I'm writing this entry on the train to Edinburgh, because I feel like I probably won't have too much time to write much until orientation is over. Leaving London was actually really sad, even though I am really excited to get to Edinburgh and start the semester. I feel like you never contemplate how much you haven't seen until you are about to leave. Additionally, I made some pretty cool friends, so I am obviously going to have to go back to London (and they might come visit me in Edinburgh!). My host, Osman, and I went to the pub on Monday night to meet up with CouchSurfers and play games, and I lost at Shithead (i.e. village idiot, asshole, whatever you call this particular game), so this guy, Andy, from Australia was insistent that sometime in the future, we have to play again so I can redeem myself. He also told Osman to bring a big picture of my head when they play again this week, so that whoever has to deal the cards can use it as a mask. Haha, I'm pretty terrible at cards.
Back to Stockholm: on Sunday, Tove, Jonas' roommate, and I enjoyed some oatmeal, then caught the bus and met up with a few of her friends at the harbor to go on a hop-on, hop-off sightseeing tour. We went to the Vasamuseet, which is a museum that's main attraction is a huge warship that sunk on its maiden voyage in the 17th Century. It was really, really interesting. I could probably have stayed there all day, but we had more to do and see! So, I spent most of my time in the museum looking at the exhibit about the skeletons they found around the ship and the possessions they found by the bodies. It was quite an interesting way to learn about the life of seafarers, but also about archaeological methods, etc. Then, we went to Skansen, which is an outdoor folk museum sort of thing, and it is supposed to represent all of the different parts of Sweden in a miniature setting. I ate Swedish meatballs, saw reindeer, and saw a lot of different buildings of a Swedish sort. Tove was very excited to show us the farm representing her area of Sweden (the south).
After Skansen, we were all exhausted and happy to ride the tour boat for a while, until we got to Gamla Stan (the old town), where we walked around the palace, the Storykyrka and browsed the lovely array of shops. Tove and I went back to the flat, where we relaxed by making Swedish pancakes. Tove was getting frustrated because the temperature wasn’t getting to the optimal point, so the pancakes kept ripping or not cooking exactly the way they were supposed to. She said she felt like a failure as a Swede, but eventually, we got it down, and they were deeeeelicious. Jonas went out, and I read for a while, then went to bed early, since I was still not feeling particularly wonderful, and I had to leave the flat at 5:30 the next morning.
Now we get to the exciting part of my story, in which I have my first encounter with Ryanair. I feel like every study abroad student has this experience. I had already had an easyjet flight, which I thought was actually quite pleasant, despite having to pay an arm and a leg to get to Stansted from London. Easyjet is no frills, yes, but they don’t have a weight limit despite having a size limit for your one carry-on bag. On Ryanair, they actually weigh your baggage. Knowing this, I got dressed in the morning by putting on my leggings, then my jeans, then my boots, and my dress, and my sweater with a scarf. When I got to the airport, before going through the bag check, I decided that my bag might still be too heavy… So I took my blanket out, and put it on as another (giant) scarf. I also took out my iPod, wallet, phone, book, and a few other things, and stuffed them into my pockets. I imagine I must have looked quite ridiculous, but it was a damn good strategy, because when I put my backpack on the scale, it wavered between 10.1 and 10.0 kilos until finally settling at exactly 10.0 kg.
The plane itself is just a Boeing 737, but the inside is gross-ified. The entire trip, the flight crew is advertising various junk to buy. There is NO PEACE on a Ryanair flight. Honestly, after all of the administration fees and getting to the airport and all, I may as well have just paid for a normal flight. We’ll see about how it goes in the future, but I do not have a very favorable view of Ryanair. As soon as I got to the airport, I ran to the bathroom and stripped off a few layers so I could be a normal person again. I got through passport control no problem, and then went back to the city. I chilled for an hour or two to take care of vital communication, and then I went to the Science Museum, which was pretty cool. I met up with my friend from Couchsurfing, Osman, at the tube stop by his place, and then we waited for his other surfer, a German girl named Luisa, to get back. We watched some TV, specifically, “Are You Smarter than a 10 Year Old?” and I strengthened my conviction that all British TV is just weird. After that, the pub trip that I highlighted earlier occurred.
The next day, I had to battle the Tube strike to pick up my 60 or so pounds of luggage from the Canadian High Commission, and I was wondering how on earth I was ever going to manage to do so. I figured out that a taxi would cost me almost 30 dollars, which seemed pretty damn steep. So I found out that the Northern Line still had a good service, and since there was a stop right by Osman’s flat, I could take it to within just over a mile of the High Commission. When my dad’s friend found somebody to help me since she wouldn’t be there, I set out on my voyage. I walked the wrong way out of Tottenham Court Road station, but realized it pretty quickly. I was running a little late at this point, but I made it to the High Commission within about 10 minutes of when I said I should get there. The lady who helped me was incredibly nice, though she was very surprised I was American, because she had been expecting a German, based on my name. So, luggage in tow, I managed to get back to the tube, and back to Osman’s flat.
I was so tired that I just sort of loafed around for a while before deciding to go to the Imperial War Museum. I got there, but realized I had taken a very roundabout way. I looked at the WWII stuff, and then wandered into the Holocaust exhibit. This was a mistake. It was so interesting, but so heartbreaking. I didn’t make it all the way through to the end, and then I decided to go look at the spy exhibit to pick my spirits up. It’s strange how even though I have been exposed to so much about the Holocaust through all of my classes (even as early as middle school), but I couldn’t even get through this exhibit. I think it was the abundance of pictures and the video clips of Nazi speeches, rather than just reading about it. When I got back, Osman was cooking dinner. Yum. After we ate a little something something, we headed to a different pub for another CS party night meetup thing. There were SO MANY people at this! I couldn’t keep track of everybody I met, but there were a few people whom I’ll probably see again.
Luisa wanted to go, but Osman and I were having a good time (though again, I wasn’t drinking because I was feeling not so great), so we said we’d stay a while longer. Then, when we wanted to go, we couldn’t get Luisa to leave. Luisa, who could probably be a model, was surrounded by no fewer than 6 men, all making the googly eyes at her and clinging to every last barely-understandable word (she hardly speaks any English. It was kind of amusing, but also pretty annoying, since Osman and I both had to get up really early.
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