This weekend was the first weekend we attempted travel without our trusty guide to all things British (that would be Matt, and he’d hasten to tell you all that he is by no means an expert at it). It was… an interesting experience, to say the least. We had planned to go to London on Friday and then explore Cambridge a bit more on Saturday because we wanted to get a good feel for our ‘hometown’ over here before we went gallivanting off to Europe. So we got up early enough to walk across town and catch the 9:20am train to London on Friday morning, got ready, and made the two-mile walk. I, personally, don’t really mind walking long distances, especially if it saves me money in any way (ie no bus, no taxi), so this wasn’t really a huge deal. I’ve come to realize, however, that walking around all day, constantly, is not for everyone. And understandably so–not everybody wants to feel like their legs are going to fall off by the end of the day. I get that. The problem with this particular Friday morning was that we walked all the way to the train station…. and discovered that we needed our passports to use our BritRail passes. Which we didn’t actually have with us at the train station. So it was 9:30am and we were on the opposite side of town without anything to do.

The rock garden

Naturally, we looked at the map outside the train station and found a couple of places that we wanted to go. The closest one was the Cambridge University Botanical Gardens–so we walked there. Unfortunately, it was 4GBP to get in, which we recently discovered is about $8 (because the exchange rate has gone up dramatically since we’ve been here… ouch). But the gardens were still beautiful. Our favorite part may have been the ‘rock garden.’ It was situated right next to this small pond with a million lilypads in it, and there were small streams and waterfalls throughout the garden itself. Rachel read some of the informational signs and told us that many of the plants needed extremely specific environments to grow, and that the garden was planned out to accommodate those needs. That’s pretty amazing, especially considering how rainy it’s been here, and how cloudy. We got some lunch (it was really more of a snack) in the cafe, then walked through the rest of the gardens to the gift shop. On our way there, I discovered a small trail that led me to a pond, and some willows. I’ve always thought

my secret willow-place

willows were beautiful, but for some reason these particular willows, with the pond and the general foliage, took my breath away. Despite the general rainy-ness of the day, this moment was beautiful. And most importantly, it was mine. It was a place that not all tourists who come to Cambridge see; it was a moment that made my experience here particularly unique. It was such a little thing, but it was perfect. I’d like to go back there and just sit for a while–it seems like a good place to contemplate life.

When we left the Botanical Gardens, we headed down Queen’s Road toward the Backs. Now, the Backs are a rather famous walk around here–supposedly it’s this incredibly gorgeous walk along the River Cam where you can see the backs of all the colleges (hence the name). The backs of the colleges are much more impressive than the front gates, generally, because the front gates are just big walls that you can’t see over and smallish wooden doors. When you see the back, though, you’re supposed to see huge green fields and impressive buildings and chapels and such. Walking the Backs was strange, I felt like I was doing it wrong. I couldn’t see very much because most of the colleges extend their property beyond the river and make you pay to get in through the back gates. So the walk was pretty, with trees and big green spaces and whatnot, but there wasn’t much of the ‘gorgeous colleges.’

The Library had an exhibit on display... Can you tell what it is?

When we got back to the house, we were understandably exhausted. We watched a movie together, made some dinner, and had a decently relaxing night. We had decided that we would go to London on Saturday instead, so we woke up and caught the 9:45am train bound for London. We got to Kings Cross by 11 and walked over to the British Library. This was absolutely amazing. First off, they have historical exhibits in the Library. The Library. I really wanted to go see this one, Propaganda: Power and Persuasion, but of course it costed a few extra pounds. That wasn’t the coolest part, though. The coolest part was their Gallery of Treasures, which contained original manuscripts of Shakespeare’s plays, Jane Austen’s notebook, letters from Queen Elizabeth I and various other monarchs, illuminated manuscripts from multiple different cultures and religious traditions, and the Magna Carta. They even had a special case for original copies of Beatles lyrics. And all this we could see just by walking in. That’s probably my favorite thing about Britain so far…. Most museums, art galleries, and exhibits are free to get into. It’s only the ‘special’ exhibits that cost money. It was so cool, and I really wanted to take some pictures because I knew a few people who would freak out with me over these historical documents, but unfortunately no photographs were allowed.

After we had wonderful pizza across the street from the Library, we tried to find Bloomsbury because our history professor had been telling us about the Bloomsbury Group that lived in London in Edwardian times. We kinda wandered around a bit before giving up and going to find the British Museum instead. This, again, was free (YESS!) and we saw a ton of Egyptian sculptures and writings, even the

The front of the British Museum... very Greco-Roman, don't you think?

real-life, honest-to-god Rosetta Stone (the language nerd in me was freaking out, majorly). I was on the lookout for the mummies, because rumor has it that the British Museum has the largest mummy collection in the world. We didn’t find them right away in the Egypt section, so we quickly ran through the Enlightenment section to North American History. This was actually pretty funny, to see the Native Americans’ history laid out in front of us like some foreign country’s indigenous people… which, for the British, they are. We, of course, knew most of the history already (even though our history professor is under the impression that American schoolchildren never learn history… I don’t know what he’s talking about) and giggled our way through the beginnings of America from the British perspective. It was then that we discovered  the mummy collection. It wasn’t with the Egyptian sculptures, but upstairs in the museum’s section on death and dying. That was actually really cool, because they had x-rays of the mummies in their wrappings on display along with the sarcophaguses and the mummies themselves. We were pressed for time, however, because we wanted to get to the Tate Museum of Modern Art before catching our 5:30 train back to Cambridge.

The Tate was… interesting. It wasn’t bad by any stretch of the imagination, it was just very very alternative and different to anything we’d seen so far. Actually, my favorite room was the section on Energy and Process. There were a few pieces that dealt with mirrors

Tate was transformed into a modern art gallery after being abandoned as an industrial factory

and windows in very interesting ways. For example, one piece was a fully painted canvas that was covered up by a mirror, so instead of seeing the painting, you just saw yourself. Another was 11 panes of glass leaning against the wall at different angles, so that when you walked past it your outline was blurred and shifted in ways you didn’t expect. Those, according to the plaques on the walls, were meant to illustrate the subjectivity of the art in question, because so much depends on the viewer. I thought that, while cool and really interesting, was slightly hypocritical because we were learning the supposedly ‘subjective’ meaning of the piece by reading what the museum was telling us it meant. It’s alright though, in the long run, because there were plenty of pieces I wouldn’t have understood at all without the help of the wall.

Sunday was another lazy-ish day for me. It was rainy and cold, so when I woke up in the morning, I went on a bit of a crazy cleaning mission throughout the house because living with 7 other college kids generally means that the house is never clean. Like, ever. So (and I’m positive my mother will be laughing at me at this point and thinking something along the lines of ‘I told you so! It’s so annoying when people don’t listen to you when you tell them to pick up their stuff, right?’ Yes, mom, you were right) I picked up the living room and the dining room and washed the tables and the dishes and felt really accomplished until I realized that I hadn’t actually done any of the homework I was supposed to be getting done. So. My weekend consisted of discoveries on how to travel by train, lots and lots of rain, and a ridiculous amount of history that I am only now getting around to processing. Just another couple days over here in England.

With pride, experience, and much love,

Bryn

It could be said that Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen, is one of my favorite books. It could also be said that the movie (the newer one, with Keira Knightley and Matthew MacFayden) is one of my favorite movies. Both of those things being true, you can imagine my reaction when I discovered the house we were going to see on the way to the Lake District was actually Pemberley.

I saw this. In real life. It's Pemberley.

Okay, it’s not really Pemberley. It’s called Chatsworth, and its the home of the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire. I just thought it was Pemberley because it’s the house they used as Pemberley for the movie. The inside was incredible. I didn’t take the actual tour of the house, because it cost a few extra pounds that I figured I could go without spending, and we could ramble about the house without the tour guide anyway. But going through the house on my own was not a sacrifice by any stretch of the imagination. There were laminated pages in each room we were allowed to go into, detailing the use of the room and the reasons behind its decoration. I say ‘rooms we were allowed into’ because Chatsworth is still used as a full-time residence by the Duke and Duchess, and therefore the private rooms should be kept as they are–private for those who live there. Gosh, though, can you even imagine living there? Growing up in a place like that, with 150 acres of garden and extra woodland and sheep-grazing land? It was gorgeous. The inside was ornate without being too stuffy, although there was a rather large amount of statues and collections of rocks that, while beautiful, confused me a little. Sometimes they just didn’t go with the room they were placed in, at least to my eye, or seemed haphazardly set down and forgotten about. In all honestly, while the inside was gorgeous, it was the gardens and estate lands that really impressed me. The landscape was just beautiful, and even though it was pouring, it was fun to explore. Cat and I even solved the maze in the garden, which took quite a while and ended up with both of us soaking wet from the rain.

Our secret garden. Although, people probably know about it--but it felt secret to us.

We also found this hidden garden area, designed with rock formations and ponds and bridges and waterfalls that literally took my breath away (of course, it was also really cold, so it could have been that, too). It felt like we were explorers, on some crazy adventure… which I suppose we were. It was raining so much, I can’t believe we actually went out and explored the grounds like we did. I’m really happy we did, though, because even though it felt rainy and cold and miserable, the pictures look pretty good and I’ll have them forever. The memory of the cold and the wet will fade with time, but now I never have to forget the natural beauty of the grounds surrounding Chatsworth. It really was unbelievable, to be able to stand in the midst of things I’d only seen on tv or read about in books. That’s a sentiment I seem to be repeating, but I can’t really help it–it’s still true!

After Chatsworth, we continued to YHA Windemere, the hostel we stayed at for the weekend. This hostel was absolutely fabulous. I’m not sure if it was because we were so cold and so hungry, but the fish and chips we had for dinner that night were the best I’ve ever tasted, and crawling into bed that night felt like heaven. I slept like a rock, and getting up the next morning was tough. It was worth it, though, because that morning we went on a hike around the town of Coniston, to Tarn Hows, one of the most photographed parts of the Lake District. Now, it was definitely still raining, but the hike was incredible anyway. It was a bit difficult to follow the directions, because a lot of the hike involved walking across sheep pastures and down roads with no sidewalks and figuring out which gate we were supposed to go through. But the views were worth it… Here are a few:

View #1

View #2

I couldn’t help quoting Jane Austen in my head… “What are men compared to rocks and mountains?” and trying to believe that what I was seeing was real, and in front of me. I felt like I was following Lizzie Bennet, honestly, through the Lake District. As she journeyed through the mountains to Pemberley, I travelled through the mountains away from it. Although, I have to be honest, I’m very glad I didn’t have to arrive in a horse-drawn carriage, because the carsickness from a bus was bad enough.

The hike was something like 5 miles to the top, and I must pause here to thank my family many, many times for getting me to hike over the years, because it helped me appreciate the beauty I was seeing instead of focusing on how I didn’t like exercising and walking up these ridiculous hills that might  have been mountains. I was able to see the mountains as a chance to see the land around me better, instead of merely an obstacle to overcome. And man, the views were beautiful. There were the ones I’ve already shown you, but there isn’t enough room in this post to show you all the gorgeous ones (hint, every picture I took was a winner, without me even trying). Suffice it to say that beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe it. Climbing down was the hardest part, not only because it was steeper (it was also faster) but because this is when the downpour started in earnest. It had been raining/drizzling/icky all morning, but it REALLY started raining during the last mile or so into town. Eating in a dry pub afterward, and hot chocolate for me, was a reward well deserved by all of us.

Next we went on a boat cruise on Windemere, the largest freshwater lake in England. Not quite as impressive when we live right in the middle of a bunch of the biggest freshwater lakes in the world, but fun to see nevertheless. To be honest, it was the mountains rising up from the lake that were more impressive than the lake itself. The really fun part of the boat trip was when a couple of the other people on the boat, who were from Taiwan, decided to take pictures with me. I wasn’t exactly asked about this so much as just sat down next to and hugged while a camera snapped. Jin told me it was because I looked like a doll, with my red curly hair. I thought it might have been because I looked a tad like Beatrix Potter, author of the Peter Rabbit books, who was from the Lake District. I only guessed that part, actually, because it sounded like they were calling me ‘Mrs. Potter.’  They were all extremely friendly about it though, and we talked a bit about their trip afterward. Making new friends is definitely something I want to do more of on this trip.

The next morning, we packed up our stuff at the hostel and checked out, ready to go see Fountains Abbey. The only thing I knew about this place was that it mostly survived the break from the Catholic Church King Henry VIII imposed on England, while most monasteries did not. I was not prepared for how gorgeous the ruins were. And gorgeous they were. We didn’t get there in time for the tour, so we didn’t get as much history as I would have liked, but we did get to explore much more than I was expecting. For the most part, we were allowed to climb up and over parts of the ruins, through windows and doors and over walls, up stairs and around pillars. I took a ridiculous amount of pictures because the architecture was just stunning. The lines created by the stone and the arches and the sky were so beautiful, and it helped that today was the first sunny day we’d had on the trip–I was feeling particularly happy about that, so the world in general just looked brighter. The picture makes the Abbey look pretty, I guess, but this place was absolutely massive. That arch was so big, I couldn’t even judge an accurate distance from the ground because I was so busy being in awe of the physics behind building something like that before the 16th century. Like seriously, how did that happen? It was so, so beautiful. It was quite a trek around the Abbey, however, and another long walk to and through the Water Gardens around the bend. It was worth the walk, of course, but it was definitely tiring. After seeing that, we went for ice cream (and lunch) at the restaurant by the entrance to the Abbey grounds. I had a really great toffee ice cream that tasted kinda like caramel and butterscotch and chocolate all at the same time–needless to say, I liked it. After lunch, we all got on the bus and began the long journey home.

British roads are confusing. Many of the roads in the Lake District reminded me of roads from Up North, less well-kept and small. Even weirder, the hedges and rock walls come right up to the edge of the road, so it’s almost impossible to turn around at any point. Furthermore, they are very narrow, so sometimes only one car can get through at a time. This makes maneuvering rather difficult, not to mention that because the area was rather mountainous, the roads were very very windy and twisty and turny. It actually reminded me of riding around on a bus in Guatemala, which is a comparison I never expected to make. Again, it made me very glad that I wasn’t following EXACTLY in Lizzie Bennet’s footsteps, because I’m fairly sure I wouldn’t have handled a horse-drawn carriage very well.

With happiness, awe, and love,

Bryn

I’d like to preface this particular blog post by saying that some of the things I’m about to say come from personal experience while other things have been told to our class by our History professor. All of these things, however, were rather shocking to me. I suppose I thought that because the U.S. and England shared both a history and a language that many of the customs and day-to-day life things would be the same. I was definitely wrong in that regard. It’s just familiar enough to lull you into a sense of security, and then BAM! something weird happens and you’re so wrong-footed you don’t know how to handle it. I say ‘weird,’ of course, meaning ‘not what I’m used to.’ So, here we go.

10. Cars. Cars in general. I mean, I knew that here they drive on the left side of the road, which was strange enough to conceive of, let alone deal with. But I was kind of expecting that weirdness. What I wasn’t expecting is the fact that pedestrians do NOT have the right of way here. If you accidentally step onto the street and a car happens to be coming at you, they probably aren’t going to stop. You can’t cheat a little bit at the crosswalks and leisurely make your way across to the other sidewalk–if you think you’re not gonna make it while the little green man is telling you it’s safe to go, you gotta RUN before the cars start moving. So not only to I have to re-train myself to look for cars before crossing the street, I’ve also got to learn to not trust the drivers to stop for me if I screw it up.

9. Anti-wastefulness. There are more recycle bins in the house than there are trash bins, and double the amount of recycling bins to take to the curb on Friday mornings than there are trash bins. Apparently, all plastic, glass, paper, and cardboard is to be recycled. Which is cool, actually, but it takes some getting used to. In this same vein, the grocery stores charge you extra if you want to use their paper or plastic bags. Most people have those cloth bags that are reusable, and that is encouraged by the extra bag fee. Finally, the toilets are different in a couple different ways. I first noticed it in the house… the water level in the toilet, the part to stop the bathroom from smelling really bad, is much lower here than it is back home. Sensible, I thought, cutting down on water costs because apparently water is way more expensive here (as a side note, hour-long showers are unheard of. Our professor says most people are in and out in less than 15 minutes). But public toilets are even more anti-wastefulness. Sometimes you have to pay to go to the bathroom, like in the musical Urinetown. Even if you do get into the restroom, they tend to have pre-portioned out toilet paper, like it’s coming out of a Kleenex box. Presumably, this is to cut down on paper usage.

–small side note on this: there are very few trashcans in public places, especially in London. This has nothing to do with wastefulness, according to our professor. Trashcans were being used as bomb drops, so they stopped having so many in the city.

8. Racism. It’s not racism like we think of it, necessarily, although I suppose it could go that way. It’s not exactly negative, more of an acknowledgement of otherness. Maybe it’s because I’m specifically from America, but pretty much everyone I know is a mix of something–Irish, English, French, Norwegian, Swiss, Italian, Greek, African, Indian, Filipino, whatever. Not many Americans are pure anything. But here, people are English, or Irish, or Scottish, or French, or Black. To be frank, I’ve heard more about ‘Muslims’ and ‘how they behave’ here than I ever did back in America. I’m sure I was also fairly sheltered at home and I’m pretty good at not paying attention to things that make me angry, like racism and homophobia. I guess I just wasn’t expecting heritage to be as big of a deal to every other person here. I know culture and heritage are important to each individual person, of course, but there seems to be a different tone here.

This mall in London is the only exception I've found for the 'displaying the Union Jack' thing

7. Not patriotic. This was a big shocker for me. We’re all so gung-ho about America, even if we’re not thrilled about what America does. Most of us have an American Flag somewhere in our houses, and we dress up in red, white, and blue on Fourth of July, and we generally support our troops even if we don’t approve of what our troops are doing in a larger sense. There is a sense of camaraderie in being American that British people apparently don’t feel quite as strongly. Our professor says that British people were much more patriotic during the Victorian Era, the Age of Industrialization and Empire; that people flew the Union Jack in pride and reveled in being British. But apparently people ‘got over’ that when Great Britain was booted from it’s number one spot on the world stage. I’m sitting over here thinking that sounds a little bit like being a sore loser, but maybe that’s just cuz I still feel proud of being an American.

6. Not particularly religious. This one is similar to the patriotism thing.  The British nation as a whole was extremely religious during the Victorian Era, but ‘got over’ that as well. Some credit this with the emergence of Darwinism and evolution as an alternative to the creation story, some think it’s because people just began to lose faith as Britain’s hold on their empire dwindled. Whatever the reason, not very many people here go to church on Sunday, I guess (keep in mind this is hearsay, I haven’t actually witnessed it). I suppose I was surprised by this because I naturally assumed that countries kept their level of religious-ness over time. I figured, since America was practically founded because of strong religious sentiment on both sides of the issue, that England must be really religious, or at least as religious as America is. I guess that, like many assumptions, is very incorrect.

5. Not family centered. This I actually find kind of hard to believe, what with the whole ‘nuclear family’ thing that is so prevalent in American society, even if we claim it’s not. We love our families, generally, and defend them and protect them and brag about them and tease them. We encourage each other and help each other and cheer each other up. According to our professor, British families aren’t quite like that. Instead of the typical ‘encouraging’ parent at a soccer game, for instance, saying “You did great!” and “Nice job!” a typical British parent would say something more like “You missed that open goal, what was up with that?” and “Were you daydreaming that whole time?” Now, I personally have not seen anything that extreme, but I have noticed parents treating kids more like nuisances than like children. This isn’t to say that the British don’t love their children–they absolutely do. They just don’t go for the whole ‘family values’ thing that we love. It’s no wonder they seem to grow up to be disillusioned adults, though, if this is true.

4. Don’t like ‘hard work.‘ And really, who does? Hard work is hard. But Americans seem to have the common belief that hard work will lead to a better future, a better job, a better life. Working hard now means that later you can chill out. Working hard at your job is a way to show dedication and possibly get a promotion or a raise. Working hard, for us, is a way of moving up in the world. British people seem to have given up on the idea that a hard working individual can ‘make it’ in this world. The only first -had experience I’ve had with this is the lack of customer service in stores. If the manager is doing something, or a cash register is acting up, or you need help, you can be sure that they will take their time getting to you. Customers aren’t a priority like they are back home. You just gotta wait for them to be done with whatever they were doing before you walked up. Our professor claims this is because the working classes were so oppressed by harsh capitalism in the Industrial Revolution that they gave up on the idea of working for a better life–life never got better for them.

3. Don’t like Americans. This isn’t actually quite as prevalent as I was expecting, but is real in a different way than I anticipated. It’s not really that they don’t like our politics, although that’s true. It’s not that they resent us for stealing the role as ‘number one’ in the world, although I kinda think that might be part of it. They mostly think we’re crazy. Crazy for believing in things like hard work and family and God; crazy for being so happy and optimistic all the time; crazy for rushing around everywhere in such a big hurry. The only first-had experience we’ve had is when we were at the hostel in London-a group of us met some English guys in the lobby and got to talking about the differences between Americans and Brits and how they can always tell when someone’s from America. They claim it’s because we’re always smiling and laughing. whereas Brits are more bitter about life.  Not gonna lie, I think I like being American much more in this respect (in most of these, actually).

2. “Just coffee” doesn’t exist. If you walk into a coffee shop and order coffee, you’ll probably get a latte or espresso. And a weird look. Occasionally they have what they call ‘filtered coffee,’ but mostly to make coffee like we’re used to, we have to do it at home. I haven’t actually been to a Starbucks here yet, so I’m not sure if that holds true there as well, but I’m guessing it will. The girls here who wanted coffee actually had to go to a couple different stores to find filters for the ground coffee we found.

1. No frozen waffles. Okay, this is more of a personal issue than an issue with British culture in general. I just miss Eggo waffles, okay? They expect me to make full-on Belgian waffles in a waffle maker instead of just toasting some frozen ones. I really just want to pop some in the toaster and have strawberries and cream on top but I don’t think our house even has a waffle-maker, and I’d have to find a good waffle recipe somewhere. I may have found a suitable substitute today, but the jury is still out as I haven’t actually tried them yet. The crepes, however, kinda make up for it 🙂

yumm, nutella crepe

So. This is what I’ve learned about British culture that I was 100% not expecting. I’m sure I’ll learn a lot more in the months to come, but I wanted to give everybody an update on how I’m coping with the ‘familiar-yet-different’ environment of England.

With amusement, mild frustration, and much love,

Bryn