University (Uni), Books and other Boring Stuff

I am trying to keep in the pattern of posting weekly but, honestly with my class work during the week, I hardly want to even look at my computer on the weekends. This leads me to put off posting later and later. Nonetheless, here I am, with my promised post about school. I mean Uni. I may post again after this one because Uni, and telling you about Uni, is boring and much more exciting things have happened since my last post. Something to look forward to once I get the motivation to type it all up. :D

My first impression with the university was much like my first impression with London. I saw it on google maps (aka the most untrustworthy creation in human history) and had no idea what I was getting myself into. This sense of anxiety heightened as I realised that I had no clue what building I was to meet my adviser in for our first meeting. However, I did not worry knowing that Iowa's campus was well labeled with discrete buildings for discrete purposes, so here should be about the same. That is when I realised the first difference about here and home:

College v. Uni Difference #1: Nothing is labeled... as you would expect. Each building has a name and most buildings have a generally unique purpose, but know one knows what that purpose is.

I found out, via walking all around campus and asking several confused-looking security guards/information desk people, that there is no such thing as a “psychology building” or “affiliate students center” or even a legitimate entrance. All of the buildings are referred to by name, and you just know that's either where you're supposed to be or basically what courses are taught there. If it's a really important function, like financial aid, they might warrant a room within the mass building of other important functions (aka. The South Cloisters). Therefore, when I asked for the psychology building I was met with a blank stare and to give the name of the person I was trying to contact (promising).

After being sent all around I ended up wanting to get into the student center. I say wanting because I'm pretty sure only celebrities and government officials can enter this room owning to how unnecessarily long the queue (line) to get in was. After about 5 minutes of waiting, a poor soul with a UCL sash came up to me informing me that it was about half an hour wait. I must have given him a face because he quickly asked what my purpose was and if he could help. After explaining my plight and that I just needed to see my adviser he directed me towards the study abroad office which, surprisingly, no one else had thought to send me to despite my obvious foreign accent. Finally, I had answers and even though I had to go to two more buildings after that, at least each time I was now getting closer.

After that day and the many more meetings I arranged to get myself on track, I was finally an official student and off to my first class! I was so prepared for the British wisdom that would rain down on my little head and the thought of being around so many Brits made my eyes well up in a doe-y, cartoonish manner. This is when I learned:

College v. Uni Difference #2: British people don't actually go to UCL. I mean I'm sure they're here somewhere, but I feel like every other conversation I hear is painfully American in accent and content.

All of my professors are British or Australian or some other highly enjoyable accent, and a good number of people in the cafes and libraries are too. But I'm convinced that they are just there for show and don't actually go to class. I'm not even in “affiliate student only” courses, but every day I enter into the same annoying, shallow, predominantly preppy female overrun rooms and listen to several excruciating minutes of what these rich sorority girls did with their expendable money over the weekend. I hate it. I hated listening to this crap in America and how the psychology majors are so cute and fart rainbows and think their major is so hard. Not to dis psychology (it's my major too), but complaining that you don't understand the science kills me. Especially when you turn to me and ask, “did you read this?” or “did you do this?”. Naw, I just thought the knowledge would come when I sat down to write my three hour essays at finals. Really? The complaints go on and on, so I will talk about something a little more neutral. Like how cool some of the rooms are.

Some of the rooms have the best set-ups. (Yes, you know school is school and is boring when I start talking about the chairs) In one room the chairs fold out, the seat comes down, the back leans backwards, and the desks fold out from underneath leaving so much space to walk to your seat when they're all folded up. Brilliant! So much better than the awkward movie-theater side-step thing I had to do in every room at home. In another room, though, my professor keeps the window open and doesn't use her mic. If I were back home in the middle of a corn field this wouldn't be an issue. However, I'm in London where the police whiz by every few minutes and the angry cars honk at each other for driving on the wrong side of the road (I assume this is why they're so angry). It is impossible to hear her. Some of the other rooms are tucked away in a labyrinth or on floor -3. Which brings me to:

Difference #3: They use negative numbers for floors here instead of the super American “basement,” “lower basement,” “uber super lower 7^th-ring-of-hell basement.” Neil DeGrasse Tyson would be so proud.

The only other thing that is worth commenting on about classes in general, is how freaking much reading I have to keep up with! I only have four classes and a seminar that total nine hours physically in class a week. However, I am on campus for MUCH longer than that because of:

Difference #4: The professors want you to be an expert in every book ever written about that one lightning-fast lecture before you come to the next lecture.

I spend, no joke, about six hours each day in the library alone, reading and trying to catch up on reading, and stabbing my eyes out so I don't have to read anymore. I am so behind on reading that I've just resorted to reading the textbooks instead of all of the articles they “recommend” until I have time. The good news, however, is that I have had to buy zero textbooks myself since they're all either highly accessible at the library or easily found at the Grand BL (British Library)! Just another way that London is Brilliant! But back to it. The outside work is intense, mainly because they don't tell you what to do. They give you “recommended” chapters, then you're assumed to be an expert. It's a lot, but I think I can do this. It seems like the final is basically the writing portion of an AP exam anyway, so I hope it's nothing new and I don't fail.

That ended up being longer than I thought it would, so I will save my more exciting adventures for another (unreasonably long) post. More pictures next time too!!! I didn't add any this time because... well I don't take pictures in class. Plus no pictures adds to how boring the topic is. But now when my family asks how class is going, I can tell them, same as usual and they'll understand. I only see library.

The True British Culture ;D

Alright. Almost two weeks in and, if it hadn't been for the fact that I royally messed up on when my first class started this morning, I may not have written this post. Plenty has happened, but between me getting sick this weekend and a general desire to not crawl out of my prison-like cot, I wasn't too keen on sitting down and writing anything. London has been good to me, don't get me wrong. I'm blaming my lack of motivation entirely on living in the hostel. You can only live like a street urchin for a short while before needing a change, no matter how wonderful the people are. So, I checked out this morning for another hostel and will probably wait there until I can move into my (soon to be permanent) room at the end of the month. So, since I'm an hour early to class with no where to go, I will write.

I am proud to announce that I have now successfully traversed a large portion of zone 1 London, (mostly by foot, not always by choice) and have not gotten severely lost again! I have even found Gluten Free food at Tescos (aka. London's attempt at a super market). One thing that was strange, however, were some of the labels, especially the knock-off ones. For example, I was looking for soap for a shower and kept seeing labels for "shower milk," which I can only assume, must be body wash. I was also pleasantly surprised when the lady at the register told me my total, and there was no sales tax! A simple fact that I am way too excited about. That means when I go buy a bottle of water, I can prepare my money without doing a tax-guessing game! It makes so much sense!

Later in the week my story of survival at the hostel took a turn for the better as I began to meet some really cool people! I loved listening to everyone's stories and hearing all of their backgrounds. I made really good friends with a Brazilian girl, a Brazilian/Italian guy, an English/Egyptian guy, a French guy and several others from Greece, Spain, Italy, Norway, Poland, and almost anywhere else you can think of with just about any combination of heritages (Pic. Brazilian girl, French guy, me and Italian guy [names left out on purpose]). Living in a hostel is not for the faint of heart, but it is certainly enriching and an experience that will change your life. I have an enriched view of the world now. I had also become so used to speaking to people with varying degrees of English that I began to forget some of my own vocabulary and instead began speaking in the simplest terms at an agonizing pace. This is when I decided that I needed to go out and experience London in the truest way possible. So I went to a pub.

That weekend I was fully initiated into the British culture, which brings me to:

London Fact number nine: You cannot truly understand the British, or appreciate their culture, until you've partied with them.

I went out to several different pubs with the English/Egyptian (the closest I had to a full Brit) and had a wonderful time! Everyone in London (I can't speak for the rest of the country) goes out on the weekends to forget the week. Not to say that they are reckless, but they aren't afraid to have a good time, no matter what others think. Which leads to:

Fact number ten: The Brits are not nearly as judgmental as Americans. Especially if it's the weekend. For example, there was a woman at the first place I went to who was in a French-maid costume. It was rather risqué and I assumed she was crazy, but no one else seemed to mind. Then later that night I saw several people dressed up as sailors or pirates.

It was a good time wherever we went and I quickly got over the shock and awe of being able to legally enter a pub. I also noticed, that every pub/bar played mostly American music. And old American music at that (from the perspective of a 20 year old anticipating recent pop... don't take offense). "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" and "Time of My Life" were met with a huge, enthusiastic response. Then, just when I thought the music couldn't get cheesier, "Grease Lightning" played... and everyone knew the dance moves! It was hilarious! All of that being said, there is a huge variety of pubs and venues all over London that it's impossible to get burned out of one style.

I experienced this later on in the week, when a good friend of mine from Russia, and his Russian friend visited. I met up with them (5 hours after I was supposed to, long and boring story) and of course, what is there to do on a Wednesday night, except drink? I didn't have much because I had class later the next day, but they treated me to such a good time! We went further into London, ate at a good restaurant, and visited a countless number of bars. Some were playing rock, some pop, some were quiet and just had the sound of other drunken citizens. They were such gentlemen and very fun! It was a truly Russian experience! :D At the end of the night they walked me home and we parted ways.

Now that my grandma's heart is about to stop from all of my stories of debauchery, I will end on an enlightened note. All throughout the week I had kept up with my classes and began organizing everything I needed to catch up on my reading. I have not talked about classes in this post since I've only been to each no more than twice, but I will post my class experiences later. I am also now a prestigious member of the British Library! One of the greatest libraries in the world!!! And I'm not going to lie, being one of the intellectuals allowed into the reading rooms of the grand BL, I feel very pompous and exceedingly important for a street urchin. But it is wonderful and my inner Belle/book nerd sings every time I walk through the front doors! :D Now, back to studies and back to class!

As a reward for reading all of my long, raving posts till the end, here is a pic of a pigeon on the underground. No Benedict Cumberbatch, but still worth a photo.

Finally! The LONG Awaited Trip to London and My First Impressions (Part 3)

This is part 3 of the parts one and two below. I know, a lot of parts, but a TON has changed for me in the past 4 days, so bear with me. I left off at the hostel on the day of arrival...

After I got my tiny bunk situated and convinced myself to hold off sleep for a little while longer, I realized that I hadn't eaten in almost 24 hours. I hopped on to Google Maps and searched for anything within walking distance that was gluten free. Finally I came upon a place called Wagamama's that was only a 30 minute walk from where I was. I jotted down the directions from what I could see on the map, and I was off!

Fact number two about London: GOOGLE MAPS IS NOT A GOOD SOURCE FOR DIRECTIONS. It gets ya there, minus half of the street names. Good luck trying to find which street you're supposed to take to connect to the one that the maps actually mentioned.

Fact number three: Half of the streets in London are not labeled! Or if they are, the signs are high up on the corner buildings themselves. Which added onto the second fact about London and my frustration. It's hard to find a place that's not on the maps when the last place you came from wasn't marked.

Hence the story of how I got lost...

I set out around 4pm intent on finding food, following my directions as closely as possible. Now, I should mention, that I am the WORST with finding my way. I have no sense of direction and hate to ask for help. Not hard to see how I got lost, huh? Anyway, I set out and made it pretty far without getting totally confused or killed by the passing cars. They don't drive recklessly here, but they do drive fast! And God save your soul if you should challenge one of them by crossing the street blindly, which I was really good at. As is common knowledge, the driver's side, the directions of the road, and the driving rules are reversed here to what they are in America. Therefore, as I crossed the street (in areas that did not have cross walks) I would look the wrong way out of habit, expecting traffic from the other direction. Luckily, the Brits aren't ruthless, otherwise you might not be getting this update. It also helps that London is very used to foreigners and has kindly painted "Look Left/Right" signs on the ground. The traffic still trips me up though... Which brings me to a fun little fact about London that isn't as important as the others, but is still interesting.

Fact number four: People on the sidewalks will pass you on the "wrong" side. As in America, people tend to walk along sidewalks in the same manner that cars travel on a street, except here it's reversed.
This causes for a lot of awkward "mirror movement dances" between you and people you bump into as they try to pass on your right and you try to pass on their left. (This was pointed out to me and is not hard-and-fast, but is something that I have noticed happens)

Finally, I reached my destination alive! It was a very nice place with not a lot of gluten free options, but enough for this starving stomach. The staff was very friendly and helpful and knew plenty about gluten free. And the portions were HUGE! I had to take half home. While I was waiting for my food a very British man at my table struck up a conversation. I say very British because I couldn't understand more than a handful of words from our entire conversation. Plus it didn't help that he was mumbling the whole time. But I just smiled and tried to comment on what few words I could make out, which worked better than I had hoped! The man left and I went to pay for my dinner. Let me just say, there is nothing more humbling than standing at the register, money in hand, examining every coin like you're a four year old whose mommy has let her pay this time, yet you still don't have a grasp on which coin is which. I smiled meekly to the cashier who was also foreign and was forgiving of my struggle. Speaking of foreign...

Fact number five: London is more foreigners than native British. Or at least it seems that way.

Anyway, I paid and was on my way home. This is where I got lost. Somewhere between making sure I heeded the "Beware of Pickpockets" sign and navigating the massive amounts of people and things in Camden Market (Huge and intense is all I have to say about that), I took a wrong street. I ended up circling myself for at least an hour if not longer until I recognized that there were a few, scattered city maps I hadn't noticed before which set me straight. During this journey I discovered several facts (which makes sense considering how long it took me to get back).

Fact number six: Stop smiling at everyone, you look like an idiot. Seriously, no one smiles unless their being told a joke. I had heard somewhere that this was true, but actually experiencing it, when I'm so used to giving a slight smile to everyone who passes, was unnatural.

Fact number seven: London is surprisingly safe, even children are let to walk around without any supervision. Ages from elementary to teenager roam the streets just like every other Londoner, without a care.

Fact number eight: People run in London! This fact is especially exciting for me as I am a runner. I was worried that it wouldn't be a thing over here. But it is! However, almost everyone running was wearing a Camelback backpack. I almost thought it was something of a rule if you were to run in the city and began to panic, as I didn't have one, when I then saw several people running without one.

After several hours of what I'm deeming "successful exploration," I made it back to my bed and slept like a rock. Being in the hostel is so fascinating. I keep overhearing conversations and waiting for their words to make sense in my brain when I realize it's not English their speaking. The Brits are also very smart about their energy usage. Each outlet has a switch to turn the power feeding it on or off. However, what is not so updated is their music. I'm sitting here in a section of the basement next to the kitchen and lounge listening to a mixture of British pop and R&B and American 80s-90s music broken up by some Coldplay. I cannot tell you how many times I have heard Bon Jovi's "Livin' on a Prayer" in several different locations throughout the city. Otherwise, I'm getting along fine here and even met a nice Italian guy who is 20 and is staying in the same room as I am. He's here to perfect his English. He didn't like his job in Italy so he picked up and moved to London to learn English as he figures out what he will do next. I wish we had that type of mobility back in America. Well, there. I think you're caught up now. OH! and I successfully registered for classes (all psychology) and begin Monday! I'm official now!!! (Pic: My officialness with important stuff blotted out) It's all panning out! I will try to keep you posted as classes start, but don't know how efficient I will be.

Now, off to find a real place to live!

Finally! The LONG Awaited Trip to London and My First Impressions (Part 2)

This is part 2 of the part one below. It's longer with less pictures, but just as entertaining. Scene set: Heathrow Airport, London, England!

At long last, my 8 hour flight to London had ended! I was exhausted from not sleeping much, but knew I had to stay awake (I promised my aunt) to adjust to the time easier. Plus, I still had to be awake enough to pass border patrol, navigate the Underground, and find the hostel I was staying in. Navigating the Underground (subway system) and getting to the hostel (cheap sleeping spaces for backpackers) weren't going to be a problem since the Underground runs from below the airport directly to Kings Cross which was a block away from my hostel. Not a problem. What I was most worried about, was border patrol. I had been praying that, after everything, they would find NO reason to deny me NOW that I was actually IN London!!!

I approached the nice-enough looking woman, passport and paperwork in hand, and the best innocent smile I could produce. She took my passport and opened it to my visa and paused... paused! Looked back at me and asked, "did you spill something on this?" Oh no, I thought, this is it. I replied that I had not, trying to suppress the panic rising in my voice. Then we were both awkwardly, painfully (at least for me) silent as I awaited my judgment. "You're all clear." Relief! I was so overjoyed I just thanked her and stood there beaming until she looked up like I was incompetent and was regretting her decision. Trying to cover this sleep-deprived blunder, I quickly turned and pointed towards the gates I was obviously supposed to pass through. "Through here?" I asked, hardly waiting for the obvious reply before scurrying through them.

LONDON! I was official! The magical border that had eluded me for so long was crossed! I rushed past security and in no time was out of the terminal and headed to the Underground! I quickly double-checked where I was going (Piccadilly Line directly to King's Cross) and headed to buy my ticket. At first I thought it would be easier to use one of the automated kiosks to get my ticket, until I remembered that I was a dumb foreigner who didn't know what she was doing other than creating a long line. So I ducked out of the way and went to buy it from one of the real-life salesmen instead. Ticket in hand, I hurried down the stairs to the trains just as the Piccadilly Line was arriving.

Now, what I'm about to tell you is my first fact about London. London has different connotations or meanings to words that exist in America. I'm sure this will get me into plenty of trouble later, but this instance in particular has to do with the names of places. It brings me sheer joy and the happiest feelings ever to hear tube (train) stops properly pronounced in a British accent because the pronunciation is sometimes much different than the spelling. Or, in this instance, the spelling is right on, but the nonchalant tone of the automated voice is what does me in. .... In this instance, I spent one whole hour listening to the tube woman's voice proclaim "This is the Piccadilly line to Cockfosters..." at ever single stop. I know that I am immature and my American mind is taking this the wrong way, but I had to FORCE myself not to burst into tearful cackling with every pronunciation.

Now, back to the story. I made it to King's Cross a bit after 1pm here (7am home) and checked my bags into my hostel. I couldn't officially check-in though, until 2pm, so I decided to explore my block (afraid to go and further than that for the time). I knew that a trip around the block wouldn't take an hour, but was hoping to find a place to eat or get some much needed coffee. After a few failed attempts at sitting at very European/confusing shops that I was not comfortable enough to try and figure out the protocol for, I stumbled upon a very American Starbucks! Normally I hate Starbucks, and try to stay away from anything overtly American while I'm abroad, but I was desperate. So you'll understand when I say that I had never been happier to see a Starbucks in my life! I popped in there, ordered a coffee (which is MUCH stronger here than home) and camped out for an hour until I could officially get into my hostel.

Once inside, I realized how terribly small it all was. I wasn't expecting much, but the size was surprising. It was well decorated, though, and felt safe enough, so I went to work on situating my little bunk. I was in a room of 12 people, no bigger than my whole room in my apartment last year, bottom bunk. (Pic: Stock photo from the website, but exactly what my room looked like... plus baggage. Four bunk sets in a room.)

Needless to say, I keep my valuables on me. All in all, it's pretty comfortable though. The curtains add a nice touch of privacy and everyone in my room is rather considerate. It's so fascinating to walk around and hear TONS of languages, smell unusual foods, see so many different people and backgrounds. The general feel of the place is relaxed, trying too hard to be cool, and a nice place to go where everyone is just trying to get to the next stop. Nonetheless, I can't wait to get a place of my own. (Sorry for the tense change, I'm writing this in one of the hot-spots of the hostel. Back to past tense.)

I'm going to stop here for brevity's sake (I can see it's getting LONG with so much more to go). So, read part 3! And I'll try to wrap it up soon.

Finally! The LONG Awaited Trip to London and My First Impressions (Part 1)

FINALLY!!!

 I'm here! Safe 'n Sound! Or as safe/sound as I can be. These last four days have been such a whirlwind, but luckily my wonderful mother gave me a beautiful journal to keep track of all of my wonderful adventures while I couldn't blog them. That being said, I have A LOT to tell you about, and a limited amount of your gracious attention. Therefore I'm going to post several posts, (at least two) representing different days, on the same day. This way I can post as much as I want without making you feel obligated to read one LARGE post, and instead you can break it up or even save a post for another day. So, here I go, starting with the plane and actual trip here...

Tuesday. The day of my departure. The long-awaited day that I would finally move on with my life and plans and travel to the Great country known as Britain. Up until this point I had been half-packed, scattered, and getting quite comfortable in my sedentary, parent-dependent ways. Needless to say I had to get out. The only problem was, my little sister. Bless her heart, she did all she could to make me stay from trying to sabotage my luggage by throwing it back downstairs, to literally hanging off of it, to giving me her adorable "stay here I'll miss you" puppy eyes. But I was set on going, no matter how much her pathetic little voice made me want to stay. (Pic 1: Me at the airport with my wonderful calendar/gift my roommates gave me!)

I arrived at the airport in the evening and, in a valiant effort to minimize jet-lag, tried my best to sleep on my 27min flight to Chicago. This wasn't too bad considering there were only 11 people on this flight, so I got two whole seats to myself! :D Even though I wasn't tired, I did relax for the first time in a while, so it was worth something. In no time I was in O'Hare. Now, my second flight (the one that shot me across the pond) was scheduled to leave in an hour, so of course I thought I'd have time to find my gate, maybe eat something, whatever. Except that I didn't. (Pic 2: Chicago... kinda)

Little did I know, my flight boarded in 20 minutes, which seems like plenty of time until I figured out that it takes 10 minutes to travel from wing B to my gate in wing C! I have no idea when I'm supposed to board, so I'm moseying along behind this guy with a UK backpack who looks like he knows where he's going. Finally, when I arrive at my gate, I'm convinced that I'm early and the people who are boarding now must be for a flight that leaves before mine (there weren't any signs). Not convinced that I'm in the right place, I check my ticket and happen to see that my flight started boarding almost seven minutes ago. Quickly I jump up and prepare to get in line when the intercom announces that passports need a stamp to be let through. Ok, front desk. The nice man there took my passport with a "how's it going?" and with a simple reply of "I'm fine thanks" he asked if I was a singer because I had such a beautiful voice and he should know because he's in music. Well, I was extremely flattered and in the sweetest voice I could muster I told him I wasn't, thanked him, then awkwardly walked away very fast and got in line. (Pic 3: Proof of flight! Passport and Tix on complimentary blanket)


Thankful that I actually made it onto the plane (one step closer to London) I didn't mind standing in line for forever while people (obviously more important than I) found their seats. Plus, this way I got to ogle over the First Class seating without looking too poor. But SERIOUSLY!!! One day I too hope to be important enough to deserve the type of luxury those in First Class feel entitled to. They didn't have seats, they had Freaking BEDS! Their comfy, overly fluffed lazy-boy chairs reclined a considerable amount within their PERSONAL cubbies. Not to mention their LARGE TV screens mounted a perfect distance from where their face will view it and little CUBBIES within their large cubby for socks or their bags of money or whatever those people need little cubbies for. (Wish I had a pic) And Business class wasn't much worse!

As I stood there looking like the broke student I am, a nice British man ahead of me took up a conversation with me. We laughed about how excessive First and Business class were and how our seats would pale in comparison. He was very kind and with every accented syllable he spoke, I became more and more excited about my journeys ahead of me.

Longer story short, I ended up lucking out again as the seat next to me was vacant. It was a three-seater though, so I sort of had one and a half seats I could politely claim. As we took off I grabbed a magazine and instantly knew that my flight was blessed when I saw, on the back cover, Leonardo DiCaprio's face (my love) blown up in an advertisement! With Leo's smoldering eyes safely in the seat pocket, I got as comfortable as I could in my aisle 1 1/2 seat, watched some Star Trek (the newest one/yum Benedict Cumberbatch's face), pretended I was actually on the Starship Enterprise (being from Iowa, going to London, flying in the air, it made sense to me), and tried to get as much cat-nap-worthy sleep as I could. In 8 hours I would land. In 8 hours, my adventure would begin!

To be continued...