  Living in another culture opens your eyes to other ways of being--which is good.  People do things differently there.  And you may want to try on their ways.  For example, the fashions are a bit different in London, and so you might want to try on their style. Personally, I think that might be fun.  However there's one nasty habit Europeans (not just Londoners) have: smoking cigarettes.  Ugh.  It's everywhere!  Some people may have started at an early age in order to look real cool, or there may be other mysterious reasons why they started smoking.

The reason I tell you this is because I have American friends who were traveling and were offered tobacco and, they thought, well, what the heck, "When in Rome..."  But now they are back in the States with an ugly addiction.  I really feel for my friends who fell into that hole. Now they really struggle to climb out of it.

And she is entirely right, many of the people smoke here. People smoke cigarettes here a lot. I mean A LOT. And as a cultural thing they just drop them on the ground wherever they are. (I personally find this disgusting and actually contemplated cleaning the bottoms of my shoes yesterday then realized that that would completely futile, but that is beside the point) Some places you can't avoid stepping on them. You will often see public waste bins and ashtrays smoking. 

Fortunately for me my parents drilled it into me never to smoke, and I find it disgusting (haunting memories of being dragged through Harrah's or Harvey's as a youngster by my dad as he pointed at the gamblers who smoked and remarked very loudly about how they were filthy, stupid people, or my Grandpa showing pictures of smokers lungs, come to mind...) And thankfully Queen Mary is an entirely non-smoking campus. 

Also, Londoners are completely terrified of fire. No wooden structures are allowed in the city any longer. Now, while QM is not in the city center way out here in the East End, they still have this pervading fear, hence the insane amount of fire safety equipment in every building. My my flat alone there are smoke alarms, heat alarms, fire alarms, fire doors, alarmed fire doors (doors that will beep incessantly at you if left open too long), fire extinguishers, fire blankets, and fire action directions and no smoking signs on almost every wall. This however is a major problem for one of my roommates, who smokes like a chimney. He can't smoke in the apartment and has to walk off campus (Yay!). 

Also, the warning labels on cigarettes here are REALLY INTENSE. Examples. (How can you smoke something when there is a dead baby on the package? Seriously?)

Today we had to go to a fire safety seminar, which was honestly a waste of my time as I had gotten all that information in 2nd grade with a far more visceral lesson. The "fire induction" told us how to exit buildings, how not to start fires, etc. But at ZCES the fire department was hard core. They had a trailer that we got to go through that actually lit things on fire, like a 'tea towel' on a burner, and then we had to practice exiting the building, stop, drop, and roll, AND we got to tour the firehouse, go down the pole and see FIRETRUCKS! (I honestly think this is where my obsession started and I may or may not have walked back to the fire station the next day at recess...) This was obviously a much better lesson. (London Fire Engine)

Anyway, all these fire events today, especially the note that tampering with your smoke detectors, like putting a plastic bag over them, was a criminal activity, made me think about the stupidity of smoking. At Queen Mary, and I suspect all over the UK, if you disable a fire alarm you do not get a warning, they will kick you out of housing, they will press criminal charges for reckless endangerment of others, and you may be expelled from the University. Whoa.

It also reminded me of the first time I came to London with my mom when I was 13. On the plane, one man tried to disable the smoke alarm in the bathroom so he could smoke mid-flight. Of course someone noticed and he was put in a seat next to the flight attendant and was strapped down with restraints for the rest of the flight. We also had to wait for police to remove him from the plane before we could get off. It was intense. 

And if the penalty is that extreme, why risk it?