Daytripping

On Friday, CAPA took all of us to Stonehenge and Bath for the day. I like London, but it was definitely nice to get out of the city.

Stonehenge was the first stop, a two-hour bus ride. As we drove, there was a downpour of rain, but the sun had ventured out by the time we got to Stonehenge. It's literally right next to a highway, appearing without warning on the side of the road.

It was about 10:00AM when we arrived, and we had 45 minutes to wander around the stones and ponder the strangeness of it all. There was an audioguide included. It's true that Stonehenge is "roped off"; that is, you can't walk among the stones. But you can still get pretty close.

I've wanted to see Stonehenge forever, and under normal circumstances I would have been content to stroll around it and contemplate it for hours. However, it was remarkably windy and cold (the wind is evident in my pictures), in spite of the sun. I had no scarf or gloves (poor planning on my part) and could not even listen to the audiguide because it was too cold to keep my hand out of pocket for longer than taking a picture. My fellow students all felt the same way, some of them not lasting even ten minutes.

I did stay out the whole time, and it was an impressive sight. But I wasn't captivated with awe, as I had expected to be. Stonehenge might be too old and too remote--I tried to imagine how it was constructed, what life was like for the Druids who probably built it, what this surrounding area looked like when it forest instead of a highway. But I couldn't really get my mind around it; there wasn't enough information available. There was one moment that really rocked me (no pun intended) though--a helicopter flew overhead while we were there. It was astounding to see a helicopter juxtaposed with Stonehenge, and the sight really highlighted Stonehenge's remoteness. Now that I think about it, that circle of stones is more sombre than anything. It was carefully and painstakingly constructed on that site five thousand years ago, and it's now entirely out of place, huddling awkwardly by a highway, its purpose and creators utterly forgotten.

After Stonehenge, we trekked to Bath, another hour on the bus. I hadn't given Bath much thought before the trip, to be honest--I was too caught up with Stonehenge. Bath turned out to be a lovely town. It's called Bath because when the Romans were in Britain, they built famous baths on top of Bath's natural hot springs. As a result, Bath has some of the most remarkable Roman ruins in Britain.

In addition to its impressive Roman legacy, Bath has an important place in British history. It was the place to be and be seen during the 17th and 18th centuries--Jane Austen is known to have done writing in Bath, and the artist Gainsborough lived there for a while as well. There is an abbey that was originally founded in the 13th century, although I think its current building dates back to the 15th century. The first king of all England was crowned there.

I got lunch at a local cafe (the Walrus and the Carpenter--bonus points for you if you name that literary reference) with Alan and Rachel, and then we joined a walking tour with the rest of CAPA. After a cold, brisk hour and a half of enjoying the town's spectacular architecture, we toured the Roman Baths museum. It was quite cool, full of awesome artifacts. My favorites were little sheets of pewter that people would scratch petty curses onto and toss into the water, hoping that the god Sulis Minerva would heed them. The bath itself is still there, and the stonework around it has been stunningly well-preserved. You can even still see a good part of the original lead pipe. On the bus ride home we watched a DVD of British stand-up, which I enjoyed.

That night I went to bed early, partly because I was exhausted, but mostly because I had an early train to Oxford in the morning. I woke up about a dozen times Friday night, too excited to sleep. This was a journey I'd been planning for years, a stop I had vowed to make when I was about 12 years old even if it was the sole destination of a trip to England.

Eventually it actually was time for me to get out of bed and leave for the train. I left from London Paddington at about 8:30 and was in Oxford by 9:30 (I read Return of the King on the train). When I left the train station, I headed for the bus and taxi stops. My intention was to take a bus out to Wolvercote Cemetery, since it was about three miles outside of the city centre, but as I read the various signs I could see that somehow I had miscalculated bus routes. The tourism information booth in the train station opened at 10:00AM, and I was sure that they could tell me which bus it was. But I was too impatient, so I took a taxi instead. It was a short enough ride that the fare was reasonable.

When I got to the cemetery, I had a brief moment of panic because it suddenly occurred to me that I had no idea where to look. It wasn't very big, as far as cemeteries go, but it was big enough that searching through it would be an arduous task. I picked a direction and set off, and I suppose luck was with me, because alongside that path there was a placard with "J.R.R. Tolkien" and an arrow.

It was a cold morning and still. I was the only person in the cemetery. Standing at Tolkien's grave was remarkable. Overwhelming. I will not say surreal, nor will I say that I couldn't believe I was actually there. I'd always known I would be there someday. For a few minutes I stood in silence. Satisfied that I was the only one around, I pulled out my copy of Return of the King (the only Tolkien I brought with me from home; I didn't even bring my DVDs) and quietly read aloud my favorite Tolkien poem (it's the one Sam recites when he's searching for Frodo in the Tower of Cirith Ungol, in case you care. It didn't make into the films). After another moment of silence, I murmured a "Thank you," and then made my way out of the cemetery.

Catching a bus back to the city centre was easy. Once there I took a walking tour, where a wonderful guide showed us around the town and explained some of the history of the city and the various colleges. There are 38 colleges in Oxford, three of which date back to the 13th century. The city is a busy jumble of mismatched buildings, ranging in age from over a thousand years to within the last century. Its grandeur was duly impressive.

But I thought the character of the city was odd. It is a tourist attraction by accident, and only reluctantly. Indeed it felt like there were two Oxfords--the real Oxford, proud and protective of its noble history and academic prowess that wants everyone to go home so it can get on with its reading; and the commercial Oxford that realises people will flock to look at the famous University buildings and therefore set up lots of high-end shopping and tacky souvenir booths (OK, I bought a t-shirt). As a result many of the very cool things--i.e., the library and the majority of the beautiful college buildings--are either closed to the public, have nonsensical hours, or charge visitors nearly ten pounds. But on my walking tour I did get into Exeter College, where Tolkien was a student.

When my tour ended, I made my way to the Eagle and Child pub. For those of you who don't know, this was the pub where the Inklings (i.e., Tolkien & Lewis and some other people no one ever remembers) met several times a week to share their writing with each other. While there I got my first platter of fish and chips as well as my first pint of ale. Tolkien would have approved of the proper Englishness of it all. The ale I had was called Old Hooky's, and was a local Oxford brew. I didn't really like it, but I hadn't expected to and that was besides the point. I sipped it as I read some more of Return of the King, enjoying the fact that I was sitting in the building where bits of that book were first read aloud.

Upon finishing lunch, I went to 20 Northmoor Rd. It was about 0.75 miles away from the pub, and it was the house that Tolkien lived in during most of his teaching career at Oxford. He lived there while writing the Lord of the Rings. It's currently a privately owned home, so I just walked past it, quickly took a picture, then walked back to Oxford.

For the rest of my time there, I meandered about the University park, which was lovely. It would have been great to see some cricket or rugby going on, but there was in fact a big Ultimate Frisbee tournament. After another quick walk around some of the college buildings, I went back to the rail station, feeling thoroughly fulfilled.

Interning with Behavioural Support

This week, I began my internship at Hornsey School for Girls. There are four other CAPA interns there with me, which is really nice. The school has had more than one CAPA intern every term for the past eight years, so they have a great system in place for us.

The interview went OK. I don't think I made a stellar impression, but they didn't reject me, so I must have done all right. My supervisor's name is Sherife, and she is an amazing human being. She founded and runs the Behavioural Support office, and her job is a never-ending string of meetings, dealing with students' emotional crises, continuously keeping tabs on about 8-10 "high-risk" students, closely supervising/organising/mentoring the CAPA interns, and running the weekly staff yoga session.

The school is what would in the States be described as an urban public school. Caucasian students are definitely the minority there, there are something like 60 different first languages spoken by the students, and the student body is about 40% Muslim. Most of the students come from what Sherife described as "deprived areas". It takes me about an hour and a half to get there; it's on the other side of central London from where I live.

I was assigned, along with Kashiff (another intern) to work directly with Sherife in the Behavioural Support office. The other interns were all farmed out to other departments. My "project" for the semester is to get a group of about 4 or 5 students to improve measurably in science and in English by the end of my term. I worked my first full day on Thursday, and I must admit I am at a complete loss. When a student doesn't understand subject matter, I am pretty good at explaining it to them so they can get it. I have an astounding amount of patience, even when tested. But I've never worked with students who are thoroughly capable and thoroughly unwilling, and after one day it was clear that I need to seriously work out a strategy.

On Thursday I worked with two students. My time with the first one went pretty well; she was in Year 9, which I think makes her about 13 or 14. She was fairly obedient, but had severe ADHD. It took her a long time to get anything completed, but we worked through her science assignment together and I was convinced by the end of it that she had a good idea of the assignment's main concepts--even if it had taken forever for her to focus. She was receptive to the help I offered, and did not seem at all adverse to having someone sitting with her and going over things with her. I felt good after we finished.

But the next student I was assigned to was impossible. She was in Year 11, 15 years old and nearly done with school--this is her last term. The target that had been set for the day was for her to work on "revisions" for English and complete a practise English GCSE (the standardized subject exams British kids sit at the end of their secondary ed). The revisions turned out to be online exercises, GCSE practise. She did all right on those for about half an hour, then stopped working. "I just can't be bothered; it's so boring," she explained to me. I asked about the practise paper she was supposed to do, and she just kind of shrugged. "The college I want to go to doesn't need an English GCSE, so I don't think I'm going to do it. Can't be bothered." The way the British education system is structured makes it OK for her to get away with that kind of thinking; they don't get diplomas and I don't think they have GPAs. Colleges look at how many GCSEs the students passes and in which subjects, admitting them accordingly. This student already knew which program she wants to do, and she's pretty sharp. She could probably scrape by in the GCSEs she does need without doing much coursework between now and then, although she knows practise would help her. Sherife gave up on trying to get her to do the practise paper (apparently it's been on her to-do list for more than two weeks) and said we should just use the time to talk and get to know one another. I got the impression that the student came from a rough home life as we talked together. She's incredibly smart.

Later in the afternoon, I was sent to her science class to offer "in-class support" for her. It was a disaster. She showed up 15 min late, and flat-out refused to do anything once she got there. Her teacher hardly looked at her, and did not seem at all bothered when she just sat in the back of the room while her classmates did an experiment. She wasn't particularly disrespectful; in fact, she was friendly to me and didn't seem to resent me being there at all. I knew that I couldn't force her to take notes or participate in the lab exercise, especially if her teacher didn't seem bothered by her non-participation (in his defense, he's probably already had her for a term and a half, and has just gotten tired of fighting a losing battle. Still, it was depressing to see that he had given up so completely). So I just talked with her about the material while the students worked through the lab, explaining the key terms and describing what the experiment was demonstrating. She kind of listened--at least she didn't openly ignore me, and responded to questions (not usefully)--but I'm sure she retained nothing.

Admittedly, I've never worked with special needs kids in the States. But I can tell that the British system has a quite different attitude about it, and I think they should take some hints from the Americans on this one. Kashiff spent most of his morning counseling a student who was distraught because she had been transferred from the class group that she had been with for two years. She was one of the Behavioural Support office's most closely monitored students, meaning that she has a history of emotional and behaviour problems. But she has been doing above average recently, making great improvements. The staff is concerned that this sudden move will cause her to shutdown and stop working altogether. The reason the administration transferred her is because one of the students in that class group was severely autistic and had developed a sort of violent fixation on this particular student. They could not be in the same room together, even though our student had learned to cope very well with the autistic girl (never retaliated or anything). But the autistic student could not be moved, because British law compels the school to keep autistic students in mainstream classrooms and the logistics of caring for/teaching the autistic student were inflexible. So the other student had to move, throwing her off completely. I did not envy Kashiff's job, because as he and I discussed later, the poor girl had every right to be upset. It was unfair and absurd. Whose idea was it to put severely autistic students in normal classrooms? It can't possibly be effective. Furthermore, given this girl's history and Kashiff's long talk with her today, it is clear she needs much more than just tutoring and monitoring. She needs to be in some sort of therapy or counseling, because there are some deep set emotional problems there. That would have been recognised and dealt with appropriately in the States.

And as far as my non-cooperative student is concerned, she would not be able to get away with that attitude in the American system. She would have to do regular coursework in order to pass classes and get out of high school, and there is no way she would be allowed to just sit in a corner and be ignored by a teacher. She'd be moved into a special needs class or into an alternative school. Whether or not she would learn more is debatable, but at least she'd have to either complete work or drop out--and she would not drop out, because she has plans for her future career. And I don't think professional counseling would hurt her, either. But in the British system, they want to minimize differential treatment. Students are all different though--it's an impossible policy.

I know that this is an invaluable experience for me. If I want to be a good teacher, I've got to figure out how to work with these types of students effectively. But I have serious doubts about my ability to do that. To be quite frank, I am rather dreading work on Monday. I'm at a total loss. I don't mind the work, and I like the students, I just can't see any way I will be able to make any sort of impact--let alone get some of these girls to improve their science and English performance.

Science, Literature, and Politics

Yesterday I went into Kensington (the borough where the CAPA centre is) a few hours before my class started to go to the Museum of Natural History. I think that museums of natural history are a bit like zoos (in fact, Londoners hilariously call it the "Dead Zoo") in that if you've been to one, you've basically been to them all. However, I was keen to go because they had a special big Charles Darwin exhibit in honor of the 150th anniversary of On the Origin of Species and Darwin's 200th birthday. Plus, I am a biology nerd, so science museums always hold my attention, even if I have seen dinosaur skeletons before.

I found the Darwin exhibit enthralling, but not for its science. It did quite a nice job (I think) in clearly presenting just what is meant by "evolution through natural selection" and displayed the very same specimens Darwin collected and observed along with explanations of evolution. There was also a good discussion of what is meant by "theory" in science. But all of that was old news to me, except for getting to see bits of Darwin's actual collections. More fascinating was the writing they had on display--several of Darwin's original notebooks were there, as well as a number of personal and professional letters, both written by him and written by those close to him. It was very exciting to actually see the beginnings of the theory of evolution, written in Darwin's own hand displayed next to fossils he had found and pondered. And it was really cool to learn more about him as a person. He was a scientist first and foremost, taking detailed objective observations of even his own children's development. Yet he also handed over a page of his manuscript for his daughter to doodle on. It was very well-done, and I don't think anyone who actually viewed the exhibit thoughtfully would be able to argue against the elegant veracity of Darwin's work (but of course I'm biased).

My first class was yesterday afternoon, and it was Shakespeare. Unsurprisingly, I loved it immediately. The professor is an ancient little British man who talks quicker than anyone I have ever encountered. He is enthusiastic and hilarious, and bent on making sure we all consider multiple perspectives/interpretations for the plays we're reading. He also chose some less popular plays, which is exciting because we're actually doing ones I don't already know. It promises to be a good class.

I don't have much praise for the other class I had yesterday, though. It was my "Perspectives on Experiential Learning Abroad" (PELA) course, a mandatory part of my internship. All of the students who are doing internships must take it. I get the feeling it's just a lot of busy work so that we have some academic component of the internship. Yesterday was two hours of the benefits of learning via experience and the benefit of working in another culture--but clearly we already know those things; that is why we are here, after all. But I did get to hear what other students were doing for internships, and there were some interesting placements. One kid is on the film crew for a British reality TV show; another is working for an insurance agency that provides high-profile clients with "kidnapping and ransom insurance".

CAPA provided us with a list of a few of the places around London that were hosting parties for the inauguration, but I opted to watch it alone in my room. Not out of a desire to be anti-social, but I wanted to be sure I could see and hear the entire thing, uninterrupted. I'm sure that I don't have anything to say about it that everyone else isn't saying. President Obama did not disappoint; I cried a bit (shocking, I know); watching former President Bush leave made me giddy with happiness and relief (it felt like waking up from an awful nightmare). It left me with my first real twinge of homesickness, because it reminded me of watching the election results with Christina, and I am sure that had I been home we would have watched this together too (well, maybe not, I suppose; it was still during class hours at home). It's exhilarating to actually be proud of the president of my country.

For me, the inauguration was followed by a distinctly un-American dinner--fish pie and peas. It was the first dinner we've had that I've felt was odd. Considering I'm not that crazy about fish, it was actually OK. Pie is a bit of a misnomer; it was a casserole dish of salmon baked with a layer of mashed potatoes on top. But I had dessert in my room; yesterday I found a little jar of creamy Skippy peanut butter at a supermarket.

Settling In

Internet in my room, on my own computer with nothing blown up--a triumph. However, it has been thoroughly concluded that my laptop's power cord is completely worthless; it does not work at all anymore. When I plugged it in it must not have converted the voltage and therefore shorted out. I must get a new one. In the meantime, Mr. Martin has a Dell laptop and a spare Dell power cord, so I am all set.

But I am sure that no one besides me cares about my computer problems. What you all care about is pictures. There are a couple pictures of my room, a picture of the house, and of the street.

After I got my Oyster card on Thursday, I went exploring on my own. With no definite plan, I hopped on the tube for Westminster. As I got off the tube, there were three different exits to the station--I took the one marked "Houses of Parliament". The exit brought me out literally from under the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben--I was just sort of walking out onto the street, looking around to get my bearings, and saw them towering over me. I hadn't expected that; gave me quite a start.

I walked away from Parliament along Westminster Bridge to get the requisite touristy photos. That was probably the first time I really comprehended that I was in London. On the south bank, across the Thames from Parliament, I followed the river walk to the next bridge. Along the way I stopped and sat on a park bench to enjoy being on the Thames, and Big Ben chimed while I rested. It was just stunning.

I roamed Westminster for a while, making a rambling circle back to Parliament, passing Westminster Abbey on the way. I did not go into the Abbey, though--I want my visit to Westminster Abbey to be pre-meditated, and I want to be able to spend at least an hour or so in Poets' Corner, and the Abbey was almost closing by the time I reached it. My pilgrimage there will probably be next week sometime.

Walking around London--even in the winter--is enchanting. I feel like I will never get tired of it. It's all so beautiful, and so rich in history. Just while walking around I came across the church Charles Dickens got married in, and I found out today that the hotel where Oscar Wilde was arrested is within walking distance from my classes. Kensington Palace is only a 15 minute walk from CAPA. It's just wild.

But Thursday and Friday morning I did feel quite lonely and a little isolated, because I really hadn't seen any of the other students. I was really looking forward to my orientations on Friday, and I was beginning to doubt whether a homestay had been the best choice.

My internship orientation was full of useful information, and I was told that my internship interview would be next Wednesday at 9:00AM. The director of the program also told me that if the interview goes well, my site already has a whole itinerary for the rest of the day, which I find somewhat disconcerting. There are two other CAPA students who will be interning at Hornsey School with me; they're both guys, which must be somewhat awkward for them. The London orientation was also helpful, but not because I got much new information; it was just comforting to know that I had some formal guidance if I needed it. Also, I met up with Alan there, whom I know vaguely from Pitt and will (I think) get to know pretty well here. It was refreshing to talk to someone from Pitt.

From what Alan and his girlfriend Rachel told me, choosing a homestay was in fact a good decision on my part. Apparently their flatmates had all been very drunk several times already, and had wasted no time in fully stocking the flats with alcohol. Friday night CAPA reserved a pub for us (there are about 150 CAPA students) for a welcome reception. They provided food, but drinks were on us if we wanted them. Alan, Rachel and I abstained and watched our classmates embody every negative American stereotype. They were excessively loud, obnoxious, and their single-minded determination to get as drunk as they could disgusted me. I suppose I am probably being really harsh, but it was the first time I'd ever truly felt embarrassed to be an American. There was just no restraint. This kind of attitude makes less sense to me here than it does at home, because I don't understand who would spend the money to study in London only to come here and spend even more money on getting plastered, which one can easily do at home for cheap (if not for free at a campus party somewhere). But it is only the first weekend; people will probably calm down a bit. And I'll probably join them in a pint at least once before leaving.

CAPA had a bus tour of the city today, which I found quite helpful. At one point while we were off the bus, looking at the Tower of London, our tour guide scolded me for looking too serious. I suppose it's a bad sign if even the Brits think I am too serious.

It's been over a month since I did any academic work; I feel like I'm going through withdrawal. I can't wait for class on Monday.

Someone wanted more info on my host family. Here's what I've got:

Mrs. Martin: Will be 60 years old in April; mother of three boys and two Irish setters. I don't know the oldest son's name. Mrs. Martin used to work as a graphic designer and likes to paint. I think she does art classes occasionally. Although she does not work outside the home, she seems to always be quite busy. She is very kind and strongly maternal, particularly with her youngest son Adam. Loves tea and offering tea; promised to make sure they always have peanut butter around for me to have on my toast. Her dinners are quite good, though there are too many tomatoes for my taste. She's hosted a plethora of exchange students, American, Spanish, Japanese, and Italian (and perhaps others I haven't heard about).

Mr. Martin: An engineer. I've only just met him this evening, but he was very helpful with getting my computer sorted out. Haven't really talked with him much about anything else.

Adam: The youngest boy, recently turned 18 and is finishing up the sixth form (last year of high school). He plays and sings in a band with three of his best friends (I know this from his mother, not from him). He is not very conversational, but he is friendly and does respond when you talk to him. He showed me where the peanut butter was on my first morning here and apologized for it not being the "creamy stuff you Americans like so much." Apparently he is not too keen on going right to university next year, but has no real plan. He goes to a private school and has a girlfriend, who I've not met.

Dan: The middle son, who I met just briefly this evening. He lives on his own but somewhere nearby, and I get the impression he is around a lot.

Maria: A 16 year old Spanish student from Seville. She is quite friendly, and I get the feeling that if I knew Spanish she would be quite talkative, but her trouble with English makes her shy. Actually I don't think she has much trouble with it; she falters a bit, but her grammar's pretty good. She likes London all right, but she thinks the weather is terrible and is also irritated that she can't go out to a club or for a drink here like she can in Spain (carding appalls her). I think she will be here until July and she has been here since the fall. Her birthday is next weekend.

Ella: The older of the two Irish setters. A real sweetheart of a dog--if I'm standing in the kitchen, she'll come stand next to me and put her head against my leg, waiting for me to pay attention to her. Well-behaved, mostly, though persistent at the dinner table.

Minxie: The younger Irish setter--Ella is her mother, though Minxie is all grown up. She's missing an eye from an accident she had as a puppy. Nonetheless she is a beautiful dog, a bit more hyperactive than her mother. Likes to greet me by jumping on me (and she's about as tall as I am when she gets on two legs).

More next week.

Arrival

My flight from the US was OK, as far as flights go. I only just managed to catch my flight from Chicago to London because my connection out of Detroit was about 40 minutes late (figures).

I landed in Heathrow around 7:00AM. My anxiety mounted as I waited in the immigrations line and watched people ahead of me get the third degree. But the officer who checked my passport literally did not say a single word to me--he just stamped my visa and waved me through.

After collecting my bags (they were, of course, the last two there), I made my way to the arrivals terminal. I was anxious about the arrival because when I had last spoke with my host family, they had been told that I had an orientation with CAPA (the institution that runs our program) upon arrival, but that was not what I had been told. However, I had been told that there would be CAPA representatives in the airport to take students to the student flats, so I figured I would just check in with them and then go from there. But I did not find any representatives from CAPA (the institution that runs my program)--perhaps because my flight had landed about a half an hour late.

I went to an ATM (or cashpoint, as they say here) and withdrew some money. Then I went to sit down (my backpack was heavy and my luggage cumbersome) to collect my thoughts and figure something out. I knew that trains ran from Heathrow to Ealing, the borough where my homestay was. But I didn't think that just showing up at my homestay was a good idea, particularly not if they thought they were supposed to be picking me up at a different time.

First I found a pay phone and called CAPA to figure out if I needed to be somewhere for them. Their offices were helpfully closed until 9:00AM (it was just after 8:00AM at this point). So I made my way, with all of my belongings in tow, to the train terminals to investigate schedules. As I went, I hoped that there was a phone there, because it was quite a walk from the arrival terminal and I wanted to call the Martins before actually doing anything.

The train schedules were quite easy to read and figure out; the Piccadilly Underground line ran right from Heathrow to Ealing and tickets were less than five pounds. There was a phone there, but it decided that it did not like my credit card and I had only twenty pound notes, so I had to go back up to the arrival terminal to use the phone.

Mrs. Martin answered right away and sounded quite surprised that there had been no one there from CAPA to meet me. She also said that I had gotten a letter, a packet from CAPA, which I supposed had my orientation schedule in it. We discussed my various options for getting home and it was decided that she would pick me up from the train station in Ealing.

From there my journey went quite smoothly. The London tube is quite nice, clean with comfortable seats and very quiet. The British aren't much for chatting with strangers on public transportation, I guess (which is fine by me--I always hate being accosted by strangers on PAT buses). Mrs. Martin was there to get me and drive me home.

She was very kind and offered me tea as soon as we got in the door, which I accepted. It was now nearly 10:00. We talked for a bit as I drank my tea, and then she showed me the upstairs of the house.

It's a 100 year old house and big even by American standards. There are three levels, with the kitchen, a den, and a study on the first floor; bedrooms and a bathroom on the second floor, and two bedrooms and a bathroom on the third floor. Maria, the Spanish exchange student, and I live on the third floor and share a bathroom. My room is a loft room, which means that the roof slopes down at the back. It's a nice room, bigger than my room in FC 305. My only real complaint about it is that I have no closet, but all of my clothes fit in the dresser anyway.

Against all of the advice I had been given I napped for about two hours. After the nap and a shower I finally felt like a human again. That afternoon, after I unpacked, I set out to explore Ealing.

Ealing's a beautiful little suburb, mostly residential but with a nice shopping district. There is an Underground station within a twenty-minute walk from the house, and if I ever feel like it there are buses I can take between the house and the station. There was a Carphone Warehouse, so I bought myself a phone. It seemed much easier than buying a cell phone in America, but perhaps pay-as-you-go phones in the US are equally as easy. I only paid 10 pounds for the phone.

I had some electrical difficulties with my computer yesterday evening--as in I shorted all the circuits upstairs. I don't really understand why that happened, since my laptop is supposed to be compatible with the voltage here and I had an adapter. They were able to get the lights all back on, but now none of the wall outlets on the third floor work. Mr. Martin is in the States until Saturday, and will apparently be able to take a look at it when he gets back. I hope I didn't do any terrible damage; I felt really awful about it.

So I am writing this from the CAPA center, which I just got to today. I don't have my orientations until tomorrow, but I picked up my Oyster card (gives me unlimited Tube and bus rides) and hopped online. Hopefully by next week I will be able to use my computer at home, though I am scared to plug it into anything now lest I set the house on fire or something.

For the rest of today, I am going to go locate Imperial College and then do some exploring around the CAPA center, which is where all of my classes will be.

Things I miss so far include but are not limited to peanut butter (My host family has peanut butter, but it is this sort of crunchy organic variety. It's actually quite good and I would like it at home, but I really want Jif. I'm going to see if I can find some anywhere and stash it in my room.) and walking on the right side of the street (it was easy to get used to seeing traffic on the wrong side of the street, but walking on the left is quite odd).

It has been overcast and foggy since I arrived, but fairly warm--it can't have been less than 35 or 40 outside. Feels and looks like March, as far as I am concerned, but Mrs. Martin is worried that I'm going to freeze since I leave the house without a hat. My goal for next week is to get used to operating in Celsius.

Pictures tomorrow, perhaps, depending on my internet situation.

"You are a Crazy Person"

(Title courtesy of Elizabeth)

Well, I'm leaving tomorrow. Tonight I am going to stay with my grandparents, who are taking me to the Detroit airport tomorrow around 12:00. My flight to Chicago leaves at 3:50; my flight from Chicago to Heathrow leaves at 5:05 and I'll arrive in London at 6:35AM Wednesday morning.

Assuming, of course, that snow doesn't interfere with my travel plans.

My visits to Ohio and Pittsburgh were great. I felt good about being able to see Dad again before I left. It was odd to be visiting at Pitt, but I'm very glad that I made the time to drive out there. Seeing all of my friends again really put me at ease.

Perhaps too much so, because I am still doing laundry and have completed very little packing. When I got home last night I was too tired to do anything; the usual five hour drive home took six because of snow. I'm still tired, but must get to packing.

My next update will be from London.

Work, Home, and Family

Last Friday, I finally received two critical pieces of information concerning my upcoming months in London: the location of my internship placement and the identity of my host family.

I will be interning at the Hornsey School for Girls, a secondary school. Here is the description of the school that was on my placement notice:

"Hornsey School for Girls is an oversubscribed leading edge partnership school in Haringey. The school has specialist Performing Arts Status, a very high value added rating and offers an all-round education, including a huge number of extra-curricula activities and opportunities. It is one of London's highest achieving comprehensive girls' schools as well as being truly inclusive and multi-cultural."

I don't have any information yet about what exactly my internship will entail; I imagine tutoring or something. I suppose they'll tell me when I interview--before they officially accept me as an intern I have to do a formal interview with them.

My host family are the Martins, who live in the borough of Ealing. On Sunday morning--well, morning for me, late afternoon for them--I called them. It was thoroughly nerve-wracking, as it was my first international call and the situation seemed a bit awkward. But I had a lovely chat with Mrs. Martin, who seemed genuinely delighted that I had called. They have three sons, two of whom are all grown up and living on their own. Their youngest, Adam, is 18 and is finishing up school this year. Apparently he has some variety of important formal exams at the end of this school year. They also have two dogs (Irish setters). The Martins have hosted American students in the past, and although Mrs. Martin assured me that she found most of them "quite lovely," she made it clear that one of them had caused her great distress by having strange boys in the house at all hours of the night. I assured her that I would do no such thing. They are also hosting a Spanish girl this year, so that will be interesting, particularly because her English is apparently not that great. Maybe I'll pick up some Spanish. From our conversation, I think that I will be pretty comfortable staying with them. I'm really looking forward to meeting them.

My mom is currently in Michigan, visiting from Kentucky. I told her that I was planning on spending most of my spring break in Ireland, and she was very excited because her family has a strong Irish heritage. She did not have a lot of information for me, though, because the Irish side is her mother's side and my mom has not had any contact with my grandmother for probably a decade (my biological grandmother had no presence at all in my mom's childhood). But she made a few phone calls, to her sisters and finally to an uncle, and I got a lot of family history. The uncle that she spoke with apparently has a relative who traveled to Ireland a few years ago and visited the town that my family emigrated from; he promised to look up the information and call us back tomorrow. Hopefully I'll be able to find my roots in Ireland. Most of the family that I am close to is Polish, and I never gave much thought to my Irish heritage. Suddenly, though, this feels very important. If I won't ever know that part of my family here, at least I can try to connect to it in Ireland.

And this weekend, my last weekend in the States until April, I'll be visiting my dad in Ohio and another important part of my family--my friends in Pittsburgh.

8 days until my flight leaves for the UK.