It is kind of amazing how productive I feel considering I did not change out of my sweatpants all day. Nope, not kidding. Since the sweatpants went on last night after the Christian Union meeting, they have not come off, which I warned Sara was my goal for today.
"What are you doing tomorrow, Callie?"
"Well, I've got big plans. I'm going to stay in my sweatpants for as long as possible." I'm really going places in my life, can't you tell?
In defense of the sweatpants, I did get them in the men's section at Primark, which means they are fluffy and soft and just the right amount of over-sized.
I have to say, one day in can do a world of good. Since arriving in Leeds, I've been out almost every night and running annoying errands every day. Now with the arrival of classes, it's time to buckle down and do some serious sweatpants-wearing. You'd be surprised at what can be accomplished without even leaving the flat:
I crocheted an entire scarf. It's blue and warm and soft and I like it a lot. Thank you Aunt Bev for showing me the double-crochet, I think I'd make you proud.
I got groceries. You order them online here and they're delivered right to your door, so you don't have to trek uphill in the pouring-down rain... really wish we woulda known that our first few weeks here. If this grocery-delivery thing isn't the road to gettin' fat in your pajamas, I don't know what is.
I finally finished decorating my room (with all the stuff that arrived from IKEA!). I hung pictures of my family and my new watercolor of Yorkminster Cathedral, which I bought in York from a guy who had no set prices for his artwork. His sign said "I don't discriminate based on economical status, please pay what you can." I stacked my new boots in the closet, and I organized everything in bins that would make my mom's heart full of joy. Need new decorating inspiration? Just become a poor student. Part of my wall is decorated with cardboard and yarn. I know it sounds a bit janky, but it's actually kind of cute. Creativity spawns from unexpected places –– I'd say mainly being broke.
Speaking of, I applied for three jobs, which meant updating my resume to become a very British CV. I still haven't gotten used to my new mobile number or post code. They stick letters in their zip codes and a zillion numbers in their phone numbers, with no distinguishable area code. Weird! (she says with a snobby face).
I sorted laundry. Did I actually brave the rain to go down to the washing machine? No. That would require putting on actual shoes, so that task will be saved for another day.
I painted my toenails. Not that anyone will see them under all the layers of socks I've been wearing. So basically, I made my room reek of acetone for no reason.
I read extensively for my "Mass and Modernism" module tomorrow. My thoughts on my readings are that Joyce's stream-of-consciousness writing in Ulysses kind of gives you a headache and makes you wonder if your tiny, minute thoughts would ever be interesting enough to publish. (I guess that's kinda what this blog is, though, huh?) The two essays I read have heady titles that made me feel smarter just reading them, and made me ponder the effect of mass culture on intelligentsia and visa versa. I even started writing down possible research questions for my master's thesis. I've gotta get a head-start before procrastination inevitably sets in.
I made a list with my flatmates of all the cleaning tasks we will split between the five of us. Gabriel wrote it all down in a neat list (he has amazing handwriting and he put little bubbles around all our names), and pinned it up in the kitchen. I am having so much fun hanging out with them. I'd like to say my Portuguese is getting better, but all I can remember so far is "Droga!" (Dammit!) Vanessa and Gabriel tried peanut butter for the first time, and I think we've created addicts. But who can blame them? Peanut butter is fantastic.
The afore-mentioned list inspired me to vacuum my own room. If you know how much I detest vacuuming, you will know that this is a big accomplishment in my book.
Watched the first Harry Potter movie. Living in England does give one a huge hankering for all things Harry Potter. That should be a warning label they put on your immigration visa or something.
On top of all that, I wrote birthday cards to my sissies (they'll be 21, woah!), downloaded pictures from my camera, wrote emails, Skyped a friend, danced around in the kitchen to various Disney songs . . . then, discovered world peace, cured cancer, wrote the next great American novel . . . just an average day.
However, I just want to point out that if one were to be inspired to create world peace, cure cancer, or think up the next big thing, it would be probably be done in nice, big comfy sweatpants.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Saturday, September 22, 2012
I Hope
Yesterday . . . Wait, no, not yesterday because all day yesterday was spent on Katie's orange couch, cuddled under blankets with tea and too many sweets watching "Downton Abbey," and then going line dancing. Yes, line dancing! So, it must have been the day before –– on Thursday.
So on Thursday, I had my induction into the University of Leeds English program, which was of course marked by tea and biscuits, along with an orientation speech and first meetings with our supervising tutors (professors). My specialization, modern & contemporary literature, is a small one –– only 2 new students accepted this term. This is both amazing and scary: scary because I will not have a class of others to hide behind, but amazing because we'll really dig deep into the novels and essays on our reading lists, tossing around ideas with a professor who has studied contemporary literature and culture his entire adult life. I cannot wait for classes to start on Monday. When I say "I'm studying literature," everyone assumes I mean the Bronte Sisters, Beowulf, Twain and Austen. While I adore the classics, it's really rather fun to study the books that are newer and in some ways stranger, but still define art (in my opinion). Talking to my professor and fellow classmate got me high on academics again (nerd alert, I know). After leaving Professor Carroll's office, which is wall-to-wall books (Morrison, Melville and McCarthy... love it!), I started thinking about the time I will no longer be in school (though some people may argue this day will never come). And I realized how deeply I desire to always be learning. Here are my hopes for my future, whatever comes next.
I hope I never tire of thinking new thoughts. I hope I never grow complacent with what I already know. I hope I never lose that nervous feeling I get when I'm out of my element, which can be harnessed into so much creative energy. I hope I never stop loving deep conversations. I hope I never leave off wondering about human nature and about what drive us –– our families, our art, our cultures, our personalities, our lifestyles. I hope I'm never stuck in narrow-minded views. I hope I won't stop scribbling notes in books' margins and underlining parts that make me stop and think (this is why as awesome as the Kindle is, I can never love it like a real book). I hope I'll always want to ponder the complexities of purpose, beauty, faith, and relationships. I hope I never stop reading in inappropriate places at inappropriate times. I hope I'm always inspired by the people I meet, the places I see, the things I read, the conversations I have, the subjects I study, the thoughts I think, the experiences I live. I hope I never quit seeking the advice and opinions of those smarter than me. I hope I strive to define my own thoughts in a way that's constructive. I hope knowledge is always rich and never dry. I hope I'll always find God through the beauty and pain of human nature that I find both in life and in reading.
So on Thursday, I had my induction into the University of Leeds English program, which was of course marked by tea and biscuits, along with an orientation speech and first meetings with our supervising tutors (professors). My specialization, modern & contemporary literature, is a small one –– only 2 new students accepted this term. This is both amazing and scary: scary because I will not have a class of others to hide behind, but amazing because we'll really dig deep into the novels and essays on our reading lists, tossing around ideas with a professor who has studied contemporary literature and culture his entire adult life. I cannot wait for classes to start on Monday. When I say "I'm studying literature," everyone assumes I mean the Bronte Sisters, Beowulf, Twain and Austen. While I adore the classics, it's really rather fun to study the books that are newer and in some ways stranger, but still define art (in my opinion). Talking to my professor and fellow classmate got me high on academics again (nerd alert, I know). After leaving Professor Carroll's office, which is wall-to-wall books (Morrison, Melville and McCarthy... love it!), I started thinking about the time I will no longer be in school (though some people may argue this day will never come). And I realized how deeply I desire to always be learning. Here are my hopes for my future, whatever comes next.
I hope I never tire of thinking new thoughts. I hope I never grow complacent with what I already know. I hope I never lose that nervous feeling I get when I'm out of my element, which can be harnessed into so much creative energy. I hope I never stop loving deep conversations. I hope I never leave off wondering about human nature and about what drive us –– our families, our art, our cultures, our personalities, our lifestyles. I hope I'm never stuck in narrow-minded views. I hope I won't stop scribbling notes in books' margins and underlining parts that make me stop and think (this is why as awesome as the Kindle is, I can never love it like a real book). I hope I'll always want to ponder the complexities of purpose, beauty, faith, and relationships. I hope I never stop reading in inappropriate places at inappropriate times. I hope I'm always inspired by the people I meet, the places I see, the things I read, the conversations I have, the subjects I study, the thoughts I think, the experiences I live. I hope I never quit seeking the advice and opinions of those smarter than me. I hope I strive to define my own thoughts in a way that's constructive. I hope knowledge is always rich and never dry. I hope I'll always find God through the beauty and pain of human nature that I find both in life and in reading.
Normalcy
Before leaving for my year in England, I thought a lot about the fact that I am getting older, and yet still don't quite know how to prepare myself for the unexpected, the unknowable. In some ways, I hold on to a childish idea of normalcy; I cling to what is comfortable. But as I continue to grow up (despite my efforts to find Neverland), I am slowly and surely realizing that there is no "normal" to return to. Life in its seasons changes everything. There is no longer a status quo.
For so many years, we have set paths to follow–– you play the role of student from elementary through college. You have set notions of how to be a good daughter, sister, friend (mostly formed from watching adults and sometimes sitcoms). And you have set dreams –– the same ones you've been dreaming since childhood. For me, it's the quaint picket fence and babies and gardening on Saturday afternoons.
But when you move into adulthood, there are setbacks, failures, pain and complexities. You find yourself thinking "I just want to get back to normal." But, the thing is, you're never the same once you get through that move, that fight, that difficulty, that heart break. And in many ways, you're glad you're not the same. Yes, some of the childish optimism might be gone, but in its place, perhaps you'll find strength or perspective or richer faith. And after all that, you might find that your previous "normal" doesn't fit as comfortably as it once did.
That new reality is difficult for me to come to terms with. I like my set ideas, my set dreams, my set paths. I don't enjoy being uncomfortable, and who isn't scared a little of the unknown? But because life in its seasons, in its complexities, in its failures & triumphs has changed me, I am forced to move on –– to become more and more comfortable with having no control, no set role or view of reality, and to accept a shifting definition of what is "normal."
For so many years, we have set paths to follow–– you play the role of student from elementary through college. You have set notions of how to be a good daughter, sister, friend (mostly formed from watching adults and sometimes sitcoms). And you have set dreams –– the same ones you've been dreaming since childhood. For me, it's the quaint picket fence and babies and gardening on Saturday afternoons.
But when you move into adulthood, there are setbacks, failures, pain and complexities. You find yourself thinking "I just want to get back to normal." But, the thing is, you're never the same once you get through that move, that fight, that difficulty, that heart break. And in many ways, you're glad you're not the same. Yes, some of the childish optimism might be gone, but in its place, perhaps you'll find strength or perspective or richer faith. And after all that, you might find that your previous "normal" doesn't fit as comfortably as it once did.
That new reality is difficult for me to come to terms with. I like my set ideas, my set dreams, my set paths. I don't enjoy being uncomfortable, and who isn't scared a little of the unknown? But because life in its seasons, in its complexities, in its failures & triumphs has changed me, I am forced to move on –– to become more and more comfortable with having no control, no set role or view of reality, and to accept a shifting definition of what is "normal."
Thank goodness for a God who is the one unchanging and constant force in life.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Have a Cup of Tea
One of my favorite things about the British culture is their love of tea. I've always been a tea drinker –– I grew up on English Breakfast with milk and sugar –– but now, I find I crave it every few hours. Today, though, I realized why I love drinking tea here so much. It's not just me jonesing for a caffeine fix, but it's because of the social aspect. I drank 5 cups of tea today, and it's been one of my favorite days on record.
Cup 1: Who doesn't love the first cup of tea in the morning, after getting to sleep in (or having a lie in, as the British would say). Especially after falling asleep last night snuggled under my striped duvet to the sound of rain against the window panes, and waking up to a breezy, sunny morning.
Cup 2: Lunch with the roommate: left-over pasta (pronounced pah-sta here) and Digestives with my tea for dessert. Who knew such a yummy biscuit (cookie) could have such a strange-sounding name. Plus, this second cup of tea gave me the jolt of energy needed for our adventure with Hannah and Vicki, two of our new friends –– and seriously, the sweetest girls I've ever met. The four of us walked up towards Headingly (right outside of Leeds) and tramped through the woods behind where they used to live. Rain drizzled down green trees, making the dirt smell dark and delicious. Favorite moment: finding and trying out the rope swing they put up in the middle of the forest last term (a stick tied to a rope, tied to a tree branch). Swinging made me feel about 7 years old again, in such a good way.
Cup 3: At the bakery/coffee shop in Headingly, where we ordered tea with scones and jam and clotted cream. There's nothing I'd rather do than chat the afternoon away –– with warm baked goods, comfy couches and soft acoustic music. And, of course, the best company. You've gotta love cute coffee shops and good ol' fashioned girl talk.
Cup 4: Served at Vicki and Hannah's house, an enchanting four-story with a garden, an attic, a 2nd kitchen in the basement, creaky staircases, and 10 rooms (most of which have fireplaces. I know, right?!). We sat around with their great set of housemates (out of 10, we've met 7 so far). When they were all talking and bantering, it was such a lovely homey feel (even though I have to say, I couldn't catch every word). The girls made us a delicious traditional cottage pie and pudding (dessert), which was apple crisp. Have you ever heard of anything sweeter than that? We had such good laughs that I got my ab workout for a month.
Cup 5: The last cup of tea, which is currently keeping me awake, was during a game of Articulate, which is essentially a board-game version of Catch Phrase. Loved it. I loved how it brought out the differences in our cultural expressions and explanations. Sara and I dominated, by the way. Then, we all watched the BBC sitcom, Miranda, which words can't explain. They just can't.
It's amazing how at home I felt in a place that's thousands of miles from my own, and how comfortable and loved I felt by dear friends I've only known days. After today, all I can say is that God is good, and so is tea.
Cup 1: Who doesn't love the first cup of tea in the morning, after getting to sleep in (or having a lie in, as the British would say). Especially after falling asleep last night snuggled under my striped duvet to the sound of rain against the window panes, and waking up to a breezy, sunny morning.
Cup 2: Lunch with the roommate: left-over pasta (pronounced pah-sta here) and Digestives with my tea for dessert. Who knew such a yummy biscuit (cookie) could have such a strange-sounding name. Plus, this second cup of tea gave me the jolt of energy needed for our adventure with Hannah and Vicki, two of our new friends –– and seriously, the sweetest girls I've ever met. The four of us walked up towards Headingly (right outside of Leeds) and tramped through the woods behind where they used to live. Rain drizzled down green trees, making the dirt smell dark and delicious. Favorite moment: finding and trying out the rope swing they put up in the middle of the forest last term (a stick tied to a rope, tied to a tree branch). Swinging made me feel about 7 years old again, in such a good way.
Cup 3: At the bakery/coffee shop in Headingly, where we ordered tea with scones and jam and clotted cream. There's nothing I'd rather do than chat the afternoon away –– with warm baked goods, comfy couches and soft acoustic music. And, of course, the best company. You've gotta love cute coffee shops and good ol' fashioned girl talk.
Cup 4: Served at Vicki and Hannah's house, an enchanting four-story with a garden, an attic, a 2nd kitchen in the basement, creaky staircases, and 10 rooms (most of which have fireplaces. I know, right?!). We sat around with their great set of housemates (out of 10, we've met 7 so far). When they were all talking and bantering, it was such a lovely homey feel (even though I have to say, I couldn't catch every word). The girls made us a delicious traditional cottage pie and pudding (dessert), which was apple crisp. Have you ever heard of anything sweeter than that? We had such good laughs that I got my ab workout for a month.
Cup 5: The last cup of tea, which is currently keeping me awake, was during a game of Articulate, which is essentially a board-game version of Catch Phrase. Loved it. I loved how it brought out the differences in our cultural expressions and explanations. Sara and I dominated, by the way. Then, we all watched the BBC sitcom, Miranda, which words can't explain. They just can't.
It's amazing how at home I felt in a place that's thousands of miles from my own, and how comfortable and loved I felt by dear friends I've only known days. After today, all I can say is that God is good, and so is tea.
Monday, September 17, 2012
Good, yes?
This post is an ode to our Brazilian flat mates, who are the best two guys ever. Today, Gui (we called him this because we cannot pronounce his full name), asked "What is this thing the rabbits eat? How do you say this?" Apparently, he was extremely happy because he was able to order a sandwich at Subway today, but he couldn't remember the word for carrot. Cute, no?
Gui: The babes here are very cute!
I am learning about a different culture right in my own flat. They speak Portuguese to each other, teach us about futbol, burn chicken in the oven (because they aren't used to cooking chicken, or cooking at all, really), sing "The Smiths" in the shower (well, Gabriel does; he has a great voice), and listen to samba music. They are warm and kind, and greet us with a hug and kiss on the cheek –– like it's been weeks since we've seen each other instead of hours. They ask us all sorts of questions about American culture, share easily, and stay out all hours of the night dancing. I love when they hunt and ask for the English word, or when they tell me about the pianos in the subways around Sau Paulo. Every day living with them, I'm reminded of the big world outside of myself and broaden my narrow experiences. This is good, yes?
Favorite exchanges so far:
Gabriel: "I think the rice it needs more water."
Gui: "More?!"
Gabriel: "Yes! More! That’s what Mama says."
Gui: "Are you sure??"
Gabriel: "No." *pours water in pot*
Gabriel: "I think the rice it needs more water."
Gui: "More?!"
Gabriel: "Yes! More! That’s what Mama says."
Gui: "Are you sure??"
Gabriel: "No." *pours water in pot*
* * *
Gabriel (to Gui): Would you like some of my vegetables?
Gui: No.
Gabriel: Would you like some of my lettuce?
Gui: No. But thank you.
Gabriel: Okay, but tomorrow you must eat some of this green. It is the 16th tomorrow and you have not eaten any since we get here. Okay?
* * *
Gui: The babes here are very cute!
Sara: The girls?
Gui: Huh?
Sara: In America, 'babes' means an attractive girl.
Gui: Uhhhh, no. . .
Me: Do you mean babies?
Gui: Yes, yes, the babies! The babies here are very cute. Awkward mistake, no?
Friday, September 14, 2012
The Journey
September 10 (or as the British would do it, backwards: 10/09/12)
They say it's all about the journey. I disagree. In fact, I've always said that my super power of choice would be teleportation–– that way, I could avoid the journey all together. The journey to getting there is not half the fun; in fact, it's rarely fun at all. Especially when the journey includes a 12-hour flight, two 50-pound duffel bags (and weak arm muscles), no sleep, bad food and claustrophobic tendencies.
I looked and felt like a hobo walking through the San Francisco airport, with my rainboots (which wouldn't fit in my bag, but couldn't be left behind) and a heavy hooded jacket. My jacket pockets were bulging with the stuff I had to take out of my purse when the grumpy airport worker made me consolidate one of my bags. Apparently, you can't get on a United flight with a purse and a rolling suitcase and a backpack and a pillow (which had a journal, book, beanie, crochet needle and yarn, and pair of slipper socks stuffed in its case). Getting through security was a chore, and I felt prouder of myself for getting onto the airplane in one piece than I had graduating high school.
During the first 5-hour leg of the flight to D.C., I sat next to an Irish couple, and I spent a good deal of time chatting with the husband next to me about his grandbabies and their summer house in Spain and the weather in Dublin versus London. He had a soft brogue and kind smile lines around his eyes. When we got off the plane, they both wished me luck with a hug. Part of the reason I needed luck was because my next flight was already boarding on the other side of the terminal. A one hour layover is hardly enough time as it is, but especially not if your first flight is 45 minutes behind schedule. I already mentioned how much stuff I had, so imagine all of that, and now add me running across the entire length of that terminal (in boots and a jacket) . . . well, let's just say the last uphill ramp felt like Everest.
Seeing Sara made everything happier, and after an epic hug, we were two of the last to board the flight. Then, a ridiculously cute Manchester boy helped me stuff (cram, shove, punch, heave, squeeze) my carry-on up into the overhead compartment. So, of course, it was definitely love right then and there.
7 hours of flight time and a bit of rough turbulence later, we were on the ground in Manchester, England, where it was gray and rainy. We gathered our baggage (now, Sara had as many suitcases as I did –– so double everything and we basically needed a small freight train to lug our stuff around), and met Malc outside, who was waiting for us with a sign. I've never been picked up at the airport with a sign before, so I immediately liked him. Malc and his wife Karen are friends of Sara's church friends from back home, and it was nice to be picked up by a friendly face. We steered our stuff out into the parking structure, where we saw his car. Malc was driving a Spider –– and if the name doesn't already give this away, it was a peanut of a car.
Being the gracious man that he is, Malc did not say a word, but gravely set about finding a way to fit all the bags into the convertible. It was like a jigsaw puzzle, but we finally managed it. It was touch-and-go getting the roof of the car up, and I have to admit, I genuinely didn't think the roof would clear the tower of suitcases. I was wedged in about a foot of space in the back seat, and could not see out of any window, while Sara was in the front seat with a 50-pound duffel on her lap.
Malc drove us to his flat for lunch, which is situated in a charming village over a pub. They had a springer dog named Ebony who looked like my dog Sienna, with her graying ears and droopy brown eyes. They fed us chicken and potatoes and vegetables, which seemed the most amazing thing in the world, until Karen brought out dessert, which was scones with jam and clotted cream, along with fresh raspberries and chocolate pudding (though I'm sure they don't call it pudding here). We sat with the door to the balcony open, overlooking small sailboats bobbing on the lake across the street from their flat, talking of British and American stereotypes, and of travel and road trips.
I slept most of the way into Leeds, hardly able to keep my eyes open (at this point, it was about 7 a.m. according to our body time, and I hadn't slept since about 7 a.m. the day before). But when I was awakened by the polite instructions of Malc's British GPS, and able to see out a small sliver of window over Sara's shoulder, I was struck by how familiar it all felt. I had thought it would all feel foreign. After all, I only studied in England for 4 months the first time, and it was in quite a different part of the country. But, the funny-named motorways, church steeples, turn-abouts, green countryside, rock walls, and small cobblestone villages with pubs and antique shops, all gave me a comfortable feeling of nostalgia and homecoming, in a way.
Arriving at the college is all a bit of a blur. I remember thinking it all felt lovely and familiar, like a college campus should –– with lots of trees and brick buildings. We found our check-in point, lugged our bags into a small room (and of course filled up the room almost entirely with our zillion bags), and were warmly welcomed with packets of information, along with a paper lunch bag full of crisps (chips), a tea bag and paper cup, cornflakes, and a green apple. They take really good care of you when you're an international student.
Luckily, we were able to move right into our flat. Even though we completely pissed off a taxi driver with all our bags (seriously, he was so miffed when he saw all our stuff), with 2 trips we were finally able to get everything up the narrow staircases, through multiple fire doors (with all this rain, why such concern for fire safety?), and into our new accommodation. Our flat is in a "block," surrounded by other brick houses full of students. We share the 5-bedroom flat with 3 other students, two boys and a girl. They are all from Brazil, but haven't arrived yet. We have a lovely kitchen ––which already had a hot pot in it!–– and cozy rooms. My comforter was vacuum-packed in my carry-on, which was a huge pain while packing, but now seems like the best idea ever. Right after a shower, I got to go straight to sleep under my fluffy duvet.
And best of all, my pillow still smelled of home even after 2 days of travel, making me feel closer to everyone somehow.
I have to say that when you do arrive at your destination, it makes all the stressful parts of the journey seem worth it. That 100+ pounds of stuff you just lugged across country fits easily into your closet (and makes you wonder why you didn't bring more?), your bed is like heaven, a shower never felt so good, and you begin another journey –– the journey of making a new place feel like home.
Also, I decided that the next time I move overseas, I am shipping all my stuff.
They say it's all about the journey. I disagree. In fact, I've always said that my super power of choice would be teleportation–– that way, I could avoid the journey all together. The journey to getting there is not half the fun; in fact, it's rarely fun at all. Especially when the journey includes a 12-hour flight, two 50-pound duffel bags (and weak arm muscles), no sleep, bad food and claustrophobic tendencies.
I looked and felt like a hobo walking through the San Francisco airport, with my rainboots (which wouldn't fit in my bag, but couldn't be left behind) and a heavy hooded jacket. My jacket pockets were bulging with the stuff I had to take out of my purse when the grumpy airport worker made me consolidate one of my bags. Apparently, you can't get on a United flight with a purse and a rolling suitcase and a backpack and a pillow (which had a journal, book, beanie, crochet needle and yarn, and pair of slipper socks stuffed in its case). Getting through security was a chore, and I felt prouder of myself for getting onto the airplane in one piece than I had graduating high school.
During the first 5-hour leg of the flight to D.C., I sat next to an Irish couple, and I spent a good deal of time chatting with the husband next to me about his grandbabies and their summer house in Spain and the weather in Dublin versus London. He had a soft brogue and kind smile lines around his eyes. When we got off the plane, they both wished me luck with a hug. Part of the reason I needed luck was because my next flight was already boarding on the other side of the terminal. A one hour layover is hardly enough time as it is, but especially not if your first flight is 45 minutes behind schedule. I already mentioned how much stuff I had, so imagine all of that, and now add me running across the entire length of that terminal (in boots and a jacket) . . . well, let's just say the last uphill ramp felt like Everest.
Seeing Sara made everything happier, and after an epic hug, we were two of the last to board the flight. Then, a ridiculously cute Manchester boy helped me stuff (cram, shove, punch, heave, squeeze) my carry-on up into the overhead compartment. So, of course, it was definitely love right then and there.
7 hours of flight time and a bit of rough turbulence later, we were on the ground in Manchester, England, where it was gray and rainy. We gathered our baggage (now, Sara had as many suitcases as I did –– so double everything and we basically needed a small freight train to lug our stuff around), and met Malc outside, who was waiting for us with a sign. I've never been picked up at the airport with a sign before, so I immediately liked him. Malc and his wife Karen are friends of Sara's church friends from back home, and it was nice to be picked up by a friendly face. We steered our stuff out into the parking structure, where we saw his car. Malc was driving a Spider –– and if the name doesn't already give this away, it was a peanut of a car.
Being the gracious man that he is, Malc did not say a word, but gravely set about finding a way to fit all the bags into the convertible. It was like a jigsaw puzzle, but we finally managed it. It was touch-and-go getting the roof of the car up, and I have to admit, I genuinely didn't think the roof would clear the tower of suitcases. I was wedged in about a foot of space in the back seat, and could not see out of any window, while Sara was in the front seat with a 50-pound duffel on her lap.
Malc drove us to his flat for lunch, which is situated in a charming village over a pub. They had a springer dog named Ebony who looked like my dog Sienna, with her graying ears and droopy brown eyes. They fed us chicken and potatoes and vegetables, which seemed the most amazing thing in the world, until Karen brought out dessert, which was scones with jam and clotted cream, along with fresh raspberries and chocolate pudding (though I'm sure they don't call it pudding here). We sat with the door to the balcony open, overlooking small sailboats bobbing on the lake across the street from their flat, talking of British and American stereotypes, and of travel and road trips.
I slept most of the way into Leeds, hardly able to keep my eyes open (at this point, it was about 7 a.m. according to our body time, and I hadn't slept since about 7 a.m. the day before). But when I was awakened by the polite instructions of Malc's British GPS, and able to see out a small sliver of window over Sara's shoulder, I was struck by how familiar it all felt. I had thought it would all feel foreign. After all, I only studied in England for 4 months the first time, and it was in quite a different part of the country. But, the funny-named motorways, church steeples, turn-abouts, green countryside, rock walls, and small cobblestone villages with pubs and antique shops, all gave me a comfortable feeling of nostalgia and homecoming, in a way.
Arriving at the college is all a bit of a blur. I remember thinking it all felt lovely and familiar, like a college campus should –– with lots of trees and brick buildings. We found our check-in point, lugged our bags into a small room (and of course filled up the room almost entirely with our zillion bags), and were warmly welcomed with packets of information, along with a paper lunch bag full of crisps (chips), a tea bag and paper cup, cornflakes, and a green apple. They take really good care of you when you're an international student.
Luckily, we were able to move right into our flat. Even though we completely pissed off a taxi driver with all our bags (seriously, he was so miffed when he saw all our stuff), with 2 trips we were finally able to get everything up the narrow staircases, through multiple fire doors (with all this rain, why such concern for fire safety?), and into our new accommodation. Our flat is in a "block," surrounded by other brick houses full of students. We share the 5-bedroom flat with 3 other students, two boys and a girl. They are all from Brazil, but haven't arrived yet. We have a lovely kitchen ––which already had a hot pot in it!–– and cozy rooms. My comforter was vacuum-packed in my carry-on, which was a huge pain while packing, but now seems like the best idea ever. Right after a shower, I got to go straight to sleep under my fluffy duvet.
And best of all, my pillow still smelled of home even after 2 days of travel, making me feel closer to everyone somehow.
I have to say that when you do arrive at your destination, it makes all the stressful parts of the journey seem worth it. That 100+ pounds of stuff you just lugged across country fits easily into your closet (and makes you wonder why you didn't bring more?), your bed is like heaven, a shower never felt so good, and you begin another journey –– the journey of making a new place feel like home.
Also, I decided that the next time I move overseas, I am shipping all my stuff.
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