A Visit From Dad

I apologize for the scarcity of posts in the past week; not only has my Internet been down, but I've been up to my eyeballs in work. Seems I had to eventually buckle down and become a student after all (sigh).

My dad came to visit me this weekend, and boy, did we have some adventures. I met him at Heathrow on Friday, and took him into central London. I showed him my flat, and then took him on a tour of UCL, making sure to stop by the main library, the body of Jeremy Bentham, the main quad, and the Institute of Archaeology. From there we went to the British Museum and wandered around there for hours (I was a very good tour guide and took him to the coolest artifacts). When night rolled around, we went out to a crowded little pub and had some Guinness (in typical Wray family fashion). We then went to Trafalgar Square and Piccadilly Circus, because those are pretty cool to wander around at night. After that we went to another pub and had more beer. I'm not kidding. Dad eventually had to pass out around 10:00 pm from a combination of jet lag, beer, and endless hours or girl talk on the behalf of yours truly.

Saturday we woke up early, ready to hit the sites of London and also to meet up with Jeannie, dad's British nanny from when he was a kid. We went to the Tower of London first, and then met up with Jeannie, her daughter Jo, and Jo's husband Pete at Victoria Station. From there the five of us went to Covent Garden (an outdoor market), crossed the Thames, re-crossed the Thames, and went to Westminster Abbey, Parliament, and Buckingham Palace. We then went to another pub (surprise!) and had drinks and pub food for the next couple of hours (we all had beer; Jeannie sipped SoCo on the rocks). It was really nice to see Jeannie again (I hadn't seen her in years), and her and Dad reminisced on all their crazy adventures they had back in the sixties and seventies. Jo and Pete were very charming too; it was great to have finally met them.

One of the main sights my Dad wanted to see while he was over here was Stonehenge. Going out to Stonehenge was proving to be a difficult excursion to plan; the trains and buses to Salisbury, the nearest town to Stonehenge, all seemed to take too long (over three hours, while the site was only 80 miles outside London).
"Let's just rent a car," my dad said on Sunday. "I'll drive, and you can navigate."
"But they drive on the wrong side of the street," I pointed out.
"I can handle it," my dad replied (Mr. Navy Admiral), but I remained wary. My concern grew when I saw the car, which was a stick shift. The stick was on my dad's left hand side (he was sitting on the right side of the car). I just didn't like the looks of this. Not to mention driving out of London was going to be difficult.
Dad stalled a few times in busy traffic in London, but I kept my mouth wrenched shut, determined not to seem like a wuss.
Miracle of miracles, we made it to Stonehenge later that day, on behalf of Dad's superb driving (he got the hang of it) and my navigational skills. Stonehenge is truly a wonderful site; I had been there before, but I still found it amazing. The weather was raw when we got there, but at one point the sun broke through the clouds and shone on the wet stones, and I was taken aback by the sense of timelessness of the place. If you ever get an opportunity to look at it, you must go.

When we made it back into London, we stopped by the Natural History Museum for a little bit before going back to my flat and to the pub across the street. We went out with my girl roommates and Dad bought a round of drinks and pudding; they fell in love with him instantly.
"Your Dad is so cool!" they squealed to me. Hey, free drinks and dessert means alot to a college kid.

Overall, I had a busy, exhausting, but awesome weekend with my dad. We managed to see alot of stuff over here, and we managed to drink alot of alcohol. It was also nice to have someone from home actually see what I've been up to over here. I was sad to see him leave Monday morning, but I'll be home in a month (can you believe it?).

Now I have to get back to my paper- it's about the layout of the ancient city of Babylon (mmm...yummy).

Oxford, Day Two

I spent the entire day Saturday exploring the city of Oxford with Anna as my guide. First we went to the Ashmolean museum, which is the oldest museum in all of Britain, having been founded in the 1600s. The Ashmolean has a collection of art as well as antiquities, including some very impressive Egyptian artifacts. Besides the Egyptian collections, here are some of the other things I thought were cool at the Ashmolean:
-an original Stradivarius violin
-Chief Powhatan's Mantle (Pocahontas's Dad...and mantle=cloak)
-original Da Vinci sketches (Anna and I got to view in a special room, under supervision)
-The Parian Marble, which is the oldest Greek chronological table known (kind of like the oldest Greek calendar ever found; it is inscribed on marble)

After the Ashmolean we had coffee at the posh five-star Randolph hotel. I don't really drink coffee, but Anna loves it and insisted that we try it at the hotel. I'll admit it was pretty cool; we were served coffee and biscuits on silver place settings by white-jacketed waiters. Probably as elegant as two broke college kids can get. I heaped a ton of cream and sugar unto my coffee and it ended up tasting just fine.


After coffee and lunch, we explored the city in earnest, walking for miles on end. Whenever we walked past a college, we would go inside and gaze at the central courtyard, as well as the architecture. They are all lovely, and at a few of them we even went inside to look at their libraries or chapels. Some of the colleges were charging admission, but since I look like a student I could slip in unnoticed (bwahahahaha).

The city was bustling on a Saturday, crowded with tourists as well as locals. I was taken aback at the sheer size of it; it was a thriving, small city. I had expected Oxford to be a sleepy college town, but I was quickly proved otherwise.

At the end of the day, Anna and I returned to her flat, utterly exhausted. We had been walking for miles. There was talk of going out to a pub, but we had done that Friday night and it was full of round-faced 18 years olds barely past puberty. The pub scene in Oxford was not the place to meet sophisticated guys.

Saturday night Anna and I talked for hours, drank more coffee, and spent a good 45 minutes analyzing a giant Dali print tacked up to her wall (The Hallucinogenic Toreador- worth a look). Nothing like late night intellectual discussion. I went gratefully to bed that night, quite tired and overstimulated from my full day in Oxford.

Oxford, Day One

This weekend I went to visit my friend Anna in Oxford. Anna is a first year PhD student in classical archaeology at Oxford University; I had met her this summer during the epic excavation in New Jersey. I have always wanted to see Oxford, and now I had the perfect reason to go.

Anna and I had talked online about my arrival on Friday; we had it set for about two o'clock. I caught a bus from Marble Arch in central London and headed out of the city at around one on Friday. Once on the bus, I tried calling her, but something was going on with her phone; she wouldn't pick up. Oh well, I told myself as the bus trundled into Oxford, I can just find her in her dorm or something.

As the bus rolled further into town, to my right I saw some beautiful architecture: ornately carved sandstone complete with turrets, gargoyles, and cathedral spires. This must be it, I thought, and I got off the bus. The plan was to go into the University, find an administrative building, and look up Anna's dorm number. In retrospect, I was severely underestimating the sheer size of Oxford University.

It turns out the building complex I had been dropped off at was a college of Oxford University; one of the 39 colleges at Oxford. Each college is set up like an American college; each one has its own set of dorms, its own quads, its own library, chapel, and dining hall. Oxford had 39 of these colleges. The town is not a town at all; it is more of a small city, completely focused around academia. I realized my odds for finding a central administrative building, let alone Anna, were not promising. I told myself I would look for the next few hours, until the sun went down, and then if I couldn't find her, I would go back to London. Keep in mind that we were having cellphone problems.

After about an hour (and many asking of directions) I made it to Anna's college, Lincoln. Thank god I at least remembered what college she was in. Once there, they informed me that she lived in an apartment complex away from the college, and they gave me a complicated set of directions on how to get there. My situation was looking bleaker by the second.

I kept my chin up and tried to follow their directions as best as I could, and I set off, my suitcase rattling noisily behind me on the cobblestones. I wanted to stop and look at the incredible architecture, but I had to concentrate on where I was going. After walking for several minutes, I looked up and spotted someone down the road from me that looked suspiciously like Anna from behind (Anna has flaming red, curly hair). I couldn't be sure, but I decided to screech out her name anyway. If it wasn't her, I would look like a lunatic, but at this point I didn't really care; I had been wandering around for quite a while.

It was her. Once I realized this, I felt I had experienced a moment of divine intervention. What are the odds of seeing one person you're looking for in a small city (and Oxford alone has 18,000 students)? It was remarkable, and I sent up a silent thank-you to the cosmos.

Anna took me to her apartment, I dumped off my stuff, and she said she was going to take me to formal dinner at her college. At formal dinner you sit at long tables in the dining hall and are served a 3-course meal. Free food- sounded excellent to me.
"Did you bring anything nice to wear?" Anna asked. "You have to dress well for formal dinner. No jeans."
Umm, I hadn't brought anything but jeans. Oops.
"You can wear my roommate's robes, then," Anna said. "I'm sure she'll let you borrow them."
Wait a second...robes?
"We all wear black robes to formal dinner," Anna explained. "You can wear one over your clothes, and you'll fit right in."
So we pulled on black robes over our clothes (bizarre but cool), and headed off to Lincoln college for formal dinner. The dining hall was built in the 1400's, and consisted of long wooden tables with long wooden benches. Portraits of famous Lincoln scholars hung on the walls. The vaulted ceiling arched high above our heads; Anna said it was still the original ceiling built centuries ago. Everything was illuminated by candlelight. All of the students trickled in, wearing long black robes. The entire experience felt like a scene right out of Harry Potter.

The coolest part was when one black-tied server banged a wooden plate on the table, and everyone got to their feet. Three professors walked silently down the aisle and took their places at the high table at the end of the hall. A prayer (grace) was said in Latin, and after it was over everyone sat down and conversation resumed. It was a moment laden with tradition, and I thought it was fabulous.

The food served was very British: soup, pork, and for dessert, cake with hot custard poured all over it. I made sure to try some of everything (even though I don't really eat pork). When in Rome....

Overall, it was a very cool dining experience. Stay tuned, for next post I will detail my further adventures in Oxford...

Encounters with Some British Characters

As I'm sure you all know, the Red Sox won the World Series on Sunday with a sweep of the Rockies. I made sure to stay up and watch game four (wild horses couldn't drag me away), so I took over the common room of my apartment and set up camp, complete with nacho chips. My other roommates were in there when the game started, but one by one they trickled out, no doubt due to my frenzied yelling and cursing whenever the Sox screwed up/made an awesome play.
As I mentioned in a previous post, instead of commercials between innings, the British channel over here features commentary. The commentary consists of these two guys sitting in a low-budget studio set, an American and an Englishman, ready to discuss the recent events in the game. Only this time, they had a guest sitting at the desk with them, the self-proclaimed 'Biggest Red Sox Fan in Britain'. Yeah right; I could give him a run for his money.
"What makes you the biggest sox fan in Britain?" The Englishman asked the guest.
"Well," the guest replied in his impeccable accent, "I name my cats after the players. I have a cat named Nomar, even though the real Nomar was traded, and I also had a cat named Manny, although he was run over by a car, and I have a new cat named Varitek."
I sat there in my pajamas, utterly bewildered. Since when did cat-naming get you unto a TV show as the 'Biggest Red Sox Fan in Britain?' The guy wasn't even wearing a Red Sox jersey.
The rest of the commentary was uneventful, except at one point the American host and the English host got into a fight of sorts.
"Yeah, when I was in the league, we always saw the World Series as the ultimate dream," said the American, who was a former triple-A catcher.
"Well, we actually made it to the World Series," replied the Englishman.
"But you were twelve," the American said incredulously. "That wasn't the real World Series- that was a little league thing."
"Don't poo all over my world series!" the Englishman replied, clearly offended. "Don't poo all over my world series!"
At this point I was strongly reminded that I was in another country; never on ESPN would the ex-player commentators use the word 'poo' or talk about cats.

So I stayed up until 4:45 in the morning, fully fulfilling my duty as a member of Red Sox Nation. When we won, I leaped off of the couch and was jumping up and down and shrieking for about 5 minutes, completely by myself, in the dark living room. I hope I didn't wake anyone up, but you never know.

On a different note, I saw Macbeth yesterday. This was the one I mentioned about a month ago; the one with Patrick Stewart as Macbeth. It was quite amazing, I have to say. It was set in communist Russia, which lent the entire play a bleak, gritty feel. Patrick Stewart was amazing; you actually felt sorry for him, even though his character was a greedy murderer. I could literally talk about this play for paragraphs, but I'll just mention my favorite part. The coolest scene for me was when Macbeth was having a dinner party, and his friend Banquo (who Macbeth had murdered) appears at the dinner. Banquo, who was drenched in blood, just got up and walked down the length of the table towards Macbeth, who freaked out and fell out of his chair. The entire time the lights flashed and the music crescendoed- a truly terrifying scene.
Overall, it was just cool to have watched Shakespeare in London.

Back in the Swing of Things

With my illness over and my DC trip behind me, I am now up to my old tricks back here in London. The week has revolved around my upcoming choir concert (it's in a few hours, actually). We've had a few extra rehearsals for our Bach Magnificat, and we've even started working with the orchestra, which is also made up of UCL kids. It's very exciting when you hear a piece of music finally come together and swell and take over a room. A few of my roommates are even making it out to the concert, and I'm grateful for that; an hour of classical music is not every one's bag.

My classes have been going well, too. I've started raising my hand and participating, and am no longer (slightly) intimidated by all the intelligent British accents. On Thursday in my Roman Britain class, we hiked through the rain into the Moorgate section of the city to look at the remains of the old Roman amphitheater. It was very cool, but again, you had to use your imagination; it only consisted of a few low stone walls (no more than knee height).

My favorite class is probably Cognitive Evolution and Early Technology. This class explores the development of human consciousness and cognition and tries to link this to examples in the archaeological record, such as stone tools. This is my smallest class and is gathered around a table, seminar style. I like this class because it often turns into a philosophy discussion instead of a straight lecture; we debate questions like: What is consciousness? What makes humans different from other animals? What is the mind, exactly? At no time does the discussion veer into anything theological, which I find interesting and consider more likely to occur at Fordham (not that there's anything wrong with it one way or another).

I've gone out dancing again, too. Thursday night I was dancing with an Irish guy who thought I was Irish also (I don't know why, my American accent is pretty unmistakable), and when I told him I was from New York City he promptly stopped dancing with me and left the dance floor without a word. Did I intimidate him or something? Whatever the reason, it was rude! Oh well, I recovered after about 10 seconds and continued dancing with my roommates.

Delight of delights- when I got back from the club on Thursday, I turned on the TV and saw the Red Sox/Rockies game was on! Granted, it was 1:30 am, and it had just started, but I couldn't believe my luck. One of my other roommates, a Rockies fan (and the only one I have ever met) sat down and watched the game with me. Watching baseball was great. Over here, instead of commercials, they have two commentators discuss what just happened in the inning: a British guy and an American guy. The commentary was pretty lame, I have to admit (I didn't even think the British watched baseball) but I didn't care- the Sox were on! I held out valiantly until the 7th, when by then it was about 4:00 in the morning, and I dragged myself to bed, makeup smeared all over my face.

So tonight I have my concert, then hopefully more Red Sox. I let you all know how the concert went in my next post- stay tuned!

An American Girl Comes Home (For a Weekend, Anyway)

I'm sorry I haven't posted in a while, faithful readers. I've had a few adventures (as well as some misadventures) in the past couple of days.

First of all, I was pretty sick last week with a sinus infection. I knew I needed some antibiotics, so I went in search of a doctor. I went to the UCL student health center. The receptionist there informed me that as an American staying in the UK for less than 6 months, I was not allowed to see a doctor. She also told me that I couldn't even be seen by a doctor at a hospital.
"So what if I were dying or something?" I asked incredulously. "They would just turn me away?"
The receptionist sighed, exasperated. "I don't know what to tell you. You're not a citizen of the UK."
"I'm pretty sick," I said, embellishing my sinus infection for maximum pity. "I just need some antibiotics. Please, I really need your help."
She pursed her lips. "Alright. I'll let you see the doctor as a private patient. It'll cost 60 pounds."
That's $120, for you American readers. I cringed, but agreed to her offer.
I saw a doctor, but she didn't think I had a sinus infection, and so no antibiotics. Waste of time and money. Silly doctor, what does she know, anyway?

The next day (Thursday) I flew to DC for my Dad's Admiral promotion ceremony. In case you don't know, my Dad is in the Navy and recently got promoted to Admiral (a very high honor). He was set to have a big promotion ceremony at the Pentagon, and the entire extended family was going to come. I couldn't miss it, so I flew into Dulles, and arrived a very jet-lagged and cranky girl. Once there, I saw an American doctor, who gave me some antibiotics and I was
feeling much better by Friday morning.

The promotion ceremony went great. The Pentagon itself was very cool, and there were many cute Marine boys walking around (an added bonus). That night was the annual Navy birthday Ball, and my whole family got dressed up for that. We clean up very well, I have to say.

Saturday we walked around DC, first taking a tour of the Whitehouse, and then looking at all of the war memorials, as well as the Lincoln memorial. The weather was beautiful, sunny and about 75 degrees. Back here in London it's about 45 degrees and cloudy everyday, so being out in bright, warm daylight made me feel like some kind of disoriented vampire.

It was nice to see everyone in my family, and it was also comforting to see some familiar faces. In typical family fashion, we went out for beers every night (the older family members anyway), and at one point I had a Guinness with my grandfather, who was very impressed at my new drinking ability (I downed a whole pint!). I had a really good time hanging out with everybody.

I also made sure to sample some of my favorite foods that I had dearly missed across the pond, including:
Mozzarella sticks
Nerds (candy)
Soft pretzels with cheese
McDonalds Breakfast (with hashbrown!)
and of course, Red Bull
If there are any health conscious readers out there gasping in horror at my food selections, I apologize. If you had been deprived of good old greasy/perfect American food, you would have eaten all of that too.

So on Sunday night I took an overnight flight back to London. I sat next to a cute boy on the plane and talked with him for awhile, but he fell asleep with his mouth open (quite unsavory) so I didn't attempt to engage him in any further conversation.

Once back on the ground, I made my way through the maze that is Heathrow airport and managed to get on the tube; all of this was accomplished with about three hours of sleep under my belt. Once on the tube, I saw a man sipping an open can of beer at about 10:00 in the morning. Yep- I was definitely back in the UK.

Night Life

The past couple of nights have been fairly crazy. Thank god today is Sunday, a de-tox day to relax and catch up on homework/sleep. Even as a college student, I am not used to consuming so much alcohol. Before I get any condescending letters from relatives, please allow me to explain.

At about six o'clock, the city of London essentially shuts down. You can't go shopping, the museums are all closed, movie theaters aren't open, and even my favorite restaurants aren't open. This is quite jarring for any American, especially a spoiled New York girl as myself, who is used to going to the Gap at 11:00 pm, just for the hell of it. No, here in London, things wind down early. There is nothing to do once the sun sets. Except....
There are a few places that remain open come nightfall, and these are the pubs. So unless you want to stay in your flat and do homework (no thank you), you go out to a pub. In my case, I am particularly lucky; there is a pub right across the street called Crown and Anchor. I could literally fall out of the front doors of my apartment building and into the open doors of Crown and Anchor. This happens more often than I would care to admit.

If you are sick of pubs, you can go out to the clubs. This, too, happens frequently; my roommates and I often make an exodus to the local tube station and head out to a club. Personally, I find clubs more enjoyable; I love to dance. When my roommates and I tear up the dance floor, we are always the best dancers there. I'm not kidding. Back home, I am an average clubber, but here across the pond I feel like a dangerous dancing machine. The locals will often stop their sleepy gyrations and stop and watch our energetic dance moves. Plus, all the songs that clubs play over here are American, so we all belt out the tunes. We look like we were hired to dance in these clubs.

Of course, this will often bring out the English guys, drawn to our dancing like moths to a flame. They all seem to have the same pick up lines:
"Are you from the States?"
"Do you come here often?"
"I LOVE this song."
Either that, or they'll try to silently dance with us, but they usually give up and drift away, intimidated or embarrassed. Oh well- at least they still have their good looks and cute accents.

The British culture pushes one towards the consumption of alcohol. Everything shuts down at nightfall, and there is absolutely nothing to do besides go to a venue that revolves around alcohol. Even the TV stations over here are lousy, so you can't even stay in and watch the tube. Unless you want to go to bed early, you HAVE to go out- that's what all the English do (even after my choir rehearsals, the singers travel en masse to a local pub). That's all anybody does around here.

So that explains my ridiculous spike in alcohol consumption, particularly beer. If my relatives are offended, I apologize. When in Rome...