Footloose and Fancy Free: Gallivanting Adventures

Hello Dear Friends!

I am most definitely not in Bristol anymore Toto (nor, for that matter, in Africa). No no, I have gone South; and not a moment too soon. I have been looking into the weather conditions crowding over the UK right now, and believe you me, I am happy to be away from the snowy sludge coating the ground of Bristol; an outcome made possible only by the unique climate in the UK. Honestly though, I realize this is an old bad joke, but I think one of the main reasons that the English went out and colonized land masses closer to the equator was driven by an urge to find habitations with less depressing weather patterns than good ol' Mother England. Escaping from England's winter weather was the impetus empowering them to face the terrors of the natives, the rigors of colonization, and the threats of viral death with vigor. After all, dying in the tropics basking in the sun has to be better than dying in England drenched in the rain. But, transitioning from my pontifications...

I flew into Lyon on Wednesday. My former teacher, Mrs. Klopp (or, as I am learning to say, Gina), met  me at Parte-Dieu stop on the Rhone Express ( a conveniently fast train from the airport to the city), and from there we rode bikes to their apartment on Victor Hugo St. As I rode my rented city bike along the streets of Lyon two thoughts hit me: first of all, how perfectly idyllic and European of me to begin my journey across the continent by riding a bike from the train station along the shores of the Rhone, backpack securely in place, and marmot pants rolled to my knees. Secondly, how very un-French I looked since I was nearly sweating in the 50F weather whilst the natives around me sported scarves, gloves, and woolen winter coats. Evidently, those that live in the South of France take rather more convincing that winter is over than I do. The perplexed looks I got the next day when I sported a pair of shorts were very illuminating about their perspective.

The Klopp's live in a charming apartment above Rue Victor Hugo right in the very heart of Lyon. Standing at their window on the second floor provides a prime "people watching" perch as it is above one of the busier pedestrian paths in the city. Their apartment is on a little stretch of land that is almost, but not quite, an island; hugged on either side by the Rhone and the Sone. The Rhone is the clearer and bigger of the two (and  mostly identified as male); this is because the Sone is smaller and runs through the agricultural areas of France making it the muddier of the two (the Sone is also most commonly portrayed as female).

My time in Lyon has included multiple walks through the streets of the city, wandering the curving pathways and enjoying the ever growing spring sunshine. Mostly the people in Lyon keep to themselves at a rather remote distance. This generality though tends to be overruled when visiting the local farmer's market. On the weekend, vendors come selling a multiplicity of fresh fruits, vegetables, meats, cheeses, wines, flowers, and preserves. I relished wandering along the stalls with Gina as she bought her groceries, enjoying and savoring every minute of the expedition.

Something funny that I came to realize though, is that nearly anytime  I am surrounded by a different language, I convince myself to some degree that I am capable of understanding what they are saying. Mostly I attribute this to a skewed understanding of being able to read body language vs being able to understand words. But, nonetheless, I find myself listening to Gina chatting with the vendors while I smile and nod my head on the side, pretending to myself and others that I completely understand the conversation being had. But, the moment someone tries to speak to me in French, I find that my false sense of ability quickly fades leaving me with nothing except the few words I actually do know in French, "merci" "bonjour""fromage" "au revoir" "un passporte" "baguette""par le vous anglais?" etc. This always feels like being shoved into cold water when I find my illusion of being able to communicate in French quickly and heartlessly shattered. I don't know yet if this illusion of mine is helpful, but it is entertaining to myself nonetheless. I guess I will just have to learn French someday, or maybe at least a language besides Latin or Greek that isn't as out of date (aka it is actually spoken and not just studied).

One of the things that I have truly, deeply, and passionately enjoyed about being in Lyon with the Klopps is the return to fresh cooking. I hadn't realized until Gina and I had a salad over lunch (cucumbers, lettuce, cherry tomatoes, olive oil, and balsamic vinegar) how much I missed untampered with fruits and vegetables! England, especially my hall of residence, tends to subsidize their student population off of heavily cooked/bullied starches and root vegetables. Hence, tasting a cherry tomatoe unfried and uncooked was simply divine. Fresh cheeses, rich wines, and crisp fruits have been a welcome hallmark of my time in France. Which, now that I think of it, is perfectly fitting for such an adventure.

How I wish I could share some of the stunning photos I have gotten off of walking along the rivers, climbing up hills to the cathedral, or even the panorama shots of the distant mountains that surround Lyon. But, for right now, I will tell you that it is a lovely city, and the Klopp's are a fantastic family. Both of which I have had the pleasure of enjoying for the past few days. Also, side note, I won' t get into it here, but if you want to know about some of the crazy teaching methods of the French for primary and secondary school, do ask! I have heard some fascinating stories from the Klopp's 14yr old daughter who is enrolled in the public school about their methods... it is shocking. Also, a comparative analysis of the French way of life vs the American is also a fun topic for discussion.

Tomorrow I pick up my friend Kathryn from the Rhone Express and we will go on to meet up with my friends Meg and Gordon. Around 8pm tomorrow we will board the night train and cross over into Italy. I have had a delightful time in France with multiple delicious conversations and many a stimulating meal. I will be sad to leave, but also excited to go on to Florence. I hope to post again sometime in the near future, but for now, Au Revoir!

A Mad Tea Party

Well hey there e’erybody! How y’all doing today?

Why, you may be askin yo’self, is this little lady speechifyin’ as if she done been born in the backwaters of a Tennessee swamp? You may say,“This girl been born in dat Indiana, she tweren’t raised to be talking like dat. Aw naw, she done gone crazy living amidst them high faluting English. Revertin her mind to her inner southerner.”

Feeling strong hiking!

            Putting aside my attempts to write in a southern dialect, I have found that living in England has made me come to love different aspects of America all the more. Also, I think I am writing from a bit of an odd frame of mind since there is a giant burning light in the sky whose overwhelming effervescence  blinds me and scorches my skin. I mean, it is a whole 5°C/40°F here! And, not a rain cloud in sight! The rarity of this phenomenon (that I have the pleasure of experiencing) works in such a way on my mind as to inspire me to remember other points in my life when the sun and I used to be frequent friends. Times when, though it was bitterly cold, we would greet one another with a loving embrace, knowing that soon, in a matter of months, we would bask in one another’s company, enjoying warm summer breezes and lazy afternoons. These sunny afternoons bring me to remember corn fields, cicadas, fireflys, creeks, mud, and heat; which inevitably causes me to think of the South and therefore makes me adopt a Southern style in my writing (and sometimes even my thinking... If only you knew how often my inner monologue employs a Southern twang to comment on proper English society. “Why don’t dem English smile at one another on da street? T’ain’t too hard. Alls you gots to do is turn up dem little corners of yo’ mouf. And den you done shared a bit o’sunshine with someone else. Now, ain’t that nice?” It’s quite fun, but I must admit, mainly entertaining only for me, as it is my inner monologue…).

          Anyways, apart from the glorious glories of the gleaming sun and its capacity in making me channel my inner southerner, things in the UK have been quite dandy. I did in fact go on an adventure to Snowdonia National Park (finally made it!)! Since my study abroad is being coordinated through Butler University, every once in awhile Butler throws us little parties or get-togethers. My trip to Northern Wales was just such an event.

            I, and one other of the four Bristol-Butler students, decided to go on this all-expenses paid trip (“all-expenses paid” mainly because the cost of it was included in our initial fees and we couldn’t get the money back even if we wanted to…). We began by catching an early bus to another bus that would ultimately take us to Bristol Parkway station. Honestly, as a side note, if you are ever travelling to Bristol via train and trying to compare Bristol Parkway versus Bristol Temple Meads, definitely go Temple Meads. Parkway is fine enough, but such a hassle to get to since it is on the outskirts of Bristol. Also, while you could take a bus to the city center and connect from there to wherever your heart desired, it is SO much easier and quicker to go to Temple Meads. So. much. easier.

            Anyways, Paige and I boarded our train in Parkway and commenced our then 5-hr journey that would take us all the way to Bangor in Northern Wales (where we would then catch a coach to our hotel). It was a long, packed in, and rather slow excursion. For some reason the train decided that instead of hugging the coast of Wales, it would be more expedient to crisscross across Wales, go into England for a bit, and then hug the Northern coast heading West to get to our destination. This really confused me at one point when I noticed the coast was on my right while I was facing the forward motion of the train. For about a good 7min I was trying to conceptualize my position on the train trying to approximate where the coast should be if we were heading North. Becoming frustrated, I gave up my attempt to understand when the only conclusion I could draw was that we were already in the North and were heading West, which seemed absurd. No train in it's right mind would take such a roundabout method to go to the North…but I forgot Occam's Razor, which in the words of Sherlock Holmes, "How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?"(gosh, can I just say, I feel so nerdy and awesome for just whipping that one out.) The impossible was that I was in an alternate world that embodied a mirrored reality of our own, placing the coast on my right. The improbable was that the train would take such an indirect route. The razor won. On a less nerdy note, the train was WAY overbooked, and my cramped legs felt the tension of all the disgruntled passengers having to stand in the aisle (as well as their baggage) while aboard.

            But, we finally arrived in Bangor and were deposited into our hotel. Northern Wales seems to have a mystical sobriety to its rough landscape. Scattered along the heather strewn slate hills are goats and lambs clambering along looking for morsels of craggy grass to eat. And the ever present mist  seemed to not just be around the hills, but in my very eyes as everything I looked at was obscured by vapor. I tried to imagine the sun burning fiercely over the landscape, revealing its slated slopes and tripping waterfalls in harsh relief; but I found my imagination could only take me so far as the mist obfuscated my inner eye.

A herd of wild goats at the look out point

            That night, Paige and I went down to the bar to join in on the pub quiz Butler had planned. We happened to join a random group of people who had open seats next to them. When the quiz began, I quickly realized that we had chosen well in our randomized seating. The quiz was set up in four stages, Liberal Arts, Science, Geography, and Miscellany. The team we had joined was intensely competitive, and very bright. I loved being able to contribute to a group that, well, was so smart! Ultimately, the entire thing took us maybe 2hrs, but in the end my group pulled in front and won the quiz (as well as massive quantities of Cadbury chocolate…mmm.) This accomplishment was only further highlighted by the fact that out of the some 200 students there, the ten of us came out on top! Sweet sweet victory.

A snapshot of me after we won the pub quiz!

            The next day I went on a ½ day hike up to an old slate mine. As you can see from the photos, it was stunning. Also, fun little tid bit, the place where we were hiking was also the location of the battle scenes found in that 80’s classic film, Willow. I was extremely excited about this information since my brother Torrey and I both really enjoyed that movie growing up. Torrey, if you’re reading this, IT WAS AWESOME!

            Later that day, I went kayaking. We bundled up, put on water proof shirts and pants, and put on helmets. As we paddled out into the middle of the small body of water a serenity enveloped me in the water surrounded by hills; the very environ compacted mist. Yet, while it was very pleasant to paddle out onto the water, I learned that the small lake we were on was all the water we would be on. No little tributaries to go up, no baby waterfalls to go over, in fact, the longest kayaking trip possible in the UK would last no longer than half a day. I just started laughing at this idea when I realized how massive the water system in America must seem to those Kayakers in the UK. Heck, I was able to do a two -week trip of mainly kayaking before college, and that didn’t even include rigorous maneuvering.

Overlooking the location of the "Willow" film

            It is a funny thing looking at English countryside in comparison to American (this area of Snowdonia being excluded. The pictures show just how lovely it was and wild). Again, I know I live in Indiana, a very very flat state, but nonetheless, even Indiana seems to have a more wild landscape at times than a majority of England. I think it is because England has been settled for soooo long, whereas America has only been around for some 200yrs. Also, in America we place a high premium on preserving our landscape, keeping wild things wild (to a certain extent. I am mainly referencing Teddy Roosevelt’s work on the National Park System). It is apart of our national mythology, the American identity, that the wilderness around us challenge, inspire, and cultivate us (Thoreau, Emerson, Irving, etc). While there are definitely people in England that enjoy outdoor adventuring (mtn biking, hiking, camping, canoeing, kayaking, etc), I believe they tend to be among the minority since the opportunities aren’t nearly as vast here (granted, it is a small island, and therefore less land mass to work with) as they are in the U.S.

            Anyways, beyond my pontifications, that night Butler threw us a party full of fun music and colored lights. It was quite enjoyable, though as the night went on and more drinks were consumed there were certainly some interesting dance moves that started to pop up on the floor, this only added to the overall entertainment.

The beginning of wonderland

            The next morning (Sunday) the some 200 students packed themselves onto a number of coaches and we headed into the town of Llandudno.  Now, Llandudno is an interesting place because of its obsession with Alice in Wonderland. At many sights around the town you could stumble onto a wooden statue of the Mad-Hatter, the Queen of Hearts, the White Rabbit, or even a very scary looking Alice herself. Not only that, but they have an entire park trail dedicated to recreating aspects of wonderland. Paige and I just happened to stumble upon this happy little place when we climbed up a small foot-trail going up a steep hill. We were utterly delighted when we found all the creative statues around the park. Funnily enough though, Llandudno has only a very tenuous connection to Lewis Carroll. If you are interested, you can take a look here.

No White Rabbit, I dont know if it's ever good to be late

Is Alice creepy or what?! 

The Cheshire Cat

Oh Mad Hatter, You are such a flirt!

The remnants from our Splendid Tea Party

Llandudno

       
  After we finished looking around the small town, we began our long 6hr(the train was even slower this time) trek back to Bristol.  All in all, it was a very pleasant weekend, but also very tiring. I was oh so happy to get back home.

            So, what’s in store next? Well, this coming Wednesday I embark on my grand European adventure! I fly out to Lyon, France to stay with my former highschool teacher, Mrs. Klopp, for a few days. That coming Tuesday, my old friend from highschool, Kathryn, will join me in Lyon and we will initiate our 15day Eurail global pass which will take us around the coast of Italy, into Switzerland, onto the slopes of Austria, up the Romantic road in Germany, into Belgium, and deposit us in Amsterdam. It is going to be a whirlwind experience, and I am so excited! Right now, the thing that is weighing on my mind is how I am going to strategically pack my 44 liter backpack with all the essentials I will need for my two week trip… I am still trying to figure this one out. Right now I am thinking bare essentials in terms of toiletries, only about 3-4 shirts, shorts with active wear tights to compensate for warm and cold weather, and finally my sneakers, and maybe my gray converses…If anyone has any suggestions, I would love to hear them! Well, I’ll take a photo of my bag when it’s all said and done. Worst comes to worst, I’ll come back smelling funny after deciding to ditch my toiletries, or come back with only a few pieces of clothing after donating the rest somewhere. 

            Also, since my bag is so small and my computer relatively large and heavy, I think I will be leaving it behind. I hope to still be able to update you all about my trip, but it’ll probably be in smaller segments (hopefully more frequently) and without as many photos. All that to say, I’ll be playing this by ear in terms of blogging while I’m backpacking. 

More of Wonderland

Well, I hope you all enjoyed my ramblings, and even if you didn’t, good for you for finishing anyways! I hope you all are blessed and well! Have a lovely day!

Connecting in Cardiff, Occupied in Oxford

 Well, isn’t it just the way of life that when you imagine your plans are most set, you find that they are in fact most flexible? That was my experience this past weekend.

First of all, the past week was quite nice in school. I went to two LeRoc classes (the dancing that is a hybrid of jive/swing dance/hiphop/salse etc. ), read oodles of pages of academic writing (reading quite a few of Emerson’s essays this past week as well as Shakespeare’s Troilus and Cressida, and Bks 4&5 of Paradise Lost), and went on a few runs as well as enjoyed the sweet company of friends. So, we come to Thursday night, and I am mentally packing my bags for my trip to Snowdonia…

            This past weekend, as you may remember, I had thought that I would be going to Snowdonia Natl. Park and hiking to the top of Mt. Snowdon, right? Well, there is a funny story about that…

            I was talking to my friend Paige (on Thursday night) who was also going to be traveling with me to Mt. Snowdon. The entire trip to Mt. Snowdon, in Northern Wales, was included in my fees for studying abroad through Butler Univ. All food, lodging, and activities had been already arranged for us, and all I had to do was get to the Bristol Parkway Station and be reimbursed for my ticket to Cardiff. I, being the eager beaver I am, had already bought my train ticket to Cardiff for the weekend of March 1. Right, so I am talking with Paige and she is telling me how her boyfriend was coming to visit and was going to arrive the next day. I started empathizing with Paige, saying how sad it was that she was going to miss the weekend with her boyfriend since she was going to be in Wales. Paige, rightly being confused, said that it was alright since he was leaving on the morning of next Friday, so they wouldn’t miss any time with him. This, needless to say, confused me. After a bit of fumbling between us, Paige says, “Sally, you know the trip isn’t until next weekend, right?” No way. There was no way I had gotten the dates wrong, right? I mean, I had already bought my ticket to Cardiff, surely I hadn’t bought it without checking my dates first? Weeeellll...there are many times I overestimate my savvy in life. Recently I thought I had found a great plane ticket deal to France (preparing for my trip over Easter break) only to find that instead of flying into Lyon, I was flying into Limoges, a city that is about a 4hr ride from Lyon. Of course, I didn’t discover this until after I had bought the ticket. In a similar vein I found that I know was the proud owner of a train ticket to Cardiff that was leaving the next day, and included an open-ended return. After laughing a bit with Paige, we wished each other a good night, and I began planning my trip to Cardiff. I had never been to Cardiff, and there was no point in wasting my ticket.

            To get to Bristol Parkway Station rather than Temple Meads (the main rail station in Bristol) was a bit of a trek. It took two buses, about 75min, and a bit of luck. Why Luck? Well, while Britain has a FANTASTIC transportation system its convenience and its thorn is that you can stop the bus whenever you want (getting off at the closest bus stop), but that if you don’t know what your destination looks like or necessarily where it is, you can find yourself pressing the stop button and arriving about a ¼ mile away from where you need to be. Thankfully, my thumb was at the ready for the button, and I guesstimated my first stop with relative ease. After waiting near the front porches of ground floor apartments for about a half hour I caught my next bus and arrived at Parkway. I collected my tickets and boarded my train.

            I knew I had arrived in Cardiff when I got off the train and saw all the signs were written in Welsh with an accompanying English translation. I walked out of the station saw quite a few police officers dressed in fluorescent yellow carrying orange cones while the sound of drum reverberated and bounced in the air. I went to one of them and asked what was happening and he said, “Why, it’s the St. David day parade love.” Thanking him, I walked further towards the sound of the drums and saw a vast milieu of people dressed colorfully carrying un-bloomed daffodils. I couldn’t believe my good luck! I started snapping pictures immediately.

            The parade included many a walking musician, filling the drab afternoon with a vivacity that was energizing to the crowds surrounding. It was a delightful experience. After following the parade I found the famous Cardiff Central Market and went inside to poke around for a bit. I bought a burger with onions and chips as well as a Bakewell Tart. The burger was fine (made me feel a bit sick later) but the Bakewell tart was divine. From the covered market I walked to the bay where I was given a grand sweep of the Cardiff Bay. After taking some photos and walking through the shops I decided that the some 4hrs I had spent in Cardiff had left me satisfied and I was ready to head back before dinner. I think I would return to Cardiff to see the Dr. Who Experience (in fact I plan to), but other than that, I think I need not go again. It was extremely pleasant, but other adventures call my name.

           

The Welsh-English signs

A random quote I found on the street in Cardiff

Do not bathe in the water!

The Cardiff Market

That man has no idea the terror to come!

The oh-so innocent looking burger...

Deliciou Bakewell Tart

Licorice that went on for miles!

The women in Cardiff are fashionistas

My solution to self-photographs traveling alone

Cardiff Bay

She loves Turkish food

The last funny thing on the Bus home

 On Saturday I went and got dinner with some friends at a restaurant called Rocotillos. It’s funny, I have eaten more burgers here in England than I think I eat back home. Yes, there is the Stupe (Sunday nights at Wheaton the meal plan feeds you burgers at a campus diner), but I think I actively seek out delicious burgers here more than I do in the U.S. Maybe it’s my little way of finding America in Britain (but to be honest, some of the best American burgers I’ve had stand stiff competition in the stuff I’ve tried here). Roco’s was good, but the Burger Joint is still my favorite. From burgers we went to a pub and enjoyed one another’s company over a pint for a few hours.

            On Sunday I began to make plans for Monday traveling. My consistent travel companion has been a girl named Meg who is studying abroad here from Canada. We had agreed to go adventuring on Monday, all I had to do was plan it. So after making schemes, looking at routes and finding tickets for a few hours, it turned out that the only tickets that were within a students price range (aka below £25 for a day trip) were those that would bring us to Oxford. I called my friend Rachel (a good friend from Wheaton taking a semester at Oxford) to see if she would be free to meet up, and at her “yes” sent out a message to a little group of other Study Abroad students to see if anyone wanted to join Meg and I on the 10:30am train from Bristol to Oxford.

            Due to my experiences last week, I wanted to make very sure I got to the train station with time to spare. All in all, I arrived at the station about an hour early and entertained myself with a mental puzzle book from the station’s convenience store. Evan, a study abroad student at Bristol who is from IN (small world), showed up, and with 5min to spare Meg comes in and we rush to find our train. Those 5min before the train left were spent by us running from the platforms looking from train to train until I finally found the one that would bring us to the right station (we were connecting to Oxford through Didcot). Getting on the right train was also a bit of luck, as I was torn between two of them and only just saw the Didcot runner beneath the lit sign pass as we hopped aboard.

            We arrived in Oxford to an absolutely beautiful day. The sun was out and the moment I stepped into its rays I felt as though aerated gold was seeping through my pores and into my veins. It is amazing how much the sun can affect your mood when the dominant weather pattern you experience is overcast with drizzle. The day we spent in Oxford was lovely. We met up with Rachel and she showed us all around the main sights. We climbed to the top of the (I think) Oxford tower, getting beautiful panorama shots of the city in the sun. Walked to the Oxford Covered market where we ate savory pies, and then went to a place called G&D’s (a place highly recommended by my English friends) where I had a coffee and chocolate milkshake. From there, Rachel had to go and make dinner since that evening was her turn at her residence, and Meg, Evan and I went to Christ Church and walked around in their wide open meadow for quite a while, laughing and playing around. The three of us then went to Evensong at Christ Church which was lovely; there was a clear, strong soprano whose solo was transcendent. After that, Meg and Evan headed back to Bristol and I met up with Rachel.

           

Christ Church

The river by Christ church

Oddly sinister mask in Covered Market

A Secret Garden!

What a happy young lady

Oddly effeminate dragon

Christ Church before Evensong

The tower we will climb

Inside the Cathedral

We found an Ass on the church

The ever winding staircase to the top

My traveling buddies

Rachel and I in Oxford!

At the top!

He gonna eat chu!

Sweet Rachel waiting for us

The eagle and child of the Inklings

Rach's candid shot

 Rachel and I talked for a bit as I ate my Lamb kebab wrap from a food cart. It was so good to see her again! It’s funny, we haven’t seen each other in months, but it felt so natural to fall back into place with one another. If you’re reading this sweet girl, Thank you so much for giving up a day to hang out with me and my friends. It was a monstrous highlight for me to see you in your element.

            I caught the 9pm train out of Oxford and, between the next train and the bus back to Stoke Bishop, arrived home around 10:50.  What happy adventures I had.

Now, this weekend, I am rather sure I will go to the oft’ vaunted Mt. Snowdon. But, with the ways things have been shaking out for me so far, I wouldn’t bet your life savings on it. J I hope you all have a lovely morning/afternoon/evening!