So I’m sitting at my kitchen table, surrounded by my familiar house. Out back is a patio I saw for the first time last night, even though it was put in 8 months ago. I saw my best friend and hung out with her all night, I talked to my brothers (like, real conversations… it was strange, I’ve clearly been away too long), I drove a car on the right side of the road and didn’t freak out (too much, it was weird), I’ve slept and showered and eaten in the house that was my home before this. Everything feels so familiar, almost like I never left. But at the same time, it feels like I’ve been gone for ages. Things are the same yet different, people are familiar yet strange, and I’m just slightly not what I was when I left this place 9 months ago. There are people to see, stories to tell, and fun to be had, but for the moment, I’m just sitting here, staring out the window, and contemplating the enormous thing that’s happened to me since I last sat here and saw this view.

Going to Cambridge was a literal dream come true. That phrase gets tossed around a lot, but for me, it really was. I’m not really a future-oriented person, I never had a ‘dream job’ growing up, I never even knew where I wanted to go to college until I was forced to figure it out. But going to England was always there, in the back of my mind, lurking there like a kind of dark horse dream that swiftly overtook my imagination once I went to Valpo and saw that I could actually do it. I applied as quickly as I could, for the soonest semester I could, and did everything I could think of to get there. I don’t regret speeding through that process, and doing this as soon as I did, but I am sad that it’s over now. I have many great things left to do in my life, but that was one of them and now it’s over.

What do you do when a dream has been realized? It’s not that it left, my desire to go to England didn’t magically vanish after I’d been. It’s just that I’ve done it. There’s less mystery in that dream now, there’s less adventure in the prospect of achieving it. But I’m starting to realize that accomplishing a dream doesn’t mean that it has to be over and done with. More dreams come in and replace that burning desire to do that which you’ve already done, but that first one doesn’t really go away. I’ll go back to England as frequently as I possibly can in the future, that much I do know.

I wanted to thank everyone who’s taken the trouble to read all of these, all of my stories and experiences and long-winded descriptions of things I find fascinating. It’s been a long and short 9 months, but it really is true–I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Thanks again.

Bryn

So I’m sitting here on my bed, and I’m supposed to be finishing my 3000 word Popular Culture final paper. I really should be working on this paper, seeing as it’s 100% of my grade in that class, but I can’t seem to bring myself to keep working on it. I thought it was just laziness, or tiredness, but I decided to write this instead. That’s when I realized… it’s not that I don’t have the energy to write that paper. Obviously I could do it, cuz I’m writing this just fine. The real problem is that this is the last paper I have to write here, and once I’m done with that… my study abroad experience is essentially over.

I know, I know, I’m being dramatic. After all, I don’t actually leave for another week. But today I had my last class at Anglia Ruskin. I’ve finished my papers for my other classes, taken my French exam. This is the last thing I have to do here, and that’s freaking me out. Tomorrow is our last Friday here. Last night was our last meal at Matt’s house. I’ve been here for 9 months, how am I supposed to say goodbye to the place that became my home faster than any other place has?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m incredibly excited to come home. I can’t wait to see my family again, my friends and the people I care about most. What I’m worried about is leaving. It’s kind of unfathomable to me at the moment, that in one short week I won’t be here, in this place where I feel so present. I keep staring out the window instead of working, I keep trying to imprint my brain with the sight of the pastel-colored buildings that line the main street into the city centre, I keep looking up at the stone facades of the colleges and thinking ‘how is it possible that I might never see this again?’ I don’t know how to say goodbye, no matter how excited I am about coming home.

Map from 1st Semester

All my life, I’ve wanted to come to England. Something about this place called out to my soul, as cheesy as that sounds. It wasn’t even something I could explain, really, and I don’t think I could explain it now, either. There’s something about the history; there’s something about the rolling green hills and rows of hedges; there’s something about cobblestone streets and huge open parks; there’s something about the castles and manor houses; there’s something about the very air I breathe here. It’s an atmosphere I’ve never felt anywhere else on all my travels in Europe and America, and it’s the most comfortable one I’ve ever felt. Even being gone for a weekend while visiting an amazing city in Europe was hard for me this year, how am I supposed to leave Cambridge for good?

It’s raining as I’m writing this, and I’m laughing at the irony that someone like me, who basically needs the sun to keep up a positive attitude (no ‘but Bryn you’re sooo pale’ comments, you guys), can love a place that is overcast and rainy on the regular. But I think it speaks to my incredible love of this place that I just don’t care. I’d dance in the rain for months with the joy of being here if I could. I’d forego seeing the sun for months on end and take as many vitamin D supplements as I needed if it meant I could be here. I don’t want to leave, I want to come home. But the problem with that is… this feels like my home too.

I think it’s possible to have many homes, many places where you feel like you belong. My home is where I grew up. My home is wherever my family is. My home is a cabin in the Northwoods that has been the most constant thing in my life. My home is Valpo. where I’ve met incredible people whom I love dearly. My home is Cambridge, where I learned so many things and most of all, where I truly met myself. Home is a place I’ll always love, and home is a place I never want to leave.

People keep telling me I need to walk around to all my favorite places and say goodbye. People keep telling me that it’s gonna be hard to leave and hard to not come back. People keep telling me that it’ll be okay, that I’ll be so busy over the summer and back at school in the fall that I won’t remember to be sad about not being here. I believe all of those people, but I’m finding it hard to contemplate at the moment. I’ve said this so many times already in this post, but I can’t really comprehend the idea of leaving here. It doesn’t seem real, that I could be anywhere on earth that isn’t here.

What I do know, more truly that anything, is that I will never forget Cambridge. I’ll never forget the way the trees outside my window look, I’ll never forget the cows in the greens, I’ll never forget the colleges or the market or the bookstore by the church were I can look at all the antique books and marvel at literature. I’ll never forget the pubs or the coffeehouses or the tree-lined walk that lit up with fairy lights at night. I’ll never forget what the city looks like, all spread out in front of me as I stand on Castle Hill. I’ll never forget what it felt like to see it for the first time, to live here and to revel in the place where so much history was made and have the privilege to call it home.

With gratitude, sadness, and much love,

Bryn

So this semester has been a little different for me. First off, I came back from Germany and almost immediately had a house full of new people from Valpo who I didn’t really know very well. That was a bit of a shock, because those of us from the previous semester may have started out the same way, but we became very close in the four months we had together. Second, I wasn’t technically a part of the Cambridge Program anymore, despite the fact that I live in the house. I’ve been going to Anglia Ruskin full time this semester, which is pretty fun and interesting, but kind of makes me feel a tad left out of house activities. This did, however, mean that I had a full month after the house was filled before I had to go back to school (Anglia Ruskin’s classes didn’t start until February). Third, my cousin came over to England to study in Winchester, a city southwest of London and the Anglo-Saxon capital of England. So, naturally, I decided that visiting her was the best course of action.

Winchester Cathedral

Because I had basically nothing to do, I showed up at the train station in Winchester at a time that worked for Cora (that’s my cousin). She greeted me with Starbucks, which I appreciated, because I had gotten up pretty early to make my trains. We spent that first day wandering around the cemetery that separated her campus from the town and the area around the big cathedral in town.  We did a ton of exploring that first day, walking up to a lookout point that boasted a gorgeous view over the whole city–it wasn’t lying. We headed back down the hill after climbing a few trees and seriously contemplating rolling down the grassy slopes. To be honest, the only thing that stopped us was the fact that it had rained earlier and the ground was a bit muddy. We wandered around town a bit more, and found the old town walls from Anglo-Saxon days. There was an overflowing river and a ton of mud, as well as fun bridges and supposedly a castle, although we didn’t see it at that point. We continued wandering until we came upon what looked like a hiking trail up something called St. Catherine’s Hill. So, naturally, we decided to go up it.

Didn’t really matter to us that the sky was getting progressively darker with rainclouds, or that the wind was picking up a bit. Or that climbing a decently steep hill would be kind of difficult given the mud content of the area. Nope, we wandered right up the hill anyway. And it was pretty fun, we ran into a few cows and a couple other people who were playing with their kids in this copse of trees at the top of the hill. The rain, however, did get to be too much eventually. I didn’t let that stop me from trying to pet a cow that appeared to be sleepy, although the part where it stood up and glared at me was scarier than I’d anticipated. Cora laughed at me for a solid five minutes and swore up and down she wished she’d caught it on camera. We did realize, however, that we’d been walking around for a very long time and headed back to her dorm. I even got to meet a few of her new British friends.

The next day was much sunnier than the previous one  had been. We started out by exploring the University of Winchester campus, which is pretty modern looking. Surprised me a bit, because it is one of the oldest cities in England. Also one of the hilliest, which led to a lot of stair climbing, something I’m not used to as a resident of Cambridge. We then wandered downtown to see the Great Hall, which is where King Arthur’s Round Table is displayed. Unfortunately for us, it was closed for restoration work when I came this time (which just meant that I showed up a month later and saw it then!). We then headed back toward the Cathedral, because it’s where Jane Austen is buried. With the both of us being avid Austen fans, this was definitely a must-see. Even better, the Cathedral was free to get into that day, because it was a Sunday. It took us quite a while to find the grave marker, but when we did, I’m pretty sure we spend a good 20 minutes freaking out over it. It was certainly a powerful moment. The only sad thing about the Cathedral is that we were unable to go into the crypt due to flooding.

After our celebrity encounter at the Cathedral, we wandered around the town of Winchester for a while again. I got to see the big statue of King Alfred, the last important Anglo-Saxon king who made his capital at Winchester. We also meandered back through the cemetery, and because it was such a nice day, we spend a good hour or so sitting at the top of the cemetery, just looking out over the town. It turns out chilling in the cemetery is not such a strange thing to do, because there were a few people doing the same thing. There was even one guy playing frisbee with his dog between the gravestones. We got some food at the cafeteria and watched a movie, then crashed because walking all over town can exhaust a pair of 20 year old girls.

The next day we did even more exploring, heading off in the opposite direction this time. We found another park on the other side of town, one that led to some great hiking trails. Unfortunately for us, most of these trails were flooded from the excessive rainfall of the winter. Even more unfortunately for our shoes, the two of us didn’t care much about the flooding. We decided to go ahead and walk through the puddles… which kind of turned into glorified wading by the end of the walk. The area was gorgeous, though, and so was the day, so we didn’t mind too much, despite the fact that it was January. We ate our makeshift lunch of nutella and croissants while sitting on a bench waiting for our shoes and socks to dry, before heading back to town. On our way back, though, Cora misjudged the distance between herself and a pair of swans and was almost eaten by one of them–a funny story that is much better in person than online. After that, we explored this new side of town that neither of us had really been to yet, and discovered a much more modern side to the old city. We ended up at the train station after a little bit, a place we definitely knew how to come back from. As we headed back to her dorm, the sun was setting and it cast these gorgeous shadows over the cemetery, and made for a pretty impressive backdrop to the church steeples of the town.

That was our last night in Winchester… this time. I did come back a month or so later to see the Round Table, which was admittedly really really cool. I’m really glad I got to see all of these great things in this ancient city, but I’m even happier to say I got to see them with my wonderful cousin. We’ve been partners in crime for a long time (…sometimes literally, whoops) and the fact that we got to be over here together was pretty much a dream come true. I wouldn’t trade her, or this experience, for anything.

With nostalgia, happiness, and much love,

Bryn

Getting to Germany was kind of a relief. Not because Portugal was bad or anything, but the ease of communication with people who can readily speak English is something I will not take for granted anymore. Of course, Marissa and I didn’t know how much of a relief it would be until we got there. It turns out Germany feels and looks quite a bit like Wisconsin, where we both

The river in Tubingen

grew up. We kept having strange deja-vu moments where we’d forget we weren’t actually in Wisconsin, actually. But, I digress. Hannah Heagy, a friend of ours who is another year-long person, met us at the airport and brought us back to Tubingen with her. Walking into her room made both of us a little jealous, because it’s much bigger than the rooms Marissa and I have in our respective cities. Much more conducive to hosting large sleepovers, which is basically what we did for a week. That night we pretty much crashed, because flying and making connecting flights and such is kind of exhausting.

The first day in Germany, Hannah showed us around Tubingen a bit. We walked down to the river and through the park on the island in the middle of it. We got doner kebabs from the corner shop, which were surprisingly good, and walked through the charming, winding streets of the German town. Hannah showed us all around the older part of the town, including a gorgeous church. Outside the church, there was a plaque to commemorate the discovery of DNA. I thought this was hilarious, because they tell us in Cambridge that DNA was discovered here. Turns out the molecule was discovered in Tubingen, but the double-helix structure was discovered in Cambridge. So, technically, it was both. There’s a fun fact for ya.

We also walked up the hill to the castle. (My time in Germany and Portugal reminded me that not everywhere in the world is as blessedly flat as Cambridge is. My legs protested. Loudly.) I probably will never get over being able to just like, walk up to these amazing structures that were built centuries ago. It was just up the hill. And apparently the University of Tubingen uses the rooms for classes and dorm space, so people even get to LIVE in the castle, which, not fair. Basically, seeing Tubingen was lovely and it felt a bit like coming home, because the atmosphere was just so homey. That night, Hannah’s mom and brothers (who had visited her for Christmas, lucky girl) took us out to dinner at a nice restaurant where I had extremely satisfactory soup and chips.

The University Library

The next day, we decided to be productive little college students. Hannah and I both had papers to work on, so we headed over to the library of the university. Along the way, Hannah pointed out a bunch of the university buildings, which were surprisingly modern. I guess at this point I expect everything in Europe to be old, but that’s not always the case. So, we were somewhat responsible on that particular day, and after the library we went to the grocery store to stock up on food for the week. We ended up having a fabulous dinner and wine while watching Frozen together. We didn’t know it at the time, but movie nights turned out to be a thing we did almost every night.

The day after that was Sunday, but Marissa and I slept through church… we slept pretty solidly until about 10:30, which had become pretty weird to me since being over here. But we grabbed the free day to take a hike up in the hills. The forests around Tubingen are lovely, and it was just cold enough to give the air a little bit of bite, and there was even frost on the grass where the sun was blocked by the hills (keep in mind that I’m a Wisconsin girl who hasn’t seen snow yet this winter… I’m going through withdrawal). We hiked through the woods to an old monastery in the hills, which was surprisingly large and surrounded by a cute little village. You’d think I’d get desensitized to gorgeous old buildings and massive stone churches with intricate stained glass windows, but it hasn’t happened yet. Walking those halls, and around those walls, is just an amazing experience every time. Being able to walk up the stairs and duck through tiny stone doorways, being able to look off of rough balconies and step over uneven cobblestone–it just doesn’t get old.

New Year’s Eve was a pretty fabulous day. We got a bunch of food and dressed up and had a fancy-ish dinner with a bunch of Hannah’s friends from the University. After dinner, we walked up to a meadow on the side of a hill where we’d been told a lot of the kids from the city gathered. We got up there, and the view was instantly amazing. We could see at least half of Tubingen laid out before us, all lit up with New Year’s revelry. It took us a little bit to find a spot that our big group could fit, and get settled in, but by the time we did there were already a few fireworks going off. Apparently, fireworks are only allowed in Germany for the four days around New Year’s, so people kind of go all out. I could barely see because of all the sulfur, or hear due to fireworks exploding all around me, by the time we got to the actual countdown part. But we did count down from sixty together, as a group of crazy Americans, and screamed ‘HAPPY NEW YEAR’ and shot off champagne as the clock struck twelve. Of course, that was also the moment where the entire city, our hillside included, basically exploded with the amount of fireworks that went off. It was nuts; it was amazing; it was one of the most incredible nights of my life. We lit sparklers and sang Auld Lang Syne and screamed when wayward fireworks exploded too close to our feet. You could say we started off the New Year with a bang.

On New Year’s Day, Hannah, Marissa, and I took the train into

The castle in the plaza

Stuttgart to visit the Art Gallery, because it was free for people 20 and under on New Year’s. This was pretty cool, even though I think we might have gone through it backwards. We started with the modern stuff, and ended up with Renaissance art. It turns out that we got there too late to get through everything though, because there was still a whole section of the museum we had to leave unexplored by closing time. Fortunately, Stuttgart was still lively and bright, despite the darkness that had already fallen. There was even a skating rink in the town square, along with the gorgeous fountains and castle. So we wandered through the people, and the big shopping district street, and eventually ended up back at the train station, and headed back to Tubingen.

My final full day in Germany consisted of a trip to the second most visited castle in Germany–Hohenzollern Castle on the edge of the Black Forest (The first most visited is, of course, Neuschwanstein). This trip involved train, then bus, than a nice steep hike up to the castle itself. Unfortunately, it was ridiculously windy at the top of this mountain, so we didn’t get to eat our well-planned lunch of nutella and croissants outside like we wanted to. But the beauty of the castle made up for it. Walking up the winding ‘driveway’ was an experience in itself. To get inside the rooms, you had to have a tour, so we ended up slipping and sliding on the polished floors with the ridiculously large slipper things they gave us to cover our shoes as we walked through. The coolest part of the tour was definitely the treasury, where we got to see the crown of the Prussian royal family, original scores by Mozart, and an amazingly embroidered dress that once belonged to Queen Louise.

The next day, Hannah and Marissa put me on a bus, and I headed to the airport to fly back to England. My holiday adventure was interesting and incredibly fun, but I won’t deny that I breathed a sigh of relief upon arrival in Cambridge. As much as I love seeing the rest of Europe, Cambridge is the place I clicked with the fastest, and it’s become my home over here. It was a massive relief to be back in this familiar space.

With a bit of tiredness, nostalgia, and love,

Bryn

Okay, so I’m having a hard time starting this one. I spent a week in Portugal, so summing my experience up in one blog post is gonna be a little difficult without giving you guys more of a novel than I usually do. Okay, so first things first–background on why I went to Portugal in the first place. When my mom was in college, her family hosted an AFS student from Portugal named Adriano. Our family has kept in touch with him since then, and he’s been to the States quite a few times. I was thrilled to be coming to Europe for the year, because I thought it would be a chance to finally visit him for a change. However, he and his family moved out to California last August. He still wanted me to be able to see Portugal, though, so he set up a week with a family friend and his mother showing me around Lisbon and Cascais. My friend Marissa, also studying for a year over here (in Spain though, not England), decided to join us because we wanted to have friendly faces around us for the holiday season, since we couldn’t afford to go home. So, on December 19th, I flew to Portugal. This was a bit nerve wracking, because I didn’t know who was picking me up at the airport. Once I got there, however, I met Luis, a friend of Adriano’s. He drove me back to his place in Cascais, where I met his wife Helena and their two daughters, Rita and Teresa. These guys would become our very good friends over the course of the week. The next morning, we drove to the bus station to pick up Marissa, and our adventure was fully underway.

That first day, we did a lot of exploring the Expo area of Lisbon, where Adriano’s mother owns a restaurant. There are a bunch of pathways, gardens, museums, and even an aquarium in this area of town. So Marissa and I walked around for a bit, ate at the restaurant, and finally met Celeste, Adriano’s mother. She was a truly incredible woman, if a bit intimidating at first. We were lucky Marissa speaks Spanish, because Celeste didn’t speak English at all and we communicated in a hodge-podge of Spanish, Portuguese, and hand gestures. We slept at Celeste’s apartment that night and had the next day to ourselves in Lisbon.

We didn’t do too much exploring that day, because we were both pretty tired still from travelling and exploring the day before. We did, however, go to see the Castelo de Sao Jorge, which was absolutely gorgeous. We like to think that our laziness contributed to the awesomeness of our experience, because seeing the castle at sunset was absolutely gorgeous. The bridge at the mouth of the river looks kinda like the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, and there is a giant Jesus statue on the other side of the river like the one in Brazil. All of this we could see clearly from the old parapets, made of rough, cream-colored stone and glowing in the orange of the sunset.  Marissa and I had a blast running around the castle until it closed and we had to make our way to the subway to get over to Expo.

We had to go back to Expo because we had been invited to a Christmas dinner with Celeste’s family. This was a pretty amazing experience, not the least because I forced myself to try and finish almost all the food I was given (those of you who know me well know how amazing that feat was, and imagine I’m taking a bow). Luckily, we were seated among some of the young adults, most of whom spoke English. That being said, many speeches were made in Portuguese that we didn’t understand, and gifts were given out to everyone, including us! We were definitely not expecting that, and tried to thank everyone the best we could (‘Thank you’ was a phrase we learned in Portuguese pretty early).  Despite everything, dinner was still a little awkward until one of the kids brought over his iPad and we played a game involving matching logos to their brand names. Everyone got in on this game, and there was so much hilarity and fun that we didn’t even notice when Helena and Luis showed up to take us back to Cascais.

The next day, Luis, Helena, and Teresa took us to Sintra.

Cabo de Roca

Along the gorgeous coastal drive, we stopped at Cabo de Roca, the westernmost point of continental Europe. This was pretty cool, because it’s the closest I’ve been to America since I left in August. Not very close at all, really, but knowing that home was just across the waters I was staring at was kind of amazing. There was a kind of park area around it too, lots of grass and hills and paths along the coast. Of course, it was very high up as well, and the cliffs were incredible to see. We wandered up and down the coast for a bit, just to see as much of the shoreline as we could. Helena was snapping pictures like crazy the whole time, of the landscape and Teresa and Luis and Marissa and I. We kept telling her that our parents would be so happy because we keep taking pictures of what we see instead of us. Now we have plenty of pictures of us doing all these things, parents, so don’t worry! After walking around the point for a bit, and airing ourselves out (it was very windy), we got back into the car and drove the rest of the way to Sintra. Sintra was really interesting to see, especially with Luis as our guide. He grew up there, and so he knew the paths to the castles like the back of his hand. There are six castles in Sintra, by the way, but we only got to see three.

The first castle.

The first was in the center of Sintra, and involved some of the most beautiful tile work I’ve ever seen. I kept having strange flashbacks, because I’m nearly 100% positive that my grandmother has replicas of some of that tile work in  her house. The first palace also had these incredibly tall chimneys, stark white and enormous, that erupted from the kitchen. We could see them driving in to Sintra, and we saw them later from the Moorish castle.  After a tour of the palace, we got roasted chestnuts from a street vendor. And let me tell you, those chestnuts are one of my new favorite things, which is actually really bad because I haven’t seen them anywhere since Portugal. These roasted chestnuts were actually amazing, especially with the kosher salt that was put on top and the warmth and… basically it was delicious. We also went to have coffee in a famous shop called La Piriquita. The coffee was wonderful, and we ate some traditional Portuguese pastries (we ate a lot of Portuguese pastries on this trip).

Then we climbed the hill to the Moorish castle. The hike up from the parking lot was lovely, and the castle was even better. It was very old, dating back to when the Moors conquered Portugal, and the sturdy stone walls and tall parapets illustrated the warlike nature of that period very well. climbing up the parapets and walking the defensive walls was incredible, and we got amazing views of Sintra below us and the ocean just beyond. Plus, clambering around old castles, rocks mossy with age and walls haphazardly tumbling down, is just plain fun. I’m pretty sure I had a permanent smile on my face the entire day.

The last palace we visited was called the Palaisa de Pena, which was ironic because Luis’s last name is also Pena. Much of our visit to this colorful palace involved us cracking jokes about how Luis was finally coming home, and how everyone here knew him, and that was his bedroom and this was his personal balcony. The palace was incredible though, all jokes aside. Inside they had the first telephone in Portugal, as well as an early shower-like contraption. Walking around these castles was one of the most surreal experiences I’ve had thus far in Europe, and it was truly amazing to have people like Luis, Helena, and Teresa showing us around. After the palace, Luis and Helena took us out to eat at one of their favorite seafood places. I, being me, was rather nervous for this because I am a notoriously picky eater, and I didn’t want to offend anyone. But to everyone’s surprise, the clams, crab, and fish we shared was really fantastic. I ate my fair share of everything (I’m not lying, Mom, people took pictures to prove it!). It’s safe to say I was pretty proud of myself after that.

The next day, Helena, Rita, and Teresa showed Marissa and I around Cascais and Lisbon. We strolled through Cascais at a leisurely pace, taking in the beaches and the houses and the tiled paths and streets. Helena was fabulous about giving us maps of every place we went so that I could tape them into my journal when I got home. We also got to eat ice cream at Santini’s, a famous ice cream parlor in Cascais. We stopped for more roasted chestnuts too, because by this time everyone knew I loved them. Then, Helena drove us into Lisbon. We were going to visit the monastery where Vasco de Gama is buried, but unfortunately it’s closed on Mondays. So instead we walked around a bit, saw the Monument to Discovery along the shore of the river and had coffee and some more pastries at a well-known cafe near the monastery. After that, Helena showed us around a twisty, cozy area of Lisbon called Alfama, and we had lunch at a cute restaurant deep in Alfama. It was, unfortunately again, raining for most of this, but we drove down to the main plaza and got a few pictures in anyway. After that, we went back to Cascais and had dinner, which was delicious, and spent our last night at the Pena’s. Marissa and I really didn’t want to say goodbye to them, because they really were a great family to stay with.

The next day was Christmas Eve, and we headed back to Celeste’s for the last three days of our stay in Portugal. We were shocked by the generous amount of food that greeted us when we walked into Celeste’s dining room that night. It was a full-on Christmas feast, and there were only three of us to eat it. Each and every thing we tried was delicious, but I’m a pretty light eater. Marissa managed to make a pretty good dent though. We just hope we didn’t offend Celeste by eating modest portions of everything. On the bright side, we managed to finish most of the food over the two days of our stay at Celeste’s. Christmas Eve was strange for the two of us, being away from our families. We both stated, multiple times, that it definitely didn’t feel like Christmas. The next day, we skyped with our families as much as we could, and Celeste took us out for Mexican food at lunch and fabulous Chinese food for dinner. It was a quiet Christmas day, but for my first away from my family, I think it was a good one. The day before we left was bittersweet, because we were really excited to go to Germany next, but Portugal had been amazing. We took a last walk around Alfama, and Expo, and packed our things. We had Celeste drive us to the airport around midnight, because our flight was really early the next morning and we didn’t want to wake her up early.

Portugal was amazing. It was not at all like I expected, but it was incredible for that. I’m so happy I got to go, and that I got to go with a great friend like Marissa.

With gratefulness, a smile, and much love,

Bryn

After everybody left me to go back to America, I had a trip booked to go see my friend Kate. Her husband had recently been stationed in the Netherlands, and they had moved out there about two months after I’d gotten here. I was desperately in need of friendly faces, and I think she might have been too. So I headed out to Brunssum to stay with Kate and Chris for the weekend (I unfortunately needed to be back by Monday, because my classes at Anglia Ruskin weren’t done yet). Luckily, my friends are the actual best, and picked me up at the airport. This is a luxury you don’t really appreciate until you travel a bunch of places without anybody waiting for you on the other end, and let me tell you, I seriously appreciated this. Even being in a car is somewhat novel to me at this point, because I’m so used to walking or trains or planes or buses. We stopped at a Christmas market before heading over to their house. This particular Christmas market was pretty cool because it was being held on base, and each country represented on the base was given a stall to make traditional Christmas dishes from their country. America had pie and apple cider, and I heartily approved.

The next day, I took full advantage of the fact that Kate has access to American foodstuffs by chowing down on some Eggo waffles and real bacon. We lazed around for a bit, because we’re mature 20 year olds who love not being told to do things. We did, eventually, decide to leave the house, after watching The Wolverine and talking to our mutual friends back in the States. We went for a walk around downtown Brunssum, called the ‘centrum’ there, kind of like downtown Cambridge is called the ‘city centre.’ We window shopped, laughed at how warm it was in December, and generally had a lot of fun being two American high school friends in Europe together. We walked up and down the main street, explored little stores that were kind of hidden away, and found a park to walk around. The park was actually pretty gorgeous, there was a lovely calm pond right in the middle and the day was so clear, it looked like glass. It was nice and sunny, and there were these weird duck-type things, and a little island we momentarily considered wading to. We, thankfully, thought better of that and just went back to her house instead.

Chandelier and ceiling of the hall. In the castle.

That night, we went to a military ball. In a castle. I know, it was one of the most surreal experiences of my life. Kate and Chris had pulled a few strings and wrangled me an invite, so I got to steal an old prom dress of Kate’s and have a bunch of fun doing my hair and make up and dressing up with her. It felt kinda like the old days of getting ready for dances in high school. Except our final destination was a castle, with a real life moat and courtyard and stone walls. We got our picture taken by the photographer as we walked in, and got to mingle with important looking people in military dress and fancy dresses while drinking flutes of white wine and champagne (well, Chris and I did. Kate’s not allowed). I met a few of Chris’s work friends and their significant others, and had the joy of explaining to everybody that I was just Kate’s tag-along friend, there for the fun. I did have a lot of fun though, and the food was fabulous. There was music and laughter and happiness, and I had a really great time.

The day after that was Amsterdam Day. We took a three hour train ride (that got kind of complicated because of train repair work going on outside of Ustrecht) to get to Amsterdam. We wandered through the streets, in awe of the canals and the buildings. We walked past the Anne Frank House, although we didn’t go in because the line was down-the-block long and Kate had to get to the Apple Store to get a new charger. I even went into a coffeeshop, just to see what it was like. I can’t impress upon you all the amazing beauty of this city. I guess I was even luckier than I knew, because the weather was fabulous and all the pictures I snapped turned out wonderfully. The canals in the middle of the streets were so strange and whimsical to me, but the nonchalance with which they were treated by the locals made them seem perfectly in place. Despite the lack of oddity that caused, I couldn’t help but be fascinated by the fairy-tale atmosphere that came from the cognitive dissonance. I wasn’t expecting these canals to be everywhere, and I certainly wasn’t expecting them to be absolutely gorgeous in such an urban setting, but they were and it kept taking me by surprise.

Getting back was a bit of an adventure, because it was much darker out and I was relying completely on Kate and Chris because I didn’t have a map or internet or anything. Also, I was so exhausted I fell asleep on the bus between train stations (the repairs weren’t done yet). But we did make it back eventually, and I can say with conviction that I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. The next day was Sunday, and we had a nice leisurely breakfast before they took me back to the airport. This was honestly one of my favorite trips, because I got to be in a home again, with one of my absolute best friends of all time. There was an element of comfort that I wasn’t expecting, a sense of belonging that I hadn’t realized was missing. So basically, Kate and Chris, you guys are the actual best and I love you so much.

With happiness, contentment, and much love,

Bryn

After the crazy weekend in Paris, we had finals and stuff. By stuff, I mean ‘everyone was frantically

At the pub 🙂

packing and I kinda sat there not knowing what to do.’ This is the part where I was feeling extremely conflicted–because on the one hand, I’m incredibly lucky to be staying here for a full year. I know that, and every chance they got the other seven people who had to leave told me so. They certainly wanted to stay longer. But on the other hand, they got to go home, tell stories, see friends and family, have Christmas with people they knew. So I was both happy and sad. One thing that made it better was the final pub night. We had started the semester with a group pub night, when we barely knew each other, and I guess the program thinks it makes sense to end with one too. It was really weird for me, walking to the Baron of Beef, because the first time we’d all gone out as a group had been so incredibly different. I’d been wondering if I’d even find friends here, about who these people I’d have to live with even were, if we’d get along. Now, walking to the last pub night, I knew exactly who each and every person was, and how we got along, and what they looked like in the morning when they rolled out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen. As corny as it sounds, we’d become a family, and I loved it.

So we hung out at the Baron of Beef for a while, with Matt and his family,

Murphy giving a toast 🙂

and Mike Murphy, our history professor (teacher, right, they don’t let us say ‘professor’ over here as flippantly). Looking back on this night now, I barely remember it, because it passed so quickly. There was laughter, and conversation, and good food and drinks and comfort. We looked classy, we had a lot of fun, and although it wasn’t really discussed, we knew it was the last time we’d be like this. There was a slightly melancholy air, simply a feeling of loss for what was being left behind. One really great thing that came out of it was that we realized Murphy is actually a pretty great guy when he’s not in class, ragging on America. Given, he rags on Britain a fair amount too, but we were slightly more sensitive to the jabs at our country. But in a pub setting, he was hilarious, and a great person to have a conversation with. All in all, it was a great last dinner. Looking back on it right now, writing this, I’m struck with how much I miss my C92. Quick shoutout to you guys. Lisa, Cat, Rachel, Kristine, Jin, Ryan, Grant– you all made my first semester here an incredible one. Not to offend the people in the house now, but you guys will always be my study abroad family. Miss you tons and love you much. Also, please come back 🙂

After the pub night, a bunch of us went out clubbing. This was hilarious for a few reasons, not the least because of the perpetually awful British clubbing music and Cat’s dance battle with some guy. One last time out together, dancing in the ‘American style’ with each other and laughing at what passes for dancing for some *ahem* other people (awkward British dancing, anyone?), and it was amazing. Definitely a night I’ll never forget. It may not have been soaring architecture, or ridiculously old historical sites, but it was a night of memories nonetheless.

With nostalgia, feelings of MISSING YOU GUYS, and much love,

Bryn

So Kristine and I had gotten to the last month of her time here without making it to Paris. It was one of those trips that you kind of put off, because it’s easy to get there and you keep going ‘oh, I’ll get there.’ We never did, and we suddenly realized that. We booked our trip for the last weekend in November. The day we were scheduled to leave, there was a massive storm all across the UK, involving heavy winds and tidal waves that led to flooding in some coastal areas. This becomes important later. We headed over to the National Express bus stop at one of the parks downtown and started our two hour bus ride to London. Once in London, we headed over to the departure terminals to get on our ten hour bus ride to Paris. This was supposed to be a smart idea, because we’d take the bus at night and get to sleep, and then we wouldn’t have to pay for a hostel another night. It was still pretty smart because it worked out okay, but there was a very, very loud French guy who screamed, no lie, for the entire bus ride. He had a lot to talk about, and for some reason preferred to do it at the top of his lungs. This particular problem was made worse by the fact that we got delayed getting on the ferry in Dover, for maybe like three hours (I’m not sure, because I was half asleep, or trying to be, at this point). There was a moment when Kristine and I both woke up to realize that water was slowly rising around the bus as we waited in line to get on the ferry, but we must not have been too concerned because the next thing I remember is waking up on the ferry. We finally got to Paris around 11am the next day, and we struck out for the Catacombs.

Creepy, right?

Finding the Catacombs was slightly difficult, because the map we had was not very accurate about where the entrance was. Thankfully, I was able to remember enough French to get some directions out of a nice older couple, and we eventually found it. This was really, really cool, seeing the underground of Paris and having multiple flashbacks to the gypsy scenes in The Hunchback of Notre Dame. There were, of course, a lot of dead people, so many that even contemplating how many dead people were there is probably a bad idea. I attempted to translate some of the signs down there, but hey, my French is rusty. There were also a decent amount of tourists down there, something I’m rapidly becoming hypocritically jugemental of.

Next, we decided to walk through the Luxembourg Gardens on our way to Notre Dame. Kristine and I were, thankfully, pretty good travel buddies because we both don’t mind abusing our feet to see more stuff (a fact we regretted very much by the end of the day, I have to say). The Gardens were gorgeous, even if we did just do a quick walk-through. There was this gorgeously huge fountain/pool thing in the middle of the plaza, with a bunch of people just kind of milling around and enjoying a sunny day. There were Greek-style statues everywhere, of people who I should probably know but don’t. It was the kind of place I could picture myself hanging out if, you know, I somehow ended up living in Paris, by some miracle.

I have no words.

When we finally made it to the island in the middle of the Seine (the map made the walk look shorter than it actually was), we headed over to Notre Dame. Now, this is a cathedral I’ve been dreaming about seeing since I don’t even know when, a cathedral that is generally known as one of the most impressive in the entire world. And let me tell you, it was pretty incredible. As amazingly iconic as the front of the Notre Dame is, I have to say I personally prefer the architecture of the sides and back of it. The front may be impressive, but the sides and back are much more intricate and interesting to explore. Not to mention much less familiar, which I have to say was a bit of an incentive to explore that particular area more. The inside was equally as predictable, what with all the churches I’ve been to lately, though no less beautiful. In fact, I loved the lighting of the inside, especially the impressive use of candlelight. Although, that could be my Disney bias talking, because I’ve always pictured it the way it’s animated while Esmerelda is singing “God Help the Outcasts.” I can’t deny, however, that the stained glass windows were as awe-inspiring as promised. The rose windows in both transepts were gorgeous and colorful, especially with the afternoon sun streaming through brightly. One of the coolest things inside Notre Dame, however, was a clear box at the end of the cathedral with colored paper and pens on top. We were supposed to write why we were there, or how we thought world peace could be achieved, or anything we wanted really. That was really awesome, being able to write something and stick it in there, with all the other colorful papers covered in the thoughts of the world.

They were doing a bit of restoration work on the left

The next place we went was the Saint-Chapelle, architecturally recognized to be as close to the epitome of continental gothic architecture as it is possible to be. It was certainly impressive, and had the biggest and most colorful stained glass windows I’ve ever seen. It was incredibly tall, although it wasn’t very big lengthwise, which was strange coming from England.  Here, most cathedrals and chapels are ridiculously long. For example, King’s College Chapel is at least twice the length of the Saint-Chapelle, but that doesn’t take away from the beauty of either building. It was certainly amazing to see. The only problem I have with this particular chapel is that it once held relics that were actually incredible, such as the Crown of Thorns and a vial of Christ’s blood. Whether those claims are true or not is irrelevant, now, because those relics were either destroyed or sold off or who knows what during the French Revolution(s). Come on people, bloody revolutions are no reason to destroy historical artifacts, seriously.

Anyway, after the Saint-Chapelle, we just kinda walked up and down the Seine, killing time until the Lourve would be free for us (after 6:30 for students on Fridays, oh yeah!). We tried crepes (the ones from the cart in Cambridge are better, sorry guys), searched for bookstores, saw a lot of interesting touristy-type shops. There were even these bookstore-type things along the river itself, in hutch-looking wooden things, there were a ton of them. Of course, it eventually got dark and we headed over to the Lourve. And I’ve now seen the Venus de Milo and the Mona Lisa, which I pretty much still can’t wrap my head around. I felt kinda bad being in one of the biggest and best art museums in the world and basically beelining for these two pieces, but at this point, Kristine and I were ready to collapse from exhaustion and our feet were loudly protesting the rough treatment of the day. So we headed off to our very last stop of the day–the Eiffel Tower.

I couldn't believe it.

The Tower was… okay, it was a pretty incredible moment for me, walking toward it, seeing it all lit up through the trees of the park. It reminded me of seeing Big Ben for the first time–it’s not something I’ll ever forget. Seeing such identifiable monuments like those, it makes reality hit home in a visually stunning way. I literally felt stunned, like I was smacked in the face by the reality of seeing the freaking Eiffel Tower right in front of my face. Going up it was another ‘smack in the face’ moment, despite the fact that I was freaking out more than I should have been due to tiredness and the unique structure of the building. I mean, it’s so open. I felt like I was gonna fall the whole time. But the view from the top was so worth it, even at night.

Getting to the hostel was a bit of a journey, involving the RATP (the subway) and an unexpected, very steep hill. On the bright side, we had a decent roommate and I, personally, slept like a rock. The next day, though, my feet were still incredibly unhappy with me, and stiff on top of that. Luckily, our hostel was right near the Sacre Coeur, another basilica I wanted to see. It was worth it, too, and in my opinion was even more gorgeous on the inside than Notre Dame was. We headed back down into the city, because we wanted to see the Eiffel Tower in daylight, too. So we wandered through the city down to the river, and even found a statue of George Washington! I’m not sure what he was doing in downtown Paris, but he was there nevertheless.

After seeing the Tower one last time, we hopped on the RATP and got to the bus station. There was some minor confusion at the bus station, because the board displaying departures was broken, but we finally got on the bus to head back to London. That was a bit of an adventure too, because we had to clear the back of the bus for a guy coming from Madrid who was really sick. Poor guy, ended up smelling pretty bad too, and all the bathrooms were closed at the customs station. Needless to say, Kristine and I were ecstatic to make it back to London. We got in about an hour earlier than we were supposed to (probably due to taking the chunnel rather than the ferry across the Channel, which was also cool), so we got the bus driver to let us on a bus two hours earlier than the one we’d booked. Thank god, because we did not want to sit at Victoria Bus Station for over two hours.

So anyway, that was our trip to Paris. It was a whirlwind, it was semi-painful, but it was actually amazing, and I’m so happy I got there.

With happiness, fond memories, and love,

Bryn

Alright. So begins my rapid-fire posting spree. I’ve got six trips to describe to you, and I hope to do them all justice. Without further ado, I give you… The Time My Grandparents Visited Me in England.

So my grandparents, upon learning that I’d be studying abroad this year, decided to make their European trip to England. I first got to see them as they stepped out of a taxi in Cambridge, and it was one of the best moments of my life. I’d already been in Cambridge for about three months at this point, so seeing such familiar faces felt like a breath of fresh air. I got to help them get settled into their bed n breakfast, and then show them around the town I now fondly call ‘mine.’ We had tea at the Patisserie, and cake at Cafe Nero, and explored the Fitz and Kettle’s Yard. We even went to an Evensong at King’s College (a definite must if you ever end up here, by the way, they were phenomenal) and a full-on classical concert at Queen’s. Saying goodbye to them that Saturday was pretty hard, but I knew that in two weeks, I’d be seeing them again.

You see, my gracious grandmother had offered to get me up to the Isle of Mull so that I could see Scotland with them. I, of course, accepted, and it was one of the best decision’s I’ve made thus far. Getting up to the Isle was semi-pain-free, if you consider pulling an all-nighter after watching the midnight premiere of Catching Fire to walk to the train station at 4am pain-free. The travel itself consisted of the 4am train to London, a tube ride to another train station, a six hour train ride to Glasgow, and a three hour bus ride to Oban, where our ferry was departing from. Thankfully, because I was nearly comatose with travel exhaustion, my lovely grandmother met me at the bus station and ushered me onto the ferry. Forty-five minutes later, the three of us were standing on the Isle of Mull. I wish I could say that the first sight was breathtaking, but it was pretty dark outside and I was 75% asleep. Plus, the bus ride to Tobermorey, where our (very nice) hotel was took another 2 hours.

The sunrise, as seen from the bus on the ride to Iona

The next morning, we woke up rather early to catch the bus that would get us to Craignure, to catch the bus that would get us to the ferry that would get us to Iona (this was a rather complicated venture, as I’m sure you can tell). This ride across the island at 8am, though early and long, did give us a chance to see some absolutely incredible views. This was the point where I decided that Scotland, and this place in particular, was one of the most visually underrated places I’ve ever been. Why were millions of people not here to see the sun rise over the mountains, to see the waves crash on the rocks, to see the rivers flowing from the crags? Everywhere I turned, another breathtaking view presented itself, and my camera was probably exhausted from all the pointing and shooting I was forcing it into. I was also excited because in late November, it turns out that most of the UK does not have snow, and I was missing it quite a lot. But the tips of these mountains were glistening with white snow, glaringly obvious against the dark of the forests and the yellow of the grasslands. It was actually really interesting to see that most of this land was made up of grasslands and mountains, with the forests being few and far between. Rivers and ponds, however, were absolutely everywhere. Unfortunately, this was probably a large percentage of the reason that our bus ride took so long–a good chunk of it involved hugging the shoreline. I didn’t mind too much, I got some great pictures out of it, but that bit of me that occasionally gets carsick was not happy with the twisty-turny-ness of that particular ride. Waiting for the ferry, once we finally got to the end of the bus line, was fun because I got to talk with a couple other visitors, who told us that we had actually picked a really great time to visit because the tourists weren’t around right then. Apparently the Isle is a rather popular destination in the summer months.

Iona is the small island on the edge of the Isle of Mull where the first monastery on the Scotland/England/Wales

The monastery's view of the Isle of Mull

mainland was created by St. Columba in the mid-sixth century. Seeing the old nunnery and the abbey itself was amazing, especially with my grandparents, who are particularly interested and knowledgeable about ecclesiastical history. The history nut in me was, of course, suitably excited, and very happy to share this excitement with people who understood and shared it. We ate lunch at what we’re pretty sure was the only open restaurant on the entire island–a small inn on the shoreline. The tea was very good, as were the scones we had. Getting back to Tobermory was another adventure, but thankfully it went just as smoothly as the morning’s journey had. Of course, as the ferry pulled into the dock from Iona, a seal was chilling on the wharf waiting for scraps of fish from the fishing boat that was also moored there. That was pretty cool, and we laughed about him for a while on the bus ride back across the island. That night we had dinner at a traditional pub called the Mish Nish, and upon arrival my grandma realized that it was the same pub she had eaten at years and years ago with her mother and sister. Personal family history is always really fun for me to see and hear and be a part of, so that was one of the coolest things that happened on this trip. The food was also fabulous, of course, and then we trekked back up the hill to our hotel.

one of the views from our walk

The next morning we got to sleep in a bit more, and then we took a nice long hike along th

e shoreline over to Aros Park. This walk was incredibly lovely, the landscapes were amazing and there was more than one gorgeous waterfall to see. It also cured us of our antsy-ness, seeing as we had spent at least four hours on buses on the previous day. And, of course, the weather was wonderful, much better than we’d been told to expect. We had a great time laughing and talking and exploring, finding a pier made out of stone, a few outbuildings from the estate that used to be on Aros Park, and an informational sign detailing the history of that part of the island.

We tried to recreate the experience later that day by taking a hike toward the

see the bottom left-hand corner? that was the 'trail' we were following

lighthouse, but we were not expecting the extremely high levels of muddiness that greeted us. We struggled on for a good hour or so, when we had been told the walk was only supposed to last 30 minutes, and eventually turned back. We met a lady on the trail who told us we had turned back maybe five minutes before getting to the light house, which was minorly disappointing, but we decided to follow a different trail up the hill in hopes of finding our way back to town without getting any muddier. This bit was a bit scary, because we honestly had no idea where we were going, minus the fact that we needed to follow the shoreline back to Tobermorey. Thankfully, we ended up on a golf course, and then in a neighborhood, where we were able to ask for directions back to town. I was definitely ready for a shower and rest after that, as were the grandparents. We got Chinese that night, and I got back to the hotel early to watch the 50th Anniversary Episode of Doctor Who, because I’m a nerd and I’m okay with that.

The next morning, we headed back to Oban on the ferry from Craignure. We even got to ride the same bus back to Glasgow. I did, however, have to say goodbye rather quickly because my train left a short half hour from our arrival in Glasgow. I needn’t have hurried, though, because this is where my travelling horror-story starts. My train was delayed 45 minutes originally because of signalling errors, and then delayed further at the first stop because of signalling errors again. At our second stop, we were informed that the train was being held because a rail south of the station had broken. A half hour into this wait, we were told that our train was terminating at this random station, and that we had to get off and find a new way back to London. There, a bunch of us waited together for two hours for the train heading to King’s Cross. One thing can be said for unexpected delays–you make new friends. That train, however, was so packed that I ended up sitting in between compartments on the floor with at least four other people. Those of us heading for Cambridge were told to get off at Peterborough instead of going all the way to London, which made sense, except that by the time we finally arrived at Peterborough, there were no more trains for Cambridge. Instead, the train people had to call the eight of us a taxi. So I eventually got back to Cambridge, about four hours after I was supposed to. On the bright side, I survived.

With apologies, survival stories, and love,

Bryn