All the Pretty Visitors Came and Waved Their Arms

So I’m going to do things out of chronological order here. This offends the Historian in me, but will greatly greatly appease the inner Blogger instead.

I was quite lucky, and felt quite loved, that I had so many visitors this year. I already told y’all about Cambridge with Connie-wonnie, but I was also fortunate enough to be visited by Greer, Lilly, and my Mother-doots and Father-doots. In between all these lovely guests I had lots of homework, went to Paris with Greer, went to Ireland with Clara, Ariana, and Sergio, and went on my last UBES trip, but I will come to those later. And I promise that “later” means within the next week or two, not the usual enormous span (Greer: Wing? Wingspan? Span!) that I normally leave for these missives.

I must say, I am not popular enough that my first two lovely ladies came to see me alone; instead, I was a feature (dare I say highlight?) of their tours to see other friends and family members who are living in England. Greer came to see her sister, family friends, and friends in London, but her first stop was to see little ol’ me. I realised on the day she was to arrive that I had never given her instructions on how to get to my flat from the train station, but using her unending gumption and remembrance of my street’s fantastic name (Frogmore, can I tell you), she found me. I quickly ran away to class, but then spent the rest of her time here showing her the sights and sounds Brizzle and ting. PS I stole this picture from the beauty in it.

Her second day with me directed us towards Bath, a place that I had yet to visit until then. It was pretty cold and grey, but hey that’s what England is all about right? We took in all the highlights of the city that Ariana describes as “all the pretty parts of Bristol smooshed into a small town”: The Roman Baths, the Pump House, the Circus, and a cream tea on the bridge. Upon our return to Bristol we chilled out for a bit and caught up in the way that only Greer and I can do when we’ve been apart for what is inevitably too long of a stretch, and then went out for drinks with everybody to the Woods. The next morning she ran off to London to see friends, and I followed her a few days later to head to Paris together.

Not only did I have one gorgeous, bubbly, effervescent Canadian come visit, but yes boys and girls, I had TWO. In early March Lilly also hopped, skipped, and jumped across the pond to my loving arms and single bed. She too meandered from London to Bristol to Ireland to Gravesend, so I only got her for a few days. I was a pretty poor host for the dear girl cause I had a paper due the following week when my parents would also be Isle-side, but luckily she is the pluckiest gal I know, so I didn’t feel too bad about sending her off to explore Bristol and Bath all on her lonesome. I again foisted the Crompto-Bristol package upon her (the Bridge, Ashton Court, the Apple, Thekla), and hopefully it amused. As I told her when we went to Glastonbury for the afternoon, “England is really nice if you like boring things.” Nighttime, I will grant, England is a blast. But come day-time tourism you gotta really love old stones and carpets. Luckily I do, and I think Lilly was sufficiently charmed, so the balance sheet remained in the black. (And thank you to Carmel for unwittingly submitting that photograph to my blog.)

On the Wednesday that she was here, Lilly, Kevin, and I took the bus down to Glastonbury, namely to see the Abbey (namely so I could steal Lilly's excellent photos). I, of course, was utterly smitten. The day could not have been nicer. The grounds were quite wonderful, and it was a boon to see the “graves” of “Arthur” and “Guinevere”. The sacked Abbey also had the transom where Thomas a Becket (yeees, I know the “a” is incorrect) last preached. We then went to the Abbey tea rooms to have yet another cream tea (really, they are delicious, I will include them with the other items I shall import and introduce to Cabanada). To work off the cream and scones, we then hiked up the Glastonbury Tor. On our way up a flock of starlings careened over us, making quite a racket. It really was one of the neatest ornithological experiences I have ever had: the roar of their combined tiny wings was almost deafening, and the sight of them swooping and swooshing around in unison above our heads is hard to capture with mere words. Once at the top of the Tor we watched the brilliant purple and red sunset fall over Glastonbury, and were visited by some sheep who were less challenged by the steep ascent than us. It was then to find our way back through farmers’ fields in the dark and drive through country roads back to the good ol’ metrop.

My final batch of guests came in the form of M and D. My uncle Mutsy is currently living in Slough, outside of London, so he rented a car to pick them up from Heathrow and bring them to Bristol. This was quite fortuitous, cause it meant that the next day we were able to drive to see Cheddar, Glastonbury, and Wells all in an afternoon. Cheddar was great. We took a tour through one of the caves (where the cheddar from Cheddar is matured to give it its cheddary flavour), went to the only cheddar factory that makes cheddar the traditional way in Cheddar, and bought some cider. . .from Cheddar. We then had a quick lunch on the Glastonbury Tor (I love being fed by my Smother), and then made it to Wells in time for Evensong. Aside from that, I again played the bad host in order to work on my paper and so sent them out to see Brizzle on their own. I, of course, was a the good daughter and was home every night for supper, and even took them to get a pint of my favourite cider at my favourite pub (but at parent-appropriate times, not student-appropriate times).

It was then to pack swiftly and head off to Europe for a month! But that will have to be another story for another time, boys and girls.

Thanks for tuning in,

Your friend Lina

England's Green and Pleasant Land

H’ok boys and girls, lets go back in time now. Back in early February, Adrianna’s mother Donna and her husband Roy hosted us for a working-weekend at their place in Hook Norton in Oxfordshire. To give you a little context about that illustrious town, I firstly want to bring the information from the town’s Wikipedia page to your attention. Hook Norton has a population of 2000, and within the encyclopaedia’s pertinent information is listed the amenities that this village has to offer, including: a primary school, a post office, a veterinarian’s surgery, and four pubs. A post office, boys and girls, not to be sneezed at! The biggest town nearby is Chipping Norton, which has a population of about 5000. The metropolis of the region is Banbury, whose population figures skyrocket towards 41,000.

So, as you can probably glean, this weekend sojourn was EXCEEDINGLY English.

Adrianna, Ariana, and I arrived on a Friday afternoon and were promptly picked up from the Banbury train station and whisked away to a farmer’s market to gather supplies for the weekend (I assure you we ate like kings). We were then dropped off at our room at the pub that Adrianna’s mother had so kindly put us up in. After settling in there, we trekked down a little path and crossed a brook to get to Donna and Roy’s place for an evening of immeasurably warm, generous, kind, and enlivening hospitality. There is a van that comes through the town on Friday nights to park on a back street and dole out the finest fish and chips I have yet to eat in this illustrious nation. The fish was done to perfection, not too oily nor too batter-heavy, the chips were of course sublime, and the fried mushy-pea fritter was la pièce de résistance of the meal. I defy you to concoct a better meal out of a van in the country. I defy you to find another nation where such a phrase could be uttered with pride.

Donna and Roy’s home is my dream home. Their part of the house is the converted servants’ quarter of what used to be a sort of upper-class asylum. When the well-to-do started tending to rabbits and sticking straws in their hair (if I can borrow from P. G. Wodehouse), these manor homes in the countryside were just the sort of places for them to while away their twilight years without causing too much embarrassment for the family. The livingroom and kitchen had the original stone and brick walls, exposed wooden beams, and stone floors accompanied by an extension out the back for the office. They even had an aga. Can I tell you. I can barely put into words how much I wanted to live there for the rest of my life; drinking tea and listening to the World Service in front of the fireplace. Eugh, just look at the pictures, I can’t do its charm justice with this paltry language of ours.

On the Saturday, Roy and Donna kindly invited us out. And by saying that they invited us “out” I mean that we were allowed to accompany them and the local walking club on the hunt. And honestly, boys and girls, this could very well be one of the highlights of my year here. This hunt was the epitome of the England I grew up with and still want to exist in. We were formally introduced to the master of the hunt over sherry, whilst wearing our wellies, waiting in the farmer’s field for the dogs to get ready. There are very stringent laws nowadays about the rules of how much game these animals are allowed to catch and by which methods, but these hounds were so lovely and goofy and foolish that I’m pretty sure they couldn’t catch a duck were it to land on their noses nor a rabbit were it to crawl into their lolling mouths.

We were introduced the dogs, who promptly got mud all over our fronts, and then it was off to follow them and their keepers across the fields. The sky was grey, it was misting, and by the end of the day we were in mud up to our ankles. Which is to say, it was absolutely perfect. We followed the hunt around acres of fields and watched the rapscallions mainly be interested in their handlers, any passing bush, and oh my! is this grass, why let us investigate rather than try to catch any animals. Of course, Ariana and I fell in love with the masters of the hunt (the one that looks like an English student was for Ariana and the one that looks like Mr. Darcy was for me), and had an absolutely thoroughly enjoyable and thoroughly English time. On our way back to the house, Donna and Roy took us to the town church where some of the Mitford family (!) is buried. I am a sucker for all English churches, but these jaunty tombs here really put me over the edge when combined with the quite interesting and quite sordid history of the Mitford girls. That evening, we re-joined Adrianna back at the house for some light homework and wonderful conversation that whiled away our time into the small hours, soaking it all in.



On our last day in Hook Norton, we went for a walk through some fields (I LOVE rambler’s rights) down to the old Victorian Brewery. The Hook Norton Brewery is one of the few remaining fully functioning Victorian breweries left in England. Unfortunately it was closed the day that we went there, but out behind we found the dray horses and went and exchanged some light conversation with them. It was then to meander back through the town to collect our things, and then stand for the entire train-ride back to Bristol.




Don't make me leave,

Your friend Lina

Summertime, and the living is . . .

I know I start every post this way, but I am actually actually so so bad at this. And I shouldn’t be! I always say that I am busy, and indeed I have been since FEBRUARY (c’mon Crompton!), but this has been inexcusable. Very very bad, I know.

So. Strap yourself in. No, don’t, cause I’m going to break up the web-log of what I have done for the past FOUR MONTHS into bite-sized portions and upload them over the next few days. This semester has been much much more travel-y than the first so I have lots to tell.

(Reading over those past two paragraphs, I’m starting to sound a bit like an apologetic Jacob Two-Two, eh what?)

So, quite, my academic duties of second semester were rather different than the classes I took in first. This term I had two History seminars, one first year and one second, and a Literature seminar.

My first year seminar was on the History of Witchcraft in England, mainly in the Early Modern period, and mainly gleaned from popular literature and pamphlets of the time. There were some good kids in that class (and I think I’m allowed to call them that, what with them being so much younger than me? no, get off your high horse) but occasionally it was a bit like pulling teeth to get the discussion going. Our instructor was a lovely and kind woman who always brought us sweets however, so it certainly wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

My Lit seminar was following the Arthurian legend through it’s various incarnations, starting with the earliest Welsh poems about the mythical king, and ending with some young-adult fiction of the twentieth century. I was terrified of the class going into it because I had not taken a proper Lit class since highschool, and the prof was the most unbelievably twee and English and academic woman one could ever hope to find in the English University system. She directed that seminar like it was no one’s business, and was always there to help so I actually ended up doing quite fine. I feel like that class was somewhat wasted on me though, because not only is she one of the foremost academics of Arthurian Literature IN THE WORLD, but she also arranged various seminars taught by the other heavy-hitters of the discipline. I went into the class hating Arthur and came out loving him though, so I guess that means it was a success.

My final class of the semester is honestly one of the best courses I have taken in my entire life. This one was an Environmental History of the American West taught by Dr. Peter Coates. Our seminar discussions featured each week on such illustrious topics as the North American Bison, the Wolf, the “Green Indian”, Las Vegas, and the Atomic West. In all honesty I signed up for this class cause I was desperate to be in any second-year seminar they had space for me in, but boy am I ever glad I did. The people in the seminar were amazing and some have become quite good friends of mine, we got tea and biscuits at each seminar, the discussions were vibrant and sometimes even silly (during our seminar on the Wolf we spent a good twenty minutes deciding what our “spirit animals” would be), and Dr. Coates himself is one of the most vibrant and engaging professors I have ever had the pleasure of being taught by. This class was truly one of the highlights of my year here in England.

I just finished my exams yesterday, so it hasn’t really quite hit that I am actually done studying, which is, on paper, the reason I have been in this country for a year. I suppose unconsciously I am aware because I have spent today reading, lazing about, and working on this without feeling guilty for not revising. It is quite odd though that my remaining duties in this country focus solely upon enjoying myself and soaking in all I can of England and Bristol. I am vastly looking forward to it, and although I resented the exam period like all get out of town, it is really rather bittersweet that it has come to an end. I learned a lot of history that I would never have been exposed to at home which really challenged me academically, and opened my eyes to areas I had no idea I was interested in before. I may never return to religious nor American history again, but I do not lament or regret having been taught it at this wonderful university.

Not memorising dates and names anymore,

Your friend Lina

This One'll Be a Doozy

Because it's been what, two months? since I've posted. I'll never be a blog celebrity I guess. I think I'm ok with that.

Not to say that I haven't had anything to blog about in the last two months, quite the opposite. It's been a whirlwind of countries and people peppered with essays and deadlines. I'll try to be brief and concise, but I mean, you've read these before and you know full well that brevity and concision are not my forte.

Looking back on my last post, I actually find it hard to believe that I haven't recorded anything since my Stonehenge walkabout. Yeesh, a lot has happened.

The rest of November's highlights brought American Thanksgiving and the Mendips trip. Back in October we had quite a nice Canadian Thanksgiving, but really it paled in comparison to how my neighbours down south celebrate the harvest. We made much the same dinner as last time - roasted chicken, stuffing, mashed potatoes, brussell sprouts, pie - but the wine was certainly more plentiful. That extra ingredient also made the patriotism a little more plentiful as well. Two fire alarms went off during the evening - there was a party on another floor of the building - but not be outdone by Unite House, we thoroughly ignored them (this really is the building that cried fire) by drowning them out with rousing renditions of the Stars and Stripes, Oh Canada, and God Save the Queen (excellently portrayed by Adrianna and Brian here). It may have been the celebration of an American holiday for the benefit of our favourite American Buddies, but we added our own flavour of Study Abroad to the whole mix as well.

The next day (and boy did it come too soon) took us to the UBES Mendips trip. It was not like most other UBES trips for, instead of going away for a weekend and climbing with vigor, it was a day trip to a local hill-range filled with tasks and games and other such frivolous activities. My personal favourite was one of the first we did, wherein the team had to split up into "horses" and "riders", then, in a relay, the rider sat on the horse as the horse climbed up a tarp covered in soap to get the rider to a bucket of mushy peas wherein some "gold" was hidden, the rider put the gold into their cowboy hat, slid back down down, and passed on the baton as it were. Thoroughly goofy and I had mushy peas in my hair for the rest of the day, but you know, that's what UBES is for. Of course, I was also entirely charmed by the views (you could see the sea) and we had not one but two rainbows grace our presence that day. Following the trip was the famed Mendips party (word on the street was they broke a wall in someone's house the year before), and with the free jungle juice and tequila it was, needless to say, messy.

Just one week later, I came home for Christmas. Christmas just isn't Christmas without snow, family, friends, and my rediculous traditions so it was an incredibly lovely treat to be able to come home (thank you M and D) for my very short visit. I was delightfully sedentary the first few days, basking in a full fridge and my own good little bed (much larger and more comfortable than my bed in Unite), but soon after I had returned to good ol' Ottawa I packed off to Montreal for a few days to see the city I love and friends that I would have missed otherwise. I stayed with Megan for my whole visit, which of course meant that my stay was charming. The first day Megan and I luxuriated about her apartment (my possible place next year? I could get used to that), brought Eric some food as he was studying at McGill for three days straight in his common room, and then hosted a dinner with Emilie, Kesha, and Grant. The second day incurred more laying about, with the evening bringing me to a wine and cheese at Lilly's with Lilly, Nathan, Kesha, Ian, Emilie, Phil, and Alex. We went onwards to my favourite hookah place (though I never know the name, it's on St. Denis between Maisonneuve and Sherbrooke), and then Kesha and I trekked back to the Concordia Ghetto with our feet falling off in the process. Did I mention that it was -30 the whole time I was in Montreal? Made the weary traveller feel at home, for sure.

I then returned to Ottawa for all the pre-Christmas festivities. Slimey Grimey came to stay with me for a few days (to make up for her lack of staying with me over New Years which has become something of a tradition) and we spent a day being tourists downtown - Major's Hill Park, Parliament, Scone Witch - and one exceedingly charming evening of singing acapella carols with Gabe. After her departure I bunkered down for all the family favourites: Christmas Eve at the Ensoms, watching A Christmas Carol (only the Alastair Sim), breakfast with the Joneseseseseses on Christmas morning, lunch with the Lorimers, Christmas dinner, and then packing off to Toronto on Boxing day in preparation for my flight out of Pearson back to England on the 29th.

I was very fortunate to be bumped up to first class on my flight back to England, though I looked a mess and certainly didn't fit in. Who knows if a girl can go back to the cattle cars after that royal treatment, but I suppose in future it must be stuck, so I'll stick it. Ariana - who coincidentally was on the same flight as me - and I spent the next day getting organised for Spain, for we were to fly out the next day to meet up with Adrianna, Clara, Navleen, and Kiki in Barcelona for New Years. We really only had one day of sight-seeing in Barcelona, so we headed up to the Sagrada Familia which was delightfully bonkers. We then walked down to see the outsides of some Gaudi buildings (the lines were around the block to get inside so we didn't even try), and meandered down Las Ramblas (the main shopping street) down to the waterfront. The evenings festivites saw us towards a tapas dinner, partying in the hostel with some exuberant Australians and Irishmen, and then to the Plaça de Catalunya for the Barcelonian (?) tradition of eating twelve grapes at midnight. After the striking of the clock, we had some ill-fated attempts of trying to make our way through the crowds of people, ending up back at the hostel after much to do. It was then early to rise in the morning to catch our trains to various locales about Spain: Clara, Navleen, and Kiki were off to Madrid whilst Adrianna, Ariana, and I high-tailed it to Sevilla.

I LOVED Sevilla (even though I have a hard time calling it that, thanks to the Barber of anglicising all that I say and do). We were in a wonderful hostel that was clean, cheap, and right in the heart of the historical district of the city. The first day that we were there was extraordinarily sunny and warm (I had never travelled somewhere warm in the winter before my sojourn in Spain). I was crazy about the orange trees lining all the streets, which gloriously complemented the fabulous Cathredral of Seville, some gardens, the Plaça España, the Tobacco Factory, everything. On our first full day we meandered about the Cathedral, heading up to the spire for some fantastic views, and milled about until our walking tour which took us down some back streets to little nooks of history that would never have been found without a guide. We embraced the Spanish tradition of taking a little siesta, then were pointed by the hostel's receptionist towards a charming little bar with live music and cheap and plentiful sangria. The next day our Madrid ladies came into town, so we sent them on the walking tour while we went to Seville Art Gallery, the Museo de Artes y Costumbres Populaires de Sevilla, and the Real Alcazar (a formerly Moorish castle). We had a dinner of paella at a nearby restaurant for dinner, and then were off to a free flamenco show (also with plentiful sangria): all faaantastic. Unfortunately Adrianna, Ariana, and I had to catch our flight back to Bristol the next day. Unfortunate because I could have stayed there much much longer, I really loved Sevilla.

We returned to Bristol and then launched ourselves into the depraived depths of writing final papers. Again, not very interesting unless of course you want my opinion of the various library facilities of Bristol University (we don't). We discovered the engineering library (please stop) which was lovely cause you can drink coffee, no one is ever in there, and the view of Bristol is stunning (we're going to stop reading). Those took the better of two weeks, only stopping on Wednesdays to go to the pub, so if you ever need to know anything about the Pragmatism of the Ottoman Empire or the Personal Characteristics of Henry V as Seen in his Administrative Prowess, you now have an expert in the house.

As soon as those bad boys were finished, I gamboled off to Cambridge to meet up with my sister Connie. She had been in London for about a week doing research for her PhD, so our visit with friends of hers was a welcome study-break for the both of us. Our first day there her high-school friend Katie showed us around a few of the colleges: Jesus, Christ's, Corpus Christi (I see a theme. . . ) King's, and Peterhouse being the highlights in my books. It was fantastic to get the VIP treatment while we were there, for we able to partake in activities that the mere mortal tourist could not have. Katie took us to her college for lunch each day ("I'm eating in Jesus College!"), her husband Dave took us to a Robbie Burns Dinner at his college ("I'm eating haggis in King's College!"), and we had a formal dinner back at Jesus on the last night ("I could get used to eating at Cambridge!"). During the days Connie and I mooned about the town and grounds, meandered about museums (we saw Darwin's original beetle collection), and visually gorged on all things English (including a mural done by Quentin Blake to cover the scaffolding for the repairs on King's College). We also attended Evensong at the King's College Chapel, which was absolutely gorgeous. Made me want to be an aesthetic anglican for all it's acapella boys choirs, candle-lit services, and highest vaulted ceilings in all of England. After our fantastic stay on the Cam, I brought Con back to Bristol and showed her all of my favourite sights and sounds, including Brandon Hill, the Bridge, Clifton, the Museum, and, of course, Cider.

Classes started soon after she left, so I've been paring down a bit, save for heading to Salisbury last Saturday for the day with Clara and Ariana. Almost everything was closed, so we had a bit of slower-paced day than I was used to, but we did get to meander about the town a bit, and had plenty of time to marvel at the Cathedral and one of the original four copies of the Magna Carta contained therein. It really was a quintessential English town, just the kind I came here for. That's actually been one of my favourite thoughts as of late as we've all been comparing our favourite countries about Europe after everyone's Christmas travels. Some like France, others Italy, others Spain, but I seem to be the only one whose favourite country so far has been England. After all, that's why I chose to come here rather than anywhere else in Europe. Really I got the best deal out of everyone, cause I get to live here EVERY DAY.

Speaking of which, I've been writing this for ages, and, as my mother would say, the day's a-wasting! Tonight we are going to plan our trips for the rest of the semester, and within a week or two I'll be kicking them off either in Dublin with my kids here, or Paris with Greer. England may be my favourite, but that's no reason not to see if anywhere else can top it. . . .



(I doubt it.)

Love,

Your friend Lina

Famous Folks and Famous Places

I shouldn't have let my head get all inflated with the rapidity of my last posts. I am obviously terrible at this. And this post will be a monster, so I hope whatever you have stopped doing isn't that important cause you're in for a doozy.

(Jeez, Lina, you're not that interesting. You've just met some people we've never heard of and then stood in fields and towns.)

So it all starts the day after I got back from Snowdonia. The Bristol Festival of Ideas was in full swing, and their event for the evening was hosting possibly the second most exciting person for me to see whilst on this small Island. St George's (either a current or former Cathedral a block from where I live) was hosting Alan Davies! I went to see him alone for QI has very much not caught on with any of my friends here yet, though I have found an ally in Ariana's roommate Damien for the future. Either way, he was mostly interviewed about his book, which I would like to read but is a bit expensive and about a time period from way before I was born but hey ho such is life, and he also answered some questions about QI and Jonathan Creek. At the bit of Q&A they had at the end someone asked if ever there was anyone on QI who he didn't really get along with. This prompted a nice little tid-bit in that most of the people on the show (he named Jo Brand, Sean Locke, Bill Bailey, and Phill Jupitus) used to all do comedy together in the 80s when they were all unknowns. That makes those episodes sort of a reunion which is why they seem like such fun. Without naming names, he did say that if someone has only been on the show once, with the exception of Pam Ayres, it means they are "a bit of a twat". My other favourite from the evening was prompted from someone asking him whether he was happy with the celebrity that has come from Jonathan Creek and QI. He said "I live in the first world and I'm employed so I can already say that I'm pretty happy. Also, everyone I know, literally every last person I know wants to meet Stephen Fry, so that's not too bad either." Got right to the heart of the matter for me. Afterwards he stuck around to sign copies of his book. I didn't have one, but he was kind enough to sign my black book whist I stared at him adoringly and in awe. Afterwards I had to look at pictures to believe it had happened. It was madness, I was so star-struck. Hoy. Cool.

Later that week brought the royal we to Halloween. It wasn't the biggest of deals here cause they are dressed-up (in "fancy dress") all the time here anyway. Honestly, I see roving bands of smurfs all the time as they roll from pub to pub. Either way, us Study-Abroaders all got together, got dolled up, and then spent the night as we often do: pre-drinking, then roving from house to house to venue to venue. We had to come back and pour some members of the party to bed earlier on, but then the real survivors of the group got some lovely food from the chippy, sat down on the docks by the harbour, and witnessed our friends running through the fountain. All in all a good time. I didn't get to be any of the propaganda girls I wanted to be (either Rosie or Victory Bonds) because I left it too late and I don't think they had the same propaganda we did so it wouldn't have been understood. C'est la vie. At least my costume allowed me to buy a dress I had been wanting for a while anyway.

Unfortunately, boys and girls, things slowed down after that because I had a monster paper and a presentation due the following week, so unless you want to hear about my opinions on the various libraries at the University of Bristol (Wills is obviously nicer, but not open as long as Arts and Social Sciences [that's right, ASS], nor with the resources I need. . . .) I'll stop now.

Two nights ago, my first proper night out since I finished the paper, Beatrice took us to Itchy Feet. Itchy Feet is held once a month a club farther than I have gone before (called Lakota, which, to North Americans, is a gimmicky topical pain reliever rather than a rockin' good time), which plays mostly 50s and 60s music. The DJ of course dropped some Michael Jackson and the remix of RESPECT which made it horrible to sing along to, but a good time was had by all. The night had started with snooker and conversation at a pub with other Study Abroadsters and UBESies and ultimately finished with Chips and Cheese with Burger Sauce (I KNOW) from the Hunger Hatch, so was quite profitable if indeed financially draining.

Last night saw me towards a FANTASTIC night of Canadiana. Dan Mangan, quite the hot guy in town in the alt-folk-indie-rock (yogurt on a street in Montreal) scene in Canada, was playing at a local pub in Bristol. Opening for him was another Vancouverite, Jimmy Goodrich, followed by two Brits, Stanton Delaplane and Jack Cheshire. Jack Cheshire was fantastic, he definitely will be one to watch for in the next couple years. I give him this generous time span because when we bought his album it was a three-song EP on a burnable disk that he had scrawled on, but the songs contained in were lovely of course. I'm being bad with chronology though.

The show started at 7:30, so, cause we were keen (I was there with fellow Canadians Brendan, Ariana, and Marika) we showed up while they were still setting up, thoroughly making fools of ourselves yet getting to talk to Dan a bit. When they were ready, we were some of the first people up there (second floor of the pub, about the size of a living room), and so got some awesome seats. Brendan and I bought copies of his new album "Nice, Nice, Very Nice" which he then signed for us. The rest of the folks played, fantastically. Jack Cheshire, who was the second-to-last performer was from Bristol, and, as it turned out, much of the crowd were there to see him. Thus, when it was Dan's turn to play a bunch of the audience had left, save for a loyal group of Canadians (other than ourselves). He was entirely charming and personable, joking and chatting with us throughout (joking that, unlike the other cats who had sung before him, if he tried to loop over himself as Stanton Delaplane had done he would just sounds like a "gravelly bag of rocks"). He was very heartfelt with his performance, almost bringing me to tears when singing a song about grandparents getting old, and putting on SUCH a good performance of Robots, my favourite song of his. He really played up Canada, ie played well to the crowd of ex-pats, and seemed to have sincerely enjoyed himself, which I hope is true cause I sure did.

In response to my night of hyper-Canadiana, I then had a day of super-Britannia with Ariana. She had sussed out a tour that took us from Bath 'round to Stonehenge, Avebury, Lacock, and Castle Combe, all quintessential sights and sounds of the Southwest. We were only in Bath for about half-an-hour before our tour picked us up, but I was smitten just then. The weather was beautiful, just the right temperature and sunny but with idyllic clouds, so I will very much have to go back soon and spend a day there. We hopped onto the mini-bus with other super-tourists like ourselves from the States, Australia, and China. Our tour-guide was the grandfatherly and utterly charming Charles who was knowledgeable and kind. I've had some very bad experiences with tour guides in the past, but he was absolutely what you would want in such a character. He first took us to Stonehenge, explaining local histories and little tid-bits about the environs all the while of the hour-long drive.

To those who have said that Stonehenge is not as impressive in person, poo-poo to you sirs and madams. I was entirely impressed. I admit, it was smaller than it seems to be in popular imagination, but the sheer size and fame and inexplicability of them overwhelmed me. We were given an hour to walk around the henge (the distance of which would take about 10 minutes to walk), but Ariana and I were still the last ones on the bus. We got an excellent combination of sunny and cold and windy and rainy, all conditions British. I took altogether too many photos to be of interest to anyone else, but when will I be there again? Stunning. It was then back onto the minibus and off to Avebury.

The whole of the town of Avebury is a UNESCO World Heritage site. Throughout the town are stone circles dating from prehistory, similar in ilk to Stonehenge. These stones were a bit more ravaged by time, weather, politics, and religion than Stonehenge, so fewer of them remain. Stillawesome though. They are sort of hard to explain in a blog post in that to the casual observer they look like a big pile of rocks in a circle but when one is actually there one finds oneself fascinated. Or in my case romantically inclined? Lies, I stole this photo from Ariana who has an academic and romantic love for Avebury of which I could not compare, but I did like it very much.

After Avebury we were taken to Lacock, famous for being in the movie-films. The whole of the town is no more than on block square, but because it was so very old is often used as a set. One of the streets was used in the Sixth Harry Potter as Hogsmeade, and one of the homes was used as the former home of Lily and James Potter. Another one of the streets was used in the BBC's Pride and Prejudice as well as a recent Dame Judy Dench period piece. Aside from taking pictures of all these streets and ducking into the (which he ate and donated to the) National Trust shop pretending to be interested in shortbread whilst avoiding the icy rain, we had a charming pub lunch in a pub that has had its license since the 1300s. I mean, really.

Our final stop of the day took us to Castle Combe in the Cotswolds. This village used to be big in the wool industry, but entered a slump which devastated the growth of the town. Therefore, to this day, it is one street long, and the only people who can afford to live there are wealthy commuters. To that end though, the town is pretty much perfectly preserved. We were shown around the church which was built in the 14th, 15th, and 16th centuries, and then given free reign to walk down the one street and have a gander of the creek, which we duly did, posing along the way. I again was, of course, thorough charmed. Also by this time though I was throughout wet and cold, and so hopping back on to the minibus for a half-hour drive through misty but idyllic countryside was not frowned upon.

Therefore, to sum up: I like England and the People in it.

And I like you too.

Love,

Your friend Lina

Snowdonia

Man, how good am I at updating? Four days? Sorry for the flood of information boys and girls, but this one must be blogged about quickly before I forget all the details.

So yes, this past weekend was my first UBES trip to Snowdonia National Park in North Wales. The weather was typically Welsh - rainy, windy, cold - save for our hike on the second day, so my pictures are sorely remiss. Or at least fewer in number than the trip deserved, because I had a fantastic time through all the rain, mud, wind, wet socks, cheese and relish sandwiches, and sleeping in my jeans.

On Friday night we met at the Student Union, and after waiting around for a spell (there were major transportation issues because one of the mini-bus drivers had fallen ill so about 10 people couldn't come), they put all our stuff in a van and organized us into car loads. I drove up with some lovely folks - it was a five hour drive so wouldn't have been good if they weren't lovely - through what I can only assume was lovely countryside. It wasn't until about 7:30 or 8:00 PM that we set out so the drive was dark, but I was still greatly pleased to be driving through the Midlands, Birmingham, Wolverhampton (spelled W'hampton on roadsigns making it sound like an 80's hip-hop group), and stopping in Telford at a Services. This is something we certainly don't have in Canada. Just behind the gas station (perfectly acceptable) is this pavilion sort of thing with about four restaurants (I say that, more like a burger king, convenience store, and cafe) surrounding a big seating area (kind of like a food court but a bit nicer). I was told too that this was not a particularly big Services either. I guess it's not really that exciting, but it's different and I love the little differences.

We drove on to our accommodation, a bunkhouse just outside of Beddgelert in the middle of Snowdonia National Park, unpacking and crossing windy streets in the dark. Inside was two levels of bunk with foam mattresses laid across. We all claimed our spots and then got to chatting. Some of the UBES exec weren't too pleased that we were up chatting till half-one (more differences!), but we were doing so with some of the other higher-ups in the club so it was all good. Then it was to a fitful night of coughing and snoring all around us and getting up at half-seven for plain porridge with raisins (sultanas!) and blearily kitting ourselves up for the first day.

I was beguiled into doing the "medium-level" trip by one of the people we had befriended earlier in the week and the night before. Well, not quite beguiled, but wanting to keep up with people we knew and thinking that "medium" meant medium I decided to go with some rather more experienced people up a hill called Tryfan. Well, I mean, rather. I was definitely the shmo of the group, and even though I felt terrible for holding everyone else up I had a good time, and was pretty proud of myself for making it up. They didn't end up going all the way to the top because it was far too windy to scramble up the last bit of sheer rock, but other people in my group of about ten got some pretty rad pictures near the top. The views were absolutely stunning. As far as the eye could see were peaks and valleys clad in the heartiest greens, browns, oranges, reds, and yellows, streaked with the greys and whites of paths and streams, and dotted with the blues, reds, and blacks of other hikers. The pictures I was able to take on the way down on the other side of a rock wall (who climbs up a rather steep hill and erects a stone wall? I ask you this) do not do it justice. It was a grey day but the colours were still brilliant, perhaps as an effect of being so happy to be up there. On the way down, after a very cold and blustery lunch of sandwiches, fruit, cakes, and what have you, all the paths had become streams (basically the whole thing was waterlogged) we climbed down beside a lake and withstood, with great fun, the windiest wind I have ever been in. The group all held hands and was able to lean into the wind at an angle no person could sustain without the help of a gale-force. When that calmed a little we started our steep but short and sweet descent back down to the parking lot (car park!). It was a little too sheer for my liking, or my ability, so I kept slipping into knee-deep mud and twisting my ankles all about, but I made it down in one piece in my own sweet time. We were done about an hour before our rides (people climbing another hill) could come shuttle us back to the bunkhouse so we sheltered in a cafe an even smaller town than the one we were staying in. It was then back to the bunkhouse for a change of clothes, a brief lie down and warm up in our sleeping bags, and dinner of vegetable stew and rice. After chatting and cajoling about, it was then to the pub in the town for more chatting and cajoling about, with people falling asleep in their chairs from about 7:30 onwards. That night I slept the most soundly I have in weeks, and the daylight savings fall back made for an extra wonderful hour of the dreamless.

Day two I made the very correct decision to go on what became known as the pub walk. It was the least intense of the three walks that day and was billed to be ending in the pub in Beddgelert. It started out as a charming walk along a bubbling river sort of affair, again with stunning views and colours. After about maybe half an hour of that, we got into a more forresty sort of area, and then up to the shrubbery and grasses that grace most of the hills. A slowish and not-so-steep ascent was much easier on the aching legs, arms, everything from the day before. After spotting some sheep (who had left evidence of their presence ALL OVER EVERYTHING) and taking some cheesy pictures we had another blustery lunch at what was to be our summit for the day. We started heading down the wrong side of the hill (our map-holder was reading the compass backwards), quickly righted ourselves, but were still unable to find our path on the other side. Instead of going back the way we came we decided to just head down the shrubbery in the direction of the town we wanted to be in, which we could see quite clearly. This didn't seem too foolhardy, I actually found the shrubs to have better traction than the muddy and slippery paths, until we came across some tree-ish bush sort of things that we had to jungle our way through. There was of course no path through the growth, so we scrambled and slid our way down a stream through the foliage, all aiming towards a path we thought we saw at the end of it. After emerging through the "forest" we saw a wall and a stile, and were on the path we had been looking for from the beginning, though it seemingly started halfway down the hill rather than at the top where it was supposed to. After another short but sweet and steep clamber down we walked into the town (about 2 minutes from the base of the hill), passing the most iconographic old Welsh man on the way. I wish could have taken a picture of him cause he just so incredibly so. You know, the tartan cap, wellies, windbreaker, I think he was holding a shovel of sorts. Just the perfect end to a fantastic day, of fantastic weather actually, in Wales. We then found ourselves a pub, and I had a very Bill Bryson experience: the cup of tea and the "oh lovely" that he raves about is so very true. It may not be coffee, but there is nothing sweeter or more restorative than a cup of tea after being outside and being cold.

That night Ariana, Adriana, Beatrice, and I headed back with Scot in his nicely iPod-ed car for another five hour drive. Not painful at all with the company of good people and good music. He showed us around some of the more scenic areas of the Bristol Downs and Wills Hall at Stoke Bishop (the far away halls of residence), then after picking up our stuff at the union, so incredibly kindly gave us a ride home. We were honestly thinking of taking a cab for what would normally be a 10-minute walk, so he saved us a lot of grief. It was then to a warm shower and falling asleep quickly and deeply to conclude the glorious weekend in Snowdonia.

Aching and Smiling,

Your friend Lina

As October Rolls On

What ho, what ho!

I know I've been terribly remiss in posting. . . I know this because some of my loyal readers have been kindly reminding me that I haven't posted in a month. But! This means that I'm having fun right? You wouldn't want me to be posting all the time about how I've been sitting in my room so these tomes few and far between are better for both of us. It doesn't mean I don't love you, just that. . . I'm new to this, I suppose. So let's play some catch-up.

(Fun fact: ketchup tastes different here. As does mayonnaise.)

So my month of October has been filled with lots of school, societies, sights, sounds, cider, and sickness.

My classes for this semester are Henry V, the Early Reformation, and Christianity and Islam: relations therein. They are very different from my interests at home, but I am warming to them over time. Save for Christianity and Islam because there is a mail strike and I have yet to receive my introductory text and I have NEVER done anything pre-four digit dates before. All the profs are wonderful though, and wonderfully accented, and since there is so little class time it doesn't really interfere too much with my schedule. We are expected to do most of the learning ourselves through copious amounts of reading, which I am working my way into slowly. It helps though that I live less than a block away from a charming cafe (local, organic, donates to charity and what not) where I've had one of my best study experiences of all time: reading about the financial finagling of Henry V (more interesting that in seems, at least for me), drinking drip coffee (OH MAN I miss coffee), listening to the Fleet Foxes playing in the background, all with big smooshy couches and polka-dot tablecloths. I think I should be fine.

The other lovely thing about British schools, aside from the small amount of time spent at them, is the proliferation of societies. People go in for clubs and such much more here than at home, so they are really where you meet people. At the "Freshers Fair" I joined pretty much any club that offered candy or food, but the ones I've stuck with are the Bristol University Sustainability Team (BUST), the University of Bristol Expedition Society (UBES), the Cheese Society, and the History Society. They host socials, showing us noobs the best pubs and clubs, and though some may seem like their only point is drinking they all seem to have a cause as well. This weekend I am going, with some friends as well as about 25 others, to Snowdonia in Wales with UBES. It was a bit expensive to kit myself out - sleeping bag, hiking shoes, waterproof trousers (not pants, cause those would be diapers. . . so I just embarrass myself all the time whilst shopping) - but the trips sound like such fun, and their socials have been the best so far, so I'm sure it will all be worth it. I'll be sure to post sooner to let you all know how it went. BUST is also filled with lovely people who are super-organized and are tackling tonnes of issues surrounding sustainability in Bristol. Luckily, Bristol is going for the title of being a "Green City" in Europe, and the University wants to up its reputation as well, so they have allies at all different levels. I'm missing the Cheese Soc social tonight to go to Snowdonia. . . but who doesn't like free fancy cheese. . . and the ensuing wine? We'll go in the future. I had to miss the last History Soc thing too, but I'll go to their next socials and find people to come to Bletchley with me and such.

You'll also be proud that I've started the grand "I've come to England to meet celebrities" plan as well. On the 7th, when one bought their album, one was able to see a free concert of Mumford and Sons. It was glorious. Up until that evening I had only been able to listen to them on MySpace, and though I begrudge the medium nothing, only four songs leaves a lot to be desired. They put on a wonderful show, though. They were actually playing in Bath that evening and had just run over from their sound-check to play a half-hour set, but they stuck around to sign autographs (though I was too far back in the queue and just missed Marcus Mumford), and since it was such a small place I was able to congratulate them in person. Their album? Amazing. If in the meanwhile you want to check them out, which I highly suggest you do, their MySpace is http://www.myspace.com/mumfordandsons. They are a folky band, lots of banjos and accordions and such, but Marcus Mumford has a really gravelly voice and writes a killer lyric.

Much of my time during the weeks and weekends revolves around pubs and hanging out with friends, so a tad hard, and boring, to chronicle, but I will say that cider is still treating me well. I've even started to become a bit of a snob about it too: no more of this fizzy Strongbow nonsense. I'll have to bring the proper stuff back at Christmas. It really is delish. We've also been finding lots of pubs to call our own which makes me feel like I am assimilating somewhat. One of the best is the Highbury Vaults where many of the society socials have been held. It looks like your classic British pub, as they all do I guess, but they also have a covered terrace which is lovely when you are there with 30 other members of your society, plus the regulars, cause it gets rather steamy. Just to make it even better, before it was a pub, it housed the vaults that criminals would be locked in before they were to be hanged on the top of Bristol Hill. Wonderful no? Another favourite is this place called The Woods, quite near where we live, which looks like Canada on the inside. It has two floors, a patio, and is decorated with antlers, bugs, Victorian wallpaper, wainscoting. What more could a girl ask for? Or, at least, could this girl ask for? The crowd there is a bit older, and the drinks there a bit pricier, but definitely a contender for a quieter night out. Finally, there is the Coronation Tap (CoriTap to locals), which is a Bristol favourite. Tucked away down a dead-end in Clifton is this lovely pub which made me feel like I was in an episode of Heartbeat. They are the sole providers of Exhibition Cider, a drink so strong they will only sell it in half-pints. We all got some, then listened to a charming folk band and people watched the absolutely CLASSIC old British men and women joke about. It was so much Britain concentrated I almost had an overdose. Although it's me we're talking about, aren't we, so there could be no such thing. Just sayin', if you come, we're going there.

Speaking of Canada, way back I grant, my friend Marika also hosted a fantastic Thanksgiving dinner for us Canadians, Canadian-Americans, and Americans on Thanksgiving Monday. We each contributed a dish, but they were all very Thanksgiving-y so it didn't feel like a pot-luck at all. Brendan made two chickens (there were no turkeys to be found for love nor money), Marika made peas and pumpkin pie, Ariana made mashed potatoes and sweet potatoes, and Adrianna and Annika made salad and brought wine. I was sick at the time (ugh, still am), so I was on photograph and dish duty. It tasted just like home; we ate, drank, and were merry; and we even each said what we were thankful for. It was such a hit that our hope is to get together each week to have a proper dinner (Marika's place is HUGE and she has a lovely kitchen). It was unfortunately cancelled last week due to everyone being down with the plague, but I'll take more food pictures for when they happen in the future.

Chronologically before Thanksgiving Adrianna, Ariana, and I took a day trip to Cardiff as well. Trains here? Wonderful. You hop a train, a proper train, like VIA Rail, and within an hour you are in a different country. We were only there for about four hours, so we spent all of our time at the Cardiff Castle. Within the castle walls, upon a hill, is the Norman Keep, of course the oldest part of the whole do. Along one side is also a Victorian manner home. So really, I got to satiate all my history-based longings in one, let alone be totally charmed by the sheer silliness of the Welsh language (disclaimer: Welsh is not a silly language, but it does look so to us travellers from an arcane land). Really, the pictures speak for themselves. My reaction was very much like it is for everything I see here: 1) Gorgeous 2) Old! So delightfully old! I still need to see so many more whilst I am here, but the trip to Cardiff was a nice little getaway in the meanwhile.

So, I guess those were the highlights of my first month-ish here. I'm enjoying myself immensely and have been chronicling poorly, so do forgive me. I will try to be better. Expect one next week about Snowdonia aaaaand, drumroll for QI fans, Alan Davies! He's being interviewed at St. George's and I have snagged myself a ticket. I can't seem to book any tickets for the next season of QI yet, so this will have to satiate me until that time. I will take lots of silly school girl pictures and be a bumbling fool for all at home who feel this same way.

Toodle pip till then,

Your friend Lina