The end?

Well here we are. The last blog post.

I've been avoiding this.

I arrived in Seattle, safe and sound, late Saturday night. Marysville is as dreary as ever, but I've enjoyed reuniting with my family and friends. Missing London like mad.

A few thank you's are in order:

1. To my lovely homestay. I couldn't have asked for a better family to live with.

Esme & Belle, Suzan and Bubbles

2. Peter, Tom, Jessica, and Mike (and the UW English Department): for organizing and teaching this wonderful program.

Jessica and Peter in Regent's Park

3. The entire group. Missing you all very much. 

All of us at Hampton Court

4. My friends and family back home. Thank you for all the support and love. Hope to see you very soon. 

And if you've enjoyed following this blog, you may be interested in following my other blog, Metacognitive Potential. Silly title, I know. But the blog's two years old now and I can't bear to change it. I mostly write about books and other nerdy subjects. Whatever strikes my fancy. 

Although I've reached the conclusion of my study abroad trip, this is not the end. London and I are not finished. Someday I will be back, perhaps on a more permanent basis. Until then, my dear city. Until then.

Much love,

L

Goodbyes

a series of vignettes

Wednesday: In my excitement, I forget to say goodbye to 6 Great James Street. My final exam turned in, I rush out of the classroom and into the afternoon sunlight. Several of my classmates are lingering on the corner of Great James St. and Theobald's Road. Next to the Cafe Nero. 

On our way back to Holborn Station, we discuss Art & Architecture exam. Who sculpted the man and python statue? Lord Layton. About what time period was Stonehenge constructed? Around 2000 BC? We're unsure. How does this older photograph of Trafalgar Square differ from how it appears today? There are significantly less tourists in the older picture. Cheeky. We are lighthearted and amiable and done. Class finished.

We part ways at the station, exchanging see-you-tomorrows and good-luck-with-that-last-paper. Ticket through the barrier, a descending escalator toward the Piccadilly line. I am swept up in the rhythm of the underground. 

I forget to say goodbye.

Thursday: We begin to trickle out of the Fentiman Arms in groups of two or three. Tom, Jessica, and Mike have already said goodbye, leaving Peter Professor Peter, not to be confused with tall Peter to finish the end-of-term party with us.

Everyone hugs. This is the last day of the term and tomorrow we disperse. Some return to Seattle, some remain in England, and some continue travelling throughout Europe. I remember the anxiety I experienced at the beginning of the trip. Would I make friends? Would we get along? How would the group interact? My worries seem silly now; I am completely attached to these people.

Stephanie and I walk back to Oval Station. It's past eleven yes we'll still make the tube but the evening is warm and still. My tender parting with Peter professor is running through my head. I try to memorize the evening.

I've said more goodbyes than I can count.

Friday: As I near Piccadilly Circus, I realize that this will be the last time I see Central London. At least  for now. My pace slackens as I try to absorb the city, the tourists, the Londoners, the Nash buildings, the Jubilee preparations, the flags, the illuminated signs.

Too quickly, I reach the stairs leading down to the Underground. I pause and take one last glimpse of the city my home away from home. I take the stairs slowly, one step at a time. Reluctantly.

Goodbye London. Until next time.

~L

Three thoughts

• If my feeling attachment love affection for this city were audible, it would sound like "Nimrod" from Elgar's Enigma Variations.

• It's the first of June, and I've had a passage from Mrs. Dalloway stuck in my head all day. 

"Such fools we are, she though, crossing Victoria Street. For Heaven only knows why one loves it so, how one sees it so, making it up building it round one, tumbling it, creating it every moment afresh; but the veriest frumps, the most dejected of miseries sitting on doorsteps (drink their downfall) do the same; can't be dealt with, she felt positive, by Acts of Parliament for that very reason: they love life. In people's eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June." 

- Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway (page 2)

• I have never been this unmotivated to pack before. As evidenced by the fact that I am blogging, instead of packing and/or sleeping. 

The Great Packing Failure of June 2012

~L

Busy

Head deep in end of term busy-ness and slight panics about the fact that this is my last week of college and I'm leaving London soon and ahhh. Will update soon. Until then, please enjoy some lovely photographs.

Tower Bridge

View of the Thames from National Theatre at South Bank

More view of London

Also a gif set that makes me smile. Sherlock viewers will understand. The Queen is so adorable. (Source: Tumblr post )

Cheers,

L

Wholock at the BAFTAs

Matt Smith and Benedict Cumberbatch present Steven Moffat with the 2012 BAFTA Special Award. This is video is perfection.

Benedict Cumberbatch and Matt Smith
Photo Credit: BAFTA

"'Was that an impression?'

'No... yes it was'" - Matt Smith and Benedict Cumberbatch

The Sherlock gang:
Steven Moffat (co-creator), Lara Pulver (Irene Adler),
Mark Gatiss (co-creator, Mycroft Holmes)
& Andrew Scott (Jim Moriarty)

"The man is a word machine. He is Holmes, he has the heart of the Doctor, well one of them at least." - Benedict Cumberbatch

"That's Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Who, giving me an award... that is absolutely brilliant!" ~ Moffat

Benedict Cumberbatch, Steven Moffat, and Matt Smith

"And on Sherlock, I can't but mention my brilliant friend and most brilliant collaborator, and in the words of Doyle himself, never better applied, 'the best and wisest I have ever known,' Mark Gatiss" - Moffat 

"And in many ways, the least sung but most deserving hero of Sherlock: the woman, the producer. Sue Vertue, 'the best and wisest woman' I have ever married." - Moffat 

Congratulations Steven Moffat! And also to Andrew Scott for winning Best Supporting Actor as Jim Moriarty! Looking forward to series three, (hopefully) next year!

~L

Treacle Tart

"When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavour you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, jelly, rice pudding..." - Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

"'Treacle tart, Hermione!' said Ron, deliberately wafting its smell toward her. 'Spotted dick, look! Chocolate gateau!'

But Hermione gave him a look so reminiscent of Professor McGonagall that he gave up." - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

"He felt it was a better use of his time to eat his way steadily through his steak and kidney pie, then a large plateful of his favourite treacle tart." - Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix 

Photo credit: Taste of Glasgow 

I've always read about treacle tart in the Harry Potter stories, and now I've finally tried it! Quite delicious, especially served warm with a scoop of ice cream.

~L

A melodramatic note

Dearest friends and family,

I arrive home in a week from today.

While I'm looking forward to seeing you all, the thought of leaving this beloved city is slightly unbearable. Saying goodbye to London may prove to be physically and emotionally painful.

That being said, please bear with me as I move back home and readjust to life in the PNW. The transition may require time, copious amounts of tea, and BBC marathons.

Love you all,
L

Lucian Freud exhibit

"Reflection (Self-Portrait)" 1985

Photo: Courtesy Lucian Freud Archive

"The Painter's Mother Reading"
Photo: Courtesy Lucian Freud Archive

Queen Elizabeth II
Photo: Courtesy The Royal Collection

David Hockney sitting for Lucian Freud -
 I attended both artists' London exhibitions this spring
Photo credit: David Dawson 

~L

Sunny London

in haikus

Hirst at Tate Modern,

formaldehyde animals

Is this really art?

The Thames river bank:

lovely, but I still think of

Our Mutual Friend.

This is Natalie.

She likes pipes and McFlurries,

and funny faces.

I have a thing for

domes. And roses. And churches.

St. Paul's, in my heart. 

A sleeveless dress means

an eruption of freckles

and maybe a burn.

We loaf in the grass. 

Bubs is content in the warm

afternoon sunshine.

Pink Martini, my

summer sountrack. Bare feet and

splendor in the grass.

~L

Pub crawl

I am an awkward turtle at pub crawls. The Victorian pubs were rather lovely and I somewhat enjoyed the social aspects of the excursion, but ultimately, I don't really drink alcohol. Making pub crawls slightly pointless.

Throughout the night, I had to repeatedly explain that I'm not much of a drinker. That I don't like beer. That I do enjoy a glass of wine here and there. That I've never been drunk. That I don't intend to ever experience drunkenness. At one point in the evening, I added: "Besides, I'm only nineteen. I don't drink in the States."

I received silent and incredulous stares in response.

Reminded me of Simon Amstell's stand-up performance on Sunday. He told a story about his experience with alcohol that is similar to the following interview on The Graham Norton Show.

On the plus side, the weather was absolutely glorious today. Mid-seventies and plenty of sunshine. Made for a lovely evening of walking around London.

And I received three pieces of snail mail from friends and family today. A heart-warming conclusion to my Tuesday. 

~L

The Complaint

Afra (Zora Bishop) and Truman (Callum Dixon)
Photo credit: Hampstead Theatre

Although I'm not entirely sure what this play was about, I did enjoy the performance. Can't say the same for the rest of my classmates. When we walked out of the theatre, I believe the most common reaction was "What the hell did I just watch?" (Their words, not mine.) The story, if there was a story, was very reminiscent of Kafka's The Trial. And I like Kafka. Also I have weird taste. There was something rather mesmerizing about watching this play's nonsensical world.

Nick Whitby, the playwright, describes his play as: "A small, perverse, global, post-absurdist, insurrectionist comedy."

That sounds about right.

~L

Bath: May 18-20

in photographs

Afternoon tea with a Sally Lunn bun and marmalade 

Views of Bath: The Royal Crescent 

Views of Bath: Bath Abbey at dusk--
the beginning of our moonlight walking tour

Jane Austen Centre

Nat (left) and Kristi (right) in front of the centre

Luncheon at the Pump Room

Inside Bath Abbey, where we
attended an organ recital

Views of Bath: The Palladian Bridge

Views of Bath: Kristi and Natalie by the River Avon

Views of Bath: the building on the right is the Empire Hotel.
The architect couldn't decide on a roof so he used three
different designs. From left to right: castle, manor, English cottage

The Roman Baths

Kristi and Nat and Rory the Roman

More views of the baths

After dark

~L

Numb in Richmond

Went to see Simon Amstell's Numb tour this afternoon in Richmond.

Photo Credit: simonamstell.com

Some thoughts -

• Very entertaining: funny, cheeky, and full of moments where I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry (which is an experience I find most enjoyable)
• Always nice to know I'm not the only one who struggles with existing in real life
• Certain themes strangely harmonized with current thought processes about my Mrs. Dalloway thesis (awfully convenient)

Here's a snippet of his stand-up from Do Nothing Live:

~L

Taking the waters

I'm off to Bath this morning and therefore, shall not be updating the blog until I arrive home. Then I shall provide all the lovely details!

~L

"Inverse Reverse Perverse"

The group in front of Cerith Wyn Evans's concave mirror at Tate Britain.

Photo credit: Olivia Zech

~L

All you need is love

Love, Love, Love at The Royal Court Theatre tonight. Completely brilliant. Absolutely depressing. 

~L

Belle

Meet Belle, the newest addition to our little family!

~L

London encounters (3)

I mosey through Hyde Park, following the lake aimlessly. Blissfully. It's sunny and I am in London. Walking along the Serpentine. My right hand fidgets with a five pence coin. The closest thing I have to a shilling. 

"Hello lady. How are you?"

Is he? Yes. He is speaking to me.

I stop walking and smile warmly. "Hello!"

Never did learn the "don't speak to strangers" rule. Neatly dressed and carrying a satchel bag in his left hand. Short greying hair. Foreign. Maybe a bit lost.

"Do you know how to get to Victoria Coach Station from here?"

I answer vaguely, not sure of the answer. Hyde Park Tube Station is over that way. Maybe keep heading straight ahead. I think.

We begin walking in the same direction, talking as strangers do.

Are you British? No I'm American. He's Iranian and lives in southwest England.
Why are you in London? I'm a student. He's visiting a friend.
How long have you been in the city? Two months. His first visit, just for the day.
Do you like it? Yes, I love it here. So does he. We could both see ourselves living in London.

We talk about my courses. His uncle in Detroit. I want to be a librarian. I'm always telling strangers that I want to be a librarian. He wants to practice his English.

I say I'm turning left when we come to the end of Serpentine Road. Though he's friendly and the conversation pleasant, (I bet he can't tell how old I am. How young I am.) I am on guard. Wary.
We share a warm goodbye. Shaking my hand, he says, "My name is Amin." 

"I'm Lois. It was lovely to meet you." And I do mean it.

My feet follow a path that veers back toward the Serpentine. Our conversation had led me farther than I had meant to travel. No matter, maybe I'll get an ice cream. 

I rejoice in this small interaction. Seven billion people on this earth and I've just met another--made contact. How many more? While trying to make sense of the Cavalry Memorial (is that statue supposed to be St. George trampling a dragon?), I dwell on my secret life goal of making contact with as many human lives as possible.

Until I hear my name. "Louis, Louis." Well, it's supposed to be my name. Amin comes running up behind me. "I have a hard question to ask you!"

Oh dear.

"Can I have your phone number?"

And this, dear friends, is an excellent reason not to have a cell phone. "I don't have one, sorry."

"What about facebook? Email?"

My hesitation lasts a moment too long; he senses my unease. In broken English, he rambles about how he is bad at this, how his friends say he is too forward, how I am such a nice American girl, how he likes me very much. He stops and finally asks.

How old are you? Nineteen. He is thirty-four.

Penny drops. But it does not deter him from asking the real "hard question."

"You are young. But I want for us to talk more and you to help me with my English. For you to teach me. Then we can be friends and one day get married, yes?"

Oh. Nervous laughter. A fidgety smile. He is waiting for my response.

"Um.. I don't know." You don't know? He wants to marry you and you "don't know?" Oh honestly. 

As I mentally berate myself (too nice get a backbone), Amin fishes around for a scrap of paper. Taking out a pen, he writes his name down on a card. I am to look him up on Facebook. Add him as a friend. And that's A-m-i-n and M-b-zed.

"If you don't add me, that's okay. If you do, I will be very very happy."

Nodding an okay, I take his card. We shake hands for an extraordinary length of time; nice to meet you's and have a good day's are exchanged. And then I finally turn to go, eager to avoid any further engagement. I feel like laughing.

I buy an ice cream at the nearest cafe.

~L

Throw a shilling into the Serpentine

a sunny Saturday spent in Hyde Park

"She had once thrown a shilling into the Serpentine, never anything more. But he had flung it away. They went on living (she would have to go back; the rooms were still crowded; people kept on coming). They (all day she had been thinking of Bourton, of Peter, of Sally), they would grow old. A thing there was that mattered; a thing, wreathed about with chatter, defaced, obscured in her own life, let drop every day in corruption, lies, chatter. This he had preserved. Death was defiance. Death was an attempt to communicate, people feeling the impossibility of reaching the centre which, mystically, evaded them; closeness drew apart; rapture faded; one was alone. There was an embrace in death."

- Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway

~L