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