A Day on the Heath

Like most days I woke up. This time at a healthy 11:20. As mentioned in the previous post I was riding a high from my Hey Arnold dream. James and I sat around watching T.V. for a while. Forgot to mention this in the last post, but last night James showed me this hilarious show called Mock the Week, which is a British fusion of Whose Line is it Anyways and the Colbert Report. Anyway today we rode a couple of bikes out to the Hampstead Heath which is the biggest inner city park in London. From the top of Parliament Hill we could see all of London before us. Unlike L.A. it is not sprawled out. Most of the good stuff is concentrated within walking distance, which is why we could do so much the first day I was here. After that we went to a Mark and Spencers grocery store which is a posh place with good lunch stuff. I got my favorite cranberry and brie combo, along with some chocolate mouse, and an orange juice and it only cost 4.65£. We ate it in the Heath, talking about books and stuff, then rode back to Camden Market. I bought a couple of gifts there, and then we rode back to the house. We got back at maybe half past 5, watched some T.V., went to Tesco (a supermarket, though I think it sounds like a gas station). Dinner was good. I had two veggie-burgers which for some reason taste good to me now. I can't decide if I have gotten less picky, or if the food is just better. I hope it is the former, because that would seriously open up some windows. We played Call of Duty, watched part of Saving Private Ryan, and then I came back to my room to type up a couple blog posts. Here are a couple of British phrases that I have particularly enjoyed. "I'm just takin' a piss!" I'm just messing with you. "Can I have a go?" Can I have a turn? "This candy is lush!" This candy is quite delectable.

Conquering London: Hasn't Been Done Since 1066

After a 3 hour train ride from Lyme Regis I found myself encumbered by my large blue backpack, trying to make sense of the chaotic London Waterloo station. I met Anna Thornton's 17 year old son James right past the turnstiles, and we dropped off my backpack at left luggage (costing an unfortunate 8£). Within the next 2 1/2 hours we powered through London on foot, and via the Tube, seeing some of the most renowned bits. The Houses of Parliament topped by Big Ben sat squarely across the Thames, blocked by the London Eye, an extremely tall Ferris wheel with slowly rotating white pods. Walking along the river we saw the Globe (Shakespeare), and the Gerkin, designed by an architect blatantly compensating for something. We also walked through Trafalgar Square, which is swarming with pigeons, and hosts a huge statue of Horatio Nelson at the centre (British spell check). We also saw Buckingham Palace, which is as grand and ridiculous as one would expect. It was easy talking to James, and hanging with someone my age was refreshing. We got home about 5, and I met Anna and Geoff. Anna works at King's College, and Geoff works at UCL (University College London) as a chemistry professor. Geoff, like Kevin Benfield, attended Oxford University, which is pretty incredible, so I will have to ask him about his experience. So far I have met 3 people who have went to Oxford (Sarah from Cotswold Archaeology, Kevin, and Geoff), and the first two that I met gave me a really clear idea of what Oxford would be like to attend. Apparently you have a tutor who you work with either 1 on 1, or some similar proportion so you get a very individualized education. And Kevin said that when he went people did your washing, made your bed, and cooked your food, so I am liking the sound of that. There are only two things about which I have reservations. 1 I am not positive on what I want to do later on, so their mantra of specializing early may lead me in the wrong direction. and 2 I am probably not going to get in. Neither of these things seem particularly solvable, so I suppose I will have to think on that. Anyways Geoff and Anna are very cool people and both seem extremely intelligent. For dinner we had 3 courses essentially. It started with some goat's cheese and pears which was delicious, moved on into a delicious omelet, and finished triumphantly with strawberries and cream. Afterwards James took it upon himself to educate me in the ways of British film. We watched a black comedy movie by Guy Ritchie called Locked Stocked and Two Smokin' Barrels. It was very violent, subtly funny, and frustratingly accented. Yesterday we saw two main things. Camden Market, and the Tate Modern. I bought an Oyster Card which is a brilliant invention. You buy it for 3£, then put money on it, and you get discounts whenever you go on the Tube, and the bus system. It is essentially a debit card for public transport that has the magical quality of lowering prices for you. So we took the Tube to Camden Market at around 1. We grabbed lunch, which for me was some delicious thin crust pizza marketed by an Italian guy who looked curiously like Mario, and for James was some curry. There weren't any conventional "tables" around, but there a surprisingly comfortable row of scooter seats welded to a long counter. The market had a lot of really cool vintage stuff, though a lot of it was rather expensive. I saw a miniature VW Bus decked out with the Union Jack that cost 21£, and a lot of really cool bongo drums, paintings, strange figurines, army vintage, normal vintage, leather jackets (I don't think I could pull one off, though I was tempted), and people who smelled vaguely of ganja. Then we went to the very spacious Tate Modern that sits on the Thames. Luckily it was free. James and I walked around for a while, laughing at the bullshit explanations of some of the paintings that could have been drawn by a artistically inclined 4 year old. One particularly hilarious painting was an entirely red canvas, except for a purple stripe running down the right side. To paraphrase, the little plastic sign read "The red with a vivid purple stripe reminds the viewer that they are "there". Like somehow when I look at this purple stripe I realize that I'm thinking in the future, when really, I should be living in the now. And that this painting symbolizes the struggle between ambition and reality. Suddenly, when I stare at this painting, it dawns on me that my need to prove myself stems from a deep seated desire to please my father. What a load of crap. However there were some pretty cool ones. I really liked one by Jackson Pollock, and the Andy Warhol exhibit was pretty incredible. A couple paintings were optical illusions that conveyed physical depth, or wriggled before your eyes. But one thing really blew me away. Picasso died in 1973. What?! I thought he was long gone. Like 19th century. I'm still reeling. Then we went home after stopping at King's Cross. It cost me 1.80£ but the fleeting images of Harry and Ron sprinting towards Platform 9 3/4 was worth it. So after a quick look around, we left, James pretending to read a sign while I dabbed my eyes. We got home, played a little Call of Duty, and watched Snatch, another Guy Ritchie film. I went to bed, and had a great dream about Hey Arnold coming back on the air. But I'll split this into two posts to give your eyes a rest.

The Past Couple Days in Lyme Regis

The time here has flown by. It has been two books worth of time since my last blog post. Brave New World by Aldous Huxley and Another Country by James Baldwin. The flow of life here reminds me of life on the Adriatic in Croatia. I eat a lot of ice cream, swim, and stroll by the beach. Sunday night Polly, Kevin, Susan, David, (A couple they know), and I went down to the beach to participate in the activities of Lifeboat week, where they appeal to the town for charitable donations. I played a game of Skittles for 50p. It is like bowling, but the balls have more in common with coconuts, and there are only 9 roughly made wooden pins. I knocked them all down. Then we got fish and chips, and I pushed the limits of my deteriorating vegetarianism. I wasn't a huge fan of the fish part, but as for the chips, I have finally begun to enjoy ketchup on them. I am beginning to see that a high proportion of the transformations since I've been in Britain have involved some form of potato. We ate it down by the water, and as the moon rose over the Channel I skipped stones across the shimmering harbor. I broke the 20+ record I achieved in the High Sierras, and have 4 witnesses to corroborate that, but after a certain number of skips it becomes impossible to count. Something I forgot. On Saturday night we went to a comedy show at the Marine Theater, which Polly is very involved with. Two comedians performed 1 hour sets so we got back to April Cottage (Polly and Kevin's home) around midnight. The first guy had a slightly hysterical laugh, but his routine had a moral to it and it was pretty funny. He despaired the fast pace of life in the modern world, though the inhabitants of Lyme Regis did not relate to it. The second guy had a routine was reminsicient of that of Zach Galifinakis on SNL or Bo Burnam on YouTube. He sang humorous songs, and then talked, doing stand-up. At one point he talked about Paul McCartney. Apparently Paul McCartney dreamed the song Yesterday. The comedian had dreamed a song of his own, and asked us how it compared to Yesterday. It went "Because a horse head is not a human head, because a horse head is not a human head!" I didn't do much yesterday, other than go deep-sea fishing. I wouldn't characterize it as an abject failure, however none of the ships that went out that day caught the "black breem" they were looking for. I caught about 4 dogfish sharks, but we had to throw two of them back, and some guy who worked for a restaurant took the other two. I read by the beach for a while, got some ice cream, headed back to the house, and found out the Benfield's had a piano, which occupied some of my time. After I took a good hour long nap, Margaret and Bernard came over for dinner. Margaret is incredibly nice, and she is very enthusiastic about Polly having a young American traveler over. Bernard is nice, but as he is 96, not very talkative. Margaret told me she worked in WWII with the air force, detecting Nazi air raids using radar. After they left Polly and I watched a T.V. show called Rev on BBC starring the guy who played Commodore Norrington in Pirates of the Caribbean. It was pretty hilarious. My inappropriate insult of choice is now "wanker" as a result. I then went upstairs to read Another Country and fell asleep around 12:30. All in all a rejuvenating and thoroughly enjoyable couple of days.

The Town by the Sea

Right now I am overlooking the English Channel from Polly's perch. Lyme Regis is nothing less than the perfect town by the sea. All hours of the day the shrieking chorus of waterfowl reminds you where you are, and the waters capture the sunlight, reminding you of some long forgotten painting. Polly and Kevin Benfield are amazing cheerful people. A pure incarnation of the happy atmosphere that charges the town. When I first arrived yesterday Polly told me she was "throwing me in the deep end" and no less then half an hour after I had arrived at the house, there was a tea party. Kevin's mom, and stepfather came from their bungalow (91 and 96 respectively), and some of Kevin's relatives from up north in Yorkshire had driven down and were visiting family. They were really nice and I didn't get asked once "Are all Americans fat?" "Do you own a gun?" or "Do you have on of those big fridges?" Afterward I settled into my bed for a long nap, and woke up just in time for dinner. Since Polly is originally from America she doesn't call it "tea". This morning Kevin woke me up at 8:30 and I showered, read some Lord of the Flies (which I finished about an hour ago), and ate breakfast. Then Polly took me with her to Dorchester. It is a nice little city. And like all cities it has a town centre which is for pedestrians only. I got a really positive vibe from it, and I don't know whether it was the sun, the rope frilled with little pennants decked over the walkway, or my own mood. We ate a small lunch at a very confusing bakery with delicious scones, and then went to the Dorset County museum. Through my recent exposure to museums I have realized that I love the Neolithic-Georgian artifacts, but anything more recent than that is boring and cheap entertainment. We then drove to the cottage of Thomas Hardy, a famous British author whose books I need to read. He lived in a perfectly placed house, that was very spare, with a thatched roof, and wonderful gardens literally buzzing with activity. They are very big on bees around there. We drove back to the house along the coast, and I was treated to some of the best views I have seen in a long time. Rolling green hills cascade down to the water, and finish in beaches of broken rock. I finished Lord of the Flies, read a couple short stories for AP Literature, and decided now would be a good time to share a town that will be perfect for my retirement in half a century.

The Train to Dorset

With every second between Stroud and me lengthens. I am sad to leave, which is a little surprising considering I was only there a month. But as one door closes another opens. The same feeling I had stepping off the plane at Heathrow urges me on into the unknown. I am not sure what the feeling is. Cindy would label it confidence. Last night at dinner she complimented me on my "confidence" and doing something she wouldn't have been able to do at her age. I'd be lying if I said that didn't feel pretty good to hear. But whatever it is it excited me for Lyme Regis, and the beach, and the cottage, and the ancient coastline. When my iPod quiets during the transition between songs, it bullies me into squeezing the most out of these next two weeks. I have just climbed out of my slump, a periodic disturbance in my activity, and this feeling is the constant adrenaline which wants nothing more than to sniff out the unknowns which hide just off the beaten path.

Bath Spa

Monday I decided to train over to Bath Spa. It's the only place in Britain that has hot springs, and was therefore very important to the Celtic people, and eventually Romans. The return ticket cost a whopping 15.80 pounds which translates to about 23 dollars or so. I brought Rob's bike along, because I figured I would get more bang for my buck if I rode around instead of walking. Unfortunately it is a real hassle to bring a bike on the train, especially if there is no bike rack. When I arrived at Bath I biked along the canal path which connects Bristol and Bath. Houseboats lined the cement wall which contained the canal, and old guys fished off of them, laughing at jokes that were spoken to fast for me to understand. Built into the canal was a giant fountain infested with seagulls. Nearby a giant house, or restaurant was built on top of an aqueduct. Usually I think of them as bridges so it was pretty crazy to look at. Along the canal was an ice-cream truck manned by an extremely bubbly American woman. She handed me a creamy chocolate ice cream and said "Yeah I've been here since 1981 but it sounds like I just got off the boat." Later on I went into the town centre which was pretty crazy. That's one thing I really like about English cities. In every one you will find a large centre where cars can't go, and cafes, restaurants, and tourist attractions thrive. In the Bath centre a pair of guitarists expertly rendered Queen and The Who. A rastafarian with a strange Oriental looking bongo drum entranced a crowd with smooth tones. And I descended into the underbelly of the cathedral to see the Vaults Museum. In it were housed some very cool 17th century goblets made of silver, a couple Anglo-Saxon crosses, and books that have survived for six centuries. After I trained back to Stroud, I stopped at Costa coffee and sat down to read Silence of the Lambs by Thomas Harris. After a relaxing half hour I biked on home to have tea with my host family.

Common Application Attempt Numero Dos

The students filed into the room and took their seats. Mr. Turner stood at the holo-board tracing something with his fingers. The door to the classroom opened gently, and a frantic looking boy with hair drenched from a hasty shower padded silently over to his seat. "I'll pretend I didn't see that" said Mr. Turner, his back still turned. The class erupted in laughter. This was everyone's favorite class. Mr. Turner addressed the students. "Today we will be analyzing the works of Marcus Kahn," he said, as he stepped out of the way to reveal a bold Marcus Kahn written in calligraphy on the holo-board. The class started grumbling. "What?" he asked. A confident girl in the front raised her hand. "Yes Isabelle?" "I don't like complaining Mr. T, but but first J.K. Rowling and now Marcus Kahn? When are we gonna start on something a little more... I don't know. Contemporary? Mr. Turner paused a moment. The class couldn't tell if he was scrutinizing Isabelle or cooking up some evasive response. "Though some of the technologies of 21st century literature seem outdated, the emotions and characters who experience those emotions provide insight into the mind and life of the author. And that my friends is timeless." The class and Mr. Turner stared at each other in an awkward silence until they took the hint, and pulled out their virtual-books. Soon the lively discussion that is the signature of a Mr. Turner class gained momentum. A small brooding boy with brown hair reminiscent of the Beatles raised his hand and the class lapsed into respectful silence, giving him their attention. "I think the character of the leper brother shows us the insecurities Kahn felt as a twin early in his life." The class had already read the About the Author portion of the book. Another boy, much to large for the standard sized chair, but with clever eyes cried "Oooh Oooh" as his outstretched arm threatened to punch the ceiling." When the class's attention shifted to him he exclaimed "But it's more than that. You can see the purpose behind the novel. He isn't just describing a lonely little boy. He is documenting that boys' transformation into a confident man!" Mr. Turner smiled and nodded his head. It was gratifying to see his students come to the same conclusions as experts in the field of literature. But he saw repetition coming in the talk, and repetition leads to boredom, with boredom resulting in the inevitable disconnection. "Let's move away from the metamorphosis aspect for a moment," he advised. "Instead why don't we focus on the strengths and weaknesses of our dear Mr. Kahn." The class fell deep into thought for a minute. Isabelle broke the silence. "The antagonist in the last novel he wrote was a mathematician. Maybe he hates math." she inferred. "Who doesn't?" piped up an athletic looking student in the back. He high fived one of his friends. "Settle down, settle down" said Mr. Turner, his lips trying to conceal a smile. "If you've read his autobiography would understand that Isabelle's supposition is entirely accurate. But let's get some positives in here. What does he love?" Six hands raised instantly. Mr. Turner pointed to a very pretty red-haired girl. "England!" she cried enthusiastically. This wasn't a stretch considering all of his novels were either set in, or at least incorporated the misted isles. A couple people in the class snickered at the surface-level inference, and the girls face matched her ginger hair. "Ah, very astute Samantha," encouraged Mr. Turner. "In fact in Kahn's autobiography he chronicles the intense effort he made to got o England for a month and a half. And he was only your age" The class seemed a little hung up on the fantasy of their own hypothetical adventures abroad so he plowed on. "And to take it a step further we can identify his passion for history as evidenced by his infatuation with so historical a place." The class was unimpressed by Mr. Turner's conclusion, since almost all of Marcus Kahn's works were st in the past. "And do you know the secret to our dear friend Marcus' success?" he asked conspiratorially. The students all tensed, and their eyes bored into Mr. Turner's face hungrily. He paused a few more seconds for dramatic effect. "A good college education!" The class groaned and rolled their eyes in unison.