The Gabtrotter

(view of library from Clare College)

A couple of weeks ago, I acquired a library card to the general University of Cambridge Library. It’s not your typical library; at least I have never seen such a place like it before. First of all, you have to have a purpose to be there. One cannot just waltz in to take a look around, this is a very “special place.” I don’t know the generalities of the whole place, so I will just talk about my experience.

Once I actually received a library card, I was very excited to take a stroll through this seemingly remarkable place. The librarians didn’t really give me a briefing or anything. The only thing they told me was to leave my book bag in the baggage room, and that when I was ready to come in, I could scan my card and be on my merry way. I hastily left my bag where other bags were hanging, all unattended, unlocked. There were lockers but everyone seemed to honor the honor system here, so I left my belongings and decided that no one would find anything to steal in my bag anyway (which is sadly true).

(scanning entrance)

I half-proudly sauntered through to the scanning device with card in hand, expecting some kind of beep telling me to go back where I came from, but nothing happened. So, I made my way up the stairs and was greeted by three directions, and from those directions the possibilities seemed infinite. People passing by all were very scholarly, like they knew what they were doing and why were there. Me, a mere observer (with an idea to check out a play), felt like I had landed on a type of academic moon where reading glasses and cardigans were the suit of choice and cartons of books and wooden desks were its crater covered terrain.

I needed to loan out Yerma by Lorca so I decided to duck to the corner where two computers shined. I typed in Yerma and sure enough they had it. I looked at a map of the library on the wall and found the section, the general reading room, which incidentally was right around the corner from me. I cut through a room filled with grey and people standing at computers to get to this reading room. The room was dead silent, except for the librarian typing away on his Dell. I asked him if he could show me where this number was, pointing to a tiny piece of paper with the library code for Yerma. He smiled at me, and I explained that it was my first time here and didn’t know how this worked:

“Ok. Well, you can either request this book online or in the section of the library where the book is located. Since you are already here, what you need to do is grab one of those slips of paper and fill it out. The book will be grabbed for you within the amount of time listed on the board.”

I thanked him for the information, and turned to the board. It read 45 minutes. Clearly they are really fearful of people stealing their books, because they don’t let you bring a bag into the library. However, to have someone else grab the book for you, that seemed a little ridiculous to me. Nonetheless, I needed to read the play for the next day so I decided to fill it out. I dropped off the green slip and decided to walk around the library while I waited for the book to meet me on shelf G.

Now, I would have taken pictures but A.) I didn’t have camera and B.) They don’t allow cameras into the library. Even though I could easily sneak my stealth, bite size Canon with me, I have decided to honor their system.

I remembered seeing a sign to the “rare books room” and decided that might be interesting. Who knows what rarities I might find? Well, I walked in and there was a glass entryway that read, “do not push, wait to be let in” or something to that effect. Already, this place seemed to be like a china shop. It was a large brightly lit room, filled with tables and people working behind them. I walked around the room, trying to decide what to do. The librarians/door guards were watching me as I walked around the perimeter. I didn’t know if I was allowed to grab books from the shelves (they didn’t look that old to me), but I decided not to in case an alarm would go off and I didn’t really know what the procedure was. Once I got close to their table again, I smiled at them and walked out.

I thought the place was rather boring after I once was out of it. What were people looking at with those rare books? Words on a page are words on a page, old words on old paper read the same as old words on new paper.

I meandered my way upstairs and found the manuscript room. It looked just like the rare books room, and decided not even to wait to be let in. I then decided to leave the section all together and made my way to the courtyard. It wasn’t a pretty courtyard, just a place for people to smoke. Since I didn’t smoke and I didn’t feel like sitting down, I left.

I walked around and was brought back to the spot of three directions. I still had 20 minutes to kill. I decided to go back to Clare College (which is conveniently right across the street) and drop off my bag at my room, just to kill time.

(view of Clare from the library)

I returned in a half hour and my book was waiting for me. I took it downstairs to check out, but I was told that my card wouldn’t let me take it. My card didn’t give me such a privilege. I shrugged and gave the book back and left. It wasn’t a rare book, but I couldn’t take it out. I’m not sure what the rules are there, or why I couldn’t check out the book specifically. What good is a library, a place of intellectual comfort & stimulation, if you can’t utilize the books in a way that is comfortable and stimulating for you?

I’m sure there are different rules for students who are there full-time, but I would rather have a welcoming take-all library like Northeastern any day. Sometimes going away from home makes you realize what you love about home to begin with.

(Cambridge’s Library)

(Northeastern’s Library)

Note:

Each College does have its own library, that does function like a regular library. But, the University library functions quite differently. Over the summer, there is a specific summer library which has been great, but it’s about the size of the living room in my last apartment.

It’s been a little over two months since I have arrived in Europe and exactly two weeks since I have been at Cambridge. What an exciting journey this all has been.

Cambridge has proven to be an unbelievably intellectually stimulating experience. I am constantly writing down titles of books I must read and poems I must lookup and writers I need to know about. At first I was very nervous about the very full days, but I have seemed to adjust and I have met some great people to help make the days pass by quickly; however, there is no rush for them to do so. I went through a period in Portugal where I just wanted time to fly, but now that I am here and have regained composure and self-confidence I realize how great it is to be where I am right now. Don’t get me wrong though, I’m really looking forward to the months ahead.

It’s amazing; I’ve been so lucky and have had such a great time in college. I was looking through all of my pictures on facebook today and was deeply moved to see all of the different grounds covered and more importantly bonds built. A year ago two people that were some of the closest people to me in the world were still in my life, and today they are no longer here but still somehow I am ok- I am happy. Nonetheless my heart still hurts when I think about either of them: the death of my aunt and the split up with my lover/best friend. It amazes me how even with different grounds covered you still take who you were with you. I am still very much the same, just more chizzled by experiences and much more aware.

Already, I have finished four classes in this Academic boot camp. Wordsworth vs Byron, although was a rather dry topic at times, I have come to learn an insane amount about both and have especially found (as you may have read earlier) a fondness for Lord Byron. I also took, Charlotte Bronte Jane Erye & Villette, Sophocles Tragedies and my most favorite of them all: Variations of the Tragic. Variations of the Tragic was a great class where we read different modern tragedies. The play I was most moved by was Death of a Salesman: it truly is a must read for Americans. It touches upon such important and relevant themes in American society—something I am sure many many can identify with. The conversation in class over the play was very invigorating, and it was especially interesting to see the perspectives of non-Americans in reading such an American play.  After the class my heart was racing and I my mind was reeling from academic debate, I loved it.

Things I haven’t liked? Oh of course there are a few. One is that everyday there is a mandatory Plenary Lecture before lunch. We have had a few interesting speakers over the past couple of weeks, but most unfortunately they have been dreadfully boring. A lot of these academic types just get up to the podium and read their academic papers. They assume the audience has heard of some of these obscure authors or topics. I’ve been unimpressed by these people, how can you teach for one of the best universities on the planet and not know how to engage an audience – it’s one thing if that’s not what you do – but as a “professor” one should know how to profess properly and interestingly. Fortunately the professors for my classes have all been pretty spectacular.

Currently making my way through 8 books I need to read in two weeks before my British Empire through Literature and Film starts in early August. I’m reading, for the first time, Rudyard Kipling and loving him.

I still don’t have a camera, and I lost my iPhone at the Portugal airport. I have to pickup my camera at the post office, but it incurred a 55 pound importation fee which I will have refunded after I pay it and prove that I am a student here. I would have paid it by now, but I am currently really broke and am anxiously waiting for my stipend from Northeastern. Wow, it’s already 10 PM here. I can’t believe how time flies. Well, I really should get back to reading.

Some great quotes from Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller:

“I don’t say he’s a great man. Willie Loman never made a lot of money. His name was never in the paper. He’s not the finest character that ever lived. But he’s a human being, and a terrible thing is happening to him. So attention must be paid. He’s not to be allowed to fall in his grave like an old dog. Attention, attention must finally be paid to such a person.”

“A small man can be just as exhausted as a great man.”

“You can’t eat the orange and throw the peel away – a man is not a piece of fruit.”

“After all the highways, and the trains, and the appointments, and the years, you end up worth more dead than alive.”

One thing I love about Literature is in reading these great works; you learn that human sentiment although has changed in language has not really changed in feeling. I am currently studying Wordsworth v Byron and although I am not much of a Wordsworth fan, I really appreciate Lord Byron. “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage” is a somewhat autobiographical poem by Byron; my Professor described it as a sort of travel log of his many adventures. Canto the Third had been written after he had fled England after disgracing his marriage and had been ostracized for his “unruly” and “improper” conduct (I put the quotes, but he did do wrong). Canto the Third is the accounts of his travels (through the tale of Childe Harold of course) during a desolate and lonely time for him in his life; he cannot love the woman he loves, a form of torture still today.

One passage in particular rang true to me, and I thought I’d share it:

“Where rose the mountains, there to him were friends;

Where roll’d the ocean, thereon was his home;

Where a blue sky, and glowing clime, extends,

He had the passion and the power to roam;

The desert, forest, cavern, breaker’s foam,

Were unto him companionship”

- Canto III. Stanza XIII.

Often times when traveling, you learn to take refuge in the nature around you.  Sometimes even, you don’t have the indulgence of someone else to be with you to share the experience and you are seeing these wonders alone. I say this, and then I think… well, that’s not entirely true. For me, as much as I did find peace in nature and appreciating the natural beauties of say southern Portugal; I also did have something there to share it with me. I wrote in my journal one day while strolling along the coast after a day of sunshine at the pool:

My camera is my companion sharing with me these experiences. Its pictures will remind me of what I saw like an old friend does at a much overdue lunch. It will remind me of the times gone by; it will be my keener and more vivid eye as my own memories begin to fade.

This is true though, not just for traveling purposes but also in remembering times that have long since passed. I am not quiet like Lord Byron at all in anyway, but I can relate to him in some ways: the seeking refuge in traveling – hoping to escape the memories of love and other times of happiness – and then falling victim of painful nostalgia. It seems, that no matter how far you go, these memories can still grab a hold of you and feel as sharp as it would anywhere in the world. I like when Byron says, “What deep wounds ever closed without a scar?” and those scars are painful to remember. Yet we carry on, through the adventures… then pretty soon your other pictures are buried with newer pictures, of new sights sought and lands conquered. I have come to realize that scars tend to fade with a lot of sunshine, a tan can cover a lot of things up; nonetheless, covering it up does not mean that they do not exist. Now I am getting lost in metaphorical messages, enough.

I have finished four full days here at Cambridge. I have been more than comfortable in my accommodation, and I have quiet literally received a royal treatment here; it is truly an academic oasis and it is inspiring. I do not have a camera right now (long story), but it was supposed to have arrived on Monday. Hopefully, when I do receive it, I will be able to share some photos and in turn document some memories.

I am contently sitting in my Lagos bachelorette pad. At 15 euros a night, this place is a great deal. For its supreme location, compared to other cities, this price is really unheard of – it’s even good for Lagos. Wow, what a great deal. I was telling Allan that I did the math and living in some of the hostels I’ve been in would equate to around 400-500 euros a month-, which is great considering that it includes everything. I think if I went to school in Europe I might be tempted to live in a hostel, I’m half joking.

Lagos, thus far, has proved itself to be much more to my liking than Lisbon. It has beautiful weather during the day, and then cools down at night. Also, there are all sorts of great food deals- for example tonight for dinner I had fish, soup, salad, a beer, a water, and a scoop of ice cream, all for 7.50 euros. It was the best deal I found, and it actually tasted good too. The other night I had sardines, boiled potatoes and salad for 7 euros. The restaurant food is a great deal, but wait, it gets better. I went to the grocery store, where, I was able to buy 6 1.5 liters of water for 25 cents – and 5 apples for 75 cents. Can you believe that? I’ve never seen such brilliant prices, even in Mexico.

In addition to all of the great deals, I am very happy about the beautiful scenery. After this Euro-trip, I think, although I appreciate human made beauty, I most enjoy the wonders of nature. What it comes down to is that I just really love the beach. I can spend all day there, and be totally content. I’ve been spending my time at Praia de Dona Ana. It’s very beautiful, but the water is pretty chilly. It is not unbearable, but the water at Cascais near Lisbon was unbearable. It is just so cold, I swear after laying out and then hoping in the water, I saw steam rise from me. I am not the only one that found the water quite chilly, otherwise I would have thought that maybe I had been spoiled from the 4 months of warm Pacific waters I had grown accustom to this past “winter.”

Here are a some pictures from my day-time adventures:

Currently sitting in my hostel, with a sleeping French guy diagonally on top of me (I mean he’s on the top bunk next to me). Everyone else is downstairs hanging out in the lobby, I’ve done my share of that this week, and now I am here. Exploring the slue of websites I have accumulated over the years, I have come to realize that I really miss making videos; in any context. I wish I had brought stuff to edit, or my camera didn’t die, or my external hard drive wasn’t stolen. I guess my creative film odds were against me, like they were in Australia. Every camera I had broke while I was there, except for my most loyal techno-companion: the iphone. So it remains my most loyal techno-companion, I am knocking on every piece of wood I see, and I urge you to too (if anyone reads this??). I don’t really believe in the whole knocking on wood thing, but hell anything is better than nothing.

Tomorrow I am bussing south to Lagos. I am excited about it, for I plan on getting my tan on. I also want to bike around, and I have this vision of reading in the shade of gigantic ocean rocks on the beach; we’ll see if my vision comes true.

It is hard to believe that in exactly two weeks, I will be moved into Cambridge. Wow. Anxiously discussing these plans with my family and friends seems like it was just yesterday, but at the time the plans felt like they were years away. Time sneaks up on you and the predictions become the present almost faster than you had the ideas to begin with.

Traveling is not always easy. Right now I am having a weak moment. I am worried about the future, haunted by my past and thus having problems focusing on the present. A friend of mine had said some unsettling things to me the other day, and I have yet to be able to shake their sting from my soul. What is it they say, “sticks and stones…” such utter nonsense that is, I’d take the stones any day. Sometimes I find it difficult to realize all that I am, or try to be, while in a foreign country. It can get a little lonely on the road, and when these moments happen it can get difficult to remember that somewhere, not too far away, I belong to a community, a family, friends, a school; even though not many people know it here, but somewhere someone does know my name. When I feel lonely during a long train ride, I try to keep as many pictures as I can on my iPhone and I start paging through them. Seeing the smiling faces, the times that have passed, brings sunshine to the chill that loneliness can bring. I think about what my friend are doing now, and I think about the USA and how it is starting to become summer and how that always had meant something to me. It doesn’t really mean anything to me now, because I feel so far away from it all.

us at the Panethon, Rome

The one-month whirlwind with Sarah has come to a conclusion; although my own journey continues.   It is almost impossible to know where to begin talking about our trip, but I will eventually. I really want to do something with all the information I have accumulated and the random stories of experiences and new people met. I am in the brainstorming process now, but am open to any suggestions. I am taking a memoir writing class in the fall, perhaps I will use some of this there. Traveling is just one big learning experience. Of course there are moments of indulgence, but for the most part, it has been one lesson after another. I have to force myself to start writing more, especially since I will be alone the rest of the way. Classes start July 5^th, and I will move into Cambridge July 4^th. July 4^th has always been my favorite holiday, so it will be interesting to celebrate it in the country Americans celebrate their independence from.

Sarah in front of the Parthenon, Athens

One conclusion/ beautiful thing I have observed is that people are people no matter where you go. This is most obvious when observing people on the metro. In all of the metros in all of the world, people get on, and a lot of times you can find similar expressions on people that you have seen in other cities. You wonder if you had seen these faces before. People chatting on their phone, sitting listening to their ipod, people heading home from work or school, tourists, couples – same faces just different races — same common feelings, the commonalities amongst humanity. It is these commonalities that make art, movies, history a uniting force.  As Sarah observed, no matter where you come from, what your status is, or what type of person you are – you can go to Rome and still appreciate The Colosseum, or Athens and the Parthenon, etc. At least a part of each of us are still amazed by our past, and humbled when in the presence of such influential pieces of our history, such as artworks like the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. People with so many different cultures and backgrounds all wait in line to see the Mona Lisa. Part of traveling is of course seeing these things for yourself, but also recognizing the why you go to see them, and noticing what is around you when you finally do. Maybe the reasoning behind the fame of the Venus de Milo does not quiet make sense to you, but there is still a level of appreciation for a piece of art that was around when Julius Caesar was creating the 365 day Roman Calendar.

The crowd around Mona Lisa, Paris

Rick Steve says: “Kraków is the Boston of Poland: a captivating old-fashioned city buzzing with history, intriguing sights, colorful eateries, and college students. Even though the country’s political capital moved from here to Warsaw 400 years ago, Kraków remains Poland’s cultural and intellectual center. Flat and easy to navigate, Kraków is made for walking. A greenbelt called the Planty rings the Old Town, where the 13th century protective walls and moat once stood (a great place for a stroll or bike ride).”

I have to agree.

Tonight I am hoping on the midnight train to Prague. I’ll get in pretty early to Prague, which is good and bad. Good because I’ll have the whole day, but bad because I won’t be able to checkin until around 1PM. I will definitely be able to leave my bags there though, so that’ll be good. I have to say, I like Krakow more than I liked Prague — based on first impression. We’ll see if I learn to appreciate Prague more in the next couple of days.

I’m a little nervous about this night train. I’ve never taken a night train before, I’m sharing a cabin with 3 other people. I just don’t want anything stolen, I think I’ll sleep with my computer.

It’s crazy to think that I’m writing this entry from Poland. I’m in Krakow tonight and then going on a day trip to Auschwitz tomorrow morning.

I took the train from Prague to Krakow. There is a stopover and because our train broke down and caused a two hour delay, I was required to share a van cab with a Canadian, a couple from Singapore and a guy from Vienna. It was one of those side trip random adventures that I’ve always thought only happened in movies. While we were driving through Poland, I couldn’t help but note that a year ago I never would have expected to be driving through Eastern Europe – Poland even. I’m happily surprised; I like not being able to predict what great adventures await me.

So far I’ve been to: Madrid, Barcelona, Prague and now Krakow. I’m headed back to Prague on Sunday, I’m going to try and take the night train. However, someone told me that it’s a bit unsafe in standard 2^nd class on the night train, so I’m probably going to either upgrade to 1^st class or just take the day train. I’m going to have to make my way to the train station tomorrow and figure it out.

Barcelona was beautiful, but it really does have a sketchy feel. Matt and I were constantly being offered drugs. I also didn’t like the feeling that I always had to be worried about my wallet being stolen – in fact what I did was wear my passport neck wallet underneath my shirt – but that just made my shirts look weird. See below.

Somehow Matt and I survived Las Ramblas (the main tourist street in the old part of Barcelona), and neither of us had anything stolen.

Prague was fun the two days I was there, but I didn’t really get a chance to sightsee. I was mainly hanging out with Matt before his trip, he leaves tomorrow. When I get back Sarah and I are going to be starting our journey together and we will have a very packed itinerary in Prague and everywhere else.

Right now I am happy to have a really nice room (I’ve never had such a nice room in a hostel) and am ready to catch up on some sleep debt that I’ve accumulated these nights of fun.

Tonight I had some real Polish pierogies. They were potato cheesy deliciousness- especially since they were SO cheap. I love Eastern European prices, love them. I am 25% Polish and my Great Aunt, whom I was extremely close with was 100% Polish and was very proud of her heritage. She would be really happy to hear that I am visiting where the Gabriel family first started. It’s so crazy to be in the country where your name originates, not that I am meeting anyone from the family or anything; it’s just warming to be in your family’s homeland. No one else in my family has been back here, so it’s also cool to know that even though I am one of the youngest, I am still interested in remembering our roots.

After being back in the United States for a solid 10 days, I’ve come to the conclusion that that chapter of my life went by too quickly. I guess because it is this faraway place, it has the ability to seem less real than other chapters. Whereas, with things I miss or think about around here, I am reminded of them much easier since I am surrounded by them or pass by them regularly.

The night of our goodbye party, I mentioned in conversation that it is a sad realization that “this is the closest we will all ever be again.” My friends and I from this trip will probably never be in such close proximity at the same time, and as close again emotionally. There are always exceptions to the rule, but it is unlikely and that is a sad realization. For, there are not many times in life where you grow close with people and know for a fact that this will be as close as you will ever be, I guess when certain friends are moving or you are leaving you always assume that you’ll have the chance to be close again because you’ve had them part of your life for so long. With study abroad it is a bit different than that.

I guess that is what makes studying abroad such a highly regarded experience: for a short while you experience what it is like to live and create a world in another country, with different friends, different foods and life-altering experiences. For the most part, all of these experiences and ways of life are temporary-, which in a sense romanticizes the whole thing. Already, I have a tendency with nostalgia only remembering the good and forgetting the bad—oh sweet memory. As I think about the times from Australia, I remember them with fondness and appreciation more and more.

My friends and I at our goodbye party