Skye: Looking Back

I don't quite know what to think. Did I have any deep, soul-shaking revelations? No, not really. But that by no means implies that this was a wasted trip. I wasn't going out to find myself, I realize, because I'm happy with who I am. So much of this has to do with my upbringing and my friends, but there it is. I'm not saying I know myself entirely (concepts of identity are too fluid and ambiguous to merit too much thought, in my mind), but I'm fine with that. the little unknown aspects of ourselves keep life exciting. If life really is just a never-ending quest for self-discovery, why would I a) try to accomplish that all in one week, and b) remove all purpose from the rest of my life? But I digress.

When it comes down to it, I guess the point of this trip was to do something I'd never done before while the opportunity presented itself. I always like to fancy myself somewhat of an outdoorsman, regardless of the validity of that claim, because I always enjoyed my camping trips with the Boy Scouts. And while I may have drifted towards civilization a bit more than we did back then (I don't recall pots of tea and free homemade cakes at summer camp), I realize two things. The first, more of a recollection, is that I originally wanted to discover the heart and soul of the English, not just the Londoners. The second is a realization of what this trip did for me personally--it gave me a length of time when I would be beholden to no one but myself. I often take the troubles of others onto my own shoulders, taking it upon myself to fix whatever is wrong. I don't know if this is a way of running away from whatever problems I may have, but that's not relevant here. It was very refreshing to not worry or weight the consequences of my actions on others. So what if I wanted to jump a day ahead of schedule? So what if I wore the same clothes for 3 days (although to be fair, all my other clothes were wet)? So what if I consumed nothing but cakes and tea from Dunvegan on? It has literally zero effect on anyone other than myself, and that sense of freedom was very liberating and reassuring. It didn't hurt that the island isn't very populated, so most of the time I had it all to myself, and the few people I had repeat interactions with were nothing but huge balls of warmth and sunshine, even in the cold, damp, highland weather.

So I guess if I learned one thing from this whole shebang, it would be that it's okay to take some time (or dessert) for myself. Whether I apply this lesson has yet to be seen.

Would I change anything? Probably some of the logistics, but this was my first time solo travelling so I can forgive myself.

Am I glad I went? Absolutely. These are the kind of experiences one reads about but never dreams of actually doing. That's another thing I learned--all these impossible experiences? They're just an ounce or two of motivation (and a healthy dose of "Why not?" without paying too much attention to the answers) away.

Would I do it again? In a heartbeat. Although this time I might take the bus.



Nah.

A map of my whole trip. Outlined in black is the route I took.

TIME SPENT: 10:40 on 1/3/2014 to 14:00 on 8/3/2014; 171 hours, 20 minutes
SIGHTS SEEN: 7
TOWNS TRAVELED THROUGH: 33
MILES WALKED: 76.7
STEPS TAKEN: ~202,488

Skye, Day 7: I Leave

Today was a day of mixed blessings. I awoke to no rain and felt good. I packed up, intending to catch the 9:45 bus to Portree and explore that town a little bit. As I finished striking camp it started to hail a little bit. I thought it was a little funny and started making weather puns to myself on my way to the bus stop (hail yes, I did). Once I got there, I waited but the bus didn't show up. I checked the timetable again and saw that the bus was Tuesday only. In my defense, the timetable was poorly organized, clearly incomplete, and who the hail makes a bus run only on Tuesday? (I'm not ashamed. Let your hate rain down--it won't cloud my pride) With the help of the post office, I found out when the next bus was. I waited, saw it, and and saw that it had Linmore, not Portree, on the front as it drove past. The hail was stronger now and was accompanied by buffeting winds. I went back down to the post office to find out then the next bus to Portree was, and they said the bus would return on its way there, and soon. I booked it back to the bus station, no small feat in gale-force winds, hail, and with 30 extra pounds of equipment, and caught the bus just as it pulled into the station. Phew. I boarded and was on my way.

Portree is a pretty small town, but bigger by far than the other ones I'd gone through. Some nice views of the harbor, a cool  little tower, and... well, that was about it. So I ended up going to a local bakery (where I got a piece of cake for 66p!) and hat two pots of Earl Grey at a local cafe. It was a nice rest as I waited for the bus to Kyle of Lochalsh. Then the bus came and now I am no longer on the Isle of Skye. Tomorrow I'll be going back to my real life with... other people... I'll refrain from final thoughts for now. Until I'm back in London, my trip isn't really over.

Side note: I hailed about seven separate times today. How weird is that?

                                           THINGS I LEARNED

• Don't try to predict the weather on Skye. It's always gonna be a Hail Mary. There's snow chance you'll get it right. Rain in your eagerness--there's a sleet chance at best that you'll be correct.
• Although after a week of walking you may end up a 30-minute bus ride from where you started, some things really are all about the journey.
• Skye is beautiful at sunset.
• I could live quite happily off of Earl Grey tea and scones.

The wind was too forceful and cold for me to finish this sketch.

Instead, this cup of tea.

Skye, Day 6: Staying Put

Today was a good day. Not quite as magical as Day 3, but thoroughly pleasant. When I woke up this morning, the rain has stopped. It was still cloudy and overcast, but it was no longer raining. I rolled out of my sleeping back ("rolled" being a colloquial term--the actual action would be better described as "twisted") by 9:30, and wondered down to Skye's Oldest Bakery for a nice pot of tea before starting my day.

I intended to walk to Neist Point, which is apparently one of the better sights on Skye. Dunvegan Castle didn't open for another month, so I decided to give it a shot. So I started walking and reached my destination in an hour and a half. Gotta say, it was really nice to be free of my backpack. I had a ham and cheese cold roll and some Bombay mix, appreciated the view (I couldn't find the lighthouse so I just sat on a bluff), and relaxed for a bit. It started sprinkling a bit towards the end of my walk back, but nothing like the day before. Just a light sprinkle.

When I returned to the Oldest Bakery, the owner (Janice) was incredibly confused. How could I get to Neist Point and back in 3 hours? How could I miss the lighthouse? Turns out I had not gotten to Neist Point (which was significantly farther away, another 10 miles or so), where the lighthouse is very clearly marked, but had instead gone to Uiginish Point, which was not as far or impressive. But I'd had a good walk and a good lunch, so I was happy.

I decided to catch up on some homework. I ran back to camp to grab my autobiography materials for Acting, and returned to work for the 40-ish minutes until they closed. Janice and her husband were having a row, which is unfortunate. They both seem like lovely people. I finished another page before 3:00 (closing time), and ordered a couple snowballs to go. She didn't charge me for them or the doughnut I'd eaten earlier. Like I said, sweet lady. If/when I come back to Skye, I'm going to that place again and again. I'm getting on the 9:45 bus to Portree tomorrow (a change of plan, but I haven't seen Portree yet), so I won't be able to visit before I leave. It was good while it lasted, and those snowballs will be delicious.

From there I went to Jann's Cakes (stopping on the way to dry the pages of my autobiography, which were wet from yesterday, ad the hand drier in a public restroom--worked quite well), where I had a pot of Earl Grey with milk and two sugars and continued to work. Seven Brazilians came in and got food, then left. then Bush came in and asked "How much is a Brazilian?" (This didn't actually happen) I had a toasted ham and cheese for dinner, topping off with a big piece of Belgian chocolate tart with caramel and pecans, warmed and served with whipped cream. A bit pricey, but divine. And I reached the minimum page count for my autobiography, which feels great. It's been a lazy day, full of eating and tea, but an undeniably good one.

                                           THINGS I LEARNED

• It's really nice to not have to find somewhere new to sleep every night.
• Local bakeries are awesome.
• If you don't end up where you intended, you can still appreciate where you are.
• It's okay to indulge yourself now and again.

Skye, Day 5: Ew

There is a word for days like today. Several, actually. Among them are 'cold,' 'damp,' 'windy.' I broke camp and started walking by 9. It started raining shortly thereafter and was quickly accompanied by gale-force winds. Not really ideal walking weather. Neither have stopped, show no signs of stopping, and I'm a little bummed out. It would be different if I had space to set all my wet things (so all of them) away from my dry things (in an ideal world, myself), but my tent is too small to do that. The rain won't even let up for a couple minutes so I can organize without letting the drizzle in, so everything has become a damp lump. Kinda how I'm feeling right now.

The walk started out by making me feel stoic for braving the driving rain, numbing cold, and buffeting winds, but by hour 3 or 4 it was just plain miserable. It seems my luck with the weather had run out. Not much to say other than that, really.

I had the good fortune to have someone offer me a lift for the last couple of miles, which improved my spirits. I found a bakery (the oldest in Skye!) ad sat down for a cup of hot chocolate and a bacon roll, nice and hot. I ended up staying there for a couple hours and they let me dry my stuff by the radiator. I had another hot chocolate and a snowball, and when I left she not only rung me up for less than I owed but also sent me on my way with a couple muffins. Sweet lady. I'll be going back tomorrow (and Friday, if I stay that long).

I'm tempted to take the bus to Portree tomorrow and explore there on Friday, but I want to have a day where I don't pack up and move. I'll decide tomorrow. But for now, good night. I hope it stops raining.

                                           THINGS I LEARNED

• Singing loudly is a good way to keep yourself going.
• Wind is your enemy.
• Everything sucks when everything's damp.
• If it says 'waterproof,' it probably isn't counting on hours of continual assault.
• The kindness of strangers is a wonderful thing.

The weather today

Skye, Day 4: Getting Ahead of Myself

I am now a full day ahead of schedule. Not that it matters, since there's no one keeping track but me, but it feels nice. I made it all the way to Skeabost today, so tomorrow I may very well find myself in Dunvegan a day early.

This morning was nothing remarkable. I walked, saw an Iron Age dairy storage facility, and that's about it until I reached Uig. Uig Bay is beautiful. That's all there is to say about it. As I was walking down the hillside I heard a car honking. I turn around and it's Maureen and Brian from the day before! I marveled at the improbability as I caught a lift down the hill, where we parted ways one final time. I restocked by the pier, caught some lunch (first at a place called The Sheiling, which ended up only serving tea and cakes--but I had a fantastic fruit scone and Earl Grey in my full backpacking getup--and then at a pierside restaurant where I got some great soup and a baguette) before heading out.

I dropped my backpack at a bus stop for a short jaunt down a road to see the Faerie Glen, which completely deserves the name. Conical hills, so much green, it all seemed fabricated as part of a movie set. Stunning.

From there I set out on the long walk to Skeabost. I got rained on for the first time today, but powered through it and it passed. However, my knee had been hurting since Uig and towards the end of my journey my ankle started to hurt as well. Was it the extra supplies? Is it cumulative strain? I don't know, but I'm glad I have an extra day to get to Dunvegan, so I can take it at a safe pace.

                                           THINGS I LEARNED

• Friends can be made in 15 minutes.
• Tea is lovely, even if you're incredibly out of place while drinking it.
• Ankle support is awesome.
• If you can see it, it'll take longer than you think to get there. If you can't see it, you'll be there before you know it.
• My tent is tiny.

Skye, Day 3: Got My Groove Going

Today was the day I was waiting for. First thing I did was get some food as soon as the convenience store opened. Then I hiked the Quiraing, a collection of imposing rock figures, absolutely stunning. I hiked over to the Prison, a jagged mishmash of stone spikes at the foot of the bluffs, before going back and having lunch on top of one of the cliffs overlooking Staffin. It was very very nice, not in the least because I had actual food to eat instead of granola bars.

After lunch, I resolved to get to Duntulm, the next stop on my journey, a day early. I had realized last night that I had planned for tomorrow to be a 20-mile trek to Uig, on the other side of the island. I said no thanks to that and set off by 1:30. This time I walked out of the mountains and into more rolling hills. A very pretty walk, if not as impressive as the day before. I reached Duntulm in good time and looked at the ruins of the castle overlooking the sea. As I contemplated my journey I was joined by a middle-aged Scottish couple, Maureen and Brian, who offered me tea and a sandwich. I couldn't say no. They were very nice folk, we talked for a bit, and as we parted ways they offered me a banana! Fresh fruit! I took it, of course, and never let anyone tell you that the Scottish aren't the nicest of folk. They are.

I hike for a couple hours more along a beautiful seaside before two things happened. 1) I found a forest to camp in, and 2) The sun started to set. I hastily made camp and ran to eat my beans & weenies, a Cadbury egg, and Maureen and Brian's banana as I watched the sunset over the ocean. Picturesque.

                                           THINGS I LEARNED

• Appreciate the little things, like the wonderful demeanor of the woman at the store.
• Appreciate the big things too, like the awesome beauty of nature.
• If you have the chance to get ahead, do it.
• If you have the chance to rest your feet, take it.
• Never turn down a hot drink.
• Nothing beats eating dinner as the sun sets.

The ruins of Duntulm Castle

Skye, Day 2: Digging In

It is currently 6:20. I am in my tent finishing off my bag of peanuts and raisins, and I am glad to be right where I am, ready for bed before dinnertime. Today has been a day.

I'll start by finishing yesterday's entry, because it didn't tell the whole story. From Kyle of Lochalsh I caught a bus to Portree, on the Isle of Skye. As soon as I boarded and crossed onto the Isle, God decided to take a gigantic leak all over the immediate area. It wasn't a forceful leak, but it was substantial, constant, and lasted the entire bus ride. Turns out my plan to wing it when I got to Portree was rather ill-advised. Should I find some trees outside the city and camp? Should I stay in town and try to find the hostel we passed? I split the difference and camped in some trees beside a park, hoping I wouldn't get arrested.

I did not, and awoke today feeling pretty great. I popped out of my tent at 8, struck camp, and was on the road to Staffin by 8:30. I was struck by the rugged beauty surrounding me (seriously, it's stunning) and marched along, eye on the prize--Storr, one of the highest mountains in northern Skye. I wanted to climb that sucker, so I hopped a fence into an open field to change my angle of approach, preparing for my ascent--and instantly regretted it. Turns out Scottish ground can hold a lot of water, and I was stopped as the ground under my feet sunk and I found myself standing in a puddle up to my ankles. Well aware of the dangers  of walking long distances with wet feet, I turned around. A few kilometres later I found the footpath leading up to the foot of the Storr's cliffs, and I started to climb. However, I was carrying a lot of gear (20 or 30 pounds), the climb was steep, and I wasn't sure how much longer I had to Staffin. So about 2/3 of the way up I left the trail and set out cross-country to meet the road again. This turned out rather better than my last attempt, and I had a great time trekking across the moors. The road was fairly uneventful until Staffin, the town (actually a collection of 6 or 7 towns) where, again, I figured I would get some food and wing it. Unfortunately, every place I passed was closed on Sundays, and every copse was in the middle of a sheep pasture. i spent a couple hours hiking a couple miles along the road and then pacing a smaller bit trying to make up my mind. There was some panic and some fear that I had doomed myself to a week of hell, but in the end I just decided and it's fine. So after a good 10 hours on my feet, I ready to call it quits... until tomorrow.

                                           THINGS I LEARNED

• Waterproof is wonderful.
• The side of the road is a perfectly acceptable place to camp.
• Sometimes the important thing is to just make a decision.

Skye, Day 1: Getting There

I have arrived in Kyle of Lochalsh. this morning I woke up, caught the bus to Luton Airport, and promptly waited for an hour as my flight was delayed. Because of this, I missed my bus from Inverness Airport into Inverness itself, but there was a kind man who offered me a ride into town, so I made my train. Bless you, Fraser. Bless you.

On the train, it was really cool to see the Scottish landscape transform from the rolling hills of the East to the rugged mountains of the West. Every view was stunning. I'll have to come back here. The train pulled into Kyle right on time, leaving me about 3 hours to wait before catching the bus to Portree, my starting point for my hike. I can see Skye across the water, and it's absolutely beautiful. I don't know if I'd call them mountains, but there are a couple peaks of at least foothill status that are capped with snow. The sight of it washes away whatever second thoughts I might have had. When I see those hills, challenging me to scale their rocky ribs, I'm glad I'm here.

                                           THINGS I LEARNED

• Schedule extra time into your travel arrangements, in case things don't work out.
• If you don't, hopefully there'll be a nice Scottish man nearby.

**Also, I tried my hand at sketching some of the things I saw. I by no means came back with bajillions of drawings of everything and a new passion in life, but I thought I'd upload them here anyway. Don't judge too harshly--most of the time it was really windy and my hands were numb.**

First Sighting of the Isle of Skye

Dedicated to Dad

So this will be a short blog post, dedicated to my father's side of the family, and to dear old dad in particular. Earlier in the semester I was considering what a posh area Kensington is, and was marvelling at the incredibly expensive-looking automobiles which are regularly parked.

First there's this beauty:

And further down the square is this one:

And further further down the square is this one:

And this is just a sampler plate. Beemers and Range Rovers and Ferraris and Porsches accent the ancient and awesome architecture with a more modern motif. Anyway, the point is that everything about this area is really expensive and ritzy. And then, gliding into view like a well-loved street-hot-dog-man hawking his sausages in Beverly Hills, my vision is graced with this familiar sight:

For those of you who may not be aware, this is a Volvo station wagon that's at least as old as I am. My family is a dedicated Volvo family (really just my Dad and my uncle, but I like to think imagine it as a grand family tradition). These cars are incredibly durable, withstanding the brunt of the ages like no other vehicle I know (and, being of course the car expert that I am, I'm undoubtedly qualified to speak on such issues). Our car, a 1993 Volvo 740, has approximately 350,000 miles on it (which is almost to the moon and back--this is one of my favorite statistics) and can still get 27 mpg on the highway. We've had it for a long long long long time, it's the car that I learned to drive on, and I have come to identify the boxy silhouette, admittedly rather derpy, with home. I love that car. And to see it, very out of place amongst the silver spoon swag wagons of the over-rich, gives my heart a little lift every time it comes into view.

I love you, Dad.

Shower in Bath: A Blog Post in 3 Acts

So it's been a little while since I've updated, and there's been a lot of stuff that's happened. So to make it easier for you guys, I'm going to get all meta for a moment and make my blog post about my theatrical shenanigans reflect traditional dramatic structure. Here we go.

Showers in Bath: A Blog Post in 3 Acts

[House manager enters SL, walks to center stage]

HM: Hello, good evening, and welcome to this evening's production of A Kentuckian Bumpkin in (or at least closer to) King Arthur's Court. There will be an intermission, beginning whenever you decide to stop reading and ending when you start again. Please silence all cellular devices now, and recording this blog post in any way, shape, or form is forbidden. Thank you, and enjoy the show.

[House manager exits SL. House lights down. Show begins.]

ACT I: The Books, the Arts, the Academes

When we last left our heroes (a.k.a me), I had just completed my first week of classes. I have now completed Week 4, and classes have ramped up accordingly. In Movement, for instance, we have stopped our simple back rolls interspersed with jumping and have moved on to something much more strenuous and therefore cool: After doing a couple minutes of rolls, we do a back roll all the way over onto our knees, then fall forward and start doing the Worm. We've also started working on handstands. I can do one against the wall no problem, but getting the balance right is gonna be tough. I'll get it, though. Once we've perfected that we'll be doing things where one starts on feet and hands in a squat and jumps into a handstand. I don't know what they're called, but it'll be very cool once we actually get there.

In Acting, we've started building our characters. We chose them from George Farquhar's The Recruiting Officer and will be working with them throughout the semester. Today, for instance, our homework was to go to the zoo and find an animal that had the same physicality as our character. Just before spring break we'll turn in a 10 or 15 page autobiography of our character, written in the first person, to find our character's voice. This will be difficult for me because mine can't read or write. I'll let you know how it goes.

We've been given monologues to work on in Acting Shakespeare. Mine is Iachimo from Cymbeline, and OH MY GOD HE'S SO CREEPY. That's all I'm going to say on the matter

The rest have been pretty much more of the same, which isn't to say they're bad. I really enjoy all my classes, even if some days I'm there from 9:30 to 6:00.

ACT II: What Happened to the Theatre?

We've been seeing it all, that's what happened to it. The sheer amount that's out there is staggering. The first show we were supposed to see was The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime, which was playing at the ill-fated Apollo Theatre before the roof collapsed last fall. So we didn't get to see that, but I heard it was fantastic. Here's a short list of the plays we've seen and what I thought about them.

Mojo: Starring Rupert Grint, Ben Whishaw, Colin Morgan, and Brendan Coyle. The story was all right, but Ben's performance was absolutely magnetic. You know those stories you hear but never really believe about being fascinated by somebody on stage doing absolutely nothing? That was me with him when all he was doing was sitting frozen on the desk as a frantic exchange went on center stage.

Ghosts: The set was amaaaaaaaaaazing. Google it. It's probably the most beautiful piece I've seen, and the acting of the leading lady and man certainly did it justice. Lesley Manville is a force of nature. Everything she did was so specific and natural. You could tell that she really lived in that house. It was the little things, like realizing one of the books in the pile you're carrying doesn't actually belong on that table, but on the other one over there.

The Mistress Contract: Not a stunning piece. The set was pretty cool, but the production was muddy. The leading lady generalized everything she did, didn't age over the 30-year span of the play, had trouble with her lines, and her accent ranged from New York to the Midwest. Part of it was the fact that we saw it on opening night, I'm sure, but it felt like a rehearsal.

Candide: I don't know if I've ever seen a production with more energy and life than this show. It's a fantastic musical (check it out if you don't know it) that they did in the round, and there wasn't a single moment where I was bored or uninvested (hint: it was 2.5 hours long). Also the leading lady was the triplest threat I have ever seen (Scarlett Strallen), and also the titular character was played by Fra Fee, who played Coufreyrac in the Les Mis movie.

ACT III: But There's More to Life than That...Don't Ask Me What

But what about my life outside of school? I still have one of those, right? Well, the answer is fortunately yes. London provides me with ample opportunity to explore outside of the LDA. One night all those Grinnellians studying in London (myself included) met at a pub for dinner. I'd already eaten, but Abby and I split a brownie that was really good. Another time (just this Saturday, actually), Abby and I went to get day tickets (tickets that you get the day of the show for really cheap) for Coriolanus with Tom Hiddleston and Mark Gatiss. We didn't get any (despite getting there at 4 in the morning, we were still too far back in line), but hopefully we will on Tuesday.

But my most exciting venture outside of the LDA was on February 1st, when Abby and some other studying with her and I went on a bus tour to Stonehenge and Bath. Stonehenge is really cool--it's just out there hanging out in the middle of a field. And although undoubtedly the Ylvis song is running through your head, my first thought was of Spinal Tap. Which I'm totally fine with. Bath was also pretty neat, although kinda less so. There's an absolutely beautiful cathedral there and the architecture is beautiful, but the bathhouse itself (Roman, from approximately 60 AD) kinda underwhelmed me. I think it was the context--the fact that it was right in the middle of a bustling city, not surrounded by picturesque mountains and olive trees kinda took me out of it. Although we did manage to get 50 pence pastries, which is always a plus. Also it started raining while we were there (surprise, surprise), so we had showers in Bath. Can't stop, won't stop.

Epilogue

I'll probably get one more post in before spring break, and then I'm off on an adventure. Tickets are booked, supplies are ordered, and on March 1st I'll be leaving to backpack around the Isle of Skye (in Scotland) for our week of spring break. And when I say backpack, I mean the pitch-a-tent-in-the-wilderness and eat-cold-watery-potato-soup-on-a-mountaintop kind of backpacking. Really, it's the only kind. I'm really excited. I feel like I should come back so wiser and much more bearded than I left, but I don't know if I can accomplish that in a week. But that won't stop me from trying.

~Fin~

Settled In

So I've now been here over a week, and I think I'm settling into a routine. I have now had the majority of my classes, and it seems like this is exactly what I'm looking for: sampler plate that tells me if I want to act for a living, giving me a taste of everything I'll be doing if I pursue this further. And so far, I must say, it does not disappoint. It's weird to think that this is my new courseload. None of my classes are Grinnell-class academic, which I think is fine. I'm here for the application, which the vast majority of my classes focus on.

That said, I suspect I will be very tired this semester. 13 classes is a lot to balance, and a few of them (just two right now, but I suspect a couple more will join them) of them require a lot of physical exertion. I was hesitant about Period Dance, because I find English Country Dance overly structured with no opportunities to engage with the dance or your partner, but we're starting off with dances involving lots of jumping. Which is a lot of fun but also requires a lot of exertion. Not to blow my own horn, but I think I will soon move to the forefront of that class, thanks to my not insignificant folk dance background. In the words of my friends, "It's not a competition, but if it was, I'd win." Not that it matters at all--everyone has their own talents and training, each of which is equally valid and will be equally useful.

The other exhausting class right now is Movement. Our professor is from South Africa, and is absolutely crazy. She calls us poppits and I'm pretty sure could beat me up, despite being probably three times my age. We're jumping right in with this course--our first session entailed us rocking forward, then using the momentum to rock backward onto our shoulders/head and touch our feet to the floor. We did this for about 5 minutes before we started jumping in between rocks to create the serial-killer-cousin of the burpie, which we did for another 5 minutes, and we didn't slow down for the rest of the class. Everyone was sore after that class, but we all agree it's going to be one of the most enjoyable, if one of the most masochistic.

I've seen my friend Abby a lot, actually. The Tube is great. Museums are free. What's not to like? So far we've been to the Natural History Museum (which has, among other things, a fantastic dinosaur section, a cross-section of a giant sequoia, a first-edition Origin of Species, and rocks from Mars), the Victoria & Albert Museum (which has, among other things, a medieval spiral staircase, several Raphaels, and approximately three miles of silver and gold and porcelain). It also has a plaster cast of the Trajan Column. There's a picture below, but it doesn't nearly communicate the awesome scale of this incredible achievement. I think the last thing that took my breath away was the Grand Canyon, but this had the same effect that 16-mile-wide monument to the power of nature. It was awesome in every sense of the word. They had to split the cast in half to get it into the museum. Each piece is 60 feet high and every inch is carved. I couldn't get everything in the picture (which I took from about 30 feet away), so the picture is of the bottom. You can see a bit of the other half in the background.

Today we hit up the British Museum, which was a huge collection of things that the British have taken from other people. Stuff from the Parthenon, and about half of Egypt were some of the coolest stuff, but we also saw pottery that was 6000 years old. Literally. The sheer amount of talent that has passed over this Earth staggers the mind, and both the British Museum and the V&A (mainly the V&A) are testaments to the creativity and tenacity of the human race. Refreshing, really.

I know I've gone off topic a bit, but hey. It's my blog. I do what I want. Long story short, I'm having a fantastic time. I love my program, the people in my program, and London as a whole. Where cities like Chicago have a definite center of activity that's constantly bustling, London is much more spread out. It arose from a collection of villages that grew together, so there really is no center. You can hop on the Tube, travel wherever, hop off, and still be awestruck by the beauty and history of this amazing city. I'll definitely be coming back.

Finally Touched Down in London Town

So after a long and fretful travel experience, I have finally arrived in London. And believe me, when I saw long and fretful, I mean long and fretful.

It all started on Monday. (Kentucky Monday, not England Monday. Unless they're the same Monday. Time is confusing.) I had been feeling a little under the weather for a couple of days (and by 'under the weather' I mean headache, sore throat, chills, and a fever of 102), and Mom decided to take me to get it checked out on that Monday. Just pick the one that best fits your world view. After an ironically long wait at the 'Urgent' Care Clinic (sarcastic apostrophes added by me), I was diagnosed with strep throat. Yaaaaaaaaaaay my life. I got medication for it and that was that. I would just have to deal with it until it stopped. Unfortunately, this meant I also had to deal with it during my 19-hour happy travel fun time.

I flew out of Lexington on a very uneventful flight to Dallas/Fort Worth, fully armed with anti-strep horse pills, anti-dizziness ear drops, and a full bottle of ibuprofen. Once there, I realized just how big airports can be. When it takes your plane 5 minutes after landing to taxi around to the correct gate, you know you're in a biiiiiiiiiiiiiig airport. The ibuprofen I had taken earlier was beginning to wear off, and my symptoms were returning. Shivering the whole way, I took the tram to my departure terminal (DFW is spread out over, like, 5 different buildings, connected with a tram system) and ordered some Popeye's chicken nuggets, shivering all the way. As it turns out, chicken nuggets aren't the best thing to eat when your throat is sore. Too hard and crusty and poky on my poor soft fleshy esophagus. Oh well, lesson learned for next time. I was able to access the WiFi there and Netflixed it up during my 4-hour layover.

My flight to England was on a really big plane. Like, really big. Like, 10-seats-in-a-row big. Although big and comfortable don't necessarily go together. Which was a bummer, because I had planned to sleep the whole way. By getting sleep on the plane and starting my first day in London rested, I foresaw the evils of jet lag flying by me, my body already adjusting to the new time zone. I was able to get some rest, but it was a long and fitful flight. My chills returned a couple times, and although I spent a lot of time with my eyes closed, I don't know exactly how much I slept. I do know how long 8 hours can be at the moment when you realize it's only been 4.

In any case, I landed in London's Heathrow Airport ready to go. I left the airplane and then walked approximately three and a half thousand miles to find a sign that didn't tell me to just keep on going where I'm going. Like I said, big airports are BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIG. I went through customs just fine, which surprised me. I had heard that they would require me to shill out my passport, student confirmation letter, bank statements, proof of a flight back, and my first through third children, each with an apple in his/her/zir mouth and each holding one of my limbs. But the woman just asked me for my passport, my student confirmation letter, asked me some information I had forgotten to fill out on my landing card, and then stamped me in and I was good to go. It was simple. I like simple.

I grabbed my checked suitcase and wandered out into the lobby to find the LDA shuttle. Sure enough, there was an older British man holding a notebook on which he had penciled "Fordham LDA." Well, that's me! I walked up and they already knew my name (which shows that they're devoted to their students, not that they're creepy) and his younger female partner walked me over to where several other LDA students were waiting. We introduced each other and had a fine time, waiting for the others to arrive. Finally they did, and we departed on our 45-minute bus journey to Kensington, the neighborhood in London where we're staying.

I had heard Kensington was one of London's nicer districts, and boy were they right. Most of the buildings are straight out of a Dickens novel, entire streets of tall brick masterpieces crowned with cast iron or of towering alabaster flats with columned stoops. There are no vents spewing the noxious contents of the city's underbelly onto street level. Instead, the streets are lined with flowering trees, many of which are already starting to bloom. One does smell exhaust, admittedly (it's a city of 8,000,000 people--of course you do), but with every other breath you inhale the sweet scent of whatever blossom you happen to be passing by. Everywhere you look, there is a cobblestone ally winding its way off of the main highway into the beautiful antique facades. I am staying at Heythrop College, located at the end of one such ally.

While the area is very visually appealing, I do have some issues with how Heythrop runs its operation (most of which, I'm sure, are due to my underexposure to actual problems). For instance, we got Heythrop student IDs which only let us on to our floor, the doors lock strangely and don't stay open, and you have to push a button to unlock the door from the inside. I ask you, WHAT IS WRONG WITH JUST LEAVING? Anyway. They also told me to bring sheets and a towel, which I begrudgingly did, and then provided me with sheets and a towel. In case you don't believe me, I present:

EXHIBIT A:

Great. Glad I took up all that space in my suitcase.

But these are small complaints. The city is absolutely stunning, and the people seem really great. I'm excited to start classes next Monday (this one had better be an England Monday), so I can report back on the real reason I'm here. But more on that later.

Until next time,
Ian

5 Days...

5 days until I leave. It still hasn't hit that I'm leaving for London for a whole semester, and it probably won't until I'm there. This is my first time traveling alone to an alien place, and while exciting, such prospects also spawn butterflies in the pit of my stomach, but for now I'm just looking the other way and pretending they don't exist.

Today I made a list of everything to pack. It's a rather intimidating list, but many of the things are small in stature and will be easily squeezed in where space permits. So that makes me feel a little better, but the size of the list is still a little scary, especially when I don't know anything about where I'm going (something I should also remedy before leaving).

I guess I'll include a little bit about where I'm going. This semester I applied and got accepted to the London Dramatic Academy, a conservatory acting program accredited through Fordham University in New York. I'll be living in London at Heythrop College, a few minutes walk from the Fordham University Centre, which houses all the Fordham programs in London. I will not have a roommate and may or may not have a meal plan (if I do, it will only be partial). The number of students has yet to be revealed, but I understand it's a fairly small number, all in class together from 9-5 every day. Speaking of classes, I'll have 13. Here they are, from the LDA's website:

ACTING: Acting, Acting Shakespeare, Audition Tutorials
THEATRE HISTORY, LITERATURE & CRITICISM: Space, Place & Text, Dramatic Criticism
PHYSICAL TRAINING FOR ACTORS: Movement, Physical Theatre, Stage Combat, Period Dance, Alexander Technique
VOICE TRAINING FOR ACTORS: Voice, Speech/Dialect

I probably won't post again before I leave, unless something drastic happens (let's hope it won't). See you all on the other side!