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- For reports on their work experiences, check out Summer in London ‘09: Life at Work.
- Read their reports, Summer in London ‘09: Reflections on British media.
- To read about the 2009 program, check out Summer in London ‘09.
Enjoying theater life, by Brooke Lichtman
‘All that life can afford…,’ by Genevieve Postlethwait
Of trash bins and today’s realities, by Zina Kumok
Boots + tube pass + backpack = Ready to go, by CJ Lotz
A postcard is worth a thousand words, by Elvia Malagon
In praise of Sainsburt’s, Tesco and Waitrose, by Sam Mooney
Regent’s Park, by Courtney Miller
Feelin’ green, by Jessica Haney
Polo in the park: Unexpected excitement, by Alex Farris
Creepy-crawlies, by Katherine Hagan
Budgeting life — and purchases — in London, by Sarah Brubeck
Tea is what England is all about, by Associate Professor Owen V. Johnson
Absorbing the sights and culture, by Zach Schalk
Not in B’town any more, by Amanda Ross
Fitting in, by Nick Cusack
Just be yourself: The U.S. influence, by Sam Leffers
A day of theater, political and staged, by Caitlin Johnston
Fitting into the London scene, by Rachel Stark
Flat life: Adventures in appliance troubleshooting, by Sarah Hutchins
Hackney and Dalston and Shoreditch — oh my! by Kelsey McArdle
The search for a can opener, by Katherine Fay
Life in London
Enjoying theater life
By Brooke LichtmanJuly 13, 2009
Looking back, one of my favorite parts of London was the theater. Almost every Monday night, after class, we would all meet up at one of the many theaters scattered across London. We saw shows ranging from Shakespeare to a ballet and from dramas to musicals.
However, it wasn’t the shows that made the theater experience in London so unique, but more so the entire atmosphere that surrounded one of the city’s oldest pastimes.
I wouldn’t necessarily consider myself any kind of theater connoisseur, but I’m no newbie, either. Growing up, my parents always had annual theater tickets at the Jackie Gleason Theater in downtown Miami, Fla. The theater showcased an array of performers and production companies, including the Miami City Ballet, the Miami Beach Broadway Series and contemporary entertainers from all over the country.
Occasionally, if a show came through that my parents thought my sister and I would enjoy, they’d buy two extra tickets and take us along. I have also been privileged to see theater performances in other big cities like New York and Chicago when traveling with my parents.
Furthermore, believe it or not, I dabbled in my own theater experiences onstage. During my ever so naïve days as a middle school student, I participated in the school musicals Wizard of Oz, Annie and Peter Pan. I also danced competitively for more than 10 years of my life and was on stage frequently throughout my younger years.
Nonetheless, going to the theater in London is a noteworthy experience in and of itself. First of all, theater is such a dominant part of the culture in London that I think its uniqueness often becomes overlooked. More than 200 shows were running while we were in London in theaters all across the city.
However, it is the West End, or “Theaterland,” that is the heart of mainstream professional theater in London. Home to more than 35 theaters, the West End theater district is usually considered to represent the highest level of commercial theater in all of the English speaking world. Furthermore, many non-commercial theaters in London like the Royal Opera House and the Globe Theater are just as noteworthy. It is even argued that these theaters enjoy even greater artistic prestige compared to the popular West End performances.
Unlike many of the modern performance spaces we see when we go to the theater back in the States, each London theater also has its own special look. Many of the West End theaters are of late Victorian or Edwardian construction and have been maintained pretty well overall. Many of the interiors and exteriors boast great character and feature grand neo-classical, romanesque or Victorian facades and luxurious, detailed interior design and decoration.
Some, like the well-known Apollo Victoria Theater that is currently home to the award-winning musical Wicked, can seat more than 2,000 audience members where others can only play host to an intimate crowd of a little more than 300.
On the other hand, due to the protected status of most of the buildings many, of the theater facilities tend to be a bit more cramped than the usual, modern American theater. Leg room is usually limited and the audience facilities like bars, lobbies and restrooms are normally much smaller as well.
Also, some of the theaters are constructed in such a way that from certain seats in the audience views of the stage may be limited and a bit of neck-craning becomes necessary. Nonetheless, in my opinion, this only furthermore sets the London theater scene further apart from the American theater scene and adds to its charm.
Not only were the shows we saw each Monday night very different in content, the theaters themselves added to the atmosphere of the entire performance making them that much more unique and enjoyable. Going to the theater in London was more of an experience than attending the theater anywhere else back home.
I wouldn’t necessarily consider myself any kind of theater connoisseur, but I’m no newbie, either. Growing up, my parents always had annual theater tickets at the Jackie Gleason Theater in downtown Miami, Fla. The theater showcased an array of performers and production companies, including the Miami City Ballet, the Miami Beach Broadway Series and contemporary entertainers from all over the country.
Occasionally, if a show came through that my parents thought my sister and I would enjoy, they’d buy two extra tickets and take us along. I have also been privileged to see theater performances in other big cities like New York and Chicago when traveling with my parents.
Furthermore, believe it or not, I dabbled in my own theater experiences onstage. During my ever so naïve days as a middle school student, I participated in the school musicals Wizard of Oz, Annie and Peter Pan. I also danced competitively for more than 10 years of my life and was on stage frequently throughout my younger years.
Nonetheless, going to the theater in London is a noteworthy experience in and of itself. First of all, theater is such a dominant part of the culture in London that I think its uniqueness often becomes overlooked. More than 200 shows were running while we were in London in theaters all across the city.
However, it is the West End, or “Theaterland,” that is the heart of mainstream professional theater in London. Home to more than 35 theaters, the West End theater district is usually considered to represent the highest level of commercial theater in all of the English speaking world. Furthermore, many non-commercial theaters in London like the Royal Opera House and the Globe Theater are just as noteworthy. It is even argued that these theaters enjoy even greater artistic prestige compared to the popular West End performances.
Unlike many of the modern performance spaces we see when we go to the theater back in the States, each London theater also has its own special look. Many of the West End theaters are of late Victorian or Edwardian construction and have been maintained pretty well overall. Many of the interiors and exteriors boast great character and feature grand neo-classical, romanesque or Victorian facades and luxurious, detailed interior design and decoration.
Some, like the well-known Apollo Victoria Theater that is currently home to the award-winning musical Wicked, can seat more than 2,000 audience members where others can only play host to an intimate crowd of a little more than 300.
On the other hand, due to the protected status of most of the buildings many, of the theater facilities tend to be a bit more cramped than the usual, modern American theater. Leg room is usually limited and the audience facilities like bars, lobbies and restrooms are normally much smaller as well.
Also, some of the theaters are constructed in such a way that from certain seats in the audience views of the stage may be limited and a bit of neck-craning becomes necessary. Nonetheless, in my opinion, this only furthermore sets the London theater scene further apart from the American theater scene and adds to its charm.
Not only were the shows we saw each Monday night very different in content, the theaters themselves added to the atmosphere of the entire performance making them that much more unique and enjoyable. Going to the theater in London was more of an experience than attending the theater anywhere else back home.
‘All that life can afford…’
By Genevieve PostlethwaitJune 24, 2009
Some famous words I’ve heard several times since arriving in London: “When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford.”
When he spoke these words in 1777, Samuel Johnson was definitely onto something. In London I feel hyper-connected to the rest of the world, far more so than at home. Also, when I’m not at work or in class, there are so many options biding for my time that it’s often hard to choose.
Even on a poor college student’s budget the opportunities seem endless. Museums, art galleries, live music, Indian food, theatre performances — all of which I’ve thoroughly enjoyed, especially the Indian food.
However, it can be overwhelming at times. Lucky for me, London offers something to take care of that, too. At work, I have about an hour break for lunch, and whenever weather permits I pop out of the office and up Parliament Hill to Hampstead Heath Park. From there, I can see all of London. I can appreciate it from afar, without having to jam into the hot, packed tube or risk death by double-decker while examining my embarrassingly-large map. I can just sit and eat a quiche.
Sometimes I bring along my boss’s dog Henry and walk until I get lost, then follow the London skyline back in the right direction. I realize many people visit the park for similar reasons, but I’ve come to think of it as my own London ritual.
Funny that I might never have walked up the hill had it not been for a short blurb about it in a London guidebook. I haven’t relied much on guidebooks since I’ve been here, but this blurb sparked my curiosity. It claimed that Parliament Hill was where Guy Fawkes and his fellow-plotters had stood to watch the Houses of Parliament explode. “Remember, remember the 5th of November, the gun powder treason and plot. I know of no reason why the gun powder treason should ever be forgot.” Every time I think of it, I have the urge to watch V for Vendetta.
Though I could go on for ages about life in London (and believe me, I have–my family and friends say they’ve never seen e-mails so long), making my weekly trips up Parliament Hill helps me appreciate the city below. I’m thankful that the calm and quiet of Hampstead Heath, which has kept me from growing tired of London. I certainly wouldn’t want to grow tired of life, now, would I?
Even on a poor college student’s budget the opportunities seem endless. Museums, art galleries, live music, Indian food, theatre performances — all of which I’ve thoroughly enjoyed, especially the Indian food.
However, it can be overwhelming at times. Lucky for me, London offers something to take care of that, too. At work, I have about an hour break for lunch, and whenever weather permits I pop out of the office and up Parliament Hill to Hampstead Heath Park. From there, I can see all of London. I can appreciate it from afar, without having to jam into the hot, packed tube or risk death by double-decker while examining my embarrassingly-large map. I can just sit and eat a quiche.
Sometimes I bring along my boss’s dog Henry and walk until I get lost, then follow the London skyline back in the right direction. I realize many people visit the park for similar reasons, but I’ve come to think of it as my own London ritual.
Funny that I might never have walked up the hill had it not been for a short blurb about it in a London guidebook. I haven’t relied much on guidebooks since I’ve been here, but this blurb sparked my curiosity. It claimed that Parliament Hill was where Guy Fawkes and his fellow-plotters had stood to watch the Houses of Parliament explode. “Remember, remember the 5th of November, the gun powder treason and plot. I know of no reason why the gun powder treason should ever be forgot.” Every time I think of it, I have the urge to watch V for Vendetta.
Though I could go on for ages about life in London (and believe me, I have–my family and friends say they’ve never seen e-mails so long), making my weekly trips up Parliament Hill helps me appreciate the city below. I’m thankful that the calm and quiet of Hampstead Heath, which has kept me from growing tired of London. I certainly wouldn’t want to grow tired of life, now, would I?
Of trash bins and today’s realities
By Zina KumokJune 21, 2009
It happened the first time I rode the tube.
I had finished drinking my coffee and tried to throw it away. But when I look around, I couldn’t find a trash can. I couldn’t find one at the next stop or inside the tube station.
One of the first things I noticed on the tube was its lack of trash cans.
I didn’t understand it. The tube is clean, for the most part free of litter. And there are plenty of bins outside.
I asked my co-workers why, and one of them said the IRA used to place bombs in trash cans. While the IRA is no longer a major threat, the bins haven’t been put back. The relatively new emergence of Al Qaeda and other terrorist groups have replaced the IRA in the news.
It made me think about how terrorism affects daily lives. In America, I only notice any changes caused by terrorism if I’m traveling in an airport. Other than that, the threat of Al Qaeda doesn’t touch me in Memphis or in Bloomington.
And while not having a trash can isn’t a major inconvenience, it’s just one example of how a city has to adapt to the reality of bombings.
Four years ago, London suffered terrorist bombings in the tube. I had been to London a month before the attacks. My parents and I watched the news closely, recognizing some of the places that had been hit. It made me realize how close I could be to an attack.
The Museum of London reserved an area to commemorate the July 7 bombings. It has photos dedicated to victims and is planning a memorial exhibit. While the U.S. focuses solely on 9/11, which deserves attention, the bombings in London were also a noteworthy event.
Everyone at work remembered where they were that day. They remembered contacting family members to make sure everyone was OK. They still remember the IRA bombings and the new presence of Al Qaeda. One co-worker told me how police arrested people making bombs a few minutes away from my office, located in a seemingly boring residential area.
Just as Americans have adjusted to long baggage checks, the Brits have gotten used interruptions in their daily lives.
I’ve learned not to bring trash with me on the tube, unless I want to hold it. And I’ve also learned how a country rocked by both national and religious extremists adjusts.
I asked my co-workers why, and one of them said the IRA used to place bombs in trash cans. While the IRA is no longer a major threat, the bins haven’t been put back. The relatively new emergence of Al Qaeda and other terrorist groups have replaced the IRA in the news.
It made me think about how terrorism affects daily lives. In America, I only notice any changes caused by terrorism if I’m traveling in an airport. Other than that, the threat of Al Qaeda doesn’t touch me in Memphis or in Bloomington.
And while not having a trash can isn’t a major inconvenience, it’s just one example of how a city has to adapt to the reality of bombings.
Four years ago, London suffered terrorist bombings in the tube. I had been to London a month before the attacks. My parents and I watched the news closely, recognizing some of the places that had been hit. It made me realize how close I could be to an attack.
The Museum of London reserved an area to commemorate the July 7 bombings. It has photos dedicated to victims and is planning a memorial exhibit. While the U.S. focuses solely on 9/11, which deserves attention, the bombings in London were also a noteworthy event.
Everyone at work remembered where they were that day. They remembered contacting family members to make sure everyone was OK. They still remember the IRA bombings and the new presence of Al Qaeda. One co-worker told me how police arrested people making bombs a few minutes away from my office, located in a seemingly boring residential area.
Just as Americans have adjusted to long baggage checks, the Brits have gotten used interruptions in their daily lives.
I’ve learned not to bring trash with me on the tube, unless I want to hold it. And I’ve also learned how a country rocked by both national and religious extremists adjusts.
Boots + tube pass + backpack = Ready to go
By CJ LotzJune 20, 2009
Life, cars, buses, people move fast in a city. In London, I can finally keep up with the best of the city slicker swifties by foot, and my tube navigational skills are confident.
The three most important things I own here involve getting around: my leather boots, monthly tube pass and backpack.
These boots were made for walking. In circles.
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| Photo by CJ Lotz |
| A last-minute addition to the suitcase, CJ Lotz’s trusty boots have served her well in London. |
My trusty leather boots, a last minute grab during packing, are just as necessary in a London summer as a Bloomington fall. They go with a skirt or jeans and can even tiptoe by London’s fashion standards.
Walking is the most rewarding mode of transportation. Real life happens at street level. By picking a general area to explore, then just weaving my way through the streets and alleys, I’ve stumbled upon my favorite cafes (Paul Patisserie), shops and parks (Regent’s). It’s rewarding to be humble, slow and wide-eyed in a city as quick-stepping as London. Walking in circles is to be expected, though. It seems the idea of streets at right angles is a new invention, as roads run like rivers here.
Take the tube, dude.
If there’s no time for a romantic roam, the London underground system is the way to move. The tube is based around a circle track, with other tracks weaving in and out in every cardinal direction. Anywhere you want to go within the city is accessible.I’ve purchased a pass for both May and June, and even though it was over 99 quid, or about $150, it was worth the comfort and ease of transport. There are two tube stops within a five-minute walk of our apartment, and nearly everywhere I’ve needed to go has been within a 15-minute ride.
On a map, the tube looks intricate and confusing, but after a few weeks, confidence emerges. Last week, I helped a family of tourists plan their course. I felt like a local. With an accent.
Shove it in the satchel.
When I’m not working, my favorite days are spent exploring the city and living out of my backpack. I wake up early, make a simple breakfast of toast, fruit and yogurt, and then grab the food I’ll eat during the day. I wash grapes, make a sandwich and put a few bananas, a candy bar and a salad in my backpack. I fill up my water bottle and make sure it’s in easy reach on the side of my backpack. Then I grab my map, oyster card and rain jacket. Even if the weather forecast says it will be sunny all day, it will rain during the day at least once, and no one will be surprised.Though it’s not the most stylish of gear, a backpack is functional and is also the perfect pillow when I’ve nibbled lunch, popped open a book and spent a while watching kids play with puppies in the park.
A postcard is worth a thousand words
By Elvia MalagonJune 18, 2009
I recently read in a book that suggested everyone should own at least one piece of original art before they die. Seeing as how I have my heart set on being a print journalist, I don’t think that is going to happen any time soon. However, I found in a loophole in London: postcards.
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| Courtesy photo |
| Elvia Malagon is collecting postcards at London’s many free museums, such as the Tate Modern. Her experience in London has sparked a quest for travel. |
After a few visits of wishing I could one day land one of those sweet paintings for my dorm room, I realized in the gift shop that I could carry with me those paintings.
At first I picked up a few postcards for my father because he likes to collect them. However, after a few visits into the art museums, I talked myself into buying some for myself.
It started out with the deals – we all know them. Buy a million post cards for one pound. Well, I fell for it.
I can already picture the beautiful mini size artwork surrounding me in my dorm.
I don’t know what exactly it was about these specific museums that made me go on a postcard-buying binge. I have visited museums in Chicago, Indianapolis and the one in our own backyard – the IU Art Museum. However, none of them have provoked this urge.
While some of the museums seem like a swirl of the same art – and I realize many of them are very different — I found the Tate Modern to be the most thought provoking. Some of the art receives your traditional O and Ah responses. There were some that I didn’t even know what to think.
That is one of the reasons why I have fallen in love with the art museums in London: they have provoked me to think differently, just like this trip.
You see, everyone knows there are almost 200 independent countries around the world but how often do we think about them? Not much.
Sure, on a daily basis we might read one or two international stories from the newspaper. But seeing artwork and artifacts from these countries, reading about them and hearing so many languages being spoken daily, is something else.
I have yet to leave the shores of the United Kingdom but I feel like I have been exploring the world. It’s like the travel bug hit me some time in the past five weeks and has made me want to see more.
Until then, I will look at my postcards and hope that one day I will see up close the places portrayed in them.
In praise of Sainsbury’s, Tesco and Waitrose
By Sam MooneyJune 18, 2009
There’s a little-known indie film starring Morgan Freeman and Paz Vega entitled 10 Items or Less. In one particular scene, Freeman (playing himself) and Vega (playing grocery store cashier Scarlet) walk into a Target supermarket. Freeman stares around in awe.
“This is amazing,” he says.
“It’s Target,” Scarlet replies, shocked and surprised that Freeman had never visited the store.
“Fantastic!” Freeman exclaims.
Now just imagine that Morgan Freeman is me instead (not too much of stretch, I imagine), and Target is replaced by Sainsbury’s, Tesco and Waitrose.
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| Photo by Alex Farris |
| Sam Mooney enjoys the simplicity of the neighborhood grocery stores, though he’s dubious of expiration dates. Here, he took some time to visit Dover Castle while in London for the summer. |
With a few minor exceptions, these stores have just what I’m looking for – and not a lot else – which is fine by me. I don’t need 40 different types of cereal to choose from. Nope… give me Frosties (the U.K. version of Frosted Flakes), Sugar Puffs or Cocoa Puffs and I’m good to go. I also don’t need a dozen eggs. I don’t typically eat a whole lot of eggs anyway, but when I’ve got a hankering for some, I can go to the fridge and get my little box of four. And milk and orange juice? They come in two-pint containers – plenty for a few days, and they take up a lot less space in our tiny fridge.
What I’m saying is that Sainsbury’s, Tesco, and Waitrose don’t mess around. They have no need for excessive flavors and varieties of food. They barely stock any junk food (the chips and cookies take up two tiny shelves in a Sainsbury’s or Tesco). And the food that they do have is of a quality that should meet just about anyone’s standards – as long as you mind the expiration date.
Which brings me to my one qualm with British grocery stores. I bought some bread on a Sunday. That’s roughly 20 slices, or 10 tasty sandwiches. However, on a good week, I get to use about half of these slices of bread before they begin to become all blue and fuzzy. Not cool. If I’m putting down £3 (or about $5) for a loaf of bread, I’d like to be able to use all of it. But I don’t want to eat 10 ham and cheese or peanut butter sandwiches over the course of three days. And bread isn’t the only problem. Milk expires about four days after I buy it, and cheese in about five.
Expiration dates are the primary reason why I’m heading to the grocery store every two or three days. But I’ve grown to enjoy Sainsbury’s, Tesco and Waitrose so much that these journeys don’t find me in a foul mood. Rather, they find me looking forward to wandering the aisles of the store once again, scouring for new, obscure British brands, discovering new dishes to make at the flat, and thinking in the back of my mind, “Fantastic.”
Regent’s Park
By Courtney MillerJune 14, 2009
From deep within my core lies a strong appreciation for nature. Dad is greatly responsible. Ever since I was a little girl, he would take us on walks through the park, the creek, our backyard.
When I came to London, I couldn’t help but fall in love with the amazing, beautiful parks. I’d have to say my favorite is most certainly Regent’s Park. I love it not only for its English Gardens, decorated in flowers of every color, its pond traced with swans and willow trees, providing the most tranquil atmosphere, but also for its vast size and runner-friendly paths.
There are two circles in Regent’s Park: an inner circle and an outer circle. Between the two are various fields and playgrounds where couples, friends and families roam. To run in the center would be hectic, zig-zagging around people and constantly changing route, and to run in the outside would be away from all that is beautiful with cars going every which way. I like neither.
Hidden just inside the outer circle, between the trees, are paths carved by runners. They are not paved, nor are they constant, but they are suitable to my likes and needs. They are close enough to the edge to find the isolation and freedom I crave without putting myself directly in danger.
Although they have occasional crevices and bumps, and I am more likely to trip here than anywhere else, they are more friendly to my joints, catching and releasing my feet as I stumble along the broken paths.
At times they split, forcing me to choose which way to go. Without knowing where I am headed, I choose the unusual path, the one that looks more exciting and further enveloped in nature. This has led me into the heart of darkness, where the grass grows thicker and taller and the trees are more plentiful. Eventually I can no longer see the path, but I keep pushing forward until I am forced to turn back and head in a new direction.
It is always an adventure at Regent’s Park, and it puts me back in touch with my love for nature. On its broken paths, I am free to think as I please away from judging eyes. There is no pressure to be someone I am not, and I can go at whatever pace I want. I never know exactly where I am headed once I start running, but remarkably, I always find my way home where I am safe and pleasantly relaxed from my run.
If I could recommend one thing if you visit London, I would say to go get lost in Regent’s Park. Have no fear, it is a circle. If you keep going straight, eventually, you will make it back to where you started.
Hidden just inside the outer circle, between the trees, are paths carved by runners. They are not paved, nor are they constant, but they are suitable to my likes and needs. They are close enough to the edge to find the isolation and freedom I crave without putting myself directly in danger.
Although they have occasional crevices and bumps, and I am more likely to trip here than anywhere else, they are more friendly to my joints, catching and releasing my feet as I stumble along the broken paths.
At times they split, forcing me to choose which way to go. Without knowing where I am headed, I choose the unusual path, the one that looks more exciting and further enveloped in nature. This has led me into the heart of darkness, where the grass grows thicker and taller and the trees are more plentiful. Eventually I can no longer see the path, but I keep pushing forward until I am forced to turn back and head in a new direction.
It is always an adventure at Regent’s Park, and it puts me back in touch with my love for nature. On its broken paths, I am free to think as I please away from judging eyes. There is no pressure to be someone I am not, and I can go at whatever pace I want. I never know exactly where I am headed once I start running, but remarkably, I always find my way home where I am safe and pleasantly relaxed from my run.
If I could recommend one thing if you visit London, I would say to go get lost in Regent’s Park. Have no fear, it is a circle. If you keep going straight, eventually, you will make it back to where you started.
Feelin’ green
By Jessica HaneyJune 10, 2009
I look around on my way to work and see virtually no fat people. How is this place so fit? The bustling city life, I suppose.
But I also see no homeless people, no litter, no SUVs, and…wait, there’s a McDonald’s.
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| Courtesy photo |
| Jessica Haney is exploring what makes London "green" and Londoners fit and trim. Walking and lots of green space are the answers, she thinks. |
Despite London’s typical city smog and occasional trash pits, it’s a surprisingly green-minded place. According to Grist’s 2007 study, London ranks seventh in the world’s greenest cities, and that ain’t bad. The only U.S. city that surpasses it is Portland, Ore., in third. The rankings are arguable, but the authors do highlight some reasonable factors.
They say that London’s Climate Change Action plan, for one, strives for more efficient and local power sources. Monetary incentives and top-down pressure help the movement along. The goal? Cut carbon emissions by 60 percent in the next couple decades.
The roads are another story, and a bit more forceful in their aim. On our way out of the city for fieldtrips to Stonehenge, Canterbury and others, I noticed a road sign with the words “Low Emission Zone,” which sparked my curiosity. This turns out to be one more effort to reduce the carbon footprint in London. The Transport for London Web site says that “the aim of the scheme is to improve air quality in the city by deterring the most polluting vehicles from driving in the area.”
The price? You can’t drive in London without paying an 8£ congestion charge per day, which keeps gas emissions low and the traffic manageable. Fortunately, this fee also keeps people walking or using the excellent public transport system rather than lounging in their Escalades.
On my walk to work, I pass several booths brimming with fresh greens, ripe berries and even some exotic produce. These booths don’t nearly measure up to the larger markets that occur on the weekends, such as the Borough Market, but it demonstrates that these fresh, healthy food options are plenty — certainly more plentiful than where I’m from. It’s no wonder that people are lookin’ slim.
Besides the markets, the grocery stores have contributed to the eco-consumerism. Apparently, the major stores like Tesco, Sainsbury’s and M&S have been vying for the greenest title, according to an article in World Changing. In 2007, Tesco started slapping a carbon label on all of their products to make people aware of the carbon emissions something produces. This use of guilt must contribute to people’s green conscious in some way.
But I‘ll tell you what my favorite shade of green has been so far: the 5,000 acres of Royal parks. This effort in preserving natural land is absolutely stunning. I can’t think of anything comparable in the United States, except maybe the national parks like Yosemite.
However, the likes of Hyde Park, St. James and Regents are far more accessible and highly trafficked. Not to mention, they’re entirely free. I’ve found this green space to be the most relaxing escape from urban life, while still remaining in the city all the while. No matter how blue I’m feeling because I’m missing my family, friends, Bloomington—I just open my eyes and remember where I am. And then I start feeling green.
Polo in the park: Unexpected excitement
By Alex FarrisJune 7, 2009
I’ve done a lot of things this summer I’ve never done before: Witnessed a Tamil protest, taken the London Underground, visited Westminster Abbey, accidentally went to a mass in Italian and tons of stuff. This weekend, I added something else to the list: I watched a game of polo.
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| Photo by Alex Farris |
| Student Alex Farris took in a polo match and found it far more exciting than he’d expected. |
There was also the issue of the horses. I don’t pay too much attention to groups like PETA that fight (sometimes militaristically) for animal rights, but an ad campaign in the Tube caught my eye and drew me in.
As a part of a program called Time to Consider that gathers people’s opinions about matters of cultural significance, CBS posted ads on the rail lines asking questions like, “Deterrent or Provocation?” (in relation to the war in Iraq), “Justifiable cruelty?” (referring to raising chickens for food), and, pertinent to polo, “Birthright or Brutality?” The last question really means to ask whether ceremonial fox hunting is right (http://www.timetoconsider.co.uk/), but it brought up in me how to justify using horses in such a way.
I hadn’t answered my own question before the game started, and I still haven’t answered it. What I know, however, is that on Friday afternoon I found I was wrong about one thing: Polo is exciting.
I wasn’t wrong about the other thing, though: the polo crowd really is hoity-toity. Lots of people were there two hours before the game, enjoying drinks and perusing the small shops, and most of them were dressed for a day at the park, not for a sporting event, in my mind. Women were in high heels, for crying out loud. How could they cheer for one team or another and not worry if they would burst a heel strap or break a nail?
This confused me to no end, because they had something to cheer about. This was the World Polo Series, with four teams (London, New York, Moscow and Buenos Aires) vying for the championship. They had changed the rules for the tournament to make it more exciting (you got two points if you shot from behind the 45-yard mark), and the four periods were only seven minutes long.
The score was close, too. London and Moscow traded leads at least three times in the second half before London won on a goal with less than 10 seconds left. By the time London scored that last goal and went up 10-9, I had gotten emotionally involved, and I jumped in excitement.
The rest of the crowd simply clapped. “The home team just won,” I thought. “You should be up on your high heels and—oh, right. You’re in high heels.”
This was no football game, I remembered. But for 28 minutes, it felt like one.
Creepy-crawlies
By Katherine HaganJune 7, 2009
London, you are a beautiful city with lots to do and see, so don’t take what I am about to say the wrong way.
You are filthy.
I feel like one of us has to keep London honest. The city is known for its growing rat problem, causing “fear of rat plague,” according to The Observer. The Times and numerous other news sources have published stories about the city’s dirty secrets.
The lack of proper rubbish removal by the city has been blamed as the cause of the rat and pest boom. However, the humans are not the sole source. Apparently these rats have become so bold as to become resistant to poison. How rude.
(Visit this story or this one to read more about these monster UK rats. Of course, these are only two stories of many.)
Why the rat rant?
While I have not spotted any of these 8-inch-long, poison-resistant mega rats myself, I decided to do some investigating as to London’s pest population after a little mouse visited our classroom last Monday. After the incident, I noticed more and more mice and rats on the tracks of the tube at night. I noticed piles of trash piled up on the streets that would sit there for days, and all I could think was how many rats had probably chewed through the plastic and fed their babies off of London’s rotten food. Eew.
In another pest-type story, I was accosted by five spiders in the span of three days.
If you know me at all, then you know that I am deathly afraid of spiders and the powers that be have blessed me with some unfortunate ability to attract the vile creatures, which is just plain cruel if you ask me.
Anyway, like London rats, London spiders are bold. The smaller ones just float down on their butt silks right into your face when you are sitting in the tube, washing your hands in the bathroom, reaching for a light switch.
The big ones prefer to crawl up the wall right next to your face and scare you while you are brushing your teeth. These are just a few examples of how these evil, spiny, bug-eyed, fangy abominations do their dirty work scaring unassuming American exchange students.
The point of this blog? I don’t have one I suppose. I don’t have any plans to make any amazing revelation or profound observation about British culture either. I just thought I would share my creepy crawly stories. Hope you learned something new about the nature of London pests and maybe had a laugh at my expense. Cheers!
The lack of proper rubbish removal by the city has been blamed as the cause of the rat and pest boom. However, the humans are not the sole source. Apparently these rats have become so bold as to become resistant to poison. How rude.
(Visit this story or this one to read more about these monster UK rats. Of course, these are only two stories of many.)
Why the rat rant?
While I have not spotted any of these 8-inch-long, poison-resistant mega rats myself, I decided to do some investigating as to London’s pest population after a little mouse visited our classroom last Monday. After the incident, I noticed more and more mice and rats on the tracks of the tube at night. I noticed piles of trash piled up on the streets that would sit there for days, and all I could think was how many rats had probably chewed through the plastic and fed their babies off of London’s rotten food. Eew.
In another pest-type story, I was accosted by five spiders in the span of three days.
If you know me at all, then you know that I am deathly afraid of spiders and the powers that be have blessed me with some unfortunate ability to attract the vile creatures, which is just plain cruel if you ask me.
Anyway, like London rats, London spiders are bold. The smaller ones just float down on their butt silks right into your face when you are sitting in the tube, washing your hands in the bathroom, reaching for a light switch.
The big ones prefer to crawl up the wall right next to your face and scare you while you are brushing your teeth. These are just a few examples of how these evil, spiny, bug-eyed, fangy abominations do their dirty work scaring unassuming American exchange students.
The point of this blog? I don’t have one I suppose. I don’t have any plans to make any amazing revelation or profound observation about British culture either. I just thought I would share my creepy crawly stories. Hope you learned something new about the nature of London pests and maybe had a laugh at my expense. Cheers!
Budgeting life — and purchases — in London
By Sarah BrubeckJune 6, 2009
I’m supposed to be on a budget.
It’s not working.
I manage to budget myself during the week. I bring my sad turkey and mayonnaise sandwich on white bread for lunch. I cut things out of my diet like cereal and I drink a lot of tap water.
Monday through Friday I behave, but then the weekends hit my wallet like a family with eight kids. It’s not the pubs that hurt my wallet though. It’s the shopping. There are markets here that put all chain stores to shame.
We hit up Covent Garden two weeks ago. At the time, I thought I was in a very original market and everything was unique. Poor, naïve American girl. I’d read high remarks about its entertainment, shopping and popularity so I figured it wasn’t going to get much better than this. I eventually bought two wall ornaments for 25 pounds.
The following day, we went to Springfield Market. I only brought 20 pounds with me for lunch, and I was determined not to spend any more money.
We immediately realized Covent Garden was more of a tourist destination. We all found similar items to what we bought the day before at Covent Garden, but the prices were all slashed in half. I bought lunch the day before for 10 pounds, but at Springfield I only spent two pounds. Needless to say, Spitalfields had us all regretting our previous purchases and we were in no hurry to return to Covent Garden.
We traveled to Camden Town Market the following weekend. This is by far the largest market we’ve been to. Scarves seem to be our weakness. Five scarves for 20 pounds is a deal we couldn’t deny. If I keep going at this pace, I’m going to have a scarf for every day of the month before I head home.
The food is also a killer. Waffles topped with ice cream on every corner take a toll on my wallet as well as my health.
On the down side, most the materials at the market aren’t original. I bought some dishes from Spitalfields and I naively asked the salesperson if he made them. They were made in Jersaleum. That’s not quite China, but the items aren’t as original as I first thought. There are a lot of repeat items at every marked that vary in cost. There’s nothing in life that is truly unique, but it’s not hard to get past the Abercrombie T-shirts. But be careful of all the Big Ben prints. They are overpriced and very addicting.
I’m trying not to fall into the tourists traps, but it’s difficult when every attraction has a gift shop. It’s quite strategic, actually, how every attraction places the gift shop in the front of the store. The little girl in me still longs for the gift shop.
And whatever you do, DO NOT buy an umbrella for 2 pounds 50 pence from a street vendor. I don’t care how cute it is or how cheap it is or how bad you need it. You are better off letting the skies pour down on you than fighting with an inside-out umbrella for five blocks.
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| Photo by Sarah Brubeck |
| Toys are just a few of the varied items at the London-area markets. |
The following day, we went to Springfield Market. I only brought 20 pounds with me for lunch, and I was determined not to spend any more money.
We immediately realized Covent Garden was more of a tourist destination. We all found similar items to what we bought the day before at Covent Garden, but the prices were all slashed in half. I bought lunch the day before for 10 pounds, but at Springfield I only spent two pounds. Needless to say, Spitalfields had us all regretting our previous purchases and we were in no hurry to return to Covent Garden.
We traveled to Camden Town Market the following weekend. This is by far the largest market we’ve been to. Scarves seem to be our weakness. Five scarves for 20 pounds is a deal we couldn’t deny. If I keep going at this pace, I’m going to have a scarf for every day of the month before I head home.
The food is also a killer. Waffles topped with ice cream on every corner take a toll on my wallet as well as my health.
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| Photo by Sarah Brubeck |
| Fresh-baked sweet rolls entice student Sarah Brubeck. |
I’m trying not to fall into the tourists traps, but it’s difficult when every attraction has a gift shop. It’s quite strategic, actually, how every attraction places the gift shop in the front of the store. The little girl in me still longs for the gift shop.
And whatever you do, DO NOT buy an umbrella for 2 pounds 50 pence from a street vendor. I don’t care how cute it is or how cheap it is or how bad you need it. You are better off letting the skies pour down on you than fighting with an inside-out umbrella for five blocks.
Tea is what England is all about
By Associate Professor Owen V. JohnsonJune 2, 2009
Last year, Dave Boeyink, head of the School of Journalism’s Ernie Pyle Scholars program, engaged in a search for the perfect coffee when he accompanied the first class of scholars on its Summer in London program. Even in today’s multi-ethnic England, that is not an easy task.
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| Photo by Alex Farris |
| Owen V. Johnson at Stonehenge. He’s spent his time in London enjoying the art of tea. |
Traditional English coffee comes in two forms. One is instant coffee, once widespread in the U.S., but now shoved into the shadows by the convenient presence of so many coffee chains.
The other traditional form of coffee is virtually identical to the strong French coffee. It must be taken with a heavy dose of milk in order to neutralize the strong acidic affects.
My own preference is for filtered coffee, preferably with a bold flavor. I like to drink it in the Turkish or Greek fashion, where you add water to grounds placed in the bottom of a cup. Toward the end, you drink it carefully so you don’t swallow the grounds.
I learned to drink and to like coffee this way during the several times I lived in Czechoslovakia, or its successor states, the Czech Republic and Slovakia.
Once upon a time, England was defined by its tea. In its everyday life, it still is. Workplaces always seem to have a kettle on. While loose tea has been replaced by teabags, the kettle is still there. This is not tea for the faint-hearted. You brew it strong and then mix in a dose of milk.
You can have high tea at one of the swankier London tea rooms if you want. But that’ll set you back $50 or so and you’ll see mostly tourists and some ladies of the past.
Last week I went down to the district of Streatham in south London. When I was a student, I lived there for three months while I studied English history, Shakespeare, modern drama and urban planning in London.
Claude L. Marchant was the father of the family I lived with. Born in 1898, he had served in the British cavalry in France in World War I. He always seemed to be dressed in a tweed jacket that he wore over a sweater.
During World War II, the house had suffered damage from the force of a German bomb that exploded nearby. The windows were blown out and some of the brickwork knocked loose.
Claude and his wife Ethel had two sons, Hugh, born in 1940, and Richard, born in 1946. Claude and Ethel have died and I have lost track of Richard, but I’ve kept in touch with Hugh, who’s now retired and lives in the same house he grew up in. Hugh and his friend, Meg, a solicitor (lawyer) who works in central London, were the hosts during my visit last week.
It was 6 p.m. when I arrived. I walked up the street from the Tooting Bec tube station, across the Streatham Common and by a running track. It all seemed very familiar from my student days. There were some new buildings, and the population was more multi-ethnic than it had been. While I walked across the Common, one of those brief London showers, so familiar to us from English literature, appeared.
When I arrived at the Marchant house, Hugh ushered me into a bright room in the back of the house that opened up on a garden. It no longer had the flowers that Mrs. Marchant had tended, but an abundance of bright green remained.
We talked for a while as we waited for Meg to arrive, then we had a cup of tea, served in the proper fashion, on a tray with a pot of water covered by a tea cozy with the tea steeping inside, cups, saucers, spoons, milk and sugar. When the tea was ready, Hugh asked me if I wanted to milk it myself, which I did. We sat, drank tea and chatted and I was carried back to my student days.
We talked some more when Meg arrived, then adjourned to the dining room where Hugh served a tasty dinner of leg of lamb, lightly cooked vegetables (a nice contrast to the way his mother used to boil them until they were dead), then some cheese and, finally, apple pie, baked in the English fashion. The dinner concluded with more tea.
Late in the evening, Hugh and Meg drove me back to the tube station, where I descended the familiar steps and boarded the train home.
The tea had tied the evening together. It was served and enjoyed on that evening, but it also brought back the old memories of my youth. It reminded me of the England I knew as a student, but also reflected the England I know now.
You can find the coffee you like here, but it’s not important.
Tea is what England is all about.
Absorbing the sights and culture
By Zach SchalkJune 2, 2009
I was lucky enough to grow up in a family that valued travel. Having the excuse of visiting family in Europe led to many opportunities to explore the world across the Atlantic. My first passport picture was taken when I was only six-weeks-old—my mother’s hand can be seen cupping my head, keeping me upright—and the trips over the ocean have been consistent ever since.
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| Photo by Jessica Haney |
| Zach Schalk is enjoying exploring his summer territory. Based in London, the students are finding opportunities to travel to sites such as Stonehenge. |
The city has not disappointed. First, the structural city itself is astounding. Not overwhelming by any means—it feels more like Chicago than New York—London is a city with a story to tell. A walk along the Thames reveals much of its past. Victorian structures, blocky and confident, dominate the skyline. Even older remnants of gothic grandeur are sprinkled throughout the city, hinting at a rich history beyond anything that can be found back home.
The rest of the city is beautifully modern—steel and glass, but not the skyscrapers that would be found in a city of this size in the states. Grand parks can be found throughout the city, expanses of grass and trees, which the inhabitants are more than happy to fill on the lovely days we have been lucky enough to experience over the last three weeks. Similarly prevalent are the museums chronicling the history of the city, the country and the former empire.
While the country as a whole is far from diverse—an admittedly unscientific Wikipedia search showed the UK to have 90 percent white population, British or otherwise—the city is a veritable melting pot of cultures and ethnicities. The far reach of the former British Empire is evident from the presence of emigrants who have migrated to the city from former colonies. Indian food is as readily available as Chinese, Islam is an ever growing presence, and ethnic groceries and markets can be found in every part of town.
While I am by no means an expert on race relations in England, in the short time I have been observing the culture it seems as if the city embraces the diversity enthusiastically, as if its residents understand the strength that comes from have a broad palate of backgrounds and experiences.
I have also been surprised by the cultural differences dividing the UK from mainland Europe. Obviously, it’s nice to be able to understand the language, though British English is far more colorful than that found in America. There is a sense of independence—of pride—that I can identify and relate to as an American. Whereas the rest of Europe has embraced the EU, England is still largely defiant. The pound remains strong against all world currencies, many signs still mark distances in miles or yards and the pint is still the volume of choice at pubs throughout the city, remnants of the old British Imperial measures.
We have also been lucky enough to explore some of the older branches of British heritage in trips outside of the city. Stonehenge is undeniably mysterious, a sight that can only be taken in with awe. Bath was home to intriguing and well preserved Roman ruins that shed light on the Island’s inhabitants nearly 2,000 years ago, while the Dover castle and the Canterbury Cathedral are remnants of British culture from the middle ages to the present.
Altogether, the trip has been eye-opening, educational and above all a blast. I can only imagine that the next five weeks will bring much of the same.
Not in B’town any more
By Amanda RossMay 28, 2009
Every day on my way to work, I stroll down Clerkenwell Road past one of the hippest, trendiest and up-and-coming areas in London. When I wake up in the morning, I’m on Hatton Garden, the diamond central of London and one of the classiest streets in the city.
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| Photo by CJ Lotz |
| Amanda Ross visited Dover Castle. While in London for internships, student also are taking time for sightseeing. |
Why, then, do I long for the smell of Pizza Express on a Friday night? For the stuffy classrooms of Ballantine Hall? The no-holds-barred rowdiness of Little 500? Maybe its that I’m not quite sophisticated enough for London.
While many of my friends are staying for the “Maymester” in Bloomington, I’m studying abroad and working here until July 4. I have to admit, I’m the lucky one in this situation. But the selfish part of me still holds a smidgen of jealousy for my friends in that little Indiana town, soaking up the sun and partying at the Indianapolis 500.
But hey, I’ve only been here for two weeks. And I have to admit that it’s been amazing. I’ve got my tube knowledge down and my jet lag is far gone, yet I can’t wear my favorite sweatpants to go run to the grocery store. I’m surrounded by a type of refinement that just doesn’t exist in College Town, USA, and it has taken some getting used to.
On a typical day in Bloomington, I’ll throw on some yoga pants and a Hanes white tee, grab a muffin and be out the door. On my way to class here in London, I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that outfit. The thought I must put into every piece of clothing has forced the laziness out of me.
You must look cute and stylish every day, says the voice in my head. You have to wear makeup at all times! Scarves are essential! Must… straighten… hair! Here in London, slobs just don’t exist. The lazy college student in me is slowly being replaced by a wannabe British fashionista, walking to class, work and the theater in the trendiest garb I own.
So, I have gathered that this is why I yearn for the cornfields of my undergraduate heyday, because Bloomington lets you be lazy. Now I’m working nine to five in a real office, living in a bustling city (let’s face it, Bloomington, London’s got you beat in that respect), and grocery shopping by myself.
Looking back at the past year at IU, what novelty! Not only could I wear whatever I want, I also got meals served to me in the sorority house three times a day. Only two weeks in, London has taught me to care about how I look and also to be entirely self-sufficient.
When it gets down to it, I’m only here for eight weeks and I have to live it up. I tell myself that I can go to the Indy 500 with my best friends next year, and that I have every day of my looming junior year to wear my dance team pants from 2004.
For now, I’m just taking it day by day, planning my outfits in my head before I get out of bed, using more eyeliner than I did in the entire months of March and April combined, and enjoying the fact that I’m jetting off to France and Amsterdam in the coming weeks.
Hopefully I’ll remember that I can wear a sweatshirt on the plane.
Fitting in
By Nick CusackMay 25, 2009
One Monday, we IU-students-turned-Londoners went to this long, depressing — but good — play called Burnt by the Sun.
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| Photo by Alex Farris |
| Students are learning to navigate the Tube, London’s mass transit. Here, a musician entertains patrons of the Central Line. |
Now there really was no room and I was stuck on the platform with a friend. In a moment of panic, the person I was with ran to another section of the train, almost got on, changed her mind and ran to another section. I followed her because she’s usually pretty good at figuring stuff out pretty quickly. She stepped off the platform and I pushed her inside the crammed train to speed up the getting on process and to make room for myself. I jumped on and the doors closed on my shoe. Those doors close really quickly and apparently they lack motion detectors. If you’re hanging out a little, they will crush you.
Some kind Tube riders pulled me out of the doors and I fell inside the train. I think I landed on someone. I had tried so hard to fit in – well, to the train, of course, but into London society as well. I stopped wearing khakis and switched to dark or grey pants like a real Londoner. I tried not to talk on the Tube. I got in the habit of saying the words lift instead of elevator and flat instead of apartment. But when I got up, I got all red and felt like I just completely took any horrible stereotypes the English have about Americans to a new level. I am trying hard to change.
“That was harrowing,” some guy beside me said.
I told the friend I was with to forget about what had happened and never mention it again, no one else has to know about this. People would get concerned, I thought. I was right. A few minutes later everyone found out about it and, about 10 minutes after that, after they stopped laughing, they were concerned. People back home know, too, since news travels faster than a Tube door closing.
Just be yourself: The U.S. influence
By Sam LeffersMay 24, 2009
During my latest semester in Bloomington, I developed a pretty standard after-class routine: get home, get comfortable, watch Scrubs.
During my latest set of adventures in London, I’ve developed a pretty standard after-work routine, too: get home, get comfortable, watch Scrubs and wonder if I shouldn’t be doing something more exciting.
The thing is, American TV is huge here. Flip through the channels for half an hour and you’ll find a lot of the same programming you’d find in the Midwest, but with British accents voicing the commercials.
I guess my expectations for British TV were a little more Benny Hill and a little less One Tree Hill.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not spending that much time watching TV. But it really is fascinating to see the extent that our culture permeates theirs. A quick glance at the iTunes (UK) top 100 charts shows 96 American artists and only two British ones.
It looks like we’re finally retaliating for the British rock ‘n’ roll invasion, shock-and-awe style.
Our political news also seems to push itself into the spotlight. During one of the most tumultuous periods in British parliamentary history, you still can find an Obama article somewhere near the front of every newspaper. In many cases, news is split up into three categories: UK, World and United States.
What about the food industry, you ask? Don’t ask. After constantly hearing about the abundance of awesome Indian and Chinese restaurants in London, I was a little disappointed to find that the three most prevalent establishments around the city aren’t much different from Anytown, USA: McDonalds, Starbucks and KFC. Some London entrepreneurs have even jumped on the Kentucky bandwagon and started their own southern-fried chicken joints.
I’m still not sure how I feel about all this. On one hand, it makes me proud to hail from a place that’s so influential to western culture and society. I never understood how every non-U.S. resident I talked to could know so much about our society. Now I do.
On the other hand, some of it just feels… wrong.
If American culture has to be such a major part of British culture, I wish it would manifest itself in some different ways. KFC and Mickey D’s don’t exactly qualify, in my opinion.
I love British music. I love British politics. I don’t even mind the oft-insulted British food. I think some wisdom from the late comedian Mitch Hedberg would sum up what I’m trying to say.
“If you stand in the meat section at the grocery store long enough, you start to get mad at turkeys. There’s turkey ham, turkey bologna, turkey pastrami – someone needs to tell the turkey: ‘Man, just be yourself. I already like you, little fella.’”
I already like you, England. Just be yourself.
The thing is, American TV is huge here. Flip through the channels for half an hour and you’ll find a lot of the same programming you’d find in the Midwest, but with British accents voicing the commercials.
I guess my expectations for British TV were a little more Benny Hill and a little less One Tree Hill.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not spending that much time watching TV. But it really is fascinating to see the extent that our culture permeates theirs. A quick glance at the iTunes (UK) top 100 charts shows 96 American artists and only two British ones.
It looks like we’re finally retaliating for the British rock ‘n’ roll invasion, shock-and-awe style.
Our political news also seems to push itself into the spotlight. During one of the most tumultuous periods in British parliamentary history, you still can find an Obama article somewhere near the front of every newspaper. In many cases, news is split up into three categories: UK, World and United States.
What about the food industry, you ask? Don’t ask. After constantly hearing about the abundance of awesome Indian and Chinese restaurants in London, I was a little disappointed to find that the three most prevalent establishments around the city aren’t much different from Anytown, USA: McDonalds, Starbucks and KFC. Some London entrepreneurs have even jumped on the Kentucky bandwagon and started their own southern-fried chicken joints.
I’m still not sure how I feel about all this. On one hand, it makes me proud to hail from a place that’s so influential to western culture and society. I never understood how every non-U.S. resident I talked to could know so much about our society. Now I do.
On the other hand, some of it just feels… wrong.
If American culture has to be such a major part of British culture, I wish it would manifest itself in some different ways. KFC and Mickey D’s don’t exactly qualify, in my opinion.
I love British music. I love British politics. I don’t even mind the oft-insulted British food. I think some wisdom from the late comedian Mitch Hedberg would sum up what I’m trying to say.
“If you stand in the meat section at the grocery store long enough, you start to get mad at turkeys. There’s turkey ham, turkey bologna, turkey pastrami – someone needs to tell the turkey: ‘Man, just be yourself. I already like you, little fella.’”
I already like you, England. Just be yourself.
A day of theater, political and staged
By Caitlin JohnstonMay 23, 2009
Monday was full of drama, in the literal and figurative sense.
In class, we continued to discuss the current political turmoil resulting from the exposed expense scams in Parliament. As if things weren’t bad enough for the MPs, things began to heat up even more as the speaker went live with a speech at 3:30 p.m. After a sincere apology, he proposed an emergency meeting with all leaders within 48 hours.
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| Photo by Alex Farris |
| Musicians entertained theatre-goers before a performance of Burnt by the Sun at the Royal Theatre. |
The speaker managed to buy himself some time due to necessary parliamentary procedure that must be followed. However, I don’t foresee him managing to stay afloat for much longer. As one MP put it, he is becoming a scapegoat for all MPs. But at this point, I don’t see a plausible alternative. I am interested to see how this will all unfold.
It turns out the speaker stepped down the next day. This is the first time in 300 years that the speaker has been removed from office. And, to top it all off, he did so with a 33-second speech. Why draw out the pain?
Following this excitement, we headed south of the Thames for some live staged theater. Part of our sweet deal here in London includes weekly tickets to the theater. We kicked off our theater series with Burnt by the Sun.
I had my reservations, but wow, am I glad we went. It was absolutely captivating. I’ll be honest, I was in tears by the end. Then again, I cry at everything. Good book, movie, commercial. It’s fine.
Set in 1930s USSR, the show followed General Kotov and his family. Little did I know, the general was played by Ciaran Hinds, the same actor who played Julius Caesar in the HBO show Rome. The entire cast was absolutely fantastic and the staging was amazing.
Utilizing a rotating set, the main set piece was an open house, which showed several different views of the rooms. Everything was so well done, I can only hope the following shows will match this one.
Fitting into the London scene
By Rachel StarkMay 22, 2009
During my first few days of life in the UK, my bright red trench coat quickly became a symbol of my failed efforts to take in London like a city girl.
Friends posted pictures of me in the coat during our first week in London, and it didn’t take long for my friend, Katherine, to send me a comment from the States:
“I showed my mom those pics of you in London like last week… and we agreed that you look so chic in that red jacket and fit in so well in the London scene!”
Leave it to friends to tell you exactly what you want to hear.
Two days prior to our departure for the UK, I frantically searched for the perfect coat. London weather is notorious for its mood swings, and I did not want to be pinpointed as a naïve tourist when rain clouds appeared out of no where and I was left shivering and soaked.
The resolution to my nightmare was a red trench coat. The perfect fit, moderately priced… I pictured myself walking down the streets of London like a local.
Three days later, we arrived at our flats in the city and were ready to explore. I pulled my coat out of the closet and buttoned it up in a hurry.
“Plink.”
One large, red button fell to the floor. I stared at it, forlorn, because I don’t sew. But I brushed it off. I was in London. Nothing so trivial could ruin my mood.
In the city, the continual throng of walkers is made up of such diversity that Americans like us imagine fitting in with ease. I quickly realized this is not the case.
After nearly getting hit by a bicyclist once or twice trying to cross the street, I figured the best tactic was to wait at the crosswalk until another person walked up and then follow in his or her footsteps like a puppy — at least until I mastered these hectic streets.
However, nothing screams “tourist” like waiting minutes at the crosswalk, looking in all directions, wide-eyed and wondering if it’s my turn to go.
I also observed that locals have an amazing American radar. A group of us were walking down the street one evening when we heard “Look, Americans!”
Do we really stand out that much?
A couple days after my first button-mishap, I was struck with yet another. The second red button fell to the floor of my flat. This time, I was angry. So much for my attempt at chic; the fashionistas of London would not set foot out with such a coat. I, on the other hand, could not afford the alternative.
I was born and raised in a small town in Indiana. Who was I kidding, thinking I could blend in with the London scene so seamlessly?
My imperfect coat accompanied me as I made a fool out of myself several times. From accidentally following a man into the men’s “loo” at King’s Cross Station to announcing to the entire staff at my internship that a co-worker’s birthday cake was in the shape of a soccer ball (and quickly being corrected that it was a football), I have displayed my lack of cultural finesse.
I am no city girl. I am no worldly traveler. But, thanks to London, I am learning.
And as a third button, this time on the sleeve, fell to the ground at the end of the first week, I could not help but laugh. I accept my place in London and will continue to enjoy it with open eyes and an open mind.
But now that I’ve learned my lesson, could the rest of my buttons just stay put?
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| Photo by Nick Cusack |
| Rachel Stark is finding that her red jacket isn’t the fashion faux pas she’d feared. |
Leave it to friends to tell you exactly what you want to hear.
Two days prior to our departure for the UK, I frantically searched for the perfect coat. London weather is notorious for its mood swings, and I did not want to be pinpointed as a naïve tourist when rain clouds appeared out of no where and I was left shivering and soaked.
The resolution to my nightmare was a red trench coat. The perfect fit, moderately priced… I pictured myself walking down the streets of London like a local.
Three days later, we arrived at our flats in the city and were ready to explore. I pulled my coat out of the closet and buttoned it up in a hurry.
“Plink.”
One large, red button fell to the floor. I stared at it, forlorn, because I don’t sew. But I brushed it off. I was in London. Nothing so trivial could ruin my mood.
In the city, the continual throng of walkers is made up of such diversity that Americans like us imagine fitting in with ease. I quickly realized this is not the case.
After nearly getting hit by a bicyclist once or twice trying to cross the street, I figured the best tactic was to wait at the crosswalk until another person walked up and then follow in his or her footsteps like a puppy — at least until I mastered these hectic streets.
However, nothing screams “tourist” like waiting minutes at the crosswalk, looking in all directions, wide-eyed and wondering if it’s my turn to go.
I also observed that locals have an amazing American radar. A group of us were walking down the street one evening when we heard “Look, Americans!”
Do we really stand out that much?
A couple days after my first button-mishap, I was struck with yet another. The second red button fell to the floor of my flat. This time, I was angry. So much for my attempt at chic; the fashionistas of London would not set foot out with such a coat. I, on the other hand, could not afford the alternative.
I was born and raised in a small town in Indiana. Who was I kidding, thinking I could blend in with the London scene so seamlessly?
My imperfect coat accompanied me as I made a fool out of myself several times. From accidentally following a man into the men’s “loo” at King’s Cross Station to announcing to the entire staff at my internship that a co-worker’s birthday cake was in the shape of a soccer ball (and quickly being corrected that it was a football), I have displayed my lack of cultural finesse.
I am no city girl. I am no worldly traveler. But, thanks to London, I am learning.
And as a third button, this time on the sleeve, fell to the ground at the end of the first week, I could not help but laugh. I accept my place in London and will continue to enjoy it with open eyes and an open mind.
But now that I’ve learned my lesson, could the rest of my buttons just stay put?
Flat life: Adventures in appliance troubleshooting
By Sarah Hutchins
May 19, 2009
My preparations for living in a London flat were simple and, as I later learned, naïve: I purchased one outlet converter.
After living in not one but two flats in the past week, I have realized that living in London is nothing like living in the States. At first I thought the obstacles I ran into were simply the result of my flat’s previous rowdy inhabitants. To my delight and horror, I learned that a lot of Londoners experience the same frustrations I deal with on a day-to-day basis.
My first introduction to London life was unpleasant. After getting off the plane and unpacking in our flat, my roommates and I discovered a shocking lack of hot water coming out of our shower. Cold showers were not quite the welcome to London I was anticipating. However, when I explained this to my co-workers, I realized that the occasional cold shower isn’t rare. Hot water is a luxury, it seems. Surprisingly, I actually felt better after hearing this.
We promptly re-located to another flat (it turned out our water heater was broken), gaining hot water and a whole host of London charm. For instance, not only do you need outlet converters, you need to learn to turn on all kinds of switches. Here is the typical process for plugging in a hair dryer: Plug the hair dryer into the converter, plug the converter into the socket, turn on a wall switch that activates the socket, then turn on the hair dryer.
And it’s not just for personal electronics. Every outlet has a special switch to activate the socket. Using the oven has been a group activity, often resulting in burnt/undercooked food. Turning on the TV and cable box becomes a series of complicated manoeuvres. For several days my flat would get only three channels because none of us could figure out how to get the cable to work. (Getting the cable to work is quite an elaborate process.)
The greatest mystery, however, has been the washer/dryer. Note that I wrote “washer/dryer” not “washer and dryer.” The contraption both washes and “dries” in the same unit. It is a complex machine full of buttons and knobs. I have never had a problem doing laundry, but this machine baffles me. After I ponder how many millilitres of washing powder to put in, I usually sit in front of the machine reading all of the knobs before I randomly select one and hope for the best.
While my clothes come out washed, no one has succeeded in extracting dry items. In fact, one person had to dry her clothes eight times before they were remotely wearable. Fortunately there is a drying rack in our flat, and our drawers have served as convenient hanging locations.
Each night in the flat brings new learning experience. Sometimes they are frustrating. Sometimes they are funny. And very often they are soaking wet.
My first introduction to London life was unpleasant. After getting off the plane and unpacking in our flat, my roommates and I discovered a shocking lack of hot water coming out of our shower. Cold showers were not quite the welcome to London I was anticipating. However, when I explained this to my co-workers, I realized that the occasional cold shower isn’t rare. Hot water is a luxury, it seems. Surprisingly, I actually felt better after hearing this.
We promptly re-located to another flat (it turned out our water heater was broken), gaining hot water and a whole host of London charm. For instance, not only do you need outlet converters, you need to learn to turn on all kinds of switches. Here is the typical process for plugging in a hair dryer: Plug the hair dryer into the converter, plug the converter into the socket, turn on a wall switch that activates the socket, then turn on the hair dryer.
And it’s not just for personal electronics. Every outlet has a special switch to activate the socket. Using the oven has been a group activity, often resulting in burnt/undercooked food. Turning on the TV and cable box becomes a series of complicated manoeuvres. For several days my flat would get only three channels because none of us could figure out how to get the cable to work. (Getting the cable to work is quite an elaborate process.)
The greatest mystery, however, has been the washer/dryer. Note that I wrote “washer/dryer” not “washer and dryer.” The contraption both washes and “dries” in the same unit. It is a complex machine full of buttons and knobs. I have never had a problem doing laundry, but this machine baffles me. After I ponder how many millilitres of washing powder to put in, I usually sit in front of the machine reading all of the knobs before I randomly select one and hope for the best.
While my clothes come out washed, no one has succeeded in extracting dry items. In fact, one person had to dry her clothes eight times before they were remotely wearable. Fortunately there is a drying rack in our flat, and our drawers have served as convenient hanging locations.
Each night in the flat brings new learning experience. Sometimes they are frustrating. Sometimes they are funny. And very often they are soaking wet.
Hackney and Dalston and Shoreditch — oh my!
By Kelsey McArdle
May 18, 2009
Is it just me, or do the British have it right in almost everything they do? From their masterful city transportation system to their chic sense of fashion and even their refined accents (I yearn for my own every day), the Brits seem to have it all. I think I have a sense of country envy.
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| Courtesy photo |
| Kelsey McArdle is exploring London and environs, including a visit to Stonehenge. |
However, what I can’t seem to get enough of is the overwhelming diversity that permeates the city. Sure, you can find that in almost any country, any town, if you look hard enough, but it amazes me that I can walk five minutes down the road from our flats, a street lined with “jewellery” stores and a general sense of wealth, and soon run into the pub life at Clerkenwell, or I can hop on the Tube for 20 minutes and be in the wild, bohemian markets of Camden. Everything is so close, yet so boldly defined in its own ways. A few measly blocks can be the epicenter of an entire culture.
Slowly but surely, as I’m revisiting familiar spots I got to know quite well when I studied abroad in London last year, like Chelsea where I lived and Holborn where I studied, I also have been stumbling upon new favorite hangouts that I wish I would have known about last May.
The most intriguing? East London. In the past, I had always heard mixed opinions about the East side of town. “It’s not as nice as West London. There’s not much to see.” “Don’t walk around there at night, especially by yourself.” “You’re American, so either fake a British accent or don’t go, but if you do, watch your purse.”
Imagine my utter glee when I learned my internship was in Dalston, right in the heart of the East Side.
However, I was dead wrong. In fact, coming back this year, the only things I heard before I even went to my first day of work were pretty positive. “You have to go to Hackney and Shoreditch—it’s a really hip place in London.” “Brick Lane has the best Indian food, and you’ll regret it if you don’t go.” “East London has the best nightlife—and the cheapest.”
Were they right? Well, as far as I can tell right now….YES. Driving on the bus down Kingsland Road every day feels like some crazy cultural experiment. The people look much cooler than I ever will and the food at Brick Lane IS some of the greatest I’ve ever tasted. How’s that for an eye-opener?
As far as I can tell right now, I’m going to quite enjoy working in my little nook of East London each week. I can’t wait to explore the endless vintage stores around Hackney, and I already found a record store that I can’t get enough of (even though my wallet is more than tired of it). There are shows quite often at a local venue called Cargo that I am dying to go to, and I spotted a restaurant called the Drunken Monkey that is beckoning me.
All in all, I’m happy to adapt to life as an Eastsider. Maybe I can learn a thing or two along the way—or at least eat a lot of great food while trying.
The search for a can opener
By Katherine FayMay 14, 2009
As students, we have only so much money to spend on groceries. There was $100 budgeted for food in the numbers given to us prior to the trip, and eager to save money on everything, we’ve all been eating cheaply.
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| Photo by Alex Farris |
| Students couldn’t resist piling into one of London’s iconic phone booths on their first night out in the city. They are adjusting to British life, including learning about life in their flats. |
While in the United States a can opener would be relatively easy to find, here in London it’s a different story. I searched high and low for can openers in a variety of stores with no luck. This search enlightened me to the ways of London grocery shopping. The stores are incredibly small. There are two main chains: Tesco and Sainsbury’s. And while they are decent, those two, and only those two, are on almost every corner. Size-wise, some are as small as your average Starbucks. It took me more than a day to find a Sainsbury’s large enough to carry can openers.
I’ve been enjoying cooking in our little flat. I’ve ventured into spaghetti and meatballs, lamb patties, pretty general stuff. But it’s rather exciting to plan meals and grocery shop every day. I feel very European stopping in the grocery after work and picking up just enough food for dinner. While food is expensive, there are a number of one pound sale sections where you can pick up an occasional soup or meat pastry. Another surprising thing about London: the lack of spices. I went to Sainsbury’s yesterday and asked for salt and pepper. I was told they didn’t carry that either. A lovely salesperson directed me to cinnamon and allspice when I told him I was making lamb.
I arrived to London under the impression that there would be loads of interesting and odd British products to buy. I was surprised by the amount of American products available, although they are expensive. You can get Herbal Essences shampoo, Kellogg’s cereal and Coca-Cola. I also was surprised by the number of Kentucky Fried Chicken’s and McDonald’s. Many American television programs are available. We’ve already watched a couple episodes of Sex in the City and Friends after tiring days at work.
Even though there are a variety of things from home available to me here, I’m trying my best to avoid them and enjoy the more British aspects of my summer life. I try to keep up with my co-workers when it comes to drinking tea. I bought Tesco brand cereal, tea bags that have no string attached and I am enjoying a British soap opera called Coronation Street.
I may not be a true Brit, but I think life here is “top notch.”