Wednesday, April 28, 2010

London Chronicles, the Fourth

The Fourth, and final, installment of the London Chronicles, I think. There's not much to say after Sunday, because we obviously arrived safely in Angers. :)

Alright...Friday Friday Friday. What do I have to say about Friday? Oh yes. Bon-bons and mal-mals.

Hehehe.

I’ll have to let you in on a little secret: if you leave us alone too long without supervision, Kendra and I have a tendency to get a little goofy. Or...maybe a lot goofy. And given the fact that we’ve been unsupervised for going on four months now, you can imagine how much a “lot” goofy really is. Just give us some chocolate bars, ice cream, and a camera, and you’ll see. 0_o Or, take for example the story of the bon-bons and mal-mals. (I just realized that all of these stories seem to involve sugar of some kind. Hmm.) Anyway, we were taking a short ride on the Underground, going...somewhere...(only God knows where now)...and I pulled out a little bag of candies (bon-bons) that a friend at church had given me before we left. I asked if she wanted a bon-bon, because I’m nice. ;) But, I used the French word instead of the English one by habit, like we usually end up doing. We chuckled about that for a second, and then all of a sudden I had one of my “linguistic moments.” That’s when all of a sudden, I make a connection or think of a question that has never occurred to me before. It’s usually something obvious. :P This time, I was wondering why bon-bons are called bon-bons. “Bon” means good...so I assumed that perhaps they were “good-goods.” I mean, it makes sense, given that it’s candy we’re talking about. So, I wondered this aloud, and Kendra took the question even further, wondering if perhaps there could be such as thing as a “mal-mal,” because “mal” means “bad,” and if there’s a “good-good,” it stands to reason that there could be a “bad-bad.” And then we both realized how ridiculous the whole thing was and cracked up laughing in the middle of the train car.

Yeah...I know, it’s not really all that funny to most of you. But to us? It’s priceless.

Friday we actually did succeed in seeing the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace, and once again, I could hardly believe I was really there. The ceremony took forever, and I’m awfully glad I’m not one of those guards who has to stand there for over an hour, or one of the officers who has to march to and fro for no practical reason whatsoever. However, I am glad that I could be one of the tourists who took pictures of them while they did it. I have to say, though, that my favorite part of the ceremony was the concert given by the guys in the furry black hats. (Yes, I know they have a special name, but I kind of like calling them that.) Anyway, I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that God planned it for me, because why else would the band have picked that day to play a medley of Star Trek theme songs? It was soooo beyond awesome. I couldn't wipe the grin off my face, and I'm pretty sure Kendra thought I was weird. ;) I took a video of the whole thing, but I haven’t had a chance to upload it yet. Chances are it will take a great deal of time to put it on Facebook, but I’ll try.

We also saw some of the Veterans’ Monuments before heading off to Covent Garden. I’ve always kind of wondered exactly what Covent Garden *was* - and now I know. It’s basically just a shopping area, more posh than anything else. There are a lot of name brand boutiques, interesting specialty stores, and open spaces for street shows, as well as a few market areas displaying the goods of local artisans. I know it’s kind of touristy, but I really do like watching certain kinds of street shows. I’ve seen some incredibly talented acrobats and breakdancers who are also quite good at entertaining a crowd.

Anyway, after freshening up at the hostel, we found a well-established diner, where I ordered more fish and chips, and Kendra and I split an apple crumble with vanilla ice cream. It was like being in the South again, I’m tellin’ ya. :)

And then...one of my biggest, wildest dreams came true: I went to see a performance of the Phantom of the Opera. Live. And in London, no less! Aside from the small pillar in front of us and the restricted view of the ceiling (and the inebriated man behind me who felt the need to sing from time to time), our seats were actually very good. Honestly, it wouldn’t have mattered which seat I was in - it was the freakin’ Phantom of the Opera for cryin’ out loud. I had to pinch myself three times to make sure I was really there! It is one of the memories that will always be vivid in my mind. Not only was it absolutely surreal just to be there, but the performance itself was truly spectacular. The cast was well-chosen; I think that their Phantom is one of the best I’ve ever heard, and Christine was definitely a star as well. Raoul, well, I think he was probably just a bit too old for my taste, but a good Raoul despite that little detail. As a general rule, though, I never really like Raoul very much anyway; his character is just too much of a pansy.

After the performance, Kendra and I made our way past all of the nightclubs in the Piccadilly Circus quarter, winding through the wild, half-drunken crowds on the sidewalks waiting to get into clubs like “Tiger Tiger” and “Koko.” I’m so glad I wasn’t one of the crowd. If I had been, Kendra and I wouldn’t have heard strains of “Open the Eyes of my Heart” bleeding through noises of other street performers, and we wouldn’t have been able to join their tiny group of Christians doing ministry in the madness, and we wouldn’t have been able to pray with them before heading back to our hostel. Honestly, the way God orchestrates things still amazes me. :)

Saturday was a more slow-paced day, because by that time, we were pretty well exhausted. We ended up spending the day at the Imperial War Museum (and outside on the grass, picnicking in the sunshine), and I’m very glad we did. The WWI and WWII exhibits were interesting, but the Holocaust exhibit really grabbed me. It was so dark, so heavy, and so real, but so absolutely beyond comprehension. I wanted to cry for the victims, but I couldn’t. Instead, I found myself angry at the men and women who could commit such horrific, satanic evils. But then, I was reminded of Jesus’ response to such cruel and unjust acts committed against him: “Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do.” All of a sudden, I was aware of the fact that every person who could be named a perpetrator of Holocaust atrocities was a human being - a human being just like me.

By birth, I am no different from a German who slaughtered ten thousand Jews.

Yes, me. I was born with the same depraved human nature and the same capacity to sin. But, by God’s grace, I was redeemed. I was bought from that slavery, and it’s humbling to think that any one of those criminals could be bought back, just like me. By believing on Jesus Christ, they could be freely given the same pardon, just like Paul, who had devoted his life to eliminating Christian believers before Jesus called him to new life. That is a truly mind-blowing concept, after having seen the filmed documentation of those Holocaust atrocities and heard the testimonies of the traumatized eye-witnesses who saw as children their parents brutally murdered in front of them. Of course, most of the Nazis I saw didn’t repent of their wanton bloodlust; their hearts were hardened to the reality of their sin. But how incredible would have been the grace of God for those few who might have believed?

And so ends the London Chronicles. I am so thankful to have been blessed with the opportunity to visit London after having dreamed about it for so long, and I will definitely treasure the experience for the rest of my life. :) That said, London is not the only blessing I've been given...after all, God has been faithful every day of my stay here in France, just as he was in the United States. For that, I will always be thankful as well.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

London Chronicles, the Third

So, Thursday was kind of an off-day, for me anyway. We tried to see the changing of the guard in the morning, but we found out when we got there that they only change them every other day (MWF) during certain seasons. Friday would be our last chance. So, instead we took some pictures around Buckingham Palace (which looks exactly like it does in the movies...of course), and goofed off by the fountains before taking a stroll down The Mall. Now, in my opinion, it bears a strange resemblance to the Champs-Elysées in Paris...but I’m sure that’s just me. ;) There are some beautiful mansions that line it one side, and Hyde Park on the other, with two arches at either end. It leads straight to Trafalgar Square, so we wandered past once again and found our way to the scenic walkway along the Thames. The London Marathon was planned for the Sunday our our departure, so the sidewalks were teeming with runners. When we weren’t dodging them, we were admiring the view and the monuments along the way to London Bridge. One of my favorites was Cleopatra’s Needle, with its Sphinxes on either side, one of which still bears the war wounds left by the Blitzkrieg. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to endure night after night of bombings in London. Thankfully, we’ve been spared that kind of terror in the United States so far. I’ve always been impressed by the strength with which the British faced that trial. I wonder how we would react?



On our very long walk, we also passed by Cannon Street, which is in the financial sector of London, and found ourselves in front of The Monument. Yes, that’s the only name it has. “THE Monument.” As if there aren’t hundreds of others. :P Anyway, THE Monument stands in remembrance of the Great Fire - another horrible tragedy that I simply can’t manage to wrap my mind around. A city as large as London...engulfed in flames. I guess I would have felt pretty helpless, like all of those people who just sat down to paint it. What else could they do?

Anyway, we also found St. Paul’s Cathedral, which turned out to be even more massive than I thought. We didn’t feel like paying several pounds to go inside another church, even though I’m sure it was impressive, so we just admired the architecture from the outside and continued our pilgrimage toward London Bridge and the Tower of London. London Bridge isn’t really that pretty (I wasn’t expecting it to be), and the view was definitely not as spectacular as the view from some of the other bridges. But, now I can say I’ve been there. :P I can also say I’ve visited the Tower of London, and I have to say it wasn’t exactly what I expected. It felt more like a tourist trap than a historical site. The tour was also extremely expensive, and we were exhausted and starving by that point. Of course, the history behind the Tower of London has always intrigued me, and I would have liked to have seen the ravens and maybe the Crown Jewels, but I realized that it wasn’t really worth as much to me as I thought. So, we ate a picnic lunch in Hyde Park, watching a man do some sort of really strange yoga. It looked pretty boring, since he kept doing the same thing over and over and over. Anyway, that wasn’t really the highlight of the afternoon. Hehe. The highlight of the afternoon was the British Library.

I’ve wanted to see the British Library for a long time (just like a lot of things in London), and it was definitely not a disappointment. Well...that is, once we found it. Let’s just say we encountered some navigational difficulties. Anyway, there is one room in the Library completely devoted to their collection of famous, original works. I’m pretty sure my mouth was hanging open during half the time I spent in there, because - get this - not only do they have the original Magna Carta and its subsequent editions, but the earliest copy of Beowulf, some of Shakespeare’s printed plays and collaborative work, one of Jane Austen’s teenage diaries filled with her early stories, Jane Austen’s writing desk, Charlotte Bronte’s “Jane Eyre” manuscript, three pages of sketchings and theorems from Da Vinci’s scientific notebooks, a Gutenberg Bible, Caxton’s Aesop’s Fables, the illustrated “Alice in Wonderland” manuscript given as a gift to the real Alice, the Codex Sinaiticus, a piece of papyrus displaying one of the Psalms, an original manuscript copy of Handel’s Messiah, Ravel’s “Bolero,” and original manuscripts of Mozart, Beethoven, Chopin, Haydn, and Schubert.

So yes, I saw the Magna Carta. I read part of the last chapter of “Jane Eyre” in Charlotte’s handwriting. I took a peek into Jane Austen’s imaginative diary. I stood a foot away from the pages of Da Vinci’s famous theorems written in mirror-image Italian. I gazed at the oldest copy of the Greek New Testament known to exist (Codex Sinaiticus). I noticed the stylistic differences of notation in the written music of Mozart and Handel and Beethoven.

It was humbling to be surrounded by the lingering remnants of so much creativity and discipline, but at the same time, it was even more humbling to realize that those remnants, those legacies, are all that remain of those great men and women. None of them cheated death, no matter how famous, creative, or talented they were. And I’m a human being just like them, gifted with my own unique talents and my own potential to shape the world, but ultimately, I am finite, just like the rest of humanity.

But, there is 1 Corinthians 15.

50I declare to you, brothers, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable. 51Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed— 52in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. 53For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality. 54When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: "Death has been swallowed up in victory."[g] 
 55"Where, O death, is your victory? 
      Where, O death, is your sting?"[h] 56The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. 57But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.
 58Therefore, my dear brothers, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.
And that was Thursday. More on Friday later. :)

Sunday, April 25, 2010

London Chronicles, the Second

Alright, I’m done with classes for the day, and I don’t have anything else pressing to finish...and I’m actually rather bored. Everyone else seems pretty busy, and hanging out at the park alone gets old after a while. So I’ll write another installation of “The London Chronicles” for you while I eat my fresh endive salad. (That’s my new addiction.)

Where was I anyway? Oh...umm, the end of Tuesday. That’s right. There were a couple of things I forgot to mention about that day. In Westminster Abbey, you can see the memorial stone on the floor where Oliver Cromwell - the guy who had King Charles I beheaded and disposed of the monarchy for about 9 years - *was* buried for about three years, that is, until the new king, Charles II, the son of Charles I, just couldn’t stand the fact that he had gotten away with killing his father and had him dug up and executed by hanging (you know, just to make sure he was dead). As if that wasn’t enough, he was then beheaded, and his body was thrown into a well. (Good riddance.) What did they do with his head, you ask? Well, what else would you do with the decomposed head of the man who murdered your father but mount it on a spike over Westminster Abbey? Right, I knew you were about to say that. Anyway, it stayed up there for close to 25 years, and then it just toppled off in a strong wind and somebody took it home. (“What’s that new centerpiece on the mantel there, George?” “Oh, just something I picked up on the street this afternoon.”) 0_o

Oh yes, and we also saw St. Margaret’s church, next to Westminster Abbey, which was full of plaques and stones and graves, too. Sir Walter Raleigh (in two pieces, of course) is buried under the altar. Some of the members of the Parliament still meet at St. Margaret’s to take Holy Communion and then have breakfast together once a month. I thought that was interesting. Whether it means anything to them or not, it’s still completely opposite of the mentality I’m surrounded by in France: this mentality of “laicity” to which they are extremely attached.

Alright, so here we are at Wednesday (finally, after my longwinded “bizarre secrets of history” lesson). Wednesday, of course, was another full day of exploring. We dashed off first thing to find the British Museum, and we spent all morning wandering around amidst the mummies and artifacts and books and sculptures and really, really, really old rocks. Well, I am giving a bit of a tongue-in-cheek description there, but honestly, I did find it interesting. It’s not every day that you find yourself face to face with ancient Egyptian bodies and relics that you could reach out and touch (even though you’re not supposed to), nor bits and pieces of culture that date back to the time of Jesus. The intricacies of the written artifacts from thousands of years ago, the evidences of scientific developments, the belief systems whose mythologies bear remarkable resemblances to Biblical accounts...it was all right there. I couldn’t begin to count the number of historical discoveries that prove the authenticity of the Bible, but that were cleverly ignored by museum historians. Check this one out:



Hmm. Great Flood anyone?

So, Kendra and I goofed off a bit in the Museum too, because looking at history for too long just does something to you.





Oh yeah - and we saw the Rosetta Stone. Yep, the real thing.



For lunch, we decided that fish and chips were in order, so we found a pub by Trafalgar Square and that’s what we got. The verdict? Not bad, not bad at all. It’s fried fish and thick-cut french fries, served with green peas. It honestly reminded me of the South. :)

On the agenda for the afternoon was The National Gallery. I remember seeing a street preacher in front of the Gallery. I think I rolled my eyes at first, because I’ve seen so many who just spew hatred and lies, but then I started listening to what he said, and he was actually speaking the truth - in love! It was actually rather refreshing. It was also an abrupt change from the completely a-religious environment I’ve become accustomed to here in France. Anyway, the National Gallery. So many rooms, so many paintings. Van Gogh, Monet, Cézanne, Rembrandt, Roden, Da Vinci - so much astounding talent displayed in one location. It made me wonder though: what about those not-so-famous painters and artists? I’m sure they were rather talented in their own right. I honestly couldn’t tell the difference between a Monet and another impressionist if Monet’s paintings weren’t so famous. So why do we give all the glory to one, and not the others? I’m sure it’s not because all of those famous painters were the first or the best. I mean, it can be true, but it’s definitely not always the case. Walking around gazing at all of their works of art also made me wonder why God gifts certain people with creative talents like that. It must be because he is a beautiful God, and wants his creation to reflect that beauty. It’s the only reason I can think of, because looking at paintings is something to enjoy more than anything else. I also realized as I wandered through the maze of galleries that each of those painters represents more than just a name in the pages of history. Each one was a human being just like me. Each one had his or her share of joys and heartaches, struggles, setbacks, and successes. Most of them weren’t even famous during their lifetimes. And, I’m sure most of them probably underestimated the quality of their work, thinking there was always someone better than them. There probably was, but that didn’t keep them from working, persevering, and creating something that was their own. There’s a lot to think about, walking through a gallery of paintings. Or, maybe I just have an overactive mind. I like to compare myself to August in the novel, “The Secret Life of Bees” (that I read while in London). The author says that some people bite off more than they can chew, but August, she always chewed more than she bit off. That sounds an awful lot like me.

After spending some time in the Gallery, we headed off to Harrod’s to see what all the fuss was about.



Indeed, it is one of the biggest and fanciest places to spend money on over-priced merchandise that I’ve ever seen. Everything you could think of is there: gourmet food, makeup, perfumes, designer clothing, accessories and jewelry, toys -- you name it, it’s there, and it’s expensive. Honestly, most of the luxury goods in that store are only expensive because someone said they should be. I guess I just don’t really understand the obsession with name-brands and fashion. It just seems extravagant to me (being my father’s daughter). ;)

Well, that brings me to the end of Wednesday, so I'll stop here and pick up with Thursday when I have more time to write.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

London: the First

Alright, so, I promised a blog post. This is a rather daunting, I hope you understand. (That might be why I’ve put it off!) There are simply too many things I could say, and too many ways in which I could say them. In any case, I’m going to make an attempt, and hopefully you won’t mind reading it too much.

Monday morning, I woke up extra early without any outside prompting (meaning, I woke up earlier than my alarm clock did), just like a five year old on Christmas morning. I arrived at the train station a little early just in case I ran into any trouble picking up the pre-booked tickets, and I discovered that certain lines were not running normally because the workers who had been on strike over the weekend evidently weren’t tired of striking yet. (I’m telling you, they make it a hobby here.) Fortunately, there wouldn’t be any problem getting to Paris or taking the Eurostar to London. Kendra and I climbed on board and settled in, even though I was still super-nervous about making our connection in Paris. The Eurostar was leaving from a station on the opposite side of Paris from the train station where we would be arriving, so we would have about an hour to make the connection - and our train was already running 15 minutes behind schedule. Not good for someone with my personality. :P When we arrived in Paris, we rushed through the terminal, got stuck in a long line waiting to buy Metro tickets, rushed to the Metro line, rode the Metro for at least 10 minutes, and then arrived in the right station, only to be required to go through a series of check-ins: ticket check-in, French passport check, British passport check (with an extra paper to fill out for non-EU citizens), and a luggage security checkpoint.

Here I have to pause and say that it’s odd how certain border officials can make me feel like I should be deported to Gitmo, even when I haven’t done a thing wrong.
“Are you travelling alone?”
“Well, with my friend over there.”
“Then no, you’re not.”
“Oh, uh...right. No.” (I feel stupid now.)
“Where are you from?”
“The United States.”
“Mmhmm. Where are you staying in the UK?”
“Uhhh, Palmer’s Lodge.”
“Well, do you have the address?”
“Uhhhhh (fumbling for papers) -- 40 College Crescent?”
“And when did you arrive in France?”
“January 17.”
“And when are you leaving?”
“June 17, at least that’s the plan.”
“Uh-huh. Well, what have you been doing there all this time?”
“Studying...at the University, uh, the Catholic University of the West.” (No, I obviously look like I’ve been living on the streets like a hobo selling drugs...)
He gives me another suspicious glance before slamming his stamp down on my passport. None of the questions are difficult, and I have nothing to hide, but they always make me so nervous that I feel like I’m guilty of drug trafficking and arms smuggling by the time they’re done. Ugh. Anyway, by the time all of that was done and we finally found the platform and boarded the train, we had about seven minutes left. Honestly, with all that we had to go through to get on that train, it felt like we should have had less! It was like God slowed down the hands of time so we could make it. (I wouldn’t put it past Him.)

I have to say, taking the Eurostar to London was a good choice for one of two reasons. First of all, it meant that we got to go through the Chunnel. Second of all, halfway through our trip, all of the airports in the British Isles were shut down and all planes grounded because of the volcanic ash cloud produced by the eruptions in Iceland. There are still students stuck in Scotland, England, and the U.S. who haven’t been able to get a flight back after their vacation. Fortunately, we were blessed to not have to deal with that hassle.

At the train station, we remembered that we would need pounds to buy our Underground passes, so we wandered back to the opposite end of the terminal to find the ATMs before we took the Underground for the first time. I still remember changing trains for the first time. Our first stop was the Baker Street station, and the staircases and walls were wood-paneled, like a parlor straight out of a Sherlock Holmes novel. Of course, not all of the stations are like that, but I thought it was a nice touch for Baker Street. I absolutely loved the character of the Underground, with the lovely English woman telling us to “Mind the gap, please,” every time a train arrived or departed, and the recorded voices letting us know that “The good service is operating on all London Underground lines.” I couldn’t help but wonder when some joker would come on the intercom one day to tell us that “The sucky service is operating on all London Underground lines.” Even better was when they told us that “The good service is operating on all existing Underground lines.” What about the imaginary and non-existing lines? :P

Anyway, our hostel in London was probably one of the best hostels I’ve stayed in: charming old English house with plenty of character, beds with privacy curtains, free continental breakfast, TV/reading lounge, free internet access, and helpful and friendly staff (even the one that kept trying to hit on me). It was in a safe part of town, just a short walk from the Underground station and plenty of restaurants, and the clientele were generally nice and trustworthy. The only drawback was the bathroom. Sure, you can only expect so much from shared toilets and showers, and they really weren’t bad, but sharing a bathroom with guys was a bit awkward. No, let me take that back. A *lot* awkward. Imagine standing there brushing your teeth with a man old enough to be your father washing his face at the sink beside you. And then imagine him turning to you to comment on how cold the water is. Not only do you have to mumble through your mouthful of minty foam that yes, indeed, it sure is cold, but you have to mumble this friendly banter to a complete stranger of the opposite sex. In your bathroom. Of course, the showers and toilets were equipped with locks, but it was still quite an experience.

The first night, we decided to try out a nearby Indian restaurant, since we’d been told that Indian food in London is really quite good. We discovered that Indian food is in fact one of the most delicious culinary inventions on the planet. Chicken and lamb and spiced sauces and coconut rice and naan bread...mmm. The second night, I think we ate peanut butter sandwiches and leftover fruit, but we had fish and chips at a local pub for lunch. It’s nothing incredibly spectacular, but the fried fish definitely reminded me of home, which made it taste even better. We also tried some Thai food at Jimmy’s Thai, and my green chicken curry was delicious, if a little on the spicy side. Before going to the theatre Friday night, we visited a local diner-type restaurant that had been around for about 50 years - a very good choice, I must say. I ordered more fish and chips to see if there was any difference (I mean, why not?), and we split an apple crumble for dessert. It was like being in the South again. Our last day, we tried out a little café that a Londoner living in the hostel recommended to us, and I really enjoyed sitting out on the patio in the sunshine, savoring my salad with fresh mozzarella cheese and avocado. Needless to say, I’m going to have a brain chock full of new meal ideas when I come home. Everybody get ready! ;) Overall, I would say that the French eat better than the British do. There is a lot more fast food, fried food, and generally food of lower quality in typical restaurants. (Try comparing a French meal of an aperatif, an endive, cucumber, and gouda cheese salad with a dijon vinaigrette, buttery pasta and a spiced chicken dish, French bread, French cheese, and dessert (just take your pick) -- all enjoyed over about three hours -- to a plate of unseasoned fried fish and thick, unsalted fried potatoes with a glob of mushy, puréed green peas, or maybe a plate of sausages and more potatoes. It doesn't quite stack up.) All that to say: the French really are foodies, and that I can appreciate.

That first evening, I think it finally hit us that we were totally free: we had nowhere to be, no one to tell us what to do, and a Metro pass that would take us nearly anywhere we could want to go, whenever we wanted to go there. In London. At first, just walking down the street was fascinating: the accents, the new expressions, the strange road signs, the people driving on the wrong side of the road. I never quite got used to seeing a empty “driver’s seat” or a woman reading a newspaper when she was “supposed” to be driving. And I can’t say I’ve ever seen exit signs that say “Way Out” instead of “Exit” or yield signs that say “Give Way.” Even funnier, I’ve never seen orange juice cartons that say “Extra Juicy Bits” instead of pulp, or chocolate bars like Yorkie that say “Extra Chunks.” :P Believe it or not, I actually had trouble understanding some of the English I heard, especially at first when my brain was trying to make the switch back to English from French. British English is just different enough from American English that I think my brain was trying to decode it as a new language, like French, and it wasn’t making sense! After a while it got easier, and I love their accent, but I was actually really, really happy to come back to France and hear this lovely language in my ears again.

The first thing we did Tuesday morning when we woke up was eat breakfast and head to the Underground to find Big Ben like good little tourists. When we popped up in the middle of London and actually caught our first glimpse of it, we both start giggling -- we just couldn’t believe we were actually there! After taking our cheesy pictures, we just started rounding corners. The Parliament building is HUGE and absolutely magnificent. In my opinion, its architecture rivals that of all the cathedrals I’ve seen. We marvelled at it from all angles before wandering into St. James Park to take a peek at the Thames and the beautiful spring flowers blooming under, yes, the sun -- in London! It didn’t rain all week long, not one bit, and nearly every day was warm and sunny. Perfect springtime weather for a vacation, and in London, no less! What a gift from God.

We also found Trafalgar Square (which I’ve always wanted to see) and climbed up on the lion statues to take pictures. I couldn’t help but think of Aslan, and then of Christ as I curled up next to the giant, warm, solid lion.

By then, lunch sounded like a good idea, so we found a sandwich shop and took our lunches over to another royal park and basked in the sunshine next to the daffodils, watching toddlers giggle and trip their way through the flowers. We also happened across some of the Mounted Royal Cavalry and watched as they stood guard with flocks of tourists around them trying their hardest to be obnoxious. What a rough job. I wonder how those guards feel about being in countless photo albums of complete strangers. I guess it could be kind of flattering. Or then again, maybe it’s just annoying.

Our next stop was Westminster Abbey, where we decided to take the guided tour for just a little extra. There was a French woman at the register who was lost and didn’t really speak English well, so I was able to help her find her way in French. I felt quite useful. :) Kendra and I were the only ones who signed up for the tour, so it was just us and the verger for our own private tour of the Abbey! In the choir, he explained to us how the royal officials were seated when they came to services or meetings. Since it was just the two of us, he let us each take a seat in the chair reserved for the Queen! (I knew there was a reason I’ve practiced that royal wave.) Anyway, there are over 3000 people buried in the Abbey (and probably even more memorial stones), and they are still allowed to bury ashes in it, so you still have a chance of being buried there if you do something special enough that the Dean decides you deserve to be. St. Edward the Confessor is buried in the only complete shrine in all of England in the middle of the Abbey, and some of it’s pretty darn old -- about 800 years old. Henry III, Edward I, Eleanor of Castile, Edward III, Philippa of Hainault, and Richard II and Queen Anne of Bohemia are all buried in their coffins surrounding him, because they thought being close to the saint would get them to heaven faster. Henry V had to one-up everyone, though, by building himself a bigger and better chapel in front of the shrine: one shaped like an H so no one would forget who he was. :P Kings and their egos. Then there was the Lady Chapel of Henry VII, which was even more extravagant, complete with a carved stone ceiling. It only took 16 years to build it. Yeah, no big deal. Elizabeth I and her half-sister, Mary I, are kept nearby in their own chapel, where Mary’s son made sure his mother’s grave looked every bit as regal as Elizabeth’s (even though Mary was the traitor). Gotta love that family pride. Poet’s Corner contains the coffin of Geoffrey Chaucer (yes, he was super short), and Dryden, Tennyson, Robert Browning, Dr. Samuel Johnson, Kipling, Hardy, and Dickens are buried there as well. One of my favorite sights was George Frederick Handel’s grave, and his sculpture which displays a piece of music that you could actually play. Darwin, Livingstone, and Isaac Newton are buried in the nave in Scientists’ Corner. The Unknown Warrior from the Great War was buried close to the front door in 1920, and his grave is always surrounded by red poppies so that no one can walk over it. Even the Queen walks around it when she enters the Abbey. The brass lettering on the black Belgian marble gravestone was made from melted ammunition found on the battlefield. One of the other amazing, and less sobering, sights in the Abbey was the Coronation Chair. It is the original chair ordered by Edward I in 1296 to house the Stone of Scone captured from Scotland (and not given back until the 1990s), and it is the chair on which all but two of England’s monarch’s have been crowned. Yep, it was just right there. Hard to believe! Anyway, Kendra and I decided to stay for the Evensong service, and our tour guide was kind enough to save us two special seats: the Commissioner’s chairs in the Choir for South Africa and Canada. The service was actually very meaningful; I felt like there was at least some sincere prayer and worship happening.

And now...I must stop, first of all because you probably don’t feel like reading any more, and second of all, because I’m so tired I don’t feel like writing any more. Good reasons, I think. I’ll pick it up again soon, though, just in case you’re interested. :)

Monday, April 5, 2010

Still alive!

I'm still alive, I promise! :) Probably still a little damp from all this crazy rain, but alive and well nonetheless. This is evidently the time of year when the weather gets really bizarre. Let me describe Saturday for you. It started out sunny, with hardly a cloud in the sky. This lasted for a couple of hours, and then within the span of fifteen minutes, the sky had turned to nothing but a layer of gray, as though it had been raining all day. Then the wind started gusting, the heavens opened up, and the rain poured down for about half an hour (sometimes interspersed with little bits of ice). And then it all blew away, and the weather was perfectly sunny again for a couple of hours, like it had never rained and wouldn’t rain again for a week. Haha. Clever trick. In thirty minutes to an hour, the clouds roll back in again, and you rinse and repeat. Try that five or six times in a day. It's one of the most deceptive weather patterns I've ever seen, and it makes it extremely difficult to make outdoor plans! There is one upside though, and it’s a beautiful one:




Three days in a row, I’ve seen the most gigantic, brilliant rainbows I have ever seen in my life - sometimes two at a time! The one in this photo stretched all the way across the sky, visible from end to end. We could even see where it touched the ground on both sides. It would have been amazing to make a dash for the fields to play in it, but I don’t think I could have convinced the bus driver to stop.

So, what have I done lately that you would find interesting? Looking at rainbows, definitely. Listening to that lecture on French union workers in the 1890s...um...probably not. Oh! We were given a four day weekend in honor of Easter, so Friday morning I decided to take a walk to get some air and take some pictures of the beautiful blooming trees. I ended up in a park across town when, of course, one of those crazy unexpected rainstorms blew in. Needless to say, I was soaked and freezing by the time I got home. But - le Jardin des Plantes is always so gorgeous:



And the city is full of new spring flowers:









I haven't really taken any spectacular shots, but I think these capture a little bit of the raw beauty of spring here - the kind of beauty I notice when I walk to school every day.

Speaking of school, it's almost over! I can hardly believe it. I will have a rather normal week of classes this week, then a week of spring break, then a couple of weeks of classes, one week of catch-up classes, and then a few days of break before the week of written exams. By the middle of May, nearly all of my exams will be finished, and I will only have my oral exam for Arts, Langues, et Patrimoine left to take at the end of May. As short as the academic semester has seemed, I have still managed to learn an amazingly immense quantity of information. At the same time, I’ve realized just how vast the sea of information is that I *don’t* know (and could never begin to fathom, even if I tried). In any case, I've discovered a new passion that might help me to focus a little bit. It's been a while since I found something I could get excited about doing, something I could get lost in for hours without it being a chore, but I can definitely do that with translation. It’s interesting to think about how I felt before I came here, when all I wanted to do was get my degree and get out of the straitjacket of education. Now I am considering pursuing a master's or graduate certificate in translation. Go figure. Dr. Bailey even offered to let me do an independent study class on translation with him in the fall! I'm super-excited about that.

And, I'm actually super-excited about the fall semester in general! We found out that a French student from UCO is coming to study abroad at UCA, which will be like bringing a little bit of Angers back home with us! :) Kendra and I are going to meet her for the first time this afternoon to answer some of her questions about our university and Arkansas and Conway. Speaking of UCA, I was able to set aside some time last week to structure my fall schedule and register for classes, and here's what it looks like:

Sociolinguistics
Independent Study: Translation
UN & International Politics
Event Planning
Gender Communication
Choir

I'm so beyond excited...probably because my schedule also allows me to start classes no earlier than 10:50 and end no later than 4:15 every day. Annnnnnnd...it looks like Ali and I will be able to get an apartment together, with private rooms, *just* off-campus, for cheaper than what it cost to live on campus. It's unfurnished, too, which means we get to use the odds and ends that we've acquired over the years to create our own truly eclectic, cheap, college-student apartment style. Hehe. (That also means we get spend an afternoon this August sipping lemonade and watching all of our guys move our furniture in.) ;) I’m disappointed that we won’t be able to live with Caitlin, because that would have made for a pretty awesome suite, but University Park is cheaper and more practical, a definite bonus for my family.

Hummm, I know I’ve done a few other exciting things that might interest you. Oh, right, I haven’t mentioned the Chateau de Serrant yet. Our last ALP excursion was a little bit outside of Angers, to this reconstructed chateau:





This one is a bit more recent, with Renaissance-style architecture, but there are still remnants of the original Medieval castle, like the passageways underground. Anyway, the fact that you can walk around in period-furnished 15-16-17-18th century castles and princely residences still blows my mind.  They're just so - normal - when you walk around in them, like huge houses with fancy stone rooms adorned with tapestries, but they have moats and drawbridges and towers on the outside!  It's hard to imagine that men and women in fancy suits and dresses actually wandered around in those huge bedrooms, getting their hair meticulously coiffed so that they could go sit in the awkwardly stiff living rooms and talk about the weather and their latest expensive piece of furniture. Queen Elizabeth even came to stay in the Chateau de Serrant for a few days once. There are pictures of her piles of suitcases and huge assortment of hats on display. Anyway, the houses are beautiful, and the libraries are AMAZING (I might kill for the one I saw at Serrant, with all of its ladders and polished wood and original encyclopedia sets), but I still think it would have been boring to live like that.  The libraries are full of books no one would ever read. And, the canopy beds with flowing curtains are beautiful, but I would have been afraid that mine would have fallen off the wall and crushed me.  The paintings of French generals and kings and random sons of nobles no one's heard of get kind of old, too.  They all look like Napoleons and Louis’s and Charles’s to me.  And the women are usually rather ugly.  So yes...boredom, falling canopies, and stereotyped paintings. Three good reasons that I like looking at chateaus, but wouldn't have wanted to live in one.  However, I have also thought of three reasons I *would* want to live in one (at least nowadays): 1) bedrooms that have small bathrooms hidden inside small rooms disguised as armoires, 2) the surrounding countryside with winding paths and lakes and towering trees, and 3) a personal library.  Not to mention it would be awesome for entertaining guests and having balls (because I'm just that high-class). ;)

Anyway, I will probably write my next post after I get back from spring break. Kendra and I are leaving for LONDON next Monday. I can’t wait! :) I’ve dreamed about going to London since I was a little girl.

I hope you all have a great week! <3