The Gabtrotter

I fell in love with London on a Monday. I was walking out of my shitty hostel but immediately felt happy once I stepped into its cool air. I love how cool it is on a Monday in August. “Is it summer?” I ponder to myself. The temperature might change when I come up from the underground; it’s as inconsistent as my thoughts.  I think about my weekend while I am pushed along in silence. The art, the style, the art in their style and the style in their art; the sexy smiles I manage to steal and the subtle glances I shoot strangers on the tube, on the streets, at the bars, sitting down, walking around… I think about the bridges I crossed, or went under… stood up, sat down, all the water under… Oh how I grazed, gallivanted on them, photographed around. I think about how old it is, how new it looks, how it is constantly changing, how it has survived Caesar. I found Shakespeare, a kingdom, Charlotte Bronte, Virginia Woolf, Big Ben. I found black taxis for “hire.” I found a language that although spells the same as my own, sounds foreign and I like it, I like it a lot.  I ride in silence, in a crowd, not feeling alone; people reading, people dressed to kill: rich or poor, Who knows? Who cares? Maybe they once did, maybe they still do, but it’s not about them… I love the tangled tube lines; the Piccadilly never seems to work, silly. The brown line, what’s that one called? What does it even mean? I should look that up. The neighborhoods, the famous Oxford Street, the circus has a new meaning now. This is the only country where I actually want to gain pounds, if you know what I mean: of course I didn’t though, just lost them… this is an expensive place, with sophisticated taste. Nonetheless, I fell in love with London on a Monday, a suit colored line, me with my suitcase. One last picture. I mind the gap, and wouldn’t mind coming back.

I thought that was an interesting phrasing… but isn’t it true?

Hostel life again. I’m staying at the worst hostel I’ve ever stayed at on this planet. It’s the same size as my Paris Hostel (made for 3 people) but there are six people in the room. I haven’t met my roommates but they are supposed to all be all girls. I hope to god they are. Thus, I have shortened my stay in London and will stay in Cardiff a night when it was actually supposed to be a day trip.

I’m already exhausted at 9:30 PM London time. I think I’ll try to take advantage of this opportunity and hit the hay.

A couple of other random things:

Today, I was getting on the train to London and behind me were some young Spanish folks. I assume they thought I was causing the holdup because one of them said something very rude behind me. I whipped my head around, gave her the look of death and said, “CUIDADO PUTA.” It was one of those rare moments where I was able to say exactly what I was thinking. The look on the girls face was priceless; she was so embarrassed; when their friends decided to move seats the girl couldn’t look at me. Looking back I just laugh.

I’m slightly worried that since I lost my dear iPhone in Portugal, I only have this bulky alarm clock; which will wake everyone else up in the room. I feel bad but it has to be done. Unless I wake up before the clock… only time will tell.

A few pictures from today:

Walking along the rain stained path of the Thames

Tate Modern

I never understood the shirts that had the underground symbol with the “mind the gap” slogan, now I get it.

Heading “home” after a long day

Here I am, sitting half comfortably in Selwyn College. I moved here 2 weeks ago, because they kicked me out of Clare since I was switching programs. Inconvenient, but interesting to see what I would come to miss. It’s funny, if I could take the positives of Selwyn (good bathrooms, fast internet) and merge them with Clare’s it would have been 5 star hotel; nonetheless, a very unique experience.

Alas, my six weeks have come to a close and I am packing up shop tomorrow. I have changed my itinerary and added time in London, now I’m spending the most time in London. The Art History class I was taking inspired me to visit galleries to actually see the works we have discussed, but more on that later. I’m looking forward to my time in London; I actually like the British accent. Unlike in Australia, I haven’t gotten sick of it.

My travels are finally coming to a close. It feels like everything has changed. Thankfully, my friendships haven’t. My mom’s house burned down a couple of days ago. My sister and brother-in-law lived there and everybody lost everything, including our dear dog, Bobby. Such a tragedy. Who has fires anymore? It feels like such a prehistoric thing, but these things happen; however, you never expect them to happen to you. I’m so sad for my family. The only thing I lost was my iMac, my dear editing computer. Fortunately fire insurance should cover it. That house was the house I grew up in. Now it’s just gone. So bizarre. I didn’t really say goodbye, I just thought it would be there when I got back. Just like 750 in Boston, I expected to be back in May… things change.

Here is the schedule:

Cambridge > London > Cardiff > London > Edinburgh > Belfast > Dublin > USA

I’m ferrying over to Belfast from the south of Scotland. I’m excited about doing that; seems like a titanic adventure.

I asked someone for their e-mail address today and they told me that they didn’t have one. I was shocked; they are from France. The woman gave me her mailing address though, so I’m going to write her a letter. I like writing letters, but I don’t know how anyone can get by without an e-mail in modern society.

How can we tell who is getting by anyway?

Bye for now.

(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.