I booked a trip today. It's a big one, but different from London. I leave May 24th, just four days after graduation, and Rich is coming. I already have this rush, this good feeling, this energy that comes with planning something big. It's something to look forward to at the end of the school year, or, rather, at the end of school. A celebration. A trip. An experience. Here I go again.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Friday, February 11, 2011
These Streets Will Make You Feel Brand New
This was the best winter break yet. Less than a day after I landed, I went to work at Price Chopper, a big supermarket in the next town. Even though I was just ringing customers up on the register and putting groceries in bags, working was a good way of making winter break go by quickly without spending the whole time wishing I was back at school in New York. Immediately earning back a small portion of the money I spent in Europe.
The snow over break was impressive. Winter seems to have followed me across the ocean to the United States. Over two feet of snow fell on Connecticut when I was home, and New York got another 15 inches last week. On top of this, it's been raining ice on more than one occasion, and there have been smaller snow storms in between. It's been the most snow I've ever seen in my life, by far.
The best part of being back in the United States is being back at school. It's great to be back on campus with my friends, even though a relationship has ended between two of my close friends, other friends have become enemies with each other, and everyone has more work than they seemed to last year. While all of my friends aren't necessarily friends with each other, I am very thankful that they're around. When I talk with the people I studied abroad with, they say one of the things they miss most is the friendly community of our small London dorms. NYU, as they describe it, is a cold, unfriendly school where students keep to themselves and there is no NYU community, just New York City and a bunch of students living in apartments. Manhattan College isn't like that. Manhattan College is a friendly place.
My dorm room has become a shrine to all that was good in Europe. A map of London hangs above my desk. Most nights, before going to sleep, I lie in bed and flip through my book of pictures from my trip under the collage I made of all my ticket stubs. A newspaper hangs on my wall with a front-page picture of the crowds at Heathrow from the day all the flights got canceled. I love New York, but I love London, too. Maybe even more.
I've been in a good mood despite being really busy around school. It's a combination of being really glad to be back and finding a new appreciation for things I missed while I was away and feeling like everything's a little new again. I was falling into a rut, getting a little sick of the routine, by the end of sophomore year, but now I feel refreshed. Everyone else who studied abroad says they feel run down already and sick of internship applications already, though. Maybe it just hasn't hit me yet.
I also want to travel more. I've been running searches on everything. Washington, Chicago, San Francisco, Tokyo, Taipei, and Hong Kong. I can't do anything now since I have my own money and internships to worry about (Except Washington, I'm hoping to book that trip soon). Someday, though, I'll get to all these places.
On Wednesday a Rwandan Genocide survivor came to give a talk at my school. She told her thrilling, tragic story about being trapped in a tiny bathroom in a house for three months while the rest of her family was killed and her village was destroyed. She ended her story with lighthearted anecdotes from the time she was on 60 Minutes and the process she went through to get her book published. She reminded me of an elderly woman who came by my Price Chopper line this summer. At the time, the store was collecting donations to the Hole in the Wall Gang Camp. When I asked this woman for a donation, she declined, saying that camp brought back bad memories. She then rolled up her sleeve, revealing a number tattooed on her arm. She said she was in the Holocaust when she was very young. She got separated from her family, but eventually she escaped "to America. To freedom!" She was really proud of that last part. Both the Rwandan Genocide survivor and the Holocaust survivor were strong. They did not seem to be haunted all the time by memories of their horrible pasts. Instead, they were normal people. Friendly, even, like someone you might talk to if you saw them reading an interesting book in Borders. People like these women are why I can make it through the occasional bad day.
Apologies for the late, not-very-exciting post. Life here is exciting, but not nearly as exciting as Europe. Oh, I miss it.
The snow over break was impressive. Winter seems to have followed me across the ocean to the United States. Over two feet of snow fell on Connecticut when I was home, and New York got another 15 inches last week. On top of this, it's been raining ice on more than one occasion, and there have been smaller snow storms in between. It's been the most snow I've ever seen in my life, by far.
The best part of being back in the United States is being back at school. It's great to be back on campus with my friends, even though a relationship has ended between two of my close friends, other friends have become enemies with each other, and everyone has more work than they seemed to last year. While all of my friends aren't necessarily friends with each other, I am very thankful that they're around. When I talk with the people I studied abroad with, they say one of the things they miss most is the friendly community of our small London dorms. NYU, as they describe it, is a cold, unfriendly school where students keep to themselves and there is no NYU community, just New York City and a bunch of students living in apartments. Manhattan College isn't like that. Manhattan College is a friendly place.
My dorm room has become a shrine to all that was good in Europe. A map of London hangs above my desk. Most nights, before going to sleep, I lie in bed and flip through my book of pictures from my trip under the collage I made of all my ticket stubs. A newspaper hangs on my wall with a front-page picture of the crowds at Heathrow from the day all the flights got canceled. I love New York, but I love London, too. Maybe even more.
I've been in a good mood despite being really busy around school. It's a combination of being really glad to be back and finding a new appreciation for things I missed while I was away and feeling like everything's a little new again. I was falling into a rut, getting a little sick of the routine, by the end of sophomore year, but now I feel refreshed. Everyone else who studied abroad says they feel run down already and sick of internship applications already, though. Maybe it just hasn't hit me yet.
I also want to travel more. I've been running searches on everything. Washington, Chicago, San Francisco, Tokyo, Taipei, and Hong Kong. I can't do anything now since I have my own money and internships to worry about (Except Washington, I'm hoping to book that trip soon). Someday, though, I'll get to all these places.
On Wednesday a Rwandan Genocide survivor came to give a talk at my school. She told her thrilling, tragic story about being trapped in a tiny bathroom in a house for three months while the rest of her family was killed and her village was destroyed. She ended her story with lighthearted anecdotes from the time she was on 60 Minutes and the process she went through to get her book published. She reminded me of an elderly woman who came by my Price Chopper line this summer. At the time, the store was collecting donations to the Hole in the Wall Gang Camp. When I asked this woman for a donation, she declined, saying that camp brought back bad memories. She then rolled up her sleeve, revealing a number tattooed on her arm. She said she was in the Holocaust when she was very young. She got separated from her family, but eventually she escaped "to America. To freedom!" She was really proud of that last part. Both the Rwandan Genocide survivor and the Holocaust survivor were strong. They did not seem to be haunted all the time by memories of their horrible pasts. Instead, they were normal people. Friendly, even, like someone you might talk to if you saw them reading an interesting book in Borders. People like these women are why I can make it through the occasional bad day.
Apologies for the late, not-very-exciting post. Life here is exciting, but not nearly as exciting as Europe. Oh, I miss it.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Song from an American Movie
Arriving home was cinematic. It was like the scene from Home Alone 2 when Kevin finally reunites with his mother after being away for so long; when all the feelings of exhilaration and surprise and the desire for adventure give way to the comfort, familiarity, and coziness of the people and the home you know best. At 11:00 at night on December 23, after 19 hours of flying and sitting in airports, I met my family at Bradley Airport in Windsor Locks, Connecticut for the first time in 16 weeks. I was exhausted, but it was good to be back in the United States.
My flight left London's Gatwick Airport one hour and 45 minutes late. The last time I looked over the snowy English fields, I was sad because I wasn't sure when I'd be here again. It was suspenseful as my plane climbed off the runway and into the overcast sky that was spitting flurries onto the still-frozen landscape. I wasn't sure if I was going to make my connecting flight. It felt like I was in some really good Christmas movie about trying to get home in time for a Christmas Eve dinner with my family, and I was uncertain if I would make it.
I should mention that I was flying 'Premium Economy' class on the upper deck of a Boeing 747 on account of a free upgrade. This was the only available seat to the east coast of the United States I was able to get my hands on before Christmas. The massive backlog of passengers waiting to leave London since Saturday had made it difficult to fly anywhere, even days later. I climbed upstairs on the airplane to get to my seat. The seat was set about a foot away from the window, leaving a space to keep my computer and cup of hot chocolate (purchased with my last remaining British currency) during takeoff. Before the plane even left the gate, flight attendants were offering me and the other wealthy British people sitting near me who were trying to get someplace warm for a Christmas vacation all sorts of free goodies. Wine, cookies, meals served on real china dishes, and socks were just some of the offerings to those lucky enough to fly business class. All the other passengers flying on the upstairs of the plane with me had an upper class aura. They all seemed to have paid for these seats because they liked the luxury, and did not seem to care that there were still people being kept in cheap hotels near the airport trying to get home for Christmas, or that stranded passengers were sleeping in airports, as long as these wealthy Londoners got their Bloody Marys and vacations to the Bahamas for Christmas. Nervous as I was, I savored all of the perks of Premium Economy, since I probably would never fly anything other than regular, cheap, basic economy again.
After nine hours of flying, my plane landed on the Orlando runway under a starry twilight sky. I hurried up the jetway and breezed through the 'Residents only' passport line for the first time in ages, way ahead of the British passengers who had shared the business class cabin with me. I collected my bags and quickly loaded them onto the customs scanner, where I was not asked any questions about the $40 worth of Cadbury chocolate I had brought with me to the United States. I waited for the people mover train, taking a deep breath to absorb the smell of frying grease and stale McDonald's french fries. Welcome back to America.
I re-checked my bags with Jetblue and anxiously waited in line for the metal detector, shoes in hand, belt off, ready to make this the quickest security check yet. It was 7:45 PM. My flight was due to leave at 8:15, and I still had quite a long way to go before I reached the gate. As soon as I was through the metal detector, I saw the lights flashing in the people mover station. The train was leaving. I grabbed my shoes and backpack and ran as fast as I could in socks on the dirty tile airport floor to the train, diving through the doors just before they closed. When the train pulled into my terminal, I was off again, tearing through the crowded airport and arriving at my gate just in time to hear my row called for boarding. I had made it. I slipped on my shoes and boarded the last plane on this trip. Two hours later I was watching the lights of New York City twinkle out the window of the plane, and then watching the suburban layout of Middletown and Berlin grow larger and larger below before stepping onto one last jetway and pulling my bag out from under the seat in front of me one more time. It took me five days, but I got home. The RMS Lusitania sailed across the ocean faster than that in 1907.
It has been four months since I left for London. Since then, I have visited seventeen different cities and towns in eleven different countries. I have spent $5,011.83. I have flown 16,637 miles on eleven different flights. I have visited five of the eleven countries at Epcot's World Showcase at Disney World. Incredibly, after my battle with the London airports two weeks ago, I was able to wake up in my bed in Connecticut on the morning of Christmas Eve, exhausted from four months of travel.
This is a map of everywhere I went since August. I got around.
Study abroad is a learning experience, but, as I tell my friends and family who are at the beginning stages of planning their own study abroad experience, it's not about the classes. I'll do my best not to say I came back a 'changed person' (because really, I think everything that happens to me changes me in a small but significant way; there are no big events that can 'change me' on their own. Or maybe I just haven't really experienced anything really powerful yet.) or dispense soundbites found in any study abroad pamphlet, but here are some of the things I learned while I was away during my time in Europe.
-I really like spending money. This trip has been by far the most expensive thing I've ever done, and it's been amazing. No, money can't buy happiness, but it certainly helps me have a good time. I've already bought ice skates since coming home and I want to buy a digital SLR camera and lights for my bike. I'm addicted. I can't stop spending.
-The British-and the rest of the world-love America for its movies and theme parks and entertainment. We live in a country that turns anything into a spectacular show, and the rest of the world is our audience.
-Conversely, the British say they don't like their own country because the weather is bad and there always seems to be some sort of strike or protest going on. They claim it's all too inefficient, and some of them even want to move out. They know their country's flaws but take pride in its pubs, football, and World War II heritage.
-I used to wonder who filled the flights going from Europe to Orlando since Europeans have their own Disneyland. I now realize that these planes are filled with British tourists who want to see something bigger and better than Disneyland Paris, and the occasional American struggling to get home after a rare London snowstorm.
-As it turns out, it's not just Americans with too much nationalism who think their country is the greatest in the world. Many of the British thought so, too. Some of the people I have met in my travels expressed envy that I was able to grow up in a place as glamorous as the United States.
-Foreigners think America is really violent and everyone carries a gun or a knife everywhere. While our violent crime and gun accident rates are far greater than anywhere in Europe, the British seem to think that the United States is a place where crime happens everywhere. One English woman told me she thought this was because of the frequent violence shown on American TV shows and movies.
-New Yorkers complain about Metrocard fares and suburbanites complain about the cost of gas, but transportation's way more expensive in Europe. Gas costs the equivalent of $8.00 a gallon in the United Kingdom, but it costs $3.25 per gallon right now in Connecticut.
-British food isn't all bad. The British know their way around the deep fryer. Meat pies are delicious. Hummingbird Cupcakes are amazing. Credit where credit's due, though, I'm really missing New York's food right now.
-NYU students all claim to "hate most other NYU students" due to their cynical nature, hipster fashion sense and negative attitudes, but they love their school's reputation and the location of their school (Greenwich Village, of course) and their knowledgeable professors. I, on the other hand, generally like most Manhattan College students because of their sense of humor, positive attitudes, and the east coast suburban upbringing I'm familiar with. I don't mind Manhattan College's reputation, and while it's not as good as NYU's, it does have some very knowledgeable professors. Being in the Bronx has made me respect and love New York's outer boroughs in a way most NYU students do not, especially since most of them think Washington Heights and Morningside Heights are in the Bronx. Even so, I really like the friends I've met this semester. I feel like I did fit in with the other NYU students, being a bit of a hipster and a cynic myself. I hope to see some of the people I've met when school starts again in New York in a few weeks.
-I am an American. Sure, I love British buses and trains and meat pies and the reserved nature of the British and Cadbury Dairy Milk and following the rules. But I guess I thought I'd fit in with the locals better than I actually did. For a while, I thought the desire to live in the United States was a product of nationalist propaganda fed to us at a very young age in the form of learning about the Pilgrims and the Native Americans in third grade. I now realize that it's more of an acquired cultural taste for American life, and I love New York's subway, a summer barbecue, late-night obnoxious laughter, and freedom to break the rules on occasion more than the British way of life. Cadbury still makes the best chocolate, though.
So that's the story about how I studied abroad in London, and in the process I fulfilled a life goal, met new friends, and explored new places. I've had a great time, but next semester it's back to New York to see my friends from Manhattan again, save money faster than I spend it, and prepare for whatever comes after graduation. I'm not sure what will become of this corner of the internet. I might leave it as it is, preserved as a memory of the time I had junior year of college traveling Europe and seeing all types of beautiful, unique places. I might keep writing about life in New York, which will probably turn into an Andy Rooney-style complaint fest about how strange certain aspects of modern college life are. Whatever happens, rest assured that at some point, after I've been home for a rest for a while, I'll continue to go out and explore more. In a word, wanderlust.
My flight left London's Gatwick Airport one hour and 45 minutes late. The last time I looked over the snowy English fields, I was sad because I wasn't sure when I'd be here again. It was suspenseful as my plane climbed off the runway and into the overcast sky that was spitting flurries onto the still-frozen landscape. I wasn't sure if I was going to make my connecting flight. It felt like I was in some really good Christmas movie about trying to get home in time for a Christmas Eve dinner with my family, and I was uncertain if I would make it.
I should mention that I was flying 'Premium Economy' class on the upper deck of a Boeing 747 on account of a free upgrade. This was the only available seat to the east coast of the United States I was able to get my hands on before Christmas. The massive backlog of passengers waiting to leave London since Saturday had made it difficult to fly anywhere, even days later. I climbed upstairs on the airplane to get to my seat. The seat was set about a foot away from the window, leaving a space to keep my computer and cup of hot chocolate (purchased with my last remaining British currency) during takeoff. Before the plane even left the gate, flight attendants were offering me and the other wealthy British people sitting near me who were trying to get someplace warm for a Christmas vacation all sorts of free goodies. Wine, cookies, meals served on real china dishes, and socks were just some of the offerings to those lucky enough to fly business class. All the other passengers flying on the upstairs of the plane with me had an upper class aura. They all seemed to have paid for these seats because they liked the luxury, and did not seem to care that there were still people being kept in cheap hotels near the airport trying to get home for Christmas, or that stranded passengers were sleeping in airports, as long as these wealthy Londoners got their Bloody Marys and vacations to the Bahamas for Christmas. Nervous as I was, I savored all of the perks of Premium Economy, since I probably would never fly anything other than regular, cheap, basic economy again.
After nine hours of flying, my plane landed on the Orlando runway under a starry twilight sky. I hurried up the jetway and breezed through the 'Residents only' passport line for the first time in ages, way ahead of the British passengers who had shared the business class cabin with me. I collected my bags and quickly loaded them onto the customs scanner, where I was not asked any questions about the $40 worth of Cadbury chocolate I had brought with me to the United States. I waited for the people mover train, taking a deep breath to absorb the smell of frying grease and stale McDonald's french fries. Welcome back to America.
I re-checked my bags with Jetblue and anxiously waited in line for the metal detector, shoes in hand, belt off, ready to make this the quickest security check yet. It was 7:45 PM. My flight was due to leave at 8:15, and I still had quite a long way to go before I reached the gate. As soon as I was through the metal detector, I saw the lights flashing in the people mover station. The train was leaving. I grabbed my shoes and backpack and ran as fast as I could in socks on the dirty tile airport floor to the train, diving through the doors just before they closed. When the train pulled into my terminal, I was off again, tearing through the crowded airport and arriving at my gate just in time to hear my row called for boarding. I had made it. I slipped on my shoes and boarded the last plane on this trip. Two hours later I was watching the lights of New York City twinkle out the window of the plane, and then watching the suburban layout of Middletown and Berlin grow larger and larger below before stepping onto one last jetway and pulling my bag out from under the seat in front of me one more time. It took me five days, but I got home. The RMS Lusitania sailed across the ocean faster than that in 1907.
It has been four months since I left for London. Since then, I have visited seventeen different cities and towns in eleven different countries. I have spent $5,011.83. I have flown 16,637 miles on eleven different flights. I have visited five of the eleven countries at Epcot's World Showcase at Disney World. Incredibly, after my battle with the London airports two weeks ago, I was able to wake up in my bed in Connecticut on the morning of Christmas Eve, exhausted from four months of travel.
 |
Study abroad is a learning experience, but, as I tell my friends and family who are at the beginning stages of planning their own study abroad experience, it's not about the classes. I'll do my best not to say I came back a 'changed person' (because really, I think everything that happens to me changes me in a small but significant way; there are no big events that can 'change me' on their own. Or maybe I just haven't really experienced anything really powerful yet.) or dispense soundbites found in any study abroad pamphlet, but here are some of the things I learned while I was away during my time in Europe.
-I really like spending money. This trip has been by far the most expensive thing I've ever done, and it's been amazing. No, money can't buy happiness, but it certainly helps me have a good time. I've already bought ice skates since coming home and I want to buy a digital SLR camera and lights for my bike. I'm addicted. I can't stop spending.
-The British-and the rest of the world-love America for its movies and theme parks and entertainment. We live in a country that turns anything into a spectacular show, and the rest of the world is our audience.
-Conversely, the British say they don't like their own country because the weather is bad and there always seems to be some sort of strike or protest going on. They claim it's all too inefficient, and some of them even want to move out. They know their country's flaws but take pride in its pubs, football, and World War II heritage.
-I used to wonder who filled the flights going from Europe to Orlando since Europeans have their own Disneyland. I now realize that these planes are filled with British tourists who want to see something bigger and better than Disneyland Paris, and the occasional American struggling to get home after a rare London snowstorm.
-As it turns out, it's not just Americans with too much nationalism who think their country is the greatest in the world. Many of the British thought so, too. Some of the people I have met in my travels expressed envy that I was able to grow up in a place as glamorous as the United States.
-Foreigners think America is really violent and everyone carries a gun or a knife everywhere. While our violent crime and gun accident rates are far greater than anywhere in Europe, the British seem to think that the United States is a place where crime happens everywhere. One English woman told me she thought this was because of the frequent violence shown on American TV shows and movies.
-New Yorkers complain about Metrocard fares and suburbanites complain about the cost of gas, but transportation's way more expensive in Europe. Gas costs the equivalent of $8.00 a gallon in the United Kingdom, but it costs $3.25 per gallon right now in Connecticut.
-British food isn't all bad. The British know their way around the deep fryer. Meat pies are delicious. Hummingbird Cupcakes are amazing. Credit where credit's due, though, I'm really missing New York's food right now.
-NYU students all claim to "hate most other NYU students" due to their cynical nature, hipster fashion sense and negative attitudes, but they love their school's reputation and the location of their school (Greenwich Village, of course) and their knowledgeable professors. I, on the other hand, generally like most Manhattan College students because of their sense of humor, positive attitudes, and the east coast suburban upbringing I'm familiar with. I don't mind Manhattan College's reputation, and while it's not as good as NYU's, it does have some very knowledgeable professors. Being in the Bronx has made me respect and love New York's outer boroughs in a way most NYU students do not, especially since most of them think Washington Heights and Morningside Heights are in the Bronx. Even so, I really like the friends I've met this semester. I feel like I did fit in with the other NYU students, being a bit of a hipster and a cynic myself. I hope to see some of the people I've met when school starts again in New York in a few weeks.
 |
| Barely surviving without the nice NYU people I met while studying abroad. Dramatization. Reblogged from superpoop.com |
So that's the story about how I studied abroad in London, and in the process I fulfilled a life goal, met new friends, and explored new places. I've had a great time, but next semester it's back to New York to see my friends from Manhattan again, save money faster than I spend it, and prepare for whatever comes after graduation. I'm not sure what will become of this corner of the internet. I might leave it as it is, preserved as a memory of the time I had junior year of college traveling Europe and seeing all types of beautiful, unique places. I might keep writing about life in New York, which will probably turn into an Andy Rooney-style complaint fest about how strange certain aspects of modern college life are. Whatever happens, rest assured that at some point, after I've been home for a rest for a while, I'll continue to go out and explore more. In a word, wanderlust.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Keep Calm and Carry On
It's been a wild last few days in London.
On Saturday morning I walked out to Waterloo Bridge to say one final goodbye to this city that I've been lucky enough to live in for the past fifteen weeks. Snow was pouring from the sky, making a picture-perfect setting on the Thames. Looking back, it was a dumb decision not to bring my camera. Then I went back to the apartment, took my suitcases, and hopped a tube train to the airport. After almost four months of exploring, I was heading home. Or so I thought.
The tube whisked me under central London and emerged from the tunnel, cruising past the suburban landscape of London's outer boroughs. Three stops from the airport, the train stopped at Hounslow Central. It did not move again. There was a signal failure. All passengers had to exit the train and catch a bus a few blocks down. I grabbed my bags and left the train, but forgot my umbrella.
The 111 bus doesn't stop too far from Hounslow Central tube stop, but it seemed like miles away when the sidewalks weren't shoveled and there's snow and ice everywhere. Eventually, with two bags in tow, I arrived at the bus stop, where a bus with a destination sign reading "Heathrow Airport Central" promptly pulled up. Unfortunately, the bus was extremely crowded and I had to carry my bags to the upper deck, but since this would be my last ride on a London double decker, I didn't mind. The bus slowly wound its way through the snow-covered streets of the London suburbs, passing cars that had spun out on the slippery streets and miserable-looking Londoners trudging through the wintry weather.
Just a few stops short of the airport, an automated message told everyone to exit the bus. It was still snowing. I didn't know where I was, but I figured another bus would come along shortly. It didn't. I started walking in the same direction the bus had been traveling. I had left my apartment four hours before the flight was scheduled to leave in case something went wrong, but I was starting to get nervous. I left enough of a buffer for one thing to go wrong, not two or three.
After a very long time of running through the London sidewalks in the snow, I reached the barbed wire fence that bordered the outer edges of the airport. I didn't hear any jet engines running, so I thought flights must have been delayed for the snow. Still, with my luck, I was nervous that mine would be the one flight that left on time and it would leave without me.
The right bus finally arrived. It was extremely crowded. My drenched shoes made a puddle on the floor. The bus stopped at the airport just twenty minutes before my flight was scheduled to leave. I pulled out my passport and boarding pass, grabbed my bags, and ran for the check-in counter, dropping my passport in the process. When I arrived at the terminal, there was a massive crowd of tired-looking travelers sitting on baggage. Some were near tears. It was at this moment when I realized I lost my passport. I began to panic.
I tried to retrace my steps and find the passport, but the mob of passengers was so thick I could not get through to where I had just walked and I could not see the floor. I pulled out my credit card and paid an insane $23 for WiFi use at the airport. I thought I would never see that passport again, so I looked up information on the US Embassy to find out how to get another one. The US Embassy opened on Monday at 8:00 AM. It was 5:30 PM on Saturday. I called my parents and told them I didn't have a passport.
I sat on my suitcase, where a stranded Canadian girl asked me how I got the WiFi. I told her the price was too high, but I was desperate. She told me her flight was canceled, saying 'about' ['aboot'] and 'out' ['oot'] with a Canadian accent. I bit my lip to stop myself from smiling. Then I waited in a line at the information booth, where a good person, for whom I am very thankful, had picked up my passport and brought it there for safe keeping. Passport in hand, I was ready to check in and go home. The flight had not left yet due to the snow, so it was possible I could still make it home.
Almost immediately after I arrived at the check-in area, it was announced that my flight was canceled. The airport was closed because of the snow storm. NYU study abroad students were all around me now, many of them very distraught. I was happy to have my passport and hung around the airport. All trains out of the airport were stopped as well, so no one could return to central London. The hotels at the airport were full. The airport was full, so full that the police were making people wait outside in the snow and ice because allowing any more passengers in would be a fire hazard. Those lucky enough to be inside the terminal curled up and went to sleep for the night. The NYU students and I sat on our luggage and waited, lost and unsure of what to do.
Eventually the tube re-opened. Unsure where else to turn, we hopped a train back to the apartment and asked to be allowed back into the dorms.
Emotions ran high back at the apartment, where everyone was frantically trying to rebook a flight. Everyone, myself included, have been booked on several flights these last few days and have spent several hours on hold on the phone with airlines trying to rebook flights. It has been nearly impossible to leave this country for days, and today is the first day things seem to be clearing up, even though there are a number of delays at all airports. There are few empty seats on the planes that do fly out. My current plan calls for catching a flight tomorrow (Thursday, five days after my scheduled departure) to Orlando and then dashing to catch a connection into Hartford. It will be a hectic day.
There's an article about all of this here.
Despite all this chaos, I have had high spirits through this whole experience. While my friends have been panicking, crying, and frantically calling parents, I have been enjoying a few extra days in London in between the long phone calls on hold with Virgin Atlantic. I know I am lucky to have a place to stay, since many have been sleeping on the floor of Heathrow since Saturday night. I am lucky to have been studying in London, since many travelers got trapped in Heathrow trying to make a connection for days with no luggage and no place to sleep, as all hotels are full.
Since the flight was canceled, I have been taking advantage of my extra days in London. I've had a great time this entire semester, so I don't see why things should be much different now. No one else seems to share my good attitude, however. I am surrounded by angry students who just want to get home. While I understand their frustration, I won't let their negativity ruin my good time.
When I left for London, I wanted an adventure. I never expected an adventure like this.
On Saturday morning I walked out to Waterloo Bridge to say one final goodbye to this city that I've been lucky enough to live in for the past fifteen weeks. Snow was pouring from the sky, making a picture-perfect setting on the Thames. Looking back, it was a dumb decision not to bring my camera. Then I went back to the apartment, took my suitcases, and hopped a tube train to the airport. After almost four months of exploring, I was heading home. Or so I thought.
The tube whisked me under central London and emerged from the tunnel, cruising past the suburban landscape of London's outer boroughs. Three stops from the airport, the train stopped at Hounslow Central. It did not move again. There was a signal failure. All passengers had to exit the train and catch a bus a few blocks down. I grabbed my bags and left the train, but forgot my umbrella.
The 111 bus doesn't stop too far from Hounslow Central tube stop, but it seemed like miles away when the sidewalks weren't shoveled and there's snow and ice everywhere. Eventually, with two bags in tow, I arrived at the bus stop, where a bus with a destination sign reading "Heathrow Airport Central" promptly pulled up. Unfortunately, the bus was extremely crowded and I had to carry my bags to the upper deck, but since this would be my last ride on a London double decker, I didn't mind. The bus slowly wound its way through the snow-covered streets of the London suburbs, passing cars that had spun out on the slippery streets and miserable-looking Londoners trudging through the wintry weather.
Just a few stops short of the airport, an automated message told everyone to exit the bus. It was still snowing. I didn't know where I was, but I figured another bus would come along shortly. It didn't. I started walking in the same direction the bus had been traveling. I had left my apartment four hours before the flight was scheduled to leave in case something went wrong, but I was starting to get nervous. I left enough of a buffer for one thing to go wrong, not two or three.
After a very long time of running through the London sidewalks in the snow, I reached the barbed wire fence that bordered the outer edges of the airport. I didn't hear any jet engines running, so I thought flights must have been delayed for the snow. Still, with my luck, I was nervous that mine would be the one flight that left on time and it would leave without me.
The right bus finally arrived. It was extremely crowded. My drenched shoes made a puddle on the floor. The bus stopped at the airport just twenty minutes before my flight was scheduled to leave. I pulled out my passport and boarding pass, grabbed my bags, and ran for the check-in counter, dropping my passport in the process. When I arrived at the terminal, there was a massive crowd of tired-looking travelers sitting on baggage. Some were near tears. It was at this moment when I realized I lost my passport. I began to panic.
I tried to retrace my steps and find the passport, but the mob of passengers was so thick I could not get through to where I had just walked and I could not see the floor. I pulled out my credit card and paid an insane $23 for WiFi use at the airport. I thought I would never see that passport again, so I looked up information on the US Embassy to find out how to get another one. The US Embassy opened on Monday at 8:00 AM. It was 5:30 PM on Saturday. I called my parents and told them I didn't have a passport.
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| Unfortunately, I was too frazzled to take a camera out in the airport and capture the sight of thousands of stranded passengers bunking down on the floor for the night, so here's a picture someone else took of the scene. |
I sat on my suitcase, where a stranded Canadian girl asked me how I got the WiFi. I told her the price was too high, but I was desperate. She told me her flight was canceled, saying 'about' ['aboot'] and 'out' ['oot'] with a Canadian accent. I bit my lip to stop myself from smiling. Then I waited in a line at the information booth, where a good person, for whom I am very thankful, had picked up my passport and brought it there for safe keeping. Passport in hand, I was ready to check in and go home. The flight had not left yet due to the snow, so it was possible I could still make it home.
Almost immediately after I arrived at the check-in area, it was announced that my flight was canceled. The airport was closed because of the snow storm. NYU study abroad students were all around me now, many of them very distraught. I was happy to have my passport and hung around the airport. All trains out of the airport were stopped as well, so no one could return to central London. The hotels at the airport were full. The airport was full, so full that the police were making people wait outside in the snow and ice because allowing any more passengers in would be a fire hazard. Those lucky enough to be inside the terminal curled up and went to sleep for the night. The NYU students and I sat on our luggage and waited, lost and unsure of what to do.
Eventually the tube re-opened. Unsure where else to turn, we hopped a train back to the apartment and asked to be allowed back into the dorms.
Emotions ran high back at the apartment, where everyone was frantically trying to rebook a flight. Everyone, myself included, have been booked on several flights these last few days and have spent several hours on hold on the phone with airlines trying to rebook flights. It has been nearly impossible to leave this country for days, and today is the first day things seem to be clearing up, even though there are a number of delays at all airports. There are few empty seats on the planes that do fly out. My current plan calls for catching a flight tomorrow (Thursday, five days after my scheduled departure) to Orlando and then dashing to catch a connection into Hartford. It will be a hectic day.
There's an article about all of this here.
Despite all this chaos, I have had high spirits through this whole experience. While my friends have been panicking, crying, and frantically calling parents, I have been enjoying a few extra days in London in between the long phone calls on hold with Virgin Atlantic. I know I am lucky to have a place to stay, since many have been sleeping on the floor of Heathrow since Saturday night. I am lucky to have been studying in London, since many travelers got trapped in Heathrow trying to make a connection for days with no luggage and no place to sleep, as all hotels are full.
Since the flight was canceled, I have been taking advantage of my extra days in London. I've had a great time this entire semester, so I don't see why things should be much different now. No one else seems to share my good attitude, however. I am surrounded by angry students who just want to get home. While I understand their frustration, I won't let their negativity ruin my good time.
When I left for London, I wanted an adventure. I never expected an adventure like this.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Wish You Were Here
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| Big Ben, one last time. Love the lighting on this one. |
Now I have a few days to enjoy London and see everything one last time before I go home on Saturday. It's soon. I'm excited to go back to the United States, but not nearly as excited as I was to leave.
Last week I was sick. Yeah, it was bad. And I thought I was going to make it through the entire semester without getting sick once. Who did I think I was kidding?
Last week I also made a list of everything I wanted to do before leaving London that I hadn't done yet. I've been doing the things on that list, like going to the Tate Britain museum and visiting the Christmas festival at Hyde Park, and now the only thing left to do is walk across the crosswalk at Abbey Road.
Thursday of last week was when I was sickest. It was also the day of the protests. Thousands of students who are angry over the conservative government's removal of the price cap on public universities stormed Parliament Square, clashing with police and making international headlines. The UK's public universities are now the most expensive in the world. On Friday, when I passed Parliament Square on my way to visit the Tate Britain, the area was a fence graveyard, and mangled metal fences were stacked five feet high all around the square, litter thrown in between them, as a result of the unrest the day before.
Last week was my last day at the SHINE school. The class gave a formal thank you, complete with a card, and the teacher really seemed to appreciate my help. I was sad to see the class go, since, despite the awfully early morning, SHINE has been one of the best parts of this European experience. I've been stocking up on Cadbury chocolate and thinking about how I'm going to pack all this stuff and take it on the plane. It won't be long now.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Leaving Europe... for the weekend.
This morning I woke up at 5:15 and I'm not sure why. When I woke up, though, I heard a bunch of men singing in Arabic in the distance. In Muslim countries, men are called to the mosque to pray five times a day by a raspy horn that sounds throughout the respective city or town. I guess 5:00 AM must be one of these times, as these religious songs went on for another half hour before quickly dying out. It was very different being in a place so devoted to religion. But different is what I wanted-and expected-when I decided to visit Africa for the weekend.
Marrakesh, Morocco is a lively city in northern Africa. It's made of narrow pathways surrounded by buildings made of clay with stalls selling traditional clothing and hats and jewelry and hookah qalyans and all sorts of other interesting trinkets. One man even carved me and my friend a good luck charm out of wood with his feet and then wrote our names on it in Arabic.
At the center of Marrakesh is Djemaa el Fna, the main square. The square is always filled with activity. During the day, snake charmers control their cobras and acrobats perform stunts. At night, the food stalls open, sending smoke toward the clear, star-filled night sky as the cooks serve up chicken and beef on skewers peppered with Morocco's famous spices.
Yesterday we rode camels around a park at the edge of town. The camel was tall and the ride was bumpy, but it was a unique experience. In the park there was a pond filled with these giant fish that liked eating the bread that the locals fed them. There were also a lot of really small, cute kittens that looked hungry, so we fed them. I didn't expect cats to be part of the wildlife in Morocco!
One of my favorite sites on the internet, darkroastedblend.com, features a photo series called "Lords of Logistics," which shows odd, excessively elaborate solutions to seemingly simple problems such as moving large loads from one end of a less-than-developed town to another. Sometimes, in less developed areas of the world, these homemade feats of engineering are the only ways to move people and goods around. In Marrakesh, it was not uncommon for three or more people to be seen riding on one dirty, old motorcycle. Donkeys pulled carts on the exhaust-filled streets alongside the old taxis and cars. To tourists, these seem like relics leftover from an earlier time before trucks and mass transit. The people of Marrakesh, however, see these as regular means of transport.
I miss Marrakesh's weather. It was 75 and sunny yesterday, in sharp contrast to London's consistent 35 and overcast.
This evening I rode a bike for the first time in a month. The 'Barclay's cycle hire,' the city's bike sharing program, opened to non-UK residents on Friday. I rode under the Oxford Street Christmas lights. It was nice to feel the rush of the city from the seat of a bicycle for a change, even though it's chilly now.
Marrakesh, Morocco is a lively city in northern Africa. It's made of narrow pathways surrounded by buildings made of clay with stalls selling traditional clothing and hats and jewelry and hookah qalyans and all sorts of other interesting trinkets. One man even carved me and my friend a good luck charm out of wood with his feet and then wrote our names on it in Arabic.
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| Stop sign in Arabic. |
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| Me standing at Djemaa el Fna. |
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| Cat in front of a market stall at Djemaa el Fna. |
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| Two people carrying a large load on a motorcycle. |
This evening I rode a bike for the first time in a month. The 'Barclay's cycle hire,' the city's bike sharing program, opened to non-UK residents on Friday. I rode under the Oxford Street Christmas lights. It was nice to feel the rush of the city from the seat of a bicycle for a change, even though it's chilly now.
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