Brussels

This trip account begins with a sad sad story of a girl who traveled for 12 straight hours before arriving in the comforting embrace of her friends in Brussels...

I left campus on Wednesday around 11am to get to town and grab a coffee before my train to Manchester departed at 12:30. Got off at the correct stop (I give myself a small pat on the back each time I manage to do this with public transportation) and arrived at Manchester Airport with plenty of time to spare before my 4:45 flight. After walking around for an indefinitely long period of time, found my gate and the airport bar, still with plenty of time to spare. Slowly enjoyed my outrageously overpriced glass of wine while reading my book and waiting for the terminal to open. Then 4:45 came, and the flight was delayed another 2 hours. Awesome. The Duty Free shop can only occupy one's attention for so long.

But I got on the plane and made it to Brussels around 7:30, where I quickly learned that (despite my ignorant wishes) little English is spoken or posted. Ughhh. But I somehow I managed to get on a train from there and make it to Brussels-Centrale (cue pat on the back), where I figured I could easily ask for directions to the apartment we'd be staying at.

Wrong. Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong.

 Well, not so wrong at first, because a very nice, but confused, train ticketer printed me out a map that pointed me in vaguely the right direction. So I set off optimistic and excited to finally see my Boise friends. About 2 streets later I was already lost, but was stopped by a very nice couple that asked if I needed help. Yes please. However they also couldn't decipher the undecipherable map I'd been given. No problem, I thought, I'll just keep walking until I find a place for better directions.

At this point I will mention that, apart from the street and address of this place, I was given no information other than it should only be about a 500m walk away from the train station. One would assume that an address so close would be reasonable to find...but keep reading...

My next stop was a Marriott hotel (still within a reasonable distance from the station). I figured I couldn't go wrong there, plus they'd have maps and maybe a little bit of English to offer me. The woman at the front desk was very nice (again) and looked up the address I'd printed down, then proceeded to give me detailed directions to the street I was looking for...except that after another 20 minutes of walking according to her directions, I was still lost, and definitely a ways away from the train station.

Cue direction intervention #4. I found an English pub in the vicinity of Marriott lady's directions, and figured they'd know the street if it was anywhere near...they didn't. But another very nice (this really is the way to describe them all) English woman with smoky dragon breath did her best to help, and since it was getting a bit late, made the suggestion that I keep to asking females for further directions. Great. So I walk down ANOTHER infinitely long street, in what I scarcely had faith was in the correct direction, only to pass about 8 H&M's and 20 McDonald's with no sign of "Apartment 15, Rue Henri Maus".

I won't lie, I was feeling fairly helpless at that point (if I hadn't already). My backpack was heavy, it had started snowing, I was terribly hungry, and, as I stopped and adjusted to put on my little red mittens, dropped my handful of directions in the snow. Poor Shelby.

I spotted a Sheraton hotel at the end of the street, and continued my routine of looking helpless and American as I politely asked the concierge for directions. We're at direction intervention #5. It was here I was informed that I had been going in absolutely the wrong direction all along, and was now an hours walking distance away from where I wanted to be. :(  They offered to call a cab for me, and I politely declined. Considering I'd been given incorrect directions all night, I wasn't going to pay for a cab to the opposite side of the city until I'd gotten a second (or third) opinion.

After walking out, I had a brief breakdown moment where I squeezed out a tear or two in my state of self pity, then quickly pulled myself back together realizing that, despite my conquest so far, continuing to ask for directions was the only way I was getting a bed to sleep in that night. Cue #6. A man at a sketchy looking hotel across the street from the Sheraton FINALLY pulled out a city map and showed me the ACTUAL street I was looking for. Hallelujah. And guess what...it was only a 10 minute walk away... knew it. My spirits were up again, and as I found the street (generous amounts of back-patting) I look across the intersection to see none other than the original Marriott that I asked directions from. RIGHT ACROSS THE STREET!!! I could walk out the doors, and SEE MY STREET from their sidewalk. Pricks.

It was about 10:30pm at this point, and to speed the rest of this up, it was another half an hour (and me asking 3 more people for directions) before I found the actual apartment along the street. After passing it half a dozen time, I finally realized that some tiny door was the entrance to our 2nd floor apartment. As I approached, I saw a sign taped to it that read "SHELBY!!! If you're reading this sign you've made it to the right place!". Oh my lord. I cannot describe the wave of relief and joy that washed over my freezing, exhausted body. I bounded up the stairs and knocked on the door, to have it immediately torn open and met with cries of relief and warm friendly embraces.  

Turns out they'd already been looking for me earlier, and had just been buttoning up their coats to go out again as I knocked. Later we laughed as we drank some much-needed pints and I pulled out my ridiculous collection of misleading maps and directions scribbled in illegible french.

The remainder of the trip was amazing, and needless to say, went much smoother. On Thursday we wandered around Brussels for a couple of hours or so before deciding to call it good and relax at a local pub for the afternoon. Then, considering our apartment had a fully equipped kitchen, we figured it 'd be prudent to have our best go at a Thanksgiving meal--which actually turned out quite well and made us all thankful to be spending a unique and special thanksgiving among friends in such an amazing city. 

Friday was more of the same. We made our way over to the EU headquarters (or whatever you call them, haha) where we were greeted with a closed visitors center and hostile-looking security people. Oh well. We spent time around the little shops and Christmas booths that had been set up in the center of town, gorged ourselves on delicious chocolates and Belgian waffles and frites, and enjoyed a quiet evening in the comfort of our cozy apartment. (Compared to London, it was a world of difference to be sightseeing and spending time with good friends from home. This is surely the reason I enjoyed Brussels so much, as the company made for a wonderfully relaxing and memorable final trip).

Saturday we were up early early to catch a train to Amsterdam for the day--which I was ok with because we'd discovered a drip coffee machine in our abode, HEAVEN. In Amsterdam, we walked out of the train station to snow! The first I'd seen since being across the pond. This led Hannah, Ally, and I to stop at the nearest souvenir shop and purchase matching 'Amsterdam' hats to keep us warm. This by far turned out to be the best decision we'd made all day, as I thoroughly enjoyed the looks we were getting as we strolled down the streets (not to mention that our spectacle deterred any suave, horny European boys from approaching us all day).  We took pictures in front of the 'I AMSTERDAM' sign,  toured the Ann Frank House (which I'd not previously realized was in Amsterdam) and also attended the Heineken Brewery Experience. It was a long day, in an INCREDIBLY busy city, and we were happy to be on the train heading back around 9pm.

Sunday morning the four of them (Hannah, Ally, Aldis, and Matt--don't think I mentioned who I'd actually been staying with before) left before 7am to catch their flight back to Florence, and I slept in and checked out myself around 11am. The Marriott redeemed themselves by allowing me to check my bag at their front desk for the day, while I finished up last minute errands and waffle-eating:) Unfortunately, that didn't last too long, and I was left to kill time before my 8:55pm flight out of Brussels. Drag. Double drag without friends to do fun things with. Ughhh.

Got to the airport, killed more time, continued to resent the Amsterdam airport for their stupid 5 euro Starbucks coffee...only to wait a little longer since my flight was delayed. Ughhhhhh. Had the noisiest plane ride ever, interrupted by stewardesses trying to offer me expensive sandwiches and perfume to purchase, and arrived in Manchester around 10:30pm. I then waited in the freezing bus wing (there weren't seats anywhere else) until 12:45am when the bus arrived that would take me back to Lancaster. Got to Lancaster at 2:45 to take a taxi back to campus and arrive back home, finally, around 3am.

Long trip and lots of traveling, but absolutely worth it for the chance to experience another great European city and spend some priceless time with friends from home. And what a way to end! That's the last trip for Shelby, now starting the countdown to only 20 days until I'm back in Boise!! Mind you, 20 days full of frantic creative writing and essay composing, but no worries, I'm not an English major for nothing;)

I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving!! Wishing you lots of love.

Grote Markt (main square)

 Waffles!

Frites!!

Ally and Hannah....and the matching hats :)

Amsterdam

Enjoying samples at the end of the Heineken Experience

LONDON

The blog continues as Shelby ventures yet again to a new, exciting English city...London!!! 

 This trip commenced unlike any of the others I've taken so far. No cushy coach this time, just a train and the prospect of adventuring for more than six hours. I'm not sure I've ever really traveled on a train before (mom and dad are already shaking their heads because this is certainly not the case), well none that I specifically remember. And NONE with a real live girl-group on it, belting out tunes the entire trip. Yes. I had a girl band behind me. Well, less of a band, more like a group of loud, make-up caked, teenage girls accompanied by their even louder, over-dressed, drunk mothers. Of course I didn't realize this until they started harmonizing to Top 40 hits blaring out of an iPod, and gabbing about their 'set-list' comprised of songs like "Holding Onto You" "Party Harder" "Glitter Heels" "Lipstick On Your Collar" and a slew of other age-inappropriate but fascinating titles. Really, you can't make this stuff up. 

 Unfortunately, I didn't have a chance to catch their name (in order to immediately look them up on facebook and become approx. fan number 1563). We arrived at London Euston around 8pm after leaving Lancaster at 5:40pm, not too bad of a trip. It was the first time in London for all of us, and I'm sure we looked that way, all giddy and crowded around our city map. The hostel we were staying at was only about a 15min walk and we were excited the whole way...until we found the hostel.

Now, this was the first hostel I'd ever stayed in, so I had nothing to compare this place to. However the other girls, Caitlin and Kelly, had traveled for a couple of weeks prior to arriving in Lancaster, and were well acquainted with the general quality of hostels. This ranged from immaculate and helpful, to passable, to sketchy and wholly unhelpful. Ours was the latter. We got smacked with a hidden fee of 5 pounds right off the bat, and was met with total disinterest when we requested to acquire a room together. Oh well. I walked up 3 flights of stairs to my 8 person room, which turned out to be nothing special for sure. I snagged a bottom bunk and walked back down to meet the girls. Turns out, the room they were in was the same size as mine, only with mini-beds and 16 people crammed into it. Bummer. 

The rest of the night was spent grabbing dinner and finding a pub to hang out at. It was silently agreed that we'd stay out as long as possible to avoid returning to sleep in our charming accommodations. A couple of pints and some mulled wine (super duper delicious by the way, a new fav) later, and we felt buzzed enough to head back and fall quickly asleep. 

One suffocatingly hot, uncomfortable, and restless sleep later and I'd survived the night. We met downstairs for our complimentary breakfast, which we were surprised our hostel was offering (only to immediately lose surprise)--a mountain of white bread stacked next to a toaster, a giant tub of butter and jelly, another giant tub of what looked like corn flakes, and a couple gallons of whole milk. Yumm. Fuel for the day!

 Then the matter of the showers. Caitlin and I searched for a good 10 minutes through a maze of doors and stairs before finding them in the furthest corner of the basement. Not the cleanest things as you can imagine. Kelly refused to take one the whole weekend, but I was determined to experience hostel living to the fullest. It was cold, I had to use a t-shirt for a towel, and definitely didn't have the luxury of curling my hair, but I did it:)

Setting off around 9:30 we took the underground to Leicester Square, because Kelly and Caitlin had their hearts set on getting tickets to a musical that night.The original plan was to go see the new Harry Potter movie, which I was uberly excited about, but one of them had already seen it and "wouldn't it be so cool to say you've seen a show in London?!". Well sure...until we decide to buy tickets to the cheapest one, which happened to be Grease...couldn't imagine anything worse. But whatever, I wasn't going to be the downer travel-buddy when they were really excited.

The remainder of the day was spent jaunting about and hitting attractions on the west side of town. We toured Harods where we 'oohd and ahhhd' over all the gorgeous designer clothing we could never afford. Grabbed a cup of coffee and took a stroll through Hyde Park. Then caught the tube over to St. Paul's cathedral and the surrounding area. 

St.Paul's was amazing. A couple of people had recommended getting a view of the city from the cathedral as opposed to the more pricey London Eye. Again, Kelly wasn't down with this plan (despite the fact that she's super religious?), so she walked around for a couple of hours while Caitlin and I admired the catacombs, sat in the whispering gallery, and climbed the 500+ steps to the top. The 360 degree view was fantastic (pictures at the bottom). But ohhh man were our legs SORE by the time we got down. Totally worth it though. 

We met up with Kelly and walked over Millennium Bridge to see the Globe Theatre, the Tower of London, and the London Bridge. The interesting thing about all these places, is that they've been completely developed around, and unless you know what you're looking for you're in danger of passing them right by. It's a bit anti-climactic, and not what I was expecting. I mean the Globe was sandwiched in between some modern office building and a restaurant:( 

I was giving it my all to remain excited and upbeat throughout the latter part of the afternoon, but Kelly was bored and showing it (she'd already seen a bunch of this when she'd left us), Caitlin's feet hurt and it was growing chilly.  The 8 hours of walking had taken its toll, so we headed to Piccadilly Circus to grab food before the show. But it only got worse. We walked around for another hour looking for a place to eat. Caitlin had her heart set on sushi, Kelly wanted something safe like pizza, and I didn't really care as long as those two could just decide.  Another 20 restaurants went by (Shelby was now freezing and properly irked) so I told them to figure it out and meet me in the pub afterwards. Great decision. A little mulled wine and I was feeling much more myself.

Grease turned out to be fine. And by fine, I mean the wine had basically put me to sleep, so I was less sickened by the crowds of English people clapping in unison and screaming every time a song started. Though the irony of the whole ordeal really hit me when Danny Zuko spoke out with an English accent at the end. So unnatural. 

We were out and about by 8am the next morning (I happily skipped the shower this time).We traveled the underground to Victoria station, where we walked to the Westminster Cathedral to attend Sunday Mass at the request of Kelly (she actually went into this one). Afterwards it was to Buckingham Palace for the change of the guards, Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, and Parliament. As soon as we crossed the bridge to take pictures of the parliament building, it began to pour buckets, and my backpack suddenly felt like it weighed about a million kilos.

By this point, we were thoroughly exhausted and figured we'd done a pretty good job of seeing all that we came for, and that a long relaxing lunch was in order. I really appreciated these girls inviting me to join them on their London trip, despite the conflicting ideas (and them not really wanting to drink with me), which is to be expected. We'd all deemed London a must-see, and were glad we did, but as the weekend came to a close we began to worry again about unfinished schoolwork and deadlines. It's pretty safe to say at this point that everyone is ready to go home, especially with the invasion of Christmas decorations and music everywhere you look. This weekend was good timing though, because after Brussels this coming weekend, it's time to crack down and pass my classes here. 

Our train back to Lancaster departed at 7:30, so we killed the rest of our time sitting on a bench in the British Museum, then sitting in a Starbucks, then sitting in the train station. I cannot convey how good that sitting felt. A long weekend of walking and map reading and backpack hauling takes it out of you like no other. We got safely to the train, and with no girl group or other entertainment act seated near me, I fell into a comfortable, much-needed sleep all the way back to Lancaster.

Caitlin and Kelly

Hyde Park

St. Pauls

Views from St. Paul's

The Globe (?)

London Bridge

Buckingham Palace

Under arrest???

Westminster Abbey

London Eye

Biiiig Ben

Grizedale professionalism

So one of my favorite parts of the day is opening up my email inbox and finding messages from the Grizedale College reps. Usually they are reminders of rules that people are breaking which is followed by threats, or invitations to events I would never attend, or as they are most of the time--wholly inapplicable to me. The usual stuff. However on the rare--and by rare I mean not rare at all...and by not rare at all I mean with disconcerting abundance--occasion, I will find the most informal and downright cringe-worthy messages I could fathom being sent out on a list-serve. I have an included an example of such a message below:

[Subject: New Porter in Grizedale. To make your life easier we have picked another man called Dave

Message: 

       Make sure you introduce yourselves to him.  

 Say” Hi Dave, Welcome to Grizedale” and shake his hand.  Tell him your name and smile nicely.  He is shy so draw him out of himself please. 

Dave is on duty today and is learning the job from Bob.  Dave will be here Monday Tues. Wed Thurs this week then on nights Friday Sat Sun Mon.

Make a point of bringing him into the Grizedale fold.

Competition

Take a good look at him when you do this and decide on his age.  The first person to get his age right will get a bottle of Wine.

Send me your guesses.  Don’t ask him.  No cheating.  He doesn’t know I am doing this so its just between you and me.  Ok?

B

Barbara Glass

Administrator

Grizedale College]

Hmmm...first of all, why is Dave making my life easier? I personally hadn't discerned the former porter's lack of helpfulness/interest in my problem from EVERYONE ELSE'S RUDE AND DISMISSIVE DEMEANOR HERE. Secondly, is it just me, or is it counterproductive to try and make someone feel welcome by asking people to stare at and scrutinize his features for an uncomfortably long amount of time? Thirdly, I'm glad you are already pointing out his insecurities and shyness, I'm sure a parade of introductions will cure him of that. Fourth and finally, THANK YOU for telling me to be nice and smile, because that's not normally what I do when I introduce myself...oh wait, I'm in posh 'I care about my image' but yet 'I still won't make any effort to be pleasant' England...they do need to hear that. 

Huh, I hadn't had a good rant for a while. I didn't even include the email calling the whole college to be on the lookout for an administrators lost earring, or the one about needing to call home because all our mothers are worried about us...I can't call home woman!! I filed that one in the 'unapplicable' category. Sigh.

YORK

York...oh where do I begin? It seems now that I'm blogging regularly, everything that strikes me as remotely interesting, funny, or absurd has to be mentally noted for blog material. It's exhausting. But on the bright side, I've got loads to tell you all about yesterdays excursion.

I might as well start where I always do, the coach, which is noteworthy this time because it actually left campus on schedule! And we arrived swiftly, and even departed from York in an equally timely manner. Nor was I plagued by any noisy foreigners or neighbors wearing smoke-drenched clothing. It was almost too good to be true.

The driver dropped us off outside the York Theatre Royal, and I promptly engaged in a search for some much needed coffee. I didn't have a clue where-to, but I just started walking, which I've officially adopted as my new strategy for day-tripping (since I can't seem to plan anything and am hopeless with maps). We'd arrived in York around 10:30 and as I approached the center of town it was already packed!! Then again, everywhere in England seems to be perpetually crowded with people, so I should've expected it. Unfortunately this meant a huge line out the door of Starbucks, and as I continued to wander around, lines out of Cafe Nero, Greggs, and all other discernible coffee shops. Ughhhh. Running low on sleep and energy, I climbed an odd flight of stairs to a tea room (or something of the sort) where the waitress--obviously realizing I was lost and didn't understand this place--kindly offered me a To-go cup of coffee. This ended up being the smallest To-go cup I've ever seen and cost me 2 pounds. Sigh. Better than nothing. I popped into a bake shop afterwards to grab a sausage roll, which cheered me up considerably, and feeling refreshed I was off again to wander.

I came upon Clifford's Tower right away (see pictures below) and began to feel pretty confident in my touring strategy, considering I was already hitting must-see historic attractions without even trying. If only to encourage my confidence, 5 minutes later I walked around a corner to spot a gigantic H&M! Gahhhh!!! Heaven is uber stylish and affordable clothing. I proceeded to spend the next hour or so happily combing through clothing racks and avoiding the shrill and pushy pre-teens congregating in the 'clubwear' section. I eventually fell in love with an adorable grey blazer, which I bought and wore in lieu of my North Face vest the rest of the day (and which paired with my Ralph Lauren boots, prompted an Englishman I got directions from to ask whether I planned on going riding later. Haha, whatever, I looked totally cute).

I hadn't been aware of the large shopping venue that is York, and was impressed by the amount of designer shops and boutiques residing in the area. I walked through The Shambles, which is apparently one of York's oldest medieval streets, as well as one of the most photographed streets in England. Along it I popped into a shop called The Cat Gallery, where I had to seriously resist buying a 2011 Yoga Cats calendar to replace last years, Yoga Dogs. I did however manage to pick up their Cat-Lovers Christmas catalog, offering everything from Dancing Cat Ipod speakers to toilets seats with kitten graphics. Look out.

A few streets over was the York Minster, looming over everything. I didn't get a chance to go inside because it was currently closed for service, but I walked around back through the gardens, and peeked around inside the Treasurer's House and garden, while taking lots of pictures. Unfortunately I didn't feel like accosting anyone to take pictures of me, so they're lacking in the Shelby department, but I'll plan for lots in the next couple of weeks.

All the picture taking and aimless wandering had me thirsty, so I decided to seek one of the three 'classic' pubs in York. The guide book I was given had an offer for a free t-shirt if you buy a drink and obtain a stamp at all three. It seemed a little ambitious to me, but I figured I'd at least get to one of them. After unsuccessfully navigating the miniature map in my guide, I luckily stumbled upon The Old White Swan. It's a really cool venue, comprised of three bars surrounding a courtyard. I went in and ordered a pint, and couldn't find an empty seat in the house! I guess I found the place to be for once, and it completely embodied my vision of a classic English pub. Cozy fireplaces, sturdy wood tables, dim lighting, and lots of happy, laughing, drinking English people. THIS is what I wanted for the rest of my afternoon. So I finished my pint and mustered the courage to look like a total tourist and ask the bartender to stamp my guide book (though I felt better looking properly sophisticated in my adorable blazer).

The only downside of my new plan was that I now had to find the other two bars. But something was in the cards-or perhaps I'm better with directions after I've had a pint in me (which still won't help me in the car)-and I found pub #2, The Punch Bowl, right away! Also picturesque and equally as crowded. I ordered a Yorkshire Terrier Ale, which seemed appropriate, and perched next to the bar only to look up and see this sign...

Awesome. And only in England.

I probably should've ordered a pie as well, because I was down two pints and still only running on the morning's sausage roll. I left with my stamp and stopped at 'York Hogroast' down the road, which boasted hand carved sandwiches and 'a true taste of york'. Cool, I just needed food. I had a roasted pork sandwich filled with apple sauce and stuffing, which apparently comes with something called a 'crackling'? English mystery #4732 for Shelby. Turns out it's a crunchy pork rind, and also that it's completely gross.

I thought I'd wait a bit on pint #3. I strolled up and down the Roman walls overlooking the River Ouse. I found a place called Demijohn, which is basically a liquid deli where you can sample and choose from their hand crafted British wines, spirits, oils and vinegars. Pretty cool. I sampled their Rhubarb Vodka Liqueur, odd sounding but lip-licking delicious.

I also spotted what appeared to be a Christmas craft market, and followed in a girl and her guy--who was complaining about being dragged to look at craft stuff, again. I walked in and quickly glanced around before being yelled at by a gentleman at the entrance asking 50p for admission. Psshhh. 'Forget that' I said, 'I was interested but not THAT interested', which was met by immediate approval from the irritated boyfriend. I felt defiant...and still a little drunk. So I went across the street to the Yorkshire Museum for a bit, where I learned all I needed to know about York's Roman, Viking, and Religious history.

It was then about 4:30 and looking like time for Pint #3, considering I was due back to the coach at 6. The final pub was Harkers, 'a symbol of grand Georgian architecture, built in 1824 on the Roman site of the Praetorian Gate', according to mr. guide book. And it WAS grand, the interior looking like a converted ballroom with multi-level seating furnished with high-backed chairs and overstuffed leather sofas, fancy wall decor, tall windows, and that perfectly dim lighting. I actually found a table this time, but quickly relinquished it to 3 couples looking for a place to settle. I couldn't help but be envious of everyone surrounded by friends and lively conversation. It's those moments that make me miss you all and wish I could be enjoying such great places with my own friends and family. We'd have a ball. But alas, I am that lonely tourist girl, standing awkwardly aside and swigging down her pint, whilst clutching her prized 'I toured the Classic pubs of Britain' t-shirt. Sigh.

Despite that sad image, I had a superbly enjoyable day. The weather was beautiful, the city was amazing (definitely noting York as a must-see), and I left with some cute clothes. I couldn't have hoped for anything better:)

Clifford's Tower

York Minster

Minster garden

Treasurer's House and Gardens

London!

Yay yay yay! Officially headed to London the 19th-21st with two girl friends, and staying at a hostel right in the city! I'm stoked. AND we're going to see the new Harry Potter when we get there (I promise to be equally as excited about the richly historic areas and attractions after I experience them)!

Wigan vs. Liverpool

So I went to the Wigan/Liverpool football match last night, and had a blast and a half. It was another one of the trips/events that I signed up for through the university travel agency, with a coach leaving from campus around 6 o'clock. I say leaving 'around' because despite the pre-departure email warning everyone to be there waiting 15 minutes ahead of time or they will be left, that absolutely never happens. We pulled out around 6:20 amid excited cheers and pre-gaming shenanigans from everyone on the bus.

Wigan is about an hour south of Lancaster, so fairly close to Manchester. Of course it took the coach about an hour and a half, but that was to be expected. I didn't really mind because I met two American girls before we departed-and by 'met' I mean heard them speaking in American accents and did a very un-Shelby-like and actually walked up and started chatting with them (shocking I know). We totally hit it off in a way that only our mutual love of America could've brought about, and before we were even on the bus they extended me an invite to travel to London with them next weekend. Ummm...yes yes and yes?!!?! I didn't accept their offer right away, just in case we actually grew to dislike each other in the span of a football match, plus I was surprised by how quickly it happened. But fortunately no falling-outs occurred and I'm planning to go! We'll see if I can make arrangements in time, stay tuned for details!

Anyway, back to the match. We get there and the stupid coach decides to park before letting us all off, so we walked about a mile back to the entrance of the stadium. Considering our buzzes were waning and it seemed to be about 30 degrees outside, this was not ok. However, we made it in, passing through a weirdly narrow turnstile that evoked thoughts of cattle, and arrived at the bar just in time to grab a pint before it closed. Yayyy! Unfortunately you're not allowed to take any alcohol into the stands, so we had to drink it uncomfortably fast and the find our seats with stomach aches. Side note-I realize the practicality of disallowing alcohol in the stands, but all the same, it's an English football match! It's supposed to be rowdy and semi out of control right?! I guess this is why I'm here, to grow informed against the stereotypes of English society and culture, sigh. But I still won't mask my disappointment.

Getting back on track, again, the match was a lot of fun to see in person. We watch it on the tele (I don't actually think they say that, haha) all the time, but the epicness of English football is so much more tangible when you're actually there! And these guys are so good! The girls I was sitting with also used to play soccer, and so we had a lot of fun swapping stories and commenting on the game. It's refreshing to understand something beyond just the rules when I'm watching this sport (which I should be well conditioned to do with all the other sports watched/played in our family, but whatever...yes I still don't understand second blue line passing...super fail). My favorite part was halftime when instead of the usual stadium food (pretzels, burgers, popcorn), all that was offered were meat and potato pies, and chips, excuse me, crisps. Words cannot describe how badly we Americans wanted a salty, mustard-covered pretzel after pint #2 was slammed. Tragic.

The match ended in a draw 1-1. We were positioned on the Wigan fans side, so I guess we were rooting for them ultimately. Nobody really cared, we were just there for the experience, the atmosphere, and the pints we couldn't take back to our seats. Before we trekked back to the bus we cajoled an extremely reluctant security man to take a picture of the whole group in front of the pitch. Memories! And so goes the story of my night at a real English footie match.

I hope everyone is doing well! I'll keep you updated on the London trip, and look out for a post following my day trip to York this Saturday!

Welcome to Gregg's...again

So, the inevitable has happened and I have started slacking on the blog front. Though considering Shelby's English life=slacking at basically everything besides alcohol consumption and sleeping (let's be honest), I can't act surprised. I do, however, feel that I owe my loving and devoted blog fans a sincere apology for withholding the minutest details of my daily adventures and discoveries. I will try harder...

All the same, that hardly changes the fact that nothing of interest happened in regards to me this past week. So can you guess what I did today?   If your answer was 'to eat more English pasties', you are absolutely correct. And not only that, bonus points-or a gold star if you insist on being that sort of person-for proving yourself thoroughly literate in my blog entries. Ok, moving on.

My pastie of choice today was Gregg's seasonal 'Festive Bake'. The name alone conjures comforting images of a cozy seat by the fireside, mom's delicious holiday cooking, and that special stirring feeling you just can't shake when the first snowflakes of winter tickle the tips of your eyelashes as you skip merrily home in anticipation of warm welcomes and loving embraces...simply delightful. Miraculously, after this slew of images invaded my mind, I still had an appetite and confidently approached the counter, announcing my order with a cheery gusto I deemed appropriate for such a selection. (This is the part where all witnesses dismiss my peculiar behavior in light of my being American, love it).

Anyway, pastie number two was DELICIOUS. Though I was hardly surprised this time. The 'Festive Bake' contains something along the lines of savory chicken bits, vegetable flecks, cranberry filling, and a creamy herbed white sauce to gel it all together. Heaven wrapped in a flaky buttered crust. Not even to mention the sensational aroma that wafted from the treat as soon as I unwrapped it from it's little brown baggy. I was put into an uber festive mood.

I spent most of the day hunkered down in the library reading my books, occasionally making a run to the student shop where a cup of coffee is currently only 1p with a student card. And of course, what is a coffee break without a little coffee treat? Cue visit number two to the bakery, where I purchased a mini sweet mince pie to sample. It was just too cute, sitting there in the display case all dusted in powdered sugar and wearing it's own mini foil pie dish. I mean, next to it, the teddy bear cookie decorated to wear a little colorful handkerchief was cute and tempting also, but slightly less English and therefore less conducive to the writing of this blog.

A few more hours in the library, a few more cups of drink-machine coffee (hey, it's better than nothing), and I broke down. Cue trip number THREE to the bakery. Yes. I realize I may have a problem at this point. But it was supper time and the prospect of a warm, flavor-packed sausage roll in lieu of the frozen veggies I had back at my flat was just too enticing. Thankfully there had been a shift change during the day, so I didn't have to return and show my pastie-packing face to the same people-though it hardly would've deterred me. For the record, sausage roll number two was delish, as was the sweet mince pie. I regret not a one.

Now at this point, to validate today's diet beyond the purposes of this blog (which my subconscious may require) I will say that I have had the most severe cravings lately. I actually woke up in the middle of last night to fading dreams of chicken nuggets and my stomach growling. I absolutely wouldn't doubt that my meager diet of PB&J's, frozen veggie medleys, rice, and eggs is the culprit of some nutrient deficiencies. Well rounded, potentially, but boring after a month. Shelby the eager, inspired cook makes no appearances in this country. I'm just thankful I've got chain bakeries and endlessly scrumptious pastie combinations to do it for me:)

Rain Rain Rain

It's been raining all day, and I feel that I'm finally experiencing English weather in all its glory. I've been lucky so far, only a few drizzly days disbursed by clouds and occasional sunshine. But not today. The wind is howling outside my window, which is easily mistaken for high pitched screaming if it takes you by surprise, creepy. And consistently heavy rain too. I don't dare venture off the sidewalks for fear of disappearing into a bog.

It has also zapped what little motivation I had to accomplish anything, so the entirety of the day has been spent in the safety of my little room, reading and messing around on the internet clad in pajamas, emerging now and then to refill my hot chocolate. If it sounds like I'm complaining, you're mistaken. I can't think of anything better:)