Kenyon Exeter

Kenyon's Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Blogger

2010-06-15T07:01:00.000-07:00

I mean it, too. Worst blogger ever, here at last. Well. Since you've been kindly waiting for three months rather than three days (whoops, I really dropped the ball there didn't I? *slaps wrist*) for my AMAZINGLY AWESOME post...wait no longer!

Killerton
The home of the Aclands. As in the Aclands and Acland Street. Anyway, we went in March during one of our seminars. It's actually quite close to Exeter. A National Trust property, Killerton is well preserved and has an interesting exhibit on fashion on the second floor.

Here Kristy and I are competing on Ken-Ex's Next Top Austen.

Back to business. The Aclands lived at Killerton from the early 17th century and only left in 1942, selling some of Killerton to the National Trust (and donating the rest) in order to raise money for the Common Wealth Party. But how, you say, are these Aclands related to our Aclands?

I forget. I know that it had something to do with Hannah More. And it was significant enough for Kenyon and Gambier to name things "Acland this" and "Acland that."

Here! Pretty pictures!

"Claire! That was in no way the EXCELLENT post you promised! Shame on you!" You're right Ashley. Guess I'll just have to post again!

Wales Week 2; Home

2010-05-07T12:39:00.001-07:00

I am writing this from my desk at home, in the state of Washington. I've been home for about four days now. I expected that I would experience a culture shock on coming back, similar to what I felt as I acclimated to England in the beginning. Strangely, however, I slipped right back into my way of living here as easily as if I'd never left.

Of course it is not the same. Now I have seven months of life in a richly beautiful country behind me, a section of my life unlike anything I have experienced in the past. Everything that I saw, everyone I met, everywhere I traveled, these things have all changed me, and now I look at my home with different eyes.

That is to be expected, I suppose. All I know is that, even though those seven months were, at times, difficult, they had a profound impact on my life and my perspective on the world, and I am so glad, and so lucky, to have been able to live in a different country for a whole school year. It is an experience I would recommend wholeheartedly to any person. Chances like these are rare.

That being said, I will close this blog with a recounting of the final week of our group trip, in which we moved north into the Lake District.

The beauty of the Lake District is very hard to describe. It is full of deeply colored hills, fading one into the other as they stretch away under a blue and gray sky. The sun, as it set over Easedale Tarn, pierced through silver clouds and cast everything in brown and gold. We walked past a clear and quick stream that fell easily into the angles and outcroppings of small, many-fingered waterfalls coursing over black rock. Sheep moved like tiny grounded clouds or roaming stones across the hills and mingled in the valleys, bleating in the growing dark as we walked back from the lake through twilight.

We walked through Dove Cottage, where William and Dorothy Wordsworth lived for several years. Knowing Wordsworth scaled the very hills we did gave every sight an even more subtle depth, and the question arose for me - will anybody ever love this place again like Wordsworth did? Our cameras are the obstacles to our true appreciation of a place. Although we can capture an image of nature's beauty and keep it forever, it is two-dimensional, virtually lifeless, once removed from the experience of being there, of putting your feet carefully down on rocks, holding onto wet stones with your hands, feeling the waterfall trickle down their shining surfaces.

It seems like Wordsworth, at least, devoted his passion to such sensations, and the attempt to record them. The Romantics wanted a way to capture forever an image of the sublime or the beautiful or the picturesque in nature. Though they were reaching for the idea of the camera, the reality of the camera seems a step backward from what they were trying to accomplish. In many ways, and in the hands of most, the camera is an inhibition to our love of a beautiful place.

To stand on top of a windy hill and see a land, half brilliant water, half field and hill, bounded only by the ever-changing sky, stretching away from you - it is a sensation unlike any other. You feel at once powerful, triumphant, and vulnerable, insignificant. Perhaps it is with these words I can describe the entirety of our trip.

Wales, Week 1

2010-04-23T13:17:00.000-07:00

"This is my office," the young guide said to us in his thick Welsh accent, gesturing from the back of his horse to the packed sand, the ocean, and the sun sinking its golden light over the hills and cliffs of Pembrokeshire. The wind was cold and persistent around us, but the four of us were riding strong, dependable horses on the beach in the evening, and there was little that could detract from the beauty of the moment.

Our shadows stretched across the sand, and I wondered why, when asked what I thought of Wales, I could only say, "It's beautiful." I hoped that, given time, I could put words to this experience, these two weeks that truly feel like a wrapping-up. Each field of sheep and lambs that I pass, each sudden view of the hazy blue ocean, each trek to each ruined castle makes me think about the finality of it all. What I'm leaving, what I'm going toward, the final impression of all that I've seen on my year abroad. These deserve words. Luckily I have one more week to puzzle this out, and there may be no neat answer. I think that would be okay.

Sights & Destinations

We have been seeing Wales from the windows of a coach, from the tops of cliffs and crumbling castle towers, and through the eyes of coal miners, painters, poets. A camera cannot adequately capture the broad expanses and deep crags of the part cliff-jagged, part sand-smooth coastline, or the calm green emptiness of the rolling hedgerowed fields.

Wales shows itself best in the morning or evening sunlight, when the countryside goes yellow or gold and lengthens into shadow. As we depart in the morning, the air is cool and shot through with pale beams of sunlight. In the evening we look for dinner amongst old stone buildings made warm from the sun. (The weather has been good to us; no rain so far.)

Firstly we stopped at Tintern Abbey, and were even able to hike to a location quite some ways above Tintern Abbey. If you forget about the parking lot and tourist shop nearby, you can easily transport yourself to the end of the 18th century. I pictured myself on a boat going down the Wye, an experience I think I would quite enjoy.

Another place we went that I enjoyed was Hay-on-Wye, which is known as being the "Town of Books." This means that it is full of bookshops. It is a town taken over by bookshops, and is the location of a writers festival, about which Margaret Atwood has written. Of course it was a beautiful afternoon when we arrived, and I enjoyed a cookie and an iced coffee while we visited the bookshops. They were so prolific, some were inevitably skipped by us. I particularly wanted to visit the poetry bookshop, though most of the books there were expensive. I did manage to purchase a copy of Great Expectations, as well as Isaac Asimov's Foundation.

Later on we arrived at the best hotel in all the galaxy, fondly called the Dru (short for Druidstone), which is a sort of friendly haven for artists and eclectic characters, being a cafe/bar/restaurant as well as a hotel. It has a wonderful view overlooking an expansive beach, a beach on which a few of us got to ride horses. That was a marvelous experience, and cantering through the surf is a pleasure I won't soon forget. Talking to our guides about their experiences in Australia, and their disdain over their friend who went to Colorado and learned the Western style of riding, which is much more laid-back, and being able to find out more about Pembrokeshire slang, and the satisfaction of working with horses and people; all of this, plus walking the beach, climbing around on the cliffs by myself, eating fabulous dinners with the rest of the group, and passing the time on the gorgeous Welsh coast, it all added up to a delightful two days.

I will miss that place, but today we were leaving Aberystwyth and arrived, quite suddenly, into the midst of mountains. I am from a place that is cradled on both east and west by mountains, and they mean quite a bit to me. So, to find myself among them where for seven months before there had been only rolling hills was striking, and I thought of home. The mountains through which we drove were brown-green and covered in some places by pine trees, dotted with sheep, lambs, and small clusters of stone buildings. It was peaceful to look out the window.

We will shortly be heading to the Lake District; expect more.

Honiton; the Sea Tractor

2010-04-09T06:25:00.000-07:00

I was walking down to St David's train station today, taking the wooded footpath and weaving through a residential area, and everywhere there were daffodils in bloom, and profusions of other colorful flowers, and the air was a perfect balance of cool and warm. It is finally starting to feel like summer could be around the corner; yesterday I didn't even have to wear a jacket into town! That is a first, believe it or not.

I took the train into Honiton, a weary old town that still has a unique charm. I prefer this sort of charm to Exeter's, which is loud and attracts everyone. Honiton seems to know that it isn't as popular, and is in fact a little crumbly around the edges, but the shops are small and friendly, and it has, most importantly, a Boston Tea Party. The purpose of my visit to Honiton today was to visit this Boston Tea Party, the last on my list to visit. I've sat and had a coffee, whether by myself or with friends, at every Boston Tea Party in existence, the one in Bath, the two in Bristol, the one in Barnstaple, and the one in Exeter.

I wouldn't keep going on about this cafe if it didn't hold such an important role in forming my experience abroad. I would go to the BTP in Exeter whenever I could, and I would always order the same thing: a large Continental. I experienced a moment of joy when one of the servers there was able to predict what I would order the other day. Me: "Can I have...." Her: "A Continental of some sort? Large?" and it was good.

Most of the time I would take my reading for class there, or I would work on a creative writing assignment. Sitting, a little oasis of calm on the edge of a bustling, happy room of people sharing conversation over coffee and food, I could relax and feel like a part of everything. It was as though I could connect, if only for a little bit, with the energy of the city and the people in it. In this microcosmic state, it was easy to let my mind wander to creative tasks, or to concentrate on and really understand what I was reading. It may sound silly, but by seeking out this place in Exeter, I felt like I could let go of my identity as an American student for a little bit, and become, perhaps, a British student, or just a person living and working in Exeter, taking their lunch break at the Boston Tea Party.

To commemorate the importance of the Boston Tea Party, and of visiting the last one on my list, I bought a mug emblazoned with the tea-sipping gent of their logo. The great thing about these cafes is that each one is different, having carved out its place in a strangely shaped building, with its own array of tables, chairs, and sofas, perhaps an upstairs, perhaps a back garden for nice days like today. Like the cities and towns they inhabit, each Boston Tea Party has its own character.

On Tuesday, Claire, Logan, and I went with Professors Laycock and Carson to Bigbury-on-Sea. There were surfers in abundance, as well as the occasional kayaker and windsurfer. It was a beautiful day that day, as well, and an excellent time to ride the sea tractor! The sea tractor is a large-wheeled beast that trundles folks across the sandy causeway between Bigbury-on-Sea and Burgh Island, when the tide is high enough to cover the causeway with water.

After spending some time on Burgh Island, and getting lunch at the Pilchard Inn, which was manned by an eccentric Italian (?) bartender, we took the sea tractor back across the causeway, which, as the tide receded, was becoming traversable by foot.

Another walk along the coast followed, in which we saw sheep, and lambs! The wind was strong, and both I and my sniffles were thankful for the hot chocolate and warm car at the end of the excursion.

Four Days in Edinburgh

2010-03-25T10:03:00.000-07:00

We stayed at a lovely, small bed & breakfast called Highfield House, which was an old Scottish manse dating from 1730. Every morning the owners of the house would cook breakfast for Karl and me (as we were the only guests there at the time), along with delicious coffee that I greatly enjoyed. From the house every morning we would walk a few minutes down to the train stop to catch the train into Edinburgh.

Coming out from the station by way of the Princes Mall puts you out on to Princes Street, where all the new shops are. (Within five minutes of exiting the station, we heard bagpipers playing. The street leading away from the Castle is also monopolized by "tartan" shops.) This area of town is part of what is called the New Town, part of the city that was added on way back when the town was overcrowded and cramped due to its being confined within its walls. They drained the Nor'Loch which was to the north of the Edinburgh Castle, and built the New Town. There is a monument to Sir Walter Scott in the gardens where the Nor'Loch used to be. (We learned all of this at the tiny Museum of Edinburgh, on the Royal Mile in the Old Town. I guess you could also learn it on Wikipedia.) There is a very distinct difference in feel between the Old Town and the New Town, but the whole city is beautiful and grand and has its own peculiar character, due to the way it did not expand beyond its walls for a very long time, and grew upwards rather than outwards.

Basically, Karl and I fell in love with Edinburgh, and walked all over, from one end to the other. Everything is in close proximity to everything else, and walking was consistently rewarding. We traipsed from the Castle to the Palace, where we climbed Arthur's Seat and looked out over the entire city.

We also circumnavigated the New Town, and found that only "keyholders" could enter the gardens that dominate a large portion of the New Town's blocks. Nevertheless, there were loads of alleyways with pubs and cute restaurants (we found a Mexican restaurant and were pleasantly surprised by the deliciousness of the food.) We spent a couple nights of pints and dinner in a pub called The Tron (a few blocks away from the Castle), which was run by a chain called Scream (I think?) that was very hip and quirky and served cheap, edible food. What we liked were the couches, and remarking on the eclectic music chosen for the speakers.

All in all, it was a brilliant time and Edinburgh is my new favorite place. (I feel like every place has been my new favorite place... this is a good thing, though!) I loved it so much I even had to get a little Edinburgh keychain.

Revelations in Hyde Park

2010-03-25T09:37:00.001-07:00

On March 14 I am in Hyde Park in London, waiting for Karl's train to get into Paddington Station. One of the entrances to Hyde Park is very close to the station, and you come into the park near a little rectangle of fountains. I stand there, with my coffee, alone by the fountains, leaning against the rail. It is a brilliant sunny afternoon, a auspicious sign for the coming ten days. Sometimes the sun will disappear behind a cloud, and you can watch the shadow of that cloud creep over the rolling grasses of Hyde Park, and then you can see the sunlight slowly flood the lawns again as the cloud passes by. The park is full of people, mostly couples with children, or joggers with dogs, or photographers taking advantage of the park showing itself in its full glory. In the air is the fresh cleanness of spring, and you can feel it lifting everyone's spirits.

I am struck by the lightness of the moment, and the pureness of the contentment that I feel. Amid all the stress of paper-writing, and travel plans, and money, and the thought of returning home, there is this small moment of clarity. I realize that these worries are insignificant against such beauty, such life, and that there are so many reasons to be happy in the moment, and so many niggling worries that should not be bothering me.

A cluster of pigeons on a rooftop, disturbed, alight from the shingles. Their shadows sweep over the stones of the fountains as they circle and return to their places. Families circumnavigate the fountains, and I watch a swan swim round and round a small pool. It seems to regard me. The fountains bend in the wind. A father, seeing this, and predicting the trajectory of the spray, gently guides his young son out of the way. Moments later, the cement in front of them receives the arc and splash of water. Father and son continue their circuit.

There are eleven birds in the fountain-pool that I am watching. One big swan, several orange-eyed ducks, a seagull, some white-faced, pointy-beaked black birds. The fountains sway in the breeze; the sun cloaks itself in clouds.

The next day, in Bath, the sun is still out, and its light falls warmly on the unique Bath stone that forms many of the buildings. We walk in gardens, and along the River Avon; we share a cream tea and find a sweet shop that sells fried eggs. Experiences like these days in London and Bath are the moments I will remember about my time here, not the looming deadlines or financial worries, or the struggle of navigating a busy street. These days make all the difference.

Quick Update

2010-03-09T18:40:00.000-08:00

I didn't want you to think I abandoned you! This post is just to let you know that there will be an awesome post either tomorrow or Thursday. It will have lots of pictures. And I'll talk about tea. Cream tea. *drool*

See you soon!

Papers, Procrastination, and Pudding

2010-03-06T18:02:00.000-08:00

Ok, not really pudding, but I'll get to that. And I think procrastination really speaks for itself. But I wanted an alliterative title, so there you go.

One of the oddest things about studying at Exeter is the method of turning in and picking up papers. It isn't necessarily good or bad. Just odd, at least compared to Kenyon. Each class has three assignments, each an essay unless you're in a creative writing or some film classes.

The first paper has a due date as determined by the professor, but they're usually due around the same time. This semester most first papers were due between February 12th and 19th. The second paper has the same due date across all the courses (at least third year courses). *Exception: your professor didn't get your first papers back by the week before, then the paper has to be pushed back.*
For just about everyone the second essay was due yesterday, March 5th. The third papers aren't due until May 15th. Of course those tend to be worth a lot more of the overall grade and creative writing courses tend to have all three assignments due at the end.
When turning in your paper you have until 4:00pm on the due date to turn it in to the office. With barcoded cover sheet. Yeah. Odd. You also need two copies: one with your student number and one with your name. Why? The papers aren't just graded by the professor, they're also assessed by a third party. Once the professor is done (as far as I can tell, this is the grade you receive and the other assessment is more for the class) they turn the papers back in to the office for sorting. The office has all the papers ready for pickup by a certain date before the next paper is due. We got our first papers back February 26th (or whenever we got to the office).
The good: 1) You definitely get your papers back before turning in the next one. Unless you're in a creative writing class. In which case, hope that you get feedback in class. 2) The office doesn't care if you skip class in order to write the essay. 3) Blind grading--your professor gets the copy with your student number and doesn't know who's essay it is.The tolerable: 1) No begging your professor for an extension--if you want an extension you have to ask the office and you better have a good excuse. 2) Lines. If even just some classes all have a paper due the same day, you can find yourself standing in line. And since they use the barcode on the cover sheet to check your paper into the system, then if you are still in line at 4 your grade will suffer for being late. 3) Blind grading--since your professors don't know whose paper is whose, they don't have a clue what you wrote about when you go to their office hours.
It's not a bad system. Just...odd. At least after getting used to Kenyon for two years.

SO! In order to celebrate the successful passing of our second due date, several friends and I did a Day of Food. It started with lunch. Don't judge us for sleeping in! I made hoagies. They looked a little like this:
Why, yes. That is homemade bread. And meat. No, not homemade meat. Nevertheless. They were more than delicious. /bragging

For dinner we had scrumptious creamy garlic chicken. And heavenly mashed potatoes. With a side of fresh fruit salad. My tummy was a happy camper.

We topped off our Day of Food with brownies. And possibly a viewing of The Scarlet Pimpernel. Because we are girls. And stories like TSP are the perfect brownie topping.

The lesson: Turn in your papers early enough to plan a fattening day with your homies. Also, knitting burns calories. A few, anyway.

Trains & A Walk

2010-03-05T10:34:00.000-08:00

Yesterday evening, around 5:40, I was on a train heading south out of Exeter. It had been a beautiful sunny day, still crisp with winter, and the sun had a restorative effect on everyone's spirits. Now, as I looked up from my book to watch the countryside pass by, I saw the pinkish golden sunset in the low hills to the west, laying everything deeper into a soft grey shadow with the onset of twilight. It struck me again, as it has done many times in the past: I am in England, set down here like a grain of rice on the ground, so that this whole country, though much smaller than the States, feels vastly larger. I think these moments come about when I feel like everything about my experience so far can be encapsulated in what I am seeing. That pinkish gold sunset, the deep rose color of the sky - all at once it seemed to me that this was the perfect and only way to express my time here.

It may be somewhat silly, but there it is.

As you may have read from Claire's previous entries, she and I took a lovely walk a couple weeks ago that started out in the town of Beer, headed out across the fields and through a small wood, paused for a moment in a hamlet of Branscombe, then circled back along the steep gold cliffs toward Beer Head, with a stunning view of Seaton Bay, and finally returned to Beer. We chose a glorious day for a walk, as the sun was resplendent in all its late-February glory, and so the chill helped out quite a bit as we ascended the hillside, up to the top of the cliffs that led away from Branscombe. Seeing the figures on the beach get smaller and smaller as we climbed, stopping and looking at the water stretch away from us, was quite an experience. I adore these walks, the shared experience of beholding something beautiful. Saying hello to passing walkers is one of my favorite things now; it is like acknowledging that shared experience with a simple smile and a greeting.

Now that it is March, the weather seems to have got itself together a little bit. The sun makes itself known more often, and it was even almost warm the other day. It's very pleasant... almost too pleasant. There must be a severe bout of rain soon. I won't get my hopes up for a continuation of this sunlight. It is England, after all.

There are only four weeks of classes left. I have no papers due for more than a month. In the coming weeks I will be going to see Frightened Rabbit (again! Yes!) in Bristol, and when Karl comes to visit, we will be taking a day trip to Bath, and spending a long weekend in Edinburgh. Do expect more from me concerning these events.

The Long Awaited Wine and Cheese Party

2010-03-02T16:22:00.000-08:00

Early last semester Deborah asked us if we would be interested, as a group, in a wine and cheese tasting hosted by Kenyon (and Kenyon Exeter) alum Marc Millon. What do you think our answer was? ~~Alcohol & Dairy Products = Par-tay! W00t!~~ It would be a refined kind of evening. Very adult. Filled with comments about vintage, aroma, and palette. Yes. Let's pretend we're all grown up for a moment.

Anyhoo. This event was finally held, after schedules were worked out, last Thursday. Marc, Deborah, and Mark's son Guy put together a great night. We tasted 8 wines in total, 4 with cheese and 4 with dinner. I went into the evening knowing little about wine other than the fact that I like to cook chicken in it. I came out of the tasting feeling that even though I'm no connoisseur, I can at least find my way through the wine section at Liquor Barn. A little more knowledgeable and a little more confidant.

The cheese was good too. I ate it. I ate it ALL.

In all seriousness, this party was not only a wonderful break from the Exeter campus, it was an opportunity to see Kenyon friends outside of class and to meet two very interesting and entertaining men. The evening was full of laughs, food, and pictures. And of course, the wine flowed into and out of our glasses.

This is one reason the Exeter program stands out. Great friends, great food, and an experience that opens you. And you feel it. Wine tastings are for grown-ups. And, whether we noticed or not, we are.

Blogger Fail

2010-03-02T15:35:00.000-08:00

So, I make a promise to update on Saturdays and Tuesday and then I go and miss the first Saturday! I'm so sorry faithful readers! I'll make it up to you! With two, count 'em TWO posts today! First of all...the wonder of baked goods.

For various reasons, this semester the lovely Ashley and I decided to grace our Kenyon Seminar class with cupcakes every week. First, we thought it would be fun. Second, a three-hour seminar is always improved by the presence of food. Third, we love our group and want to give them yummy desserts.

This has been an exercise in commitment, creativity, and self-control. Commitment because we do it every Tuesday and it can take awhile. Today it went pretty quickly, I like to think that we get faster every week but we were also the only ones in the kitchen, and it still took a good 4 hours. A long day can take a LOT longer. Though we usually finish by 7. At the latest. After starting around 2:30. Yeah.

Our creativity has been...stretched through our decorating. My decorating. :) Going into this, we knew we were doing superhero themes each week. So far we've had Batman, X-men, Power Rangers, Superman, Underdog and Captain Underpants, and this week we did Justice League. We can't get too complicated. Our decorating set only has so many tips. That silver one in the pic is going to get worn out by the end. So we've been sticking to the symbols or recognizable characteristics.
And our control. Well who doesn't love cupcake batter?! I ask you!

Bonus: this cupcake was poked to test its doneness. It was done. However, the poke punctured the top and a black hole (more like black slot) resulted. It consumed any icing that came near it. I think this picture was taken around the third time we touched it up. :P

Beer to Branscombe

2010-02-24T14:31:00.000-08:00

I won't be talking a lot in this post as I believe Caitlin will be posting about this in much better detail than I could.

Last Saturday she and I went on a walk. But not just any walk! We walked from Beer to Branscombe and back. It involved many obstacles. Like a cliff. And stiles. It was not for the faint of heart!

View Beer to Branscombe in a larger map

Here are some nice pictures for you!

This is Fore Street in Beer. We got very confused for awhile. This was not the direction in which we should have been pointing. Oops.

This is Starr House. It is old. Very, very old. Certainly older than your house.

The view once we got our breath back. This is looking back at Beer.

Here are the rest of the photos!

Beer to Branscombe

Why, hello. I do believe this place looks familiar...

2010-02-24T14:20:00.001-08:00

I can't believe how long it's been since I've posted. Claire-proven fact: time goes by faster in England.

Anyhoo. My winter break was glorious. I will put links to pictures at the end of the post.

Since then, it's been crazy. I have three classes: Literatures of Memory on Mondays, Serious Play (a creative writing class) on Tuesdays, and the Kenyon Seminar on Wednesdays. That's right. I have a four-day weekend every weekend! The downside is that it seems to make the weeks go by SO much faster. March is next week. Next week! *looks longingly at the calendar*

Because things are happening so quickly, I've decided to try and keep a posting schedule. Look for my posts on Tuesdays and Saturdays. And if I don't post, you have my permission to kick me until I do.

Pictures!

I started in France...

Reims

Offenburg, Strasbourg

...and moved on to Germany...

Koln, Magdeburg

...before going to Denmark...

Hamburg, Copenhagen, Fuzzy

Helsingor, Copenhagen

...and ending in Sweden!

Malmo and Hassleholm

Another post in a minute!

A return to Bristol and London.

2010-02-19T15:51:00.000-08:00

I returned to my two favorite cities for two spectacular concerts. On Valentine's Day I was in Bristol, and on the 16th, London. (Disclaimer: Do not let the fact that I felt okay skipping a week of classes for fun things be a deciding factor if you are a student looking for a study abroad program. Nope. Especially if you have a weakness for fun.)

Bristol - The Maccabees, The Bombay Bicycle Club, The Big Pink, The Drums

One main bit of Bristol has a lot of shops and they're all on a steep hill. You feel like, at the top, you should have reached some awesome spectacle - indeed, there are some very nice buildings up there. It's worth the walk. (The Boston Tea Party on this hill is also worth the walk.)
Any spare wall is plastered with posters for upcoming shows - Bristol is a very happening place, musically. It reminds me of Seattle. How nice it would be to live in Bristol and have access to the music!
The slide: You may recall from my last post concerning Bristol a discussion of the smooth rock slope that has been polished to a metallic sheen from having seen the downward trajectories of so many rear ends. On the afternoon of my former visit to the slide, I was not able to go down it because it was monopolized by children. Pah! This time, however, was different. The slide was damp, but it did not hinder me. No, if anything, it sped me more quickly to the bottom, at which lay a large rocky outcropping! If not a near-death experience, it was certainly a near-injury experience. And yet, though I was yelling the whole way down and though I crashed bodily into the rocky outcropping at the bottom (it was the only way to stop) - afterward, I felt changed. Enlightened somehow. I wanted to do it again.
The show: For dinner we ate at this very hip place that TJ knew (he seems to know all the hip places and is thus a valuable addition to any adventuring party), and it was called Start The Bus. Wow! Even the website is hip! The walls had been painted with quirky, professionally done doodles, with strange cartoons ("Sometimes you just want chips," says a doodle with chips protruding from mouth, nose, and ears.) and a Boston Tea Party-esque array of furniture. Almost oppressively hip. After that experience we traveled to the O2 Academy for the show, where at the door they took my camera (sigh) and so I have no pictures of what was otherwise an incredible night.
The Drums, an American band, had a lead singer who was twig-like, blonde, and felt the overpowering need to make robotic gestures as he sang such fun songs as "Let's Go Surfing." Part of what I love about concerts is the audience participation. The lead singer of the Bombay Bicycle Club looked so happy when the crowd sang along with him (the crowd is a being with one voice and many hands.) As for the Maccabees' performance, well, let me just say that this band will probably define my time in Exeter.

London - Spoon, The White Rabbits

My next trip, for expenses' sake, was conducted in a low-budget way - cheap coach, cheap hostel, but these things weren't even hindrances. My time in London was amazingly fun. We spent most of it in the part of London known as Camden, which - well - I've mentioned before. It's my favorite part of London. It's probably the best place in the world. The atmosphere, the people, the market, the pubs, the music; everything is slightly off-beat, run-down in some places but charming and sharp in others, crowded and colorful, full of people selling things, wanderers, musicians, strangely-dressed folks and mundanely-dressed folks, huge statues of horses and labyrinthine markets hung with fairy lights and chandeliers, shops smelling of incense and the tang of spices mingling with the cool winter air and the press of voices.

In short, it is another world.

Now, as for the show, it took place in a venue called The Electric Ballroom. Somehow, some way, TJ and I were able to scoot right on up to the front of the crowd. I got to lean against the rail and be mere feet away from the bands, just like at the Frightened Rabbit show. I even got to take my camera in! The White Rabbits, whose music is full of energy on the studio album, is even more attention-grabbing on stage, and their performance was - how shall I say this? - electric. They swapped singing duties and instruments like it was nothing. I was enthralled, and then Spoon came on. Now, if you don't listen to Spoon's music, you should. Hearing all the songs I loved being played right in front of me, everything else disappeared. That night was seriously one of the best ever, right up there with Frightened Rabbit.

Afterward, the crowd left pretty quickly, but I wanted to meet Spoon. We caught sight of, and were able to talk to, two of the band's members, but Britt, the lead singer, evanesced before we knew it. While we were talking, a security guard came up (he was ushering out the stragglers) and asked us for our "passes" (like press passes, or backstage passes, I suppose). Dazedly, I handed him our tickets, which he seemed to accept as justification for our presence there, and so we were able to continue talking with half of Spoon long after everyone else was evacuated. It was great.

In closing: fried eggs.

Photos!

The silver ball at Bristol - sadly out of focus (that's us!)

White Rabbits

January is already gone!

2010-02-03T13:21:00.001-08:00

In the time since my last entry, it doesn't seem like very much has happened. Nothing, at least, that merits its own blog entry. Of course, there has been class, and reading, and going down to Sainsbury's to restock my groceries (I have the list down by now: eggs, bread, zucchini, mushrooms, onion, oranges, bananas, plain yoghurt, pasta, and various other things as I need them, like oatmeal, granola, peanut butter, Nutella, and my newest favorite vegetable, brussels sprouts!). It pains me not to have routine supplies for each meal, and so my trips to the grocery store tend to be predictable and unexciting due to my anxieties about missing some vital food. Just the other day I added pesto to my shopping basket! I almost collapsed from the excitement of this.

And there you have a paragraph largely concerned with food.

Another paragraph largely concerned with food:

We have discovered the joys of a falafel pitta with hot sauce from the small cafe on the way into the city center (so many prepositional phrases!). It costs only £2.75 and is quite full of delicious. The old man who serves them is probably the nicest old man in the universe. Just be sure, if you are like me and tend to get whatever you are eating all over yourself, to carry some napkins.

Did you know Monday was a palindrome? 01.02.2010. However if you live in America, your palindrome was January 2nd.

Small moments of joy: When I wake up at 7:30 am every morning, I get the pleasure of seeing the clouds turning red, pink, gold, orange and purple as the sun rises and filters up into the sky. Because the sky is so changeable, and the clouds arrange themselves differently from morning to morning, the color falls on them in accordingly various ways. It helps each day to differentiate itself from the one that came before it. It is one of the (arguably many) treats of getting up early.

Last weekend a small number of us went for a glorious walk along the Devon coast, walking a section of the coast path from Weston to Branscombe. We stopped in the tiny village of Berry Barton to eat at the Fountain Head pub. I had the macaroni & cheese, and it was perhaps the most delicious macaroni & cheese that exists in the known universe.

We visited the beach before walking back up to the cliff edge, then tromped through the mud back the way we came, for it had become quite muddy once the icy dirt melted. It was perfect weather for walking, and the cliffs and the sea showed themselves well. I look forward to taking more walks in this beautiful countryside.

In class we have been reading about the history of walking, and more generally the history of travel and tourism. The nerdy part of me very much enjoys thinking about these sorts of things while traipsing across the countryside, but I am also able to turn down the volume and simply soak in the rhythms of walking, the steady thud of my walking-stick in the mud and grass, and the shifting sky around me. This year has been so rich because of the way our studies seem to have their fingers sunk into the soil of the country itself, so that to walk is both to think about walking and to become lost in the walking, to enjoy it in the moment. It has been this way since the start, and I am sure this is one of the most valuable aspects of a study abroad program: the way you will be able to weave your learning from texts with your learning from the country itself.

Here are some photos (click for larger!).

Bright Orange Magic Heat Stand

2010-01-06T07:06:00.000-08:00

Apart from the above feature,

in short, London is better than Paris.

In long:

I spent the holiday season here in the UK, with a brief jaunt to Paris for the New Year. No going home for me, so my close friend Karl came to visit for a little while. Some of these days were spent battling the crowds circa Boxing Day on a desperate mission for boxed stuffing (it exists, though it is quite strange.)

Also accomplished:

Cream tea in the Georgian Tea Rooms in Topsham. It was a lovely day, with sharp sunlight in a blue sky and crisp, cold air. There was a crowd of waterfowl babbling on the river's edge, all around an old man (nicknamed the Duck Whisperer) from whose hands fell bread crumbs like gifts from above.
A visit to the Boston Tea Party in Barnstaple. Due to immense curiosity about other Boston Tea Parties (and having visited the BTP in Bath), we took an excursion to a place whose name was always called out as a destination on train services, but where I had never been and about which I knew nothing. It took about an hour for the train to amble through sheep-speckled countryside. Barnstaple is quite charming; a smaller version of Exeter, it is superior because it is not filled with university students. The BTP was also nice, with friendly staff and interesting artworks, and a veggie burger that was the bee's knees.

And now, the holiday:

London

Wet. Wet! Wet. We stayed here for two nights, and as both nights approached we were found with soaking wet feet, tromping around the glistening streets, drizzle floating around our faces. The first day we checked into our hotel, and it was quite spare. Not only that, it was icy despite the radiator going at full blast. It was impossible to be in that room without being bundled in thirty-seven blankets. Nevertheless, we both look back fondly on that poorly furnished, poorly painted room, I suspect because it was dry, and in the morning, our socks would be warm from sitting on the radiator.

Some things in London:

We went to a pub and had a pint. The simple pleasure of this cannot be discounted.
The second day, we rose, got ready, and spent the entire day traipsing about London. The word "traipsing" paints a pretty picture of our feet at the end of the day - make no mistake, they were completely dead, and completely soaked. I took Karl on a speed tour of what I knew of London, which included most of the typical tourist spots, Big Ben, Trafalgar Square, and as darkness fell, and as our feet began to give their death rattles, we visited Camden Market. For food, in the morning there were huge delicious crepes, and in the evening, Thai food. It was a good day, and London showed itself well.
Next day, a mad rush for the Eurostar train (we had forgotten the security procedures of leaving the country) and an uncomfortable journey to:

Paris

Rubbish.

No, that's not fair. To be honest, the cards were stacked against Paris from the start. We only had one day and night there. Our feet were already miserable from the toll the London streets took on them, and I was grumpy from travel, and it was cold. But, even so, from the beginning Paris made me uncomfortable. Unreadable street signs fading on the sides of buildings, hordes of panhandlers with long faces and rattling cups, looking to take advantage of tourists, chaotic and confusing traffic (how strange to see traffic flowing in the "normal" way again! Not as comforting as you might think. The "other" way has become reassuring.) Oddly enough, I longed for the relatively orderly and composed nature of British motorists, the familiarity of the street signs, and the feeling of being not a tourist.

However, speaking French (what little I could use confidently) was easy enough, and a moment of joy in my day was when I carried out a transaction in Starbucks entirely in French.

Of course, Paris was beautiful, but it was also cold, cramped, and nerve-wracking. The Seine was remarkable, as was the way the night sky wasn't dark at all, but a pale orange color. Our speed tour of Paris took in the Champs Elysees, the Arc de Triomphe, and the Eiffel Tower. All of these things were grandly lit, and the Eiffel Tower was freaking out in preparation for the New Year's celebrations.

When it came time to make the decision whether to stay at the Eiffel Tower until midnight, I considered the chill air, my wet and aching feet, and the press of people accumulating around the Tower. Curling up in the hotel bed and watching the Eiffel Tower on television seemed much preferable to continuing the state of things as they were, and so that is what we did, and it was a good New Year's spent in warmth and comfort.

But then there was the next day, when we had to spend a very long time in the Gare du Nord. The thing that saved us was the aforementioned Bright Orange Magic Heat Stand of the title of this blog. They were stationed at intervals near the train platforms, and attracted people like moths. The Gare du Nord was colder than Paddington, yet it so kindly offered these warm pillars around which people could gather sadly. We did this, and then we were able to leave.

So that is how I spent the 29th, 30th, and 31st of December, and the 1st of January. Here are some photographs (please click for the big versions) to make up for my unfavorable review of Paris. I'm sure it's glorious if you're up for it, but I really wasn't.

Paris:

London:

Some things - Bath & Other

2009-12-27T09:43:00.000-08:00

A couple of weeks ago, we went to Bath to see a rugby game. We spent a good part of the day wandering around Bath in search of the elusive music shop. The best music shop turned out to be the first one we found, and it was obscured by scaffolding. Guitars lined the walls and floor, and it was staffed by a cheeky long-haired fellow and several skinny lads who I could only assume were his underlings. He seemed like the sort of music shop employee who would enjoy having underlings.

An exchange:

Me: "Can I hold a guitar?"

Him [pausing for an uncomfortable moment to assess me]: "Yeah, it looks like you could hold one."

I smiled in a resigned sort of way, and perhaps mumbled something appreciative, and led him over to the guitar I wanted. And there was a certainty in my heart as I held it. I would post a picture, but its beauty cannot be captured by the photographs on the internet. All you need to know is that it is made of an exotic wood called Bubinga, and it is quite simply the most beautiful creature that human hands have ever crafted.

It's a Tanglewood, which I feel is an appropriately poetic name, and on the back it says "Tanglewood Guitar Company - United Kingdom," and I love it.

I got a bag for it and we ate pasties for lunch. A pre-game pint of Guinness later, we were off to the stadium, where we queued orderly for a bit, then shuffled to the wrong seats, as we were to realize later on. It was all okay, though it was a bit cold. A rugby game goes something like this: there are men running for two seconds, then there is a tangled knot of dudes sort of trying to give birth to the rugby ball, then there is a second more of running before another knot gathers violently, and so on. It was entertaining, and Bath Rugby beat Edinburgh, a fact I attribute entirely to the man behind us who would yell every five minutes at the top of his lungs, "COME ON YOU BATH BOYS!" His voice thundered over the field like a war cry. I hugged my guitar.

More on trains:

Just the other day it was Christmas Eve, and I had to wake up quite early to catch a train to London Paddington. I curled up as the train was pulling out of Exeter St. David's, passed out, and woke an hour later to fields of snow going by out the window. I was delighted, as I was living with the certainty that I would never see snow in the UK. How wrong I was! It was grand.

Paddington station is freezing and full of people carting bags and children and clustering around the arrivals and departures screens. I both love it and hate it. This conflict probably arises out of the tension between my love of trains, and my dislike for crowds and waiting in the cold.

Nevertheless, I picked up my charge-for-twelve-days at Paddington, and we caught the 12:06 back to Exeter. This was a journey spent in the vestibule, listening to the mumbling train manager joking with us over the speakers about delays caused by someone pilfering the copper out of some vital electrical component, and how we may have to divert etc, etc, and it all added up to the train running 1 hours 41 minutes late.

As concerns Christmas, it just isn't the same when the country you're in doesn't do pumpkin pie. This caused me several moments of incredulous despair.

That is all I have at the moment. In the next few days my charge and I will be going to London, and from there tunnelling to Paris for the new year. More on this later!

Topsham Adventures

2009-12-18T12:41:00.000-08:00

Last weekend I went to Topsham, a small town about 15 minutes from Exeter by train, to do some shopping and get some cream tea with our professor. Everything was going well. Tea was amazing (if you ever find yourself in Topsham, get cream tea at the Georgian Tea Room) and Topsham was adorable. Our little group went to get the train back to Exeter and that's when things went pear-shaped. We were early by about 10 minutes but we figured something was wrong when the train hadn't shown up after half an hour. So I called Deborah (our professor) who lives in Topsham to ask what we should do. As she was suggesting that we wait for the next train, a guy waiting for the same train told us (don't ask me how he found out) that the late train, never mind the one after it, was going to be another 32 minutes. O.o When Deborah heard that she told us to come to her house and that she would drive us back to our dorms. And that attitude is precisely why everyone loves Deborah.

I also took some pretty, pretty pictures!

Topsham

Bath

2009-12-06T15:00:00.000-08:00

Sadly (or maybe productively)we took our last group trip of this semester this weekend. We went to Stratford yesterday to see Arabian Nights and came back to Exeter today by way of Bath. I think it was a wonderful way to spend the weekend and a brilliant trip to end the year!

1) The play was excellent. I got really into it. They had some great special effects (in fact, I am of the opinion that Harry Potter was backstage lending a hand) and told some awesome stories. There were some stories that anyone would recognize like Ali Baba and Sinbad, as well as some new ones like The Big Fart (I swear!). Plus the actor playing the king was hott (yes, with two t's).

2) If you ever find yourself in Stratford, eat at the Garrick. I had the duck. It was delicious.

3) Bath. I enjoyed myself immensely. It was the last day of the Christmas Market so it was crowded, but not unnavigable. Other areas of interest include The Circus, Royal Crescent, the Pump Room and Roman Baths, and Bath Abbey. Oh. And Sally Lunn's restaurant. Wonderful buns.

Here be pictures!

Bath

A Large Continental

2009-12-01T02:29:00.000-08:00

Some little things:

Tea. I am perhaps more addicted to tea than I am to coffee, if only because tea is more mysterious about its purpose. Think of coffee like a golden retriever with the leash in his mouth, and think of tea like a black cat looking at you plaintively from the windowsill. You know they both want something, but the dog's motives are easier to guess.

I need several cups of Earl Grey every morning and afternoon, or I will go about clutching my head. If you asked me before coming here if I thought that England would make me go off coffee, I would've laughed at you. Now, look where I am. Relying on tea to get me through the day. In the evening, however, my mood shifts, and I have a selection of tea for every shade of melancholy. Camomile? Peppermint? Lady Grey, the Earl's lighter, sweeter friend?

The ability of tea to fill in shadows and bring out highlights in any given day is one of the many things I love about living here.
Trains. These metal beasts are a comfort in a different way. I stand on the platform, watching the neat and ordered ticking-by of the arrivals and departures. There is something reassuring in it, in hearing the wheeze and puff of the trains as they whine to a stop, sigh as if overtaxed, and push humans out into the drizzle. Something like the rhythm of poetry. There is an order to the operation of trains that, like the pulse of meter, can be felt but not immediately seen.

Thursday, 19 November, 2009.

This day, I have recently said to Ai Binh, holds the single happiest moment of my time here, so far. It is the night when one of my favorite bands, Frightened Rabbit, came to the Lemon Grove.

It was, in a word, glorious. It was, in many words, like this:

They were there supporting Gomez, a band in whom no one of my party showed much interest. However, the opposite seemed to be true for the rest of the crowd, meaning that when we got there at the opening of the doors, there wasn't much competition for standing room to see Frightened Rabbit. Meaning that I, TJ, Logan, Lauren, Sam, and our flatmate Melissa got to stand closer than anyone to these marvelous people. We were mere feet away from Scott Hutchison, the lead singer (though thankfully not situated properly to catch his flung-off beads of sweat). Unfortunately, and this was the only damper on an otherwise perfect night, the people at the door took away our cameras.

But nevertheless, from the first "We're Frightened Rabbit, we're from Scotland," until the last beautiful notes of "Keep Yourself Warm," drifted away, I was enchanted, entranced, in a state of pure musical bliss. I could barely move - usually one is inspired to punch other people when at a concert? - but I was rooted to the spot, transfixed, the music loud and all around.

And afterward, we got to speak to the entire band. Actual conversation! With Frightened Rabbit! I was still a bit loopy from the show, and so remember very little of what I actually said. But I do remember getting my broken drumstick signed (TJ got the other half), and being able to step on a guitar player. Like so:

So, like I said, basically the best thing ever.

There is still much to speak of, so if you'd like, you can take a break at this point. Get a cup of tea. I'll still be here when you get back.

Mama Stone's (again)

I love this place. It just so happens that they have the most delicious chips (but they call them fries, which throws me off, as I have already adjusted to chips) in the galaxy, and also the coolest vibe in town. It also happens that on Tuesday, 24 November, 2009, they hosted an event called Beat Roots, a night of spoken word, comedy, music n all that mixed together. All of us, however, came for Logan's performance with Jessie, and they were scheduled to play last. So we got there early for dinner, which was the right idea as the place filled up quickly as the night wore on, and we now had guaranteed cushions.

Mama Stone's was more packed than I had ever previously seen it. We chilled until Logan and Jessie got up, and then TJ and I went down to the very very front and took pictures. Here is a link to Logan's music, which rocks: Reindeer Johnny and the Hop Scotch Kid

And here are some pictures (please do click for larger versions):

Dartmoor:

Everyone on the stairs before the posh London party (a big thank you to our hosts!):

Some thoughts (inspired, if not coherent)

Now that it is December, we have been here for a little more than two months. It came to me as I was walking to Boston Tea Party on a silent Sunday morning. I am in England. My home is very far away, and very different to this place. The people who are most important to me are an ocean away, and yet I am here. I am creating something. In Plymouth we saw The Pitmen Painters, a play about coal miners who learn to paint, but also about (to me) how art is about single voices speaking together, and how people go about finding themselves, and expressing that to others, and the difficulty of understanding any of this or making yourself understood. Harry says, "Everybody has their own journey." You set about to create your life, and in doing so, find your own way of looking at things and processing the world.

And we are here, us Kenyon students, doing all this together. It is a properly epic chance to create something, and I'm being completely serious. It needn't be tangible. The Kenyon-Exeter program is about everyone's individual experience together.

This is a side-quest, to throw in a video game analogy. A track that diverts from the main thoroughfare of your life as you know it, but runs parallel, and when you see that thoroughfare through the trees, you'll be looking at it from under the mercurial English sky. Nothing will ever be the same again.

Dartmoor

2009-11-30T11:02:00.000-08:00

We went to Plymouth this Saturday and went through Dartmoor. It was not a pleasant busride. Other than motion-sickness, the moor was wonderful! I'll post the couple pictures that I took, but be prepared for more (get on it, Caitlin!).

Thanksgiving!

2009-11-30T10:39:00.000-08:00

I thought I'd post about this before anything else, after all we know that food comes first.

I really enjoyed Thanksgiving. It was not necessarily the meal I always have (no yeast rolls, for one) but I really liked having the celebration itself. And the turkey was delicious.

We all went into Topsham (home of Deborah and Jim) and converged on The Bridge. This particular pub has two claims to fame (as far as we are concerned): it has hosted the Kenyon Thanksgiving for 35 years and is the only pub the Queen has visited. So they know what they're doing every time the last Thursday in November rolls around.

There were about 50 people there because a lot of our Exeter profs attended as well as a couple other people connected to the group in some way. There was a REALLY tall guy, too...

I think something that a lot of us students liked was the "First three drinks are free" rule (that's only for this party; don't go to The Bridge expecting free alcohol!). I know I did. :)

In all seriousness, we are all very grateful to The Bridge for hosting this. It was a great way to make us feel even more at home. A lovely tradition!

Stratford

2009-11-21T17:15:00.000-08:00

So before we went to Stourhead we spent a day and night in Stratford-Upon-Avon. Of course, it was Shakespeare's hometown so we HAD to see some Royal Shakespeare Company. We eventually saw Twelfth Night (with Richard Wilson in the role of Malvolio). It was...okay. I loved Richard Wilson, but the play itself was iffy. Not my favorite.

BUT! I adored Stratford itself. We had several hours to look around before we needed to be at the theatre (sadly not the regular RSC theatre as that was undergoing renovations). So we...

Had tea. Nomnomnomnom.

Saw Shakespeare's grave. (Ah, to be in the presence of the Bard...)

Took a walk down a trail that looked very much like the Gap Trail. Very cool.

(PS. That's Ai Bihn taking a picture of a leaf)

Hung out with Hamlet. And Yorrick.

And had lunch at the Pen and Parchment.

And really, all of these pictures should be viewed from bottom to top because apparently Blogspot puts them in the post in the opposite order from which I upload them (and from which we actually did these things) and I'm too lazy to fix it.

Stratford was amazing! For more pics look here:

Stratford, Stourhead

Wow! It's been awhile.

2009-11-21T15:32:00.000-08:00

Hello again!

I can't believe how long it's been since I posted. I have so much to say so I'm going to split it into a couple of posts.

First! A few weeks ago our whole group went to Stourhead. It's a wonderful estate with a HUGE garden. Gardens really. One of the things that is most recognizable is the Temple of Apollo. Here is why you might recognize it:

Lizzy and Darcy are standing in the Temple and afterwards Lizzy runs over the Turf Bridge. Of course it's even more beautiful when it doesn't rain!

We went as the trees were turning and the colors were absolutely breathtaking. I have some photos here of the gorgeousness:

Here is a nice view of some of the lovely fall colors and part of the big man-made lake.

I just love all the wonderful trees and greenery! Most of the vistas were inspired by 18th Century Italian paintings and you can really tell when you're there.

This is the famous Temple of Apollo. It's being renovated right now (poopy) but should be back open in February (can anyone say "return trip"?).

This is the gate at the front of the drive to the house. Not only do I love the colors of the leaves on the vines, but it's a wonderful example of medieval architecture. It's one of the few surviving pieces of the original estate that was burned down during the English Civil War.

This is part of the kitchen gardens. Now it is used in a program where schoolchildren come and do the gardening. They get to plant, care for, and harvest the vegetables. I wish we had more of that in the states!

I have more awesome pictures on Picasa and here is the link:

Stratford, Stourhead

We had an amazing time there. It's so much more beautiful and serene than any picture can convey. I could have stayed there for days!

Next post: Stratford!

Music, Swans, Graffiti & Good Red Wine - Part 2

2009-11-18T14:40:00.001-08:00

There are a few things about which I promised I’d talk. One is The Cavern.

The Cavern is so called because it is literally under Gandy Street, a windowless burrow where the true fans go to rub shoulders with moles and earthworms so that they can stand centimeters away from the music that’s right there!

It’s divided into two main chambers – one of these is where the band goes, and you’re all mushed in together in the darkness with everyone else. You are a colony of grooving ants taking a break from the everyday. Next room over (it would be cool if you had to take a narrow rope bridge across an underground chasm to get to it) is the bar. Nothing much to say about this. As bars go, it’s unremarkable. In this room you can rest and not be overpowered by the music, and even carry on a yelled-out conversation or fold paper airplanes with the flyers sitting around.

And then there is Mama Stone’s. The sign outside declares this pub/music venue as “the coolest vibe in town!” At the time of my first visit to this place, that slogan threw me off, seemed forced – I mean, who gets introduced to you and says, “Hi, I’m the coolest person in town!” It’s a matter of implication. But I was just a nervous American then. Things are different now. I am, after a couple more visits, a nervous American who has had the chance to sample the food, the drinks, and talk to the bartenders. The bartenders are chatty and amiable, they will engage you in banter (whether or not this is contingent on your being an American girl I’m not sure), and they are severely apologetic that they have no teriyaki sauce, only mustard (!) to put on your steak, and no tartar sauce for your fries (not chips for this place). The English are a strange breed. Nevertheless, the food is good.

But, moving on, their red wine is relatively inexpensive by the bottle and relatively delicious. Better than fancy cheap wine from Mallorca (confirm/deny.) Furthermore, the seating by the windows is loaded with multi-colored cushions, there is quirky music-related art hung about the place, and the lamps overhead are mosaics of color. There is also live music, including a dude who plays songs on his acoustic guitar. Also, little candles on the tables. I am basically smitten. I might even go on to say that Mama Stone’s has the coolest vibe in town; it certainly has a story.

As concerns the “swans” bit of my journal entry’s title, trust me when I tell you that if you drop bread into the River Avon near the sun dial in Stratford, you will experience a storm of swans and other waterfowl. Proceed with caution.

Here are some links:

Mama Stone’s (please note their slogan at the top of the screen): www.mamastones.com

The Cavern: www.cavernclub.co.uk

And here are some pictures from our last group trip to London. I visited the Camden market and it was quite lovely.

Here I am!

2009-11-03T07:28:00.001-08:00

Hello all! I hope you have been enjoying Caitlin's posts. I'll be writing on this blog as well so I hope that she and I can keep it fresh.

Any-hoo. Since I am hungry right now I thought I'd talk a little bit about the food here in Exeter. Professor Laycock (Deborah) told us before we arrived that should we so choose we could easily survive on bread and cheese. I am happy to report that she is completely correct. I have occasion to know this since I took quite a bit of time to settle in and am only now starting to actually cook meals rather than munch on loaves of french bread.

If, however, you want to do more than walk to the little Co-Op store about 7 minutes away (if that, it might be more like 5) there are several options.

1) Mooch off of others. Everyone in LaFrowda has to cook so there are plenty of times you can go into a kitchen and be offered food. Meal times are bonding times so Kenyon-Exeter students tend to cook for each other and have little dinner parties. You should reciprocate at some point, but for the moment both your belly and wallet are full!

2) Go out to eat. There are lots of awesome pubs and restaurants, many of which our group hasn't discovered yet (more on those as the year progresses). I can already recommend The Old Firehouse (yummy and I hear their desserts are to die for. Unfortunately the one time I went they were out of sugary goodness) and Giraffe. If you go with friends consider splitting something for the sake of your bank accounts.

3) Dumpster diving. I haven't actually tried this but I'm sure you could find something edible. However, you do run the risk of food poisoning.

4) Get bread, cheese, and Nutella. Those are the major food groups so what else do you really need?

Music, Swans, Graffiti, & Good Red Wine - Part 1

2009-10-27T11:40:00.000-07:00

First things first: I'm writing this upstairs at Boston Tea Party, a cooler and more expansive version of Starbucks (forgive me, it's nothing like Starbucks). The upstairs is an ordered confusion of tables, chairs, and slightly more comfortable chairs. You can come here with friends because the noise level is enough to have a pleasantly loud conversation, but the space has the acoustic feature of blurring everyone's voices together to create an ignorable white noise, so it is perfect for the solitary student as well. The atmosphere is such that you could disappear, if you felt like it.

I have a beefy white mug full of deliciously strong coffee. Since coming here I've been surviving on about seventy-seven cups of Earl Grey daily, simply because it is too expensive to keep my coffee habit up. This excursion's coffee is a rare treat.

Right. Let us speak now of music:

The Exeter Phoenix - I've only been here once, to see Idlewild play before I knew of their gloriousness (it was quite an enjoyable show!), but it left a good impression on me. And when I say good, I really mean to say complex, in the way that a complex wine is good.

Walking up to this grand edifice, you immediately feel an uncanny tug of remorse for all the books you're not reading at that moment, for it feels like you are approaching the front steps of a magnificent library. Similarly, the atmosphere inside is like the attitude of a group of students playing hooky in town - like it still isn't right to drink pints and listen to music in so scholarly a place, and at any moment a severe woman will chastise you and drag you by your ear to the door. The thrill is there, and it's brilliant.

The Phoenix's auditorium only triples this effect. You are funneled through industrial double doors into your old high school's gymnasium, complete with folded-up bleachers. I half-expected to see basketball hoops being slowly lowered and raised during the course of the show. But oddly enough, instead of making me feel a wave of anxiety over playing badminton, the high walls and ceiling disappearing into dusky darkness made me feel very close to everyone. It is an intimate venue; a pleasant euphoria steals over you, brought on by knowing everyone around you loves music as much as you do (whether or not this is true, the feeling comes regardless). A word of caution for the directionally impaired: from the gymnasium to the toilets is quite the trek - bring provisions.

Next time, I'll tell you about the Cavern, at once similar to and completely different from the Phoenix.

Now, two weekends ago I took a day trip into Bristol with my new ~~tour-guide~~ friend T.J. Having been away from Bristol now for nearly two weeks, I feel myself going into withdrawal; there is a small creature in my chest that longs to go back to that eccentric, lovingly disorganized city. It is quite different in its hold over me from London. As wonderful as London is, it is honest with me about its feelings - Bristol, on the other hand, is a tease. It plays hard to get.

Here is why: The sunlight in that city on that day, the 17th of October, was warm, strangely thin, falling palely on the buildings and the water, as though it were distracted or lost in thought. Similarly, you would happen upon small wonders in Bristol almost as if they were put there mistakenly, or as an afterthought, dropped by an absent-minded artist like splotches of paint on a dusty studio floor. A bridge with huge bugle-like protrusions, as though it were at any moment going to burst into a symphony over the narrow canal; in a small park overlooking a muddy river far below, a hill made of stone that has been so smoothed by the seats of many trousers sliding down it that it shines alluringly (I will slide down it next time!); the works of famous street artist Banksy appearing to you on the sides of boats and buildings; even a sleek black Lamborghini parked in between two other unremarkable vehicles - I felt a child-like sense of wonder, ambling naively around this unfamiliar city, being constantly surprised and captivated by what I was seeing. This is better than any museum.

Stay tuned for Part 2, including swans.

Here are some pictures of Bristol (click for high-resolution images):

The colored houses of Bristol.

The Lamborghini.

Christmas Steps - another joy to behold.A strange disco ball.

Greetings from Exeter!

2009-10-15T08:34:00.000-07:00

I've been here for a little over half a month now, and I still feel slightly overwhelmed every now and then. There is so much to see and do here; everything is completely different.

Small things:
- My little room in Lafrowda has an east-facing window, so I get to see the sun rise over the buildings when I wake up in the morning.
- There are small dirt and gravel footpaths that weave all over campus, making their way through woods and by ponds and gardens. I've only just begun to discover the beauty of this school, let alone the countryside!
- Nutella is probably the most delicious food in existence. Strange yet tasty breakfast: fry two eggs, toast two slices of bread, put peanut butter on the toast, put Nutella on one of the slices as well, then sandwich the eggs in between and cut diagonally. Made even more scrumptious if the eggs are still runny.
- If you weren't completely grossed out by the above, then kudos to you for your courageous palate! Devon cream tea.

But, as I said, it was somewhat overwhelming, trying to adjust to living here. Not only are there the everyday aspects of life to which I must adjust, but also I have to come to terms with the fact that so many other Kenyon students have done this before me! Bundles of us have tottered weakly off airplanes, been shipped to the university on a bus, introduced to a grand disorganized set of rules and regulations, not to mention a whole host of new faces and strange ways of speaking (read: sometimes indecipherable British accents) - and so many of us have been wildly successful.

It is fascinating to me that, in coming here and living here, each of us has had a different experience of this place. Each student who has been on this program had a series of first impressions, and made different choices as to how to adjust. I am trying to write a blog of impressions and choices - there is, as one might encounter when trying to write a sonnet, a whole tradition behind me, a whole gallery of experiences that other students have had. The question is, how will my story stand against the backdrop of Exeter impressions? What will I add to the great complex picture? The answer: what I can.

The Thames at night

To begin I'd like to talk about London and Shakespeare.

To be completely frank and not hyperbolic in the least, London is the greatest city in the universe. I arrived, I stepped off the bus, and fell immediately into a sort of breathless love - breathless in that I kept looking up and around me at the glorious city tumbling on every side, and I forgot to take breaths.

Before I met the lions of Trafalgar Square, I and everyone else went to go see Shakespeare's As You Like It in the Globe Theatre, which sits on the Thames and is quite near the Tate Modern. We stood as groundlings in the yard as the play unfolded whimsically around us, Orlando's verses tumbling from the wooden pillars and Touchstone's antics drawing the audience even closer to the happy energy of the production. I couldn't help thinking of our discussion in class earlier that week: These characters were exiled to the Forest of Arden, a place completely different than the pomp of the court from whence they came. As Professor Laycock mentioned, is that not our situation, as American students in England?

I thought about it: Rosalind, Celia, Orlando and even Touchstone, they all change in the process of being in exile. Rosalind experiences the sort of liberty that comes from pretending to be of a different gender - in short, she rocks it. She was a fantastic man. Celia lets the restraint and elegance of court go loose when she takes on the role of Aliena, and Orlando plunges himself wholly into a role-playing scheme with boy-Rosalind. None of these drastic changes could've been made if they were all still at court. There would have been no need, and yet they are all now happier for the change.

I thought about it further: Being American students exiled (by choice) to the United Kingdom, a magical place in and of itself, we have just such an opportunity as Shakespeare's characters had. We can buckle under the weight of too many differences, or we can embrace them, adapt, and change. We have an amazing opportunity here to grow: by being alienated from what is familiar to us, I am certain we will find out of what stuff we are made.

The Globe theatre: open to the sky, with yard standing and seats.