Dear Global Warming:

As the proverbial poison fruit of our collective loins,

I know that you have the potential to the cause the demise of our world,

(Not to mention my love of hot summers),

But since you recently brought warm sunshine to England,

Right now, at this moment,

I kind of love you. 

Something old and something new

In theory, traveling around Europe is buses, trains, and flights ahead of other areas of the world in the sense that it is possible to venture out to exotic destinations for next to no cost. However, these travel methods do not always ensure a quick or simple route. In fact, in order to make my trip to Copenhagen even remotely affordable, I embarked on a precarious chain of travel.  Much to my surprise, the only notable event amidst my succession of various forms of transport was a prickly encounter between a crotchety old woman and a group of young traveling musicians. This battle of the ages quickly escalated from a noise dispute to a disagreement over the value, or in the view of the old woman, the worthlessness, of young generations. The contrast between historical perspectives and progressive views made any form of agreement an impossible goal, however, it did make for some solid entertainment.  

The city of Copenhagen not only reconciles this clash between new and old but also the classic and modern, the sober and the completely gone. From above, the city is a uniform landscape of classically cut buildings; long, rectangular and clean. The homogeneity of the cityscape is occasionally punctured with the historical spires and turrets, a reminder of the city’s role as host to the Danish monarchy. Nestled within the upstanding Danish capital is a squatters’ village turned residential collective called “Christiania”. Here, the only the rules are as follows:

1.  No hard drugs (though “herbal remedies” are openly sold)
2. No fighting
3. No guns

Everything else goes.

Between visiting Christiania for optimal people watching, day drinking at Copenhagen’s famed carnival, and just hanging out at the university with other exchange students, I realized that a large part of traveling is just about shifting your frame of reference.

Media theorist Kracauer said that:

“Travel…has no particular destination: its meaning is exhausted in the mere fact of changing locations” (1995:71)

Visiting my friend in Copenhagen, I got to see how my exchange may have been had I gone to Denmark instead of the UK. I got a glimpse of where I might have stayed, the people I could have met, and the town that would have become my home away from home. The similarities between both of our experiences made me wonder whether or not studying abroad is really contingent on location. Instead, maybe it’s just about who you are at the beginning and how the conventional experiences change who you become by the end. The difference between the "old" you and the "new" you that returns to Canada. Like Copenhagen, studying abroad can appear to be standardized, but there are bound to be personal spires that break through the homogeneous experience and make it unique to each student. 

Eyjafjallajokull

With the earth throwing a justified hissy fit, the impact of the natural phenomena occurring around the world cannot help but sound somewhat fantastical. For instance, I never thought that I would furrow my brow over whether or not a volcanic ash cloud would impede my travel plans, and yet, here I am. Constantly checking any and all forms of weather reports, “ash predictors” and volcano trackers. I have become a veritable follower of a culprit that I cannot even pronounce. 

Exams make the heart grow fonder

Leeds is known for having a happening party scene but right now, the hottest ticket in town is to the University Library. Every study carrel, group table, comfortable corner, and even the uncomfortable scraps of floor house stressed out undergrads trying to cram enough knowledge in before judgement day. Welcome to exam period.

For the first time, my year end exam period is lacking its usual dose of caffeine induced jitters. As a parting gift, the University of Leeds has bestowed upon me a single exam and a solid 17 day free to prepare. Since studying straight for that amount of time would melt my brains beyond recognition, I have made travel plans for this upcoming week. While still in Leeds, I have been trying to keep on top of things, slowly yet surely prepping for my one and only final. However, a light work load and distant deadline make for bad study habits. Anything and everything is a distraction.

Given that potent combination, yesterday I substituted reading the collective works of the Frankfurt School of Theorists for Bollywood movies on Youtube. I only meant to watch a few scenes but somehow ended up watching the entire three hours of family melodrama turned musical saga. Though this movie was so over-the-top that it made "White Chicks" look Oscar worthy, I still found myself oddly moved my its soapy portrayal of family.  In the isolation of exams, I realized that I missed being surrounded by people who I had known for longer than a semester, those who loved me before I became all cool and worldly. At the end of the three hour epic I felt the slightest, yet noticeable, pang of homesickness.

At least, I think that's what it was...it could've been the questionable sale meat that I had purchased earlier that day. No. I'm definitely starting to adjust to the idea of returning to the homeland.

Too much sun?

In the winter, if you blinked you risked missing the daily ration of sunlight. Dawn was late and sunset was early. The winter was darker than Darth Vader. As the months edge closer to summer, the sun is making more frequent appearances in Leeds. It hadn't occurred to me that when the summer came, the days would elongate far beyond what I was used to. Almost overnight, I was thrust into the land of perpetual day, where I woke to daylight and darkness did not descend until 9pm. The sun became more frequent, although not nearly as regular as one might hope, and very rarely accompanied by any semblance of warmth.

Though the irregularity of the English weather was new to me, the rest of British society had adjusted. Due to shyness of the English sun, British girls took to fake tanning. However, this trend reached a level that is neither attractive nor logical. Even if you lived outside and basked in every brief moment of sunshine, there is no way you could naturally turn munchkin-orange in the English weather. It was bad in the winter, but apparently any semblance of sun warrants extra applications of tanning lotion. I now live in the land of bleach blond female carrots. 

The beginning of the end

In a lot of ways, this day has been a long time coming, but now that its here, I just can't figure out where the time went. Today is the last day of classes and marks beginning of the end of my study abroad period.

Though many students ended their classes by claiming their study corner in the library and nestling in for the horrors of exam period, I was given somewhat of a gift. Courtesy of the University of Leeds, I have a solid 21 days to study for a single exam. Granted, that exam warrants a hefty amount of library visits, but 21 days of solid studying would drive anyone mad. Therefore, for the sake of my sanity, I have decided to squeeze the last bit of travel and general English galavanting into the next few days, before I board a plane headed back to the Americas.

My courses may be packed away, but I'm not yet ready to leave.

3 places and some giant stones

When attempting to kick an addiction, they say that quitting cold turkey is the hardest way to go. Taking this advice to heart, I decided ease into recovery from my month long Eurotrip by going on a three day weekend trip to Stonehenge, Bristol, and Bath.

The first stop on my road to recovery was a big pile of rocks, known to the tourist world as Stonehenge. Much like my first celebrity siting, I was surprised to find that Stonehenge was much smaller in reality than what I had imagined. The giant slabs  of rock that lie in a crumbled structure that only alludes to the original arrangement are exactly what is pictured, rocks on a hill. What those photos don't reveal is the highway that extends on either side of this historic site. Apparently, no magical alien construction could halt English road construction.

After leaving the small roadside stop, it was on to Bristol. This English city appears to be a bit rough around the edges, until you travel to actual edges of the city. Outside of the downtown center lies a huge gorge with the city's pride, the Clifton suspension bridge. The natural beauty of the town's perimeter stands in stark contrast to the not-so-natural beauties of Bristol's night life. In this hip, hardcore party scene, the dress code is the highest of high-heels paired with the shortest of skirts and the tightest of low cut tops. After observing the clubbing uniform, I opted for a Saturday night at the movies.

Since I clearly have trouble staying in one place for an extended period of time, I also slipped in a day trip to Bath. As one would expect from a town so named, Bath is squeaky clean and in the summer sun, almost seemed to sparkle. Named after  the ancient Roman Baths that run beneath the city, Bath is absolutely one of my favourite UK cities thus far. The city is layered; founded on Roman ruins, covered by medieval abbeys and cobblestone streets at ground level and topped with modern day shoppers' haven. I returned to Leeds with a few more postcards for my collection and a few more pieces for my wardrobe.

Highlight of the trip: Happening upon a rehearsal for the Bath abbey choir concert. Though it cannot fully do the experience justice, see the video below.

Don't ash on my parade

Forgive me readers for I have sinned. It has been far far too long since my last post. A potent combination of four weeks off from school, family visits, Eurotripping, and thesis writing kept me far from the realms of cyberspace for the past month. Sadly, and in some cases happily, all these things have now come to an end. I am back in Leeds, trucking through the last few weeks of classes, and attempting to study, despite the glorious sunshine. I have only been marginally successful.

Though the end of Easter break has once again confined me to the classroom, I am not surrounded by my usual crowd of students. Thanks to a volcanic hissy-fit in Iceland, a good portion of students, who had ventured over to Europe during their holidays, are now stuck there. The ash cloud has yet to make an appearance in Leeds, but the Eyjafjallajökull volcano is still quite a hot topic.  My Facebook feed is being spammed with people detailing their epic attempts to get back onto the island. These usually consist of obscenely long bus trips followed by an even longer queue to get on any sort of boat or train headed back towards England. People have been attempting to get home for weeks now and only a lucky few have been successful. Stories of taking 24hour boat rides without a seat, traveling for over 36 consecutive hours, or buying a bicycle just to get onto a ferry as a "vehicle passenger" have become the local pub gossip. All this in an effort to make it home.

All I can do is hope Mother Earth stops PMSing by the time I have to pack it up and return back to Canadia.

Hell Week: The UK Edition

The British schooling system differs in many ways from the standard Canadian university. Courses are called "modules" and only require three hours of class time a week. Despite the limited number of required hours, a full course load can be as little as three classes per semester. Add this to the fact that the average module only requires one assignment per semester plus a final exam and you'll understand how UK students are able to spend every night at the pub. However, though the university structure in Leeds contrasts Mac in many ways, there is one thing that both universities have in common: hell week.

"Hell week", by definition, is that week right before a break in the semester. It is the five day period in which literally every course has some form of major assessment deadline. The libraries are suddenly more popular than the pubs and there is a visible decline in student sleep and hygiene. This past week I witnessed the UK Edition of Hell Week and while the libraries may have been more posh and the students better dressed, all the familiar elements were present. There were line ups for library computers, students surrounded by fortresses of books, and coffee consumption was at an all time high.

Tomorrow is the official conclusion to this horrendous period. By 4pm everyone will have submitted their papers and Easter break will have officially begun. That's the biggest difference between Canadian and British Hell Weeks, the Brits emerge from the shadows of the library into a sunny, month long break. If you're going to go through hell, it's nice to know there's a vacation of heavenly proportions waiting on the the other side.

Morning Sunshine

These past few days have been so delightfully sunny that I don't even mind that I have routinely been woken up by a symphony of chainsaws, construction, and freshman feeling the effects of a good night out. Sun makes me smile, despite the unappealing soundtrack to living in residence. 

Nether-Netherlands

Desperately seeking a break from mushy peas, academia, and grey skies, I left the island and made my first official trip to Europe. For this inaugural journey, I went to the stay with my family in the Netherlands. Unlike the vast expansiveness that is Canada, Europe's attractions are all concentrated onto a small area of land. Thanks to this fact, I was able to fly in and out of Dusseldorf, Germany to avoid the high cost and intense crowds of the Amsterdam airport. During my journey there, I kept myself entertained by reading the Diary of Anne Frank, which I had picked up because we were planning a visit to the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam. Unfortunately, I got so absorbed in her story that by the time I arrived in Germany, I was absolutely terrified of the aryan Gestapo; sorry, immigration officer. Thankfully, they allowed me to enter the EU despite my clear nerves. After meeting up with Kavita and Erwin, we hopped into the car and made a quick (i.e. 226 km/h) getaway out of Germany on the autobahn.

Amsterdam, the European city of sin, was my first official tour. "Window shopping" takes on a whole new meaning in the red light district where brothels put their, umm "products and services", on in their store front displays. It's like a racy version of Macys. Coffee Shops too are no longer just for a cup of joe and socializing, these are the tourist hubs that dispel a thick fog of "herbal" smoke from their open doors. Despite it's main claims to fame, the XXX reputation that precedes this city does not do justice to its beauty. The cobblestone streets, city markets, WWII landmarks, canals and wonderously tall and skinny buildings (and people), are what I will remember of Amsterdam. Most of all, I will remember the bikes.

In the Netherlands, biking is an integrated mode of transportation. There are separate streets and traffic lights just for cyclists and it is so safe that no one wears a helmet. While in Amsterdam, I visited my friend Jenny and the two of us decided to "go native" and ride two people to a bike. The locals do it, how hard can it be?

Attempt #1: Jenny was peddling and I was sitting side saddle on the back. I had to jump off the moving bicycle to narrowly avoid a crash.
Attempt #2: We crashed.
Attempt #3: Toss aside our dignity and have the passenger straddle the back of the bike as if we were on a motorcycle. However, we quickly realize that doubling the weight on a bicycle makes for some intense exercise.
Attempt #4: Try and switch drivers half way, but I could not keep the bike straight. We swerved all across the bike lane like a drunk toddler.
Attempt #5: Finally get the hang of it only to get chased by swans all the way home.

The rest of my days in the Netherlands were filled with numerous forms of waffles and pancakes (stroopwafels, Pannekoeken, Poffertjes) as well as the added delight of home cooking. I was able to fulfill my childhood fantasy of being in more than one place at once in the Southern Netherlands where I was able to stand in Netherlands, Germany and Belgium. simultaneously. We visited a windmill, wandered the streets of Tiel, tried to describe a pomegranate to a local fruit vendor and even attended a Dutch dinner party. The whole experience was such a refreshing change from student life, the UK, major tourist attractions and the quick trips that I have been doing. It was nice to have time to just relax and smell the tulips.

Highlight of the trip: Getting to visit family.

Our ice, our game, OUR GOLD

After weeks of staying up until odd hours of the night to watch the Olympic hockey games, it all came down to one night; and what a night it was. There is something about hockey that brings Canadians together, wherever they are, in fierce passion and pride. We had to deal with BBC commentators comparing us to "Canadian geese", calling the goal a "net minder", and occasionally referring to the puck as a ball, but it didn't matter. It was a nerve wracking game, but with the unwavering support of our fellow Canucks, we made it through. Ok, the pitchers may have helped too.

I hope that our cries of pride, elation, and total excitement could be heard all the way across the pond.

Wandering the countryside

Photo credit: Alysha Selves 

International students have a keen sense of adventure. No weekend is complete without some form of trip, regardless of whether your travels take you to mainland Europe or a small English town. Keeping it low key this weekend, a few of us hopped on a city bus and took it as far as it would go into the English countryside. We visited two towns, Skipton and Ilkley, nestled in between the dales. The English dales are essentially large valleys that cradle picturesque communities between lush hills. From the tops of these hills you can look out onto the vast expanses of the English Moors, and you're almost guaranteed to run into some sheep along the way.

Now,  I've always been of the opinion that hiking is just walking in the woods by another name, and is therefore much less than exciting. However, seeing the amazing views, dodging sheep poop, and doing "Sound of Music" reenactments was well worth the hike. 

Highlight of the trip: Hiking up the steepest, muddiest hill, slipping on the way, finally clambering up to the top, only to realize that there were stairs less than 100m away. 

Toilet Humor

Apparently it's a renters market here in the UK, but every time I see a "To Let " sign" I automatically insert the invisible "i". Consequently, in my eyes, there are toilet signs all across England. Thanks to my maturity level, English jargon consistently makes me giggle. 

Cathedrals, Castles, and Christianity?

When I asked people about tourism around Leeds, most people pointed me towards York, known for its charm and great sights. Based on these recommendation, Anisha and I traveled to the classic old English town with high hopes. The day got off to a promising start since for the first time since I've been here, the sky was blue and the sun was actually visible. The weather alone made York beautiful. However, Anisha and I had hit our castle and cathedral quota. After climbing up the 300 stairs to the top of the York Minster to see the view of the city, we made a collective decision to just roam the cobblestone streets. After freeing ourselves from the obligation of the tourist destinations, we spent the day shopping, eating, and walking along England's version of the Great Wall of China (i.e. the York city wall). We even stumbled upon an international food fair in the center of York's winding streets and stopped in to get our fill of British sweets and Italian pastry.

Highlight of the trip: Meeting a random American guy in the checkout line at H&M, chatting, and then being told with vehement conviction that "Jesus loves you...seriously, he loves you".

Scar-Brah

Retreating from the excessive student drinking and liveliness of the city, Anisha and I headed out coast. We spent the day in Scarborough, a quite hillside seaside town filled with bakeries, fish, chips, and retro arcades.

I was kinda excited. 

As soon as we arrived in Scarborough, we followed our noses down to the seaside in search of fish and chips fresher than the Prince of Bel Air. Being a fishing town, there were far too many places to choose from so we made our selection based on a cost to capacity ratio: if the place was affordable and busy, that's where we wanted to be. We found a small cafe that looked out over the beach and proceeded to have an amazing long lunch. Now, I am no expert on fish n' chips, but this crispy and fresh combo of deliciousness was well worth the trip. To complete our typical tourist diet, we finished up our 2.5 hour eating marathon with a pot of tea and good conversation.

The rest of the day was spent wandering the winding city streets, attempting to walk off our massive lunch. We meandered down the the beach and tried to see where the ocean met the sky. After leaving our footprints and a few messages in the sands of Scarborough, we made our way to the highest peak in the town to see the ruins of Scarborough castle. Though the castle was little more than a single turret and some remaining old bricks, the 360 degree views were absolutely breathtaking; the town lay behind us, cascading down the hill towards the gray sand beaches that then extended into the infinite haze of the ocean-sky.

Highlight of the trip: Great food, great company, and amazing sights. The entire day was a highlight.

Oh Canada

With the Olympics now in full swing, my Canadian pride levels are reaching dangerous heights. It takes all my self-control not to wander around Leeds wearing my toque and Olympic mitts, the ones that literally label me as a Canadian whenever I wave at anyone. With the maple leaf shaped hole in my heart getting larger with each day, I decided to do it up big and rep Canada in the best way I could think of: Canadian Otley Run!

Thanks to the unwavering Canadian spirit and the power of Facebook, the event brought out tons of Leeds' finest Canucks and even some who wished they were from the Great White North. We met at the first pub around 4pm and by the third pub our group included Alex Trebek, a beaver, Captain Canada and his sidekick "The Canadian Kid", Bob and Doug McKenzie, lumberjacks, and a whole lot of red and white. As we left each pub, we would remove our hats and sing the Canadian national anthem (as the night went on, this tradition was increasingly unsynchronized and off key). We just looked like a continuous stream of red, white, and liquored up comradery.

It was like getting together with the family you never knew you had. We didn't all know each other but we were brought together by our mother nation. Like any extended family reunion there was drinking, laughing, crying, drama, and even a little incest.

Once again, I didn't make it to the end but this Otley Run will forever hold a special place in my memory, despite all the pints. Though everyone bleeds red, I have a hankering feeling that I may just bleed Red and White.

New Personal Record: 11/17 pubs

London Baby

This past weekend was a weekend of many firsts. It was my first time traveling solo, first hostel stay, first visitor, first overnight trip, and, most excitingly, my first time in London.

Though London boasts some of England's most famous attractions, I wasn't going there just to see the sights. I was there to pick up Anisha, one of my oldest friends, who was flying in to visit me for a week. Since my knowledge of London is based off of Notting Hill and Love Actually, I was a tad nervous taking the reins and touring around just the two of us. However, it was a challenge I was most definitely up for.

Despite my lack of navigational experience, we were able to get around London fairly easily. In the first day alone we managed to get from Heathrow to our hostel, check in, and tour most of the big sights. By dinner we had seen: Picidilly circle, Trafalgar Square, St. Jame's Park, the London Eye, Big Ben, Parliament, Westminster Abbey, and the Royal Museum. Apparently,  We discovered that the key to finding London's main events was to not look for them. We managed to stumble upon all of the previously mentioned attractions, but when we were purposely looking for certain things, like the discount show tickets stand, we ended up going in circles and passing it repeatedly.

Note to self: Wandering is more productive.

Our first day in London was complete with damp English weather and capped off with a musical called Avenue Q, essentially an adult version of Sesame Street, which was absolutely hilarious. After successfully keeping Anisha awake for over 35 hours, we returned to our hostel ready to crash. We were both exhausted and when we finally reached our hostel, we were serenaded to sleep by drunken Englishmen singing "I would walk 500 miles" at the karaoke stand in the pub downstairs.

London is the more proper cousin of New York City because it has it's own Time Square like area, Broadway and theatre district, copious amounts of ethnic restaurants, tourist traps around every corner, and a subway line that will get you anywhere and everywhere. Since we had done most of the big stuff the previous day, Anisha and spent our second day seeing Buckingham Palace, Changing of the Queens Life Guard (i.e. a horse walking around in a circle), Hyde Park, and Harrods (i.e. one stop shopping for the rich and pretentious). Despite its steep prices, we couldn't resist Harrod's candy and dessert section, afterall, we were visiting on Valentines Day. After buying each other mini-cupcakes and chocolate strawberries (we couldn't buy them for ourselves, that would be just sad), we returned to our hostel for a pint before packing up and heading back to Leeds. It was a whirlwind of a tour, but our time in London left us totally stoked to return.

Highlight of the trip: Watching the highlights of the Olympic opening ceremonies in Trafalgar Square surrounded by people from all over the world. It reminded me of why I absolutely LOVE being Canadian, not that I could ever forget.

TGIT: Thank God It's Tuesday

I don't know how I managed it, but I somehow have a two day week. While this means that I have over five hours of straight class on both Monday and Tuesday, the result is a solid five day weekend. My Tuesdays feel like Fridays, my Wednesdays and beyond feel like Saturdays, and I have lost all concept of a scheduled life. Though my week may be short-lived, I celebrate each completed week with a newly formed tradition.

Tuesdays at the Eldon Pub have become a staple on my social calendar. It's "international student's night" which basically means that all the foreign kids gather in a typical English pub for cheap drinks and a consistently good time. You're guaranteed to run into familiar faces and you'll probably end up meeting some new people too. Curiously, a couple pints makes all the accents kind of fade to the background and everyone is able to just mix, mingle, and make merry. The Eldon adds the sweet to my short week.

Drink of choice: Snakebite

• 1 part lager
• 1 part cider
• a splash of black current cordial

It's dangerously delicious.

To be or not to be, the tourist edition

Another weekend, another day trip. This time I headed to to Warwick and Stratford-Upon-Avon. After a lengthy early morning bus ride, we arrived in Warwick around 11am. The main tourist attraction in this small English town is "Warwick Castle", a medieval castle that has been revamped to suit all your touristing needs complete with a dungeon turned haunted house and a turret turned "Princess castle". Though an intense hike in admission price came with this transition from traditional to touristy, it was worth seeing if for no other reason aside from the fact that it was my first English castle experience.

The serene,

The stunning,

and the strange

Despite the intensely creepy wax figures, the people dressed up in medieval costume who I kept getting confused with the wax figures, and the slightly questionable dioramas, the castle was well worth it. Walking around the turrets and castle walls, with the English countryside on one side and the typical English village justified the price of admission.

Next stop, Stratford (the real one, not the one in Ontario).

Shakespeare's birthplace and childhood house

Stratford is essentially Shakespeare world. The streets were lined with B+Bs not-so-cleverly named after characters or places from some of more famous plays, and around each corner, you can find a building boasting some distant connection to the literary master. I mean, who wouldn't want to visit Shakespeare's granddaughter's first husband's house (Nash House)? Though the town was saturated with literary references and grasped onto any and all Shakespearean connections, it was a nice place to stroll the streets and a good way to wind down the day. Though the main areas were the definition of touristy, I can now say that I have seen the very house where Shakespeare was conceived and later birthed. Now that's something to boast about.

Highlight of the trip: Enjoying English pastries in both Warwick and Stratford. Nothing beats a strawberry tart with fresh cream.

My First Otley Run

The Otley Run is a Leeds tradition and should not be attempted by the faint of heart or light of liver. This pub crawl is made for champions. Starting at one end of Otley Road around mid-afternoon, the Otley Run takes its marathoners through 17 pubs; though majority of participants don't quite make it to the finish line. To make things slightly more interesting, the crawl is completed according to theme and each competitor is challenged to not only drink a pint in each pub, but to do it in costume.

After three weeks here in Leeds, I felt that I had prepared my liver enough to attempt such a feat. On Friday at 5pm in the afternoon, I joined the students of the Clarence Dock residence, each costumed as something to represent their block letter. I was pretending to be a member of Block D, so I pulled out the rosy cheeks, ballet flats, and pigtails, and said that I was dressed as a doll. I joined my friends, dressed as a Doormat, Dorothy, and a Droog (from Clockwork Orange), and we proceeded to the first pub. That's where it all began. Before the night was over, we had shared pints with a pilot, a pack of nerds, some gnomes, avatars, fairies, and one very slutty cross-dressing granny.

Current Personal Record: 10/17 pubs

Dance it off

Back home it's easy to find friendly distractions. At Mac, the university is small enough that no matter where you go, you'll see someone you know. That sense of familiarity is one that is still in its construction phase here at Leeds. Though I do occasionally run into a casual acquaintance, after only two and a half weeks my network is not nearly as extensive as my home base.

Yesterday, after flying solo for majority of the day, I was feeling a tad lonesome. In my experience, the best remedy for the blues is to literally shake it off, so I called up some friends and we went out on the town.

Our first stop was Mine Bar, one of three bar/clubs in the university union. It was alternative/indie night but our biggest incentive to go was their free cover. We headed over around 11:00pm only to find the place absolutely empty. It almost felt like we had attempted to go clubbing on a Sunday afternoon; there were maybe ten people in the entire place, and seven of them worked there. Despite the lack of general company, the cheap drinks and empty dance floor beckoned so we decided to stay for a while. We were actually able to dance like no one was watching, because no one was. Eventually we headed upstairs to Terrace, another union bar, but we were greeted by a similar situation. Thus started the slogan of the night: "Where are all the students?!"

Drinks at Terrace were more expensive and they weren't complimented by any rockin' beats so we soon left the union and went into town, on the hunt for somewhere with a decently crowded dance floor. It was about 12:30am at this point and most places had big burly bouncers at their gates turning people away; not because they were full but because they were about to close. We managed to claim clubber's sanctuary in "Bar rista", a club just down the hill from the university. The place was by no means packed, but the dance floor was small enough that it looked full and the music was great. We immediately began bustin' out the moves. Unfortunately, someone in the crowd was having some evident digestive problems because every once in a while, we would have to move or groove on to another corner of the floor to avoid the massive stank that was diffusing through the crowd. Since when is it ok to let one rip when you're surrounded by strangers in an enclosed space?

Note to all club goers: Kindly refrain from turning the dance floor into a gas chamber.

Though the night kind of stunk at the biggining, and then began to actually stink by the end, it was just what I needed. Good friends, good times, and a dance floor.

Day Tripper

The time has come, the students said, to explore the many sights.

Like fish and chips and Beatles bars,

Like cathedrals and high heights.

On Saturday, approximately 300 students left Leeds for a day long excursion to Liverpool; owner of one of the busiest seaside docks in the UK, home to the largest Anglican church in the world, and birthplace of a little band called The Beatles.

After dragging my resistant body out of bed at 7:30am and trudging to the buses on what was the coldest day since my arrival, I was told that my bus was overbooked. They offered anyone who volunteered to get shifted to another coach free chocolate. That's all it took to get my hand up in the air. I joined a group of five others chocoholics but quickly began regretting voluntarily standing out in the cold, and subjecting my face to the violent, subzero winds. After 20 minutes of waiting to see which coach we would be placed on, the organizer informed us that they had miscounted and we could take our originally assigned bus. So basically, I volunteered to board the coach last and received no choco-reward. Solid start to the day.

The rest of the trip more than made up for the slightly rocky morning. Alysha, Jessica and I traveled the entire town on foot which proved to be the best way of exploring the city. We were dwarfed next to the massive Anglican church, treated to fresh fish and chips at a local cafe, and then surrounded by Beatles memorabilia. The day was so full of adventure that unlike the boisterous morning bus ride, the trip home was completely silent with almost everyone awkwardly leaning against a window, their chair, or their neighbor, lulled to sleep by the coach motor and dimmed city lights.

Highlight of the trip: Visiting the Cavern, the underground pub where The Beatles got their start, and singing along to the classics with Beatles fans from all over the world. Since you couldn't be there with me, pour yourself a pint and watch the video for a little taste of what it was like.

My street and Leeds City Hall

This ain't no vacation

As my first week of classes comes to a close, I must confess that I have not yet reentered the academic swing of things. I finished up my term at McMaster in mid December, and was mentally on vacation far before that date. I was on break for over a month before I was ever forced to return to the classroom and the ridiculous length of my leisure time put me into a state of perma-holiday. Now that classes have started, I am slowly attempting to get back into things; however, it's not going so well. I feel like a sugar high toddler being forced to stand still when I want to do is run around. There is so much to see and do in Leeds that confining myself to a lecture theatre almost seems like a disservice to my experience here. Then I remember the main reason that I am even here is to complete an academic semester. It's time to suck it up and study.

Though I was battling a particularly nasty case of procrastination, I managed to get myself into the library a few times this week. Brotherton library, with its two story pillars, polished wood floors, chandeliers, and decorated dome ceiling, definitely helped ease my transition back into the world of academia. Even if my required readings didn't force me to visit, I would go in there just to wander. When the sun shines (rare, but it happens), the entire core area of the library is bathed in light. Though this sends some of the more intense library regulars running for the shadows, it has made Brotherton my study spot of choice. Each time I go, I manage to stay for a little longer.

Current record: 1.5 hours
Level of work accomplished: Low
Explanation: My eyes moved down the page, but in my head I was planning a Euro trip
Reason for departure: NEEDED to go buy some jeggings (i.e. jean leggings, best of both worlds)

Ok, so it's a work in progress but with a little discipline, slightly more effort, and some Brotherton magic, I'll be back to full out nerd status in no time.

See what I see

Happy one week anniversary

I have reached a milestone in my new relationship. Though I was only introduced to Leeds a short week ago, I have come to feel at home in its streets, stores, and student life. I no longer wake up wondering how I ended up so far from home. Instead, I can slowly feel Leeds becoming a new home. My mental map of the city is beginning to fill in and everyday I find new things within the city. For instance, today, a few friends and I wandered down to the water and stumbled upon the gorgeous city hall. A few days ago, we took an alternate route to get groceries and happened to find a giant public skating rink in front of the Leeds City Museum. It might be too early to use the "L-word", but Leeds is definitely finding its way into my heart.

Unfortunately, my honeymoon period is coming to an end. Tomorrow is the official beginning of second semester and starting at 11am, I will once again have classes to attend. Despite the fact that with school comes work and with work comes hatred for all that is good, I can honestly say that I am really excited to start my courses here at Leeds. I filled my semester with courses that I wasn't able to take back home and the result is a schedule filled with lectures and workshops that I am genuinely excited for, such as:

Internet Communications - Where I not only learn about online media but am also taught to apply my knowledge by making a website. 

Social Communication - Learning from Dr. Taylor, a leading author in the field of mass media, about how media impacts society by looking at cultural products of the media such as "celebrity culture". 

Drawing - Exactly what it sounds like, but even better because my classes are held at the beautiful City of Leeds Art Gallery. 

The Olympic Games - Not only will I be taking this course in parallel to the 2010 Olympics in my home country, but I will be learning about all aspects of the games from its business to culture to history to politics. Not only is the material atypical for a university course but the evaluation is based on student generated podcasts rather than the traditional essays or exams. 

I guess this is the type of schedule you get when you're interested in everything and but directed at nothing.  Personally, I wouldn't have it any other way.

The rain isn't in spain

I was justly warned about UK weather, but since my arrival here in Leeds I haven't had to face more than a light drizzle; until today. I left my flat this afternoon to meet Celeste, a McMaster student on full year exchange, to help celebrate her freedom from exams. I looked out the window to gauge the weather, and determined that although it was sprinkling it was nice enough to wear my leather boots and wool coat. The UK weather that I had experienced up to this point had been damp and dreary but nowhere near the level of precipitation that I had been prepared for. I met up with Celeste at one of the Leeds student union bars called "Old Bar" where I had my first taste of cornish pasty, which is akin to travel style pot pie. The pub was packed with students heavily celebrating the end of exams. The atmosphere was one of relief, happiness, and general exuberance. After we finished up, I left to return to my flat, but as soon as I got to the door of the pub I realized that my journey home was going to be slightly soggy. The weather had taken a turn for the typical. It was now raining so hard that the cracks in the sidewalk had turned into rivers feeding into the massive puddles that engulfed the pavement. I had naively thought that the casual drizzle that we had been getting was indicative of the weather that I could expect, so I had left my raincoat, boots, and umbrella comfortably resting in my closet. As a result, by the time I got back to my flat, my leather purse was streaked with dark droplets, my coat smelled of rain, and my makeup had run down my face to the point that I resembled members of KISS.

Lesson learned: NEVER leave home without an umbrella.

Same stress, different country

I'm not quite sure what it is about university, but my relationship with administration has always been slightly dysfunctional. I am constantly fighting to take the courses that I want, get time slots that actually fit in my schedule, or get into lectures that are required for my degree. These battles have loomed over my entire university career and they were one educational aspect that I was hoping to leave on the other side of the world. Unfortunately, as I found out today, university bureaucracy spans oceans.

I woke up at the uncomfortable hour of 8am determined to sort my module schedule out. Negotiating with faculties and departments is hard enough, but it becomes a monumental task when you don't know your way around campus. It took me two wrong attempts and a solid three hours to find the Communications Department only to land on the monuments of paperwork that were waiting for me. In my quest to find the Fine Arts department, I ended up at Leeds Fine Arts College, a completely different school that is in no way affiliated with Leeds University. It took an in-depth conversation with the receptionist AND  their academic adviser to make me realize that I was neither in the right place, nor speaking to the right people. I walked out trying to look as bashful as possible so as to not seem outright dimwitted.

After tedious hours of running though administrative buildings and trying to squeeze my way into courses that didn't want me, I was ready for a pick me up. I met up with Alysha and a few of her flatmates (Hannah and Calum) and we proceeded to go vintage shopping. After trying on some old knitted jumpers, I accidentally put my shirt on backwards and therefore proceeded to the front of the shop with my tag sticking out of my side as if I was playing flag football. The shop owner, a rosy looking man dressed in chords and an old wool sweater, chuckled to himself and pointed out my mistake. Embarrassed I told him that I would change it later, but he informed me that it was bad luck to reverse it. Not wanting to face anymore bad luck, I conceded and left my sweater bearing its seams to the world.

Tomorrow will be brighter; probably not weather wise, but definitely in the positive sense of things. Yes, tomorrow will be brighter.

Quotable

"Bursting with juicy bits"

                - label on Tropicana orange juice with lots of pulp

Waking up on the other side of the world

Today was my first full (and fully coherent) day in Leeds. I woke up after a solid 13 hour sleep ready for a day of adventure, exploration, and errands. At noon, Alysha and I met up with my friend Celeste, a student from McMaster who is attending Leeds on a full year exchange. After we enjoyed lunch and my first taste of English cider (i.e. liquid candy alcohol), Celeste showed us around Leeds. The city is absolutely beautiful with its cobblestone walkways, vintage clothing shops, and old British architecture. The setting was completed by typical English weather which consisted of chilled temperatures and a damp, dense fog that hovered over the city. Though I was warned that I would hate the climate here at Leeds, the chilling air was just cool enough to be refreshing without being painful. I think I might even like it.

Photo credit: Celeste Orr

After we left Celeste, Alysha and I went to some of the local convenience stores to get some more essentials. I decided that it was high time that I stopped attacking my food with my hands, so I stopped into Wilkinsons, a local cross between Walmart and Dolorama, for some cutlery. When I reached the front of the queue, the clerk surprisingly asked me to hand over my ID rather than my money. Apparently in the UK, you must be at least 18 to buy a knife, or as the clerk put it, "Ya hafta look 21 but be over 18" (*insert English accent of your choice).

End of story: Everyone beware because I am now legally armed with a butter knife.

24 hours and counting

I did it. I was under the weight limit, got through security, got past the border, got my baggage, found my train, and finally arrived in Leeds, England. Hurrah!

The voyage was surprisingly uneventful. As a girl who has been through bomb threats, 24 hour delays, random searches, and drug sniffing, I figured that a journey of this magnitude was just begging for some ridiculous curve balls. At the very least, I was prepared for quite the hassle at the border. I chose to avoid the bureaucracy of getting UK visas and was therefore armed with a binder full of official documents to prove my legitimacy. Immigration was the one pivotal point that could change everything. For instance, had the agent decided not to let me into the UK, my writings would have been less about an amazing trip, and more about me hitchhiking my way back to Canada. I went in fully prepared for interrogation and scrutiny, but to my surprise, I was simply asked why I was in the UK and told a few jokes by a jolly balding Englishman before being promptly sent on my way.

Though my travel companion, Alysha, and I did not hit any significant hiccups, we did encounter one major problem: the time change. We officially left Canada at 4pm EST and got into England at 4am local time. The five hour time difference and constant traveling kept us on our toes and prevented us from any significant rest. While we waited for our connecting train from Machester, I tried to get some sleep; however, every few minutes I would wake up, completely confused as to where I was, the time and date, and how I had gotten there. The travel induced haze made me forget everything but my own name and by the end of the day, even that was becoming foggy. I decided to pass the time by watching an impossibly fat pigeon fly around the station and eventually poop on the seat next to an old woman. By the time we arrived in Leeds, we were drunk on adrenaline so we decided to try and keep up with the local schedule. We stayed outside and on our feet for majority of the day in order to ward off any encroaching snooze attacks. Unfortunately, a side-effect to lack of rest seems to be uncontrollable flailing and complete loss of coordination which resulted  in me breaking my new adapter the moment I took it out of its case.

The goal is to stay awake until 7pm, a respectable time for 90 year olds and weary travelers to turn in for the night. My theory is that if I completely mess with my system to the point that time is no longer fathomable,  I will be able to adjust to the time change that much faster.

It is currently 4:30pm local time and 11:30 Toronto time. I have been up for 27 hours and the patterns on my duvet cover have begun to dance in an attempt to seduce me into a slumber.

And so it begins

Today's the day.

All my bags are packed and I'm raring to go. If all goes according to plan, I will be stepping onto my flight at 4pm this afternoon. Though I know I'm prepared, I don't yet feel ready. I don't know if it was nerves, excitement or a nauseating combo of the two, but I wasn't able sleep last night. Instead, I laid awake for hours going over every detail and potential adventure that might be waiting for me on the other side of the ocean.

To all those I'll be leaving behind: Miss me while I'm gone because you can bet that I'll be missing you.
To the city of Leeds: Ready or not, here I come.

My Life in 44lbs

I have a weight problem. I ignored it for as long as I could, but I have to face facts. It’s time to shed some pounds and lighten my load.


Goal weight: 44lbs

Airplane companies have become notorious for their restrictions; however, I have found a company that tops them all. Air Transat only allows its passengers to check around 44lbs (20 kgs) worth of luggage. This presents quite a challenge since my shoes alone could fill that limit. Add that to the fact that I am packing for five months, three different seasons and unknown events/festivities and you’ll understand the weight of my problem.

Knowing full well that this challenge was going to require some strategic planning, I began experimenting. I used numerous different bags, suitcases, and backpacks; if I was only able to bring 44lbs worth of stuff, I wasn’t about to waste my weight on the bags themselves. I ended up using my pack and duffle bag and began strategically filling them with everything from sweaters to flip-flops.

As my weight escalated, I became increasingly obsessed with my scale. Every pound mattered. As I watched the numbers swell, I quickly learned the difference between needs and wants.

Underwear = need
Sexy heels = want
Jeans = need
Seven pairs = want

Though I spent four days sweating over my baggage, I just kept packing on the pounds. I finally managed to get my luggage to a solid 43.5lbs; however, meeting the requirement came with some major sacrifices. Not only did I have to surrender my “just in case” and “what if” outfits, I also had to check a little bit of my dignity. Airtransat may be immorally constricting, but I discovered a loophole. They can restrict my check in, they can limit my carry on, but they can’t control the clothing on my back. As a result of this revelation, on Sunday I will be wearing my heaviest jeans, a tank top, a sweater, a long sleeved shirt, a sweatshirt, my winter jacket,  a scarf, and my rain boots for the duration of my travels.

Thanks to Air Transat, my first introduction to England will be dressed as the Michelin Man.

Ex(change)

Logically, in the week leading up to a trip of this proportion, one would spend most of their time packing and preparing. However, I have been procrastinating and my poison of choice has been the creation of this travel blog. In the past few days, I have spent countless hours testing blogs on various websites. It took me the duration of family movie night to realize that Wordpress wasn't worth the effort. This revelation was followed by a lesson in the downfalls of Tumblr the subsequent morning.

After what felt like an eternity of frustration riddled with html code and cheesy blog backgrounds, I decided to stick to what I know, and what I know is Blogger. I racked my brain for the perfect title to sum up my impending exchange and after polling friends and family, I settled on the title "The Local Foreigner". This title encompassed the fact that during my trip I would live the life of a local while remaining a foreigner by nature. Unfortunately, "thelocalforeigner.blogspot.com" was already claimed.

Upon my mother's suggestion, I kept the title and simply changed the url to be "Ishani's exchange". Later that day, I proudly showed the product of three days work to my close friend. As I typed in the url, she turned to me with her eyes wide and then burst into fits of laughter. Once she caught her breath she showed me that my new and improved url "ishanisexchange.blogspot.com" did not just read "Ishani's exchange" but also "Ishani Sex Change".

Though I have been told that this trip will make me into a whole new person, that was a bit more of a change than I am ready to handle. I quickly removed the blog from the interweb to avoid any calls from concerned relatives and came up with an entirely new site. This blog may not have the same dramatic title as its predecessor, but my trip is meant to be transnational, not transgendered. To settle any confusion, gender-related or otherwise; I needed a change.

My Firsts

When I tell anyone that I’m going on exchange, the immediate response is always in reference to my level of excitement:

“Exchange? That’s so exciting!”
“Are you excited?”
“How excited are you?”
“You must be so excited!”

The word has lost all meaning and these responses now top up my personal FAQ list.

On Sunday, January 17th, 2010 I will be “leaving on a jet plane” and flying off to Leeds, England for my semester long exchange. With my date of departure less than a week away, most people expect me to be bursting with excitement; however, excited is not the word I would use.

They say that there is a first time for everything, and with my exchange, almost everything will be a first. It is my first time visiting Europe; the first time I’ll be living outside of Ontario; the first time studying at a different university; and the first time I’ll be travelling completely on my own. Though the prospect leaving my comfortable routine for the unfamiliar is daunting, there is no doubt in my mind that this trip will be a momentous experience.

So no, excited is not the right word. I am nervous, I am overwhelmed but I am also TOTALLY STOKED!