Just for kicks, a few random photos.

Dear France: why are you so pretty?


It was raining that day, so the war protesters camped out in tents.


Buckingham Palace, right? Of course it's Buckingham Palace, complete with the Union Jack. Funny story: I had only a vague conception of where the Palace was and what it looked like, so I walked past this area probably three or four times on my way to the park before I realized why everyone was taking pictures. In my defense, though, compared to a lot of the other old architecture around London, the Palace really isn't very noticeable or impressive.


Victoria Memorial, in front of Buckingham Palace.




Poppy Day (Remembrance Day for the World Wars) was 11 Nov. Most people pin poppies to the collars of their coats.

As one little tourist boy so aptly stated, while taking a picture of a man with a fake lobster attached to his head, ...

"There are so many weird people in London." It's true. There are. Probably, in fact, one of the greatest concentrations of weird people that I've ever encountered. And I've lived in Ann Arbor, so that's saying something.

For example, there is a woman who dresses in a shiny silver leotard and, suspended by an enormous balloon, performs acrobatics in the air with Christmas carols as background music. There's a man who paints himself entirely in black and stands as still as a stone on the edge of the sidewalk with crumbs scattered around him, until he is surrounded, and sometimes landed on, by pigeons. There's a jazz band that busks under the Hungerford Bridge, dirty-dancing while playing on the trumpet, saxophone, etc.

But I'll grant you that many of the idiosyncrasies which amuse me are the same freak-shows that tourists come to London for--one of the many side effects of living in the center of the city.

The temperature has seemed to stay relatively steady for the past few weeks, and in the face of Michigan ice-storms, I can no longer complain about the weather. Last night, I was in Trafalgar Square for the lighting of the traditional tree gifted to London by the Norwegians. Following a the lighting, a city band and local choir played/sang, and what had previously been a light mist turned into a cold drizzle. One of the choir girls promptly busted out an umbrella, but most of them just stood there and shivered.

In the words of the inestimable Lord Major of Westminster, "I'm sure we all, Londoners and international visitors alike, feel closer to the Norwegian people as a result of this gift." Harumph. I'm sure we do.

In addition to the expected Christmas trees and lighted streets, Christmas carnivals seem to be popular here. Carousels with reindeer are not uncommon, and a Christmas-themed carnival has taken over a very large segment of Hyde Park. Large groups of tourists walk along the Thames with Santa Claus hats bobbing on their heads.

And as for me, you ask? I went to my last class of the semester this morning. Next week, I have consultations for the exams and essays that I won't have to sit for or turn in until the second week in January. And... I'm tired. I miss my friends. So, other attempted travel plans having fallen through, I'm bringing my books and my essay-writing ass back into the country, and more specifically, to the west side of Michigan, for the holidays. Since most of my fellow students will be home for Christmas, I'll probably spend most of my time with family, but if you have some free time and want to hang out, email me! I'll be in Michigan from 13 December until 3 January.

xoxo.

And now, a general update on my non-sightseeing-related existence.

I'm half-way through the school term now, and I've just turned in my mid-term coursework. (Read: I've just returned from a three-day trip to completely-nutty-and-off-my-rocker land, where I somehow produced a coherent essay on the Song of Songs, and a ridiculously long data-analysis of Old-English and Middle-English verb conjugations and noun inflections (ugh!), all in between the mild hallucinations that functioned as a substitute for sleep.)

But we're done with that now! and back to my relatively sane existence, where I've been treating myself to butter-caramels and frequent bubble-baths to sooth my mildly traumatized brain. ("It's okay, sweety. It's over now.")

The weather is progressing from cold to frigid here, and I've actually begun to wear my winter coat most of the time. Every day after class, I arm myself with a large hot cocoa to help me survive the thirty-minute walk home.

The upside of this is that after the now-early sundown, many of the streets are lit beautifully with Christmas lights. The plaza of Somerset House, right next to campus, has been converted from a summertime perfect-for-coffee plaza, complete with choreographed fountains, to an enormous ice-rink, sporting a lavishly decorated and lighted Christmas tree, which might be half as tall as Big Ben. And, of course, a cute little shop with hot drinks on the side. I can't wait to go.

In other news, we celebrated November 5th (Remember, remember the Fifth of November!) about a week and a half ago. There were extravagant displays of fireworks for about a week surrounding the date, and people are still occasionally setting off their own personal fireworks. It's like a British Fourth of July. The night itself ("Bonfire Night"), people make bonfires all across the city, onto which they throw effigies of Guy Fawkes, and sometimes the Pope as well (no offense meant to Catholics, I'm sure).

On that note, I'm off for some late-night reading and tea, possibly another bubble-bath, and then my lovely bed. Catch you later, loves.

A to-do list that would make any english nerd drool, and one or two for the general public.

Apologies to all for my extended absence! Here are some of the more interesting things that I've been up to:

1. Westminster Abbey. (!!!) Considering that one of the things I most wanted to see in London was the Poets' Corner, and also that I basically live right across the river from the Abbey, it's really quite pathetic that it took me this long. It was well worth the trip, though. I probably spent a good three hours inside, wandering through all of the tombs and cloisters. It's quite an eerie feeling, to know that you're treading on the graves of so many of the influential people from England's past (especially knowing that the Abbey is no longer accepting people to be buried there--it's too full!). The Poets' Corner wasn't quite as impressive as I wanted it to be, but then how could it have been, when I was expecting so much? I had to laugh, though, when I saw Chaucer's grave--which is all of four feet in length. A small reminder, I suppose, of a (slightly-humorous) reality in a place that otherwise inspires nothing but awe.

There are several enclosed gardens attached to the Abbey, and as the day of my visit was cloudy and misty, I was the only one who ventured outside. It gave me an elated feeling of exploration; the gardens are overgrown in parts, with plenty of moss-covered benches, crumbling steps, and vine-entangled statues which, when stumbled upon, give the visitor the impression of having stumbled upon some ancient secret.

2. "Vinopolis." Several of my housemates and I went for a wine-tasting tour nearby, where we received a tutorial on how to taste and evaluate wine like professionals, and tried various wines, as well as a few varieties of beer, absinthe, and Scottish whiskey. And while I still don't like beer, and am not at all sure that I could tell you whether a particular wine smells metallic or not, I did make some discoveries about my preferences. Apparently, 1. I'm in love with Brazilian Chardonnay, 2. I prefer the stronger French variety of absinthe to its weak and minty Czech counterpart, and 3. Scottish "Talisker" whiskey, which savors of peat-smoke and pepper, and burns like hell-fire going down, is among the most beautiful things I have ever tasted.

And then, hilarity ensued as we walked back home through the rain (who knew? It actually does rain constantly in London!), with, of course, that lovely warm feeling in our stomachs.

3. Love's Labour's Lost at the reconstructed Globe theatre. I went to this particular event quite a while ago, but it bears mentioning. The theatre itself is a very realistic replica of the original, complete with the "groundling" area, where my £5 ticket landed me. It misted during the performance (it's open-air, of course!), so those of us not in the covered, royal seats were obliged to put up our hoods. The absence of a roof adds another quaint charm to the play: it is constantly interrupted by the presence of pigeons flying down and alighting on the stage, which problem is generally remedied by the more mischievous of the play's characters running at the birds to chase them off into the rafters (and sometimes into the crowd).

The play itself was well put-on, I thought, and hilarious, of course. It was a bit of a shock to walk out of the theatre area and into the Globe's cafe/lobby, which is the epitome of modern sophistication. And here I'd gone and imagined myself into the scenes of Shakespeare in Love.

4. Romeo and Juliet, put on by the Royal Ballet, at the Royal Opera House. This was my first ballet, and I was up in the nosebleed seats (as you doubtless will have guessed), next to an adorable Japanese-English couple who, judging by their witty commentary, were clearly more experienced at the whole "ballet" thing than I. Nonetheless, I enjoyed the performance very much. Despite the absence of dialogue, it was absolutely hilarious in parts (my favorite being the party-crashing scene at the Capulet ball), and moving in others. I actually cried a bit at the end, which hasn't happened in a long time with this particular play.

A brief address on a (brief) trip to the south of France.

As some of you know, and some of you do not, I spent the last four (or five, depending on how you measure it) days in the south of France--namely, Aix-en-Provence and Marseilles. The story is this: approximately 11 days ago, Dariya came to stay with me in London during her break from classes. We wandered through much of my surrounding districts, in and around Hyde Park and the Kensington Gardens (and the Serpentine Lake! where with any luck I will spend many of the sunny days of next year's summer), through Trafalgar Square, along the river, the clocktower, and Parliament. We toured Leicester Square (but did not venture into the nearby and seedy Soho), and even managed to get over to the Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese pub on Fleet Street. The highlights were perhaps the sprawling Borough fresh food market (many fruits and vegetables, chocolates, sweet cakes, and freshly baked English pot pies) and the Sherlock Holmes pub, where we enjoyed a dinner of "Hound of the Baskervilles", and some very tasty spotted dick and custard for dessert.

Last Tuesday, after about four days here, Dariya and I took a cheap RyanAir flight from London to Marseille, and met Jane in Aix-en-Provence. For most of the time, we simply explored Aix, including the fruit and craft morning markets, as well as a goodly number of the dumbfoundingly delicious pastry shops. The landscape views were beautiful (I miss mountains!), and I was enchanted by the various eclectic fountains on display (for example, one with four angry fish spewing graceful arcs of water, another small fountain with a very large and disgruntled wild boar, and a final one that merely looked like a moss-overgrown cube with some rather pathetic trickles).

We went to Marseilles twice whilst we were there, once going up to the basilica, the high point of the city, with a gold statue of the Virgin Mary at its peak. Despite the fact that I am not very religious, I was amazed at the beauty of the cathedral and its paintings and stained glass. From outside the church, we could see the entire city, with all of its orange-tiled rooftops.

On another trip to Marseilles, we took the ferry to the Chateau d'If, the island of the shore which is home to the prison fortress referenced in Dumas's The Count of Monte Cristo. We had planned on going to the beach that day, but alas: it turned suddenly frigid and rainy, and so I have returned home without a dip in the Mediterranean. The gray and dismal day, however, was absolutely perfect for a visit to the former prison.

I am back in London now, after many pastries and bus-rides, two-and-a-half days of missed classes, and one nearly-missed airplane. Thus, for now, I must leave my descriptions and go begin to catch up on the reading for this week's classes. Ciao!

A small announcement.

For those of you who haven't noticed, I have changed the settings on this blog to accept comments from anyone, since I know many of those reading this do not have an account. Yay! Please tell me your thoughts.

Black-and-white photos mean I'm artistic, right?

One of the bridges of St. James' Park, right where the lake meets its tributary.

This picture would have been far better with color, where you could see the vibrant colors of the garden behind the napping man...but alas. I had already used all the color film I had brought with me that day.

They are trying to get the ducks to come over and eat their fingers.


Not to cater to stereotypes or anything, but there really are an exorbitant number of pigeons around here.


An omen, surely.


Another picture that would have been far better in color. My impression was that he was photographing some brilliantly red flowers directly in front of him.


Obligatory wistful picture of streetlamp, with backdrop of the Thames River at night.

A selection of photos (yay!)

The lovely and formidable Westminster Bridge, complete with one of the City's famous red two-story buses.

A laden branch draping itself over the Thames (just for fun).

The Hungerford Bridge, as seen from the London Eye.

Do not feed the pelicans?

A southerly view down the Thames, from the top of the London Eye. That's Lambeth Bridge.

Yay! Fountain!

Approaching the apex of the Eye.

Lambeth Bridge, across the river from my dorm. There's a park that runs right along the riverside, with overhanging trees and tiny castles which the local children have appropriated for their playgrounds.

One of the aforementioned castles, albeit without any children currently attached to it. Endearing, yes? Yes.

The clocktower (aka. Big Ben) !!! I can hear the chimes from my room.


Parliament. It thinks it looks imposing.


Hello, Mr. Strange-looking-duck. You are excessively plump and pink-toed.


An Ent, perhaps?


What I can only assume to be an old gamekeeper's cottage, on the outskirts of St. James' Park.




I felt like a complete tourist when I took these photos, but how was I to resist? I ask you.

$#&@ing cloudbursts.

London differs from Michigan in one crucial aspect: at least one sudden cloudburst occurs on most days, and the time or likelihood of these downpours can in no way be predicted from either checking the weather report or looking at the sky. I have been caught in several of these, without the umbrella that I thought unnecessary when looking at the sunny morning horizon.

Most Londoners, will, when the drizzle begins, quickly pull out their raincoats and umbrellas and continue on unperturbed. Of the rest, those who can afford to wait do so, huddling under bridge overpasses and streetside cafes. Some simply stick their hands in their pockets and start walking a bit faster. A few pull out their cameras to catch a shot of Big Ben and the sunlight-freckled-spires of Parliament across the river and through the mist (which I have to admit, made an amazing picture).

They are used to unpredictability, here.

Some other adventures and strange things...

As far as I can tell, flirtation here is an entirely different beast than in the States. As some of you have heard, last week I was confronted by an Irishman on my way home along the river, who asked me loads of questions about my studies and travels, and was forward enough to rub my shoulder as we were walking. A good ten minutes of talking later, he says, "Well, love, you probably can't help me since you're new here, but I need a banknote."

In other words, he was a bum, and that was the strangest appeal for money I ever hope to encounter.

Furthermore, earlier today, during my break from classes, I was exploring the nearby streets and happened to stop to buy several interesting-looking postcards at a newsstand. When I went into the store to pay for them, the man at the counter commented on my accent (which he said sounded odd for an American), and struck up a conversation with me, asking me what I was doing in London, where I was studying, and what I was doing right now. I replied that I was going for lunch during my break from classes.

He replied, "Oh, well I'm just leaving for my break! Let's go get lunch, then."

I decided to go along with this plan. He was, after all, very friendly, and could probably show me a good local restaurant that I would otherwise be unable to find. We walked to the nearby Covent Plaza, where there are numerous restaurants and shops. In a very "I'm the man, and must take charge and order for the lady" manner, he ordered my food (a hearty, steaming baked potato stuffed with baked beans), paid for it, and decided where we would sit. He continued to ask me questions throughout the meal: what kind of music do I like, what's my favorite food, where was I planning on travelling, etc. From here, he began to ask me about my weekend plans, and seemed to think it perfectly appropriate to suggest we go to Brighton or Edinburgh together for the weekend!

I did my best to discreetly decline; but he was very persistent, and in the end wrote down his number for me "in case I'm bored and want to go out for a drink or something."

He was very reluctant to say goodbye, but I said I had class and had to go. Still, he insisted on planting a kiss on my cheek before I left.

And all this from an innocent coversation with a cashier at the newsstand! I was very bemused after the event.

My conclusion: the men I have met thus far in England are much too touchy for my claustrophobic and independent tastes, and I will not be calling "Jazz," as my pursuer called himself.

And so it begins (my quest for knowledge, that is).

Classes started yesterday. Unfortunately, Monday morning arrived a bit later than it was supposed to, and I had failed to plan ahead for the labyrinth I was to encounter upon entering the college buildings. By the time I discovered where my first lecture was, I was 40 minutes late (out of an hour-long class), and was too embarrassed to enter.

I finally realized, however, that upon entering the building, nearly everyone (even the Brits) proceeds to the reception desk, where students are to quote the room number they are looking for, and are promptly discharged by the clerks to their proper destination. This discovery has made finding the rest of my classes infinitely easier.

My first class, Subjects of Desire in Medieval Religious Writings, is fascinating so far. Luckily the lectures and seminars are taught by the same professor in this instance, so I was able to catch up for the lecture I missed, and no harm done. This week, we will be reading St. Augustine's Confessions, which promises to be a very interesting work (from the five paragraphs I have read so far). :)

Elizabethan Shakespeare is, so far, the most challenging of my courses. We covered a very extensive amount of the historical and cultural context of Shakespeare's plays today, delving into the War of the Roses, the family trees of the Yorks and Lancasters, and the ascension of the Tudor kings. However, the professors, Sonia and Gordon, are both very friendly. Sonia is a slightly intimidating, fast-paced woman whose accent I cannot place, though it is decidedly not British; while Gordon is a frumpy, bumbling, spectacled middle-aged man who is quite British, and the easiest person in the world to approach and learn from.

History of English is a bit dry so far (to be expected, perhaps), but I am operating under the assumption that it will become more interesting as we get into the meat of the course, and the origins of the English language.

Oh, and here's my address...

Brian Creamer House
216a Lambeth Road, Rm. S10
London SE1 7JY

(for those of you who are interested).

I'm here!

I've been in London for a week, and I'm feeling much better than when I stepped off the airplane. For those of you who haven't heard the story, I was coming down with a cold when I left the airport in Michigan, and it only got worse during the eight-hour plane ride. By the time we landed, I was nauseous, sniffling, running a fever, and half-deaf from the pressure in my ears. After dragging myself through customs (luckily, I had no problems), I got a cab, where I proceeded to throw up. When I finally made it to my dorm, I got the keys to my room, dragged my bags up the stairs, and collapsed on my glorious bed for the remainder of the day. Even grocery shopping was to wait until the morrow.

One week later, I have thankfully recovered from that lovely ordeal. I have spent most of my time here simply wandering the area accompanied by my maps, getting lost several times, and eventually progressing to the point where I can give Brits directions to locations within my district. My legs are continually tired, but I am rewarded by the friendly familiarity I have already aquired for Lambeth Bridge and its surrounding neighborhood.

I finally registered for classes yesterday, and they are as follows:

Subjects of Desire in Medieval Religious Writings
Elizabethan Shakespeare
Irish Literature and Culture
A Language of Peculiar Grace: A Modern History of English

Classes begin Monday, 24 September.

Today, I rode on the London Eye (the gigantic "ferris wheel" about fifteen minutes from my dorm along the Thames river). I must confess, the sight from the top was not as impressive as I was expecting...but perhaps I was building myself up too much. I have heard from others that the lights are marvelous if you take a ride after nightfall, so perhaps I will do so in the future.

I found out that the Museum of Garden History, near Lambeth Bridge, holds live jazz concerts most nights, and I decided to go to one. It was highly sophisticated for such a small venue, and I was provided with a full vegetarian meal and access to the bar. Oddly, the opening band was much more entertaining to listen to (at least to my untrained ear) than the star performance later. I am usually not much of a fan for jazz, but as always, live music is much better. The first band was poignant with their songs and hilarious with their antics, and the final group was lovely, if not quite as remarkable.

It is colder here; it feels like October during the day and November during the nights, and the leaves have begun to fall in earnest. As far as my residence is concerned, most or all of my neighbors are British freshmen, which, while they are friendly and enthusiastic, has made it harder to form friendships with them, especially since I cannot share their enthusiasm for spending all night (every night) at nearby pubs.

Then again, it does often take me longer than most to warm up to people, and I am sure I will meet more like-minded individuals once classes begin.

I hope I haven't bored you too much! I hope to be able to write about more exciting things in the future, but for now, goodbye, and cheers.