The blog needs oxygen...

Hi Everybody,
The blog has been struggling again, my greatest apologies. But unless you wish me to regale you in more tales of stress-ridden student-dom, I haven't much new to write. This will all be solved when I compose my epic of a goodbye post in the next two days. There will be lists, there will be pithy commentary, there may even be a couple pictures of the campus that are much overdue in posting. Get excited.

For now I just wanted to wish you all well...and continue procrastinating on my essays, haha. Pathetic. But the countdown to America is 3 days!!! I won't hide the excitement:)

papers papers no sleep papers blah

Despite my previous claims of the ridiculous ease of my classes, this week I've inevitably joined the ranks with millions of study panicked, anxiety stricken, over-caffeinated, and sleep-deprived college students slogging through finals week. Lame. But I'm sure we all saw that one coming.

Since I don't really have anything to blog about (unless you'd like me to post excerpts from my fascinating and skillfully rendered analysis of the use of Gothic within Victorian texts) I will tell you a fun little story about my best friend, procrastination. Ahem...

For my Women Writers class the study abroad students are required to complete a 24-hour take-home test before the end of term, which is basically just a 1-2000 word essay chosen from a few questions that they give you. I figured I'd get my game together on this one and finish it before hell week, so I picked it up yesterday around noon-ish. 24 hours to complete, no problem. That's usually the time span I allot myself to write essays anyway.

So I choose some question about women's autobiography, and head straight to the library to do research for a couple of hours. No problem. I take a quick nap around six and then get down to writing...only to look more closely at the question I've chosen and realize that I'm totally confused by it/have absolutely no idea what it's asking. So I take the phone-a-friend avenue and email the question to daddy-poo, half in hopes that he will simply reply in an email pointing out my obvious daftness and outlining the points of the essay for me. He is confused too. We validate our mutual confusedness by chalking it down to stupid British word usage. Fortunately after an insane strand of emails and furious googling on both ends, I think I've got something to go off of. Cheers dad ;-)

Now follows Shelby's process of writing an essay, punctuated in large intervals by facebooking, hot chocolate concocting, watching the pictures on my screen saver, painting my nails, and more brief naps. THIS calculated process is interrupted by a skype convo with mom and dad (to talk over my essay points) that lasts 45 minutes. It's now 3am. Mind you, I still have no problem with this situation. I work for another 3 hours, take a nap from 6-8:30am, then finish up the essay to turn it in before the 24 hours is up, approximately a few minutes after noon.

I finish the essay at 11:30, allotting myself enough time to make it over to the library to print. Of course, when I try to email the essay to myself the attachment won't send (something about the proxy server failing and trying to make my life harder). So I head to the library and try to use the internet there. Still won't send. Ughh. Now there's a problem. So I run over to the bookstore to buy a freaking zip-drive, run back to the lib, download the document from my computer, plug the drive into the school computer, ONLY TO FIND OUT that I picked the ONE computer in the whole bank of computers that didn't have Microsoft Word installed on it. You've got to be kidding me.

Log-off, run across the room to another computer, wait forever for it to log-on, plug in zip-drive, print, slow down to politely ask the woman at the front desk if I could please use her lovely stapler, run out. It's now exactly 12 and I still have to make it to the English Undergrad Office.

May I just pause here to say: when you see a kid running, especially around finals week, when you see a kid running who looks like he/she hasn't showered in several days, with bloodshot eyes, and pajama clothes peeking out from under their sweatshirt and boots...GET OUT OF THE WAY!!! Obviously this kid has a deadline, and it cannot be met when you are casually strolling and smoking along the narrow walkway, side by side with your over-weight and impossible-to-get-around bff. FREAKING MOVE!

I will un-pause to say that I couldn't bring myself to move at a full running pace while still retaining any dignity, but I did do the fastest version of the fast walk. I made it to the office, breathless, sweating, and presented my essay in what I hoped was acceptable time. I think the clear display of effort on my part redeemed the 2 minutes I believe I was late, because the secretary smiled and wrote down 12:05 'in' next to yesterdays 12:05 'out'. Relief. Maybe I shouldn't have been so worried, but I could totally see these people taking the 24-hour thing way too seriously.

It figures that I would've had printer trouble...I never have printer trouble. I carefully calculate my paper writing down to the minute, and always allot just enough time to go do a quick read-over and print it out. I laugh at kids that make lame excuses about printer troubles. But lesson learned. I guess it's just necessary to have those kind of experiences now and again to make you feel like an absolutely stereotypical college student.

Gripe of the day

Every single restroom on campus that I've walked into today has had no toilet paper. This includes the library, learning zone, lecture hall, and the university Welcome office. Not such a welcoming gesture, university. That's FOUR. So...I've taken to toting around a role of toilet paper in my backpack, in anticipation of this forever occurring. Absolutely ridiculous.

This insanity has driven me to make up a list of refunds I think I deserve on my tuition money (i.e crap I shouldn't have to pay for):
 -public toilet paper
 -gym membership fees (to the worst gym this side of the 80's)
 -outrageously priced course books at the uni bookstore
 -student ID card
 -college membership fee (I have yet to see any tangible benefit from this 16 pounds)...(unless you count the benefit of the barrage of practical and informative emails I receive on a daily basis from the Grizedale Reps)
 -the complete lack of education that I am receiving at this institution
 -toilet paper...I feel like this one really typifies my plight

I mean, there are obviously so many better things I could be spending my money on. Like booze, and stylish winter scarves, and chocolate--to name the first few things that come to mind. Haha.

Fun Fact: In England they don't call it 'toilet paper', they call it 'toilet roll'. So elevated. I suppose it works better with the accent.

There's snow in Lancaster

So it has snowed here for the 3rd day in a row, which I've been informed is extremely rare for this time of year (usually it snows, if at all, around February). Apparently a popular thing to do is place bets on whether or not England will have a white Christmas, and that you can make some pretty decent cash if you wager correctly. Please keep in mind, all of this was explained to me by an over-zealous cab driver at 3am, who, over the course of the drive, instructed me on secrets to success and wealth. As it turns out, he himself was not only a taxi driver, but by day a mechanical engineer (which, to my surprised looks, he capitulated with "well, I mean I work on cars"), a stock trader (with the aid of an online program), a real estate tycoon (paying off a mortgage on a condo in Orlando), and above all an advisor to lazy and unmotivated youth ("I told this student that if he worked constantly outside of class, he'd have AT LEAST 40,000 pounds to start his own business with by the time he graduated"). I almost felt inclined to tip him extra for all his sage advise by the end. Almost.

In any case, that story has strayed me from my original point, which was that it is cold, and I'm complaining--though I fully realize how much worse I'd be having it back at home...whatever. I think snow would follow me to hell if it had the chance.

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.