Let's Talk About Pie

If you're in the US, you're probably thinking "Pie? What kind of pie? Apple? Cherry? Peach?" None of the above. I'm talking chicken and leek, mushroom and asparagus, steak and onion. Sound gross? Sounds yummy to me. Since arriving here 2 weeks ago, I have discovered the wonderfulness that is English pie. It's good for every meal as well as any snack in between. I just had a steak and onion pie from Sainsbury's and it was amazing, even though I put it in the microwave. The other day I had a wild mushroom and asparagus pie and I fell in love. Why don't we have such a thing in the states??? We sure are missing out. Instead, we have the disgusting frozen treat known as hot pockets. Hot pockets are not good, nor are they filling. Pies are both delicious and satisfy any hunger. Oh yeah, the US has chicken pot pie. One pathetic option that half the time isn't that good. That's nonsense! You hear me over there across the pond? Nonsense! When I get home, I expect to find pie shops that serve savory options and supermarkets that have reheatable pasties. You better be ready United States of America, if that really is your name.

A Story in Five Frames-Iggy Met Gia Pt 2

This is an assignment from today that is a story made up of five photos. I chose to create a two-part story with Lynn and her cat Iggy. To find out how they ended up in this cat v. dog predicament, visit her blog.

Jack and Jill Went Up the Hill to Fetch a Pail of Intestines

Lynn, Katy, Kaitlin, and I had the pleasure of attending a Jack the Ripper walking tour this evening and boy was it a blast. After hearing a number of theories on who he was and what happened to him in the end, I have come up with my own ideas that I will share with you.

First, who was Jack the Ripper? I'm not truly sure because I haven't heard all the evidence, but I think I have a better grasp on the suspect than the London police did back in 1888. Why you ask? Because we now have this concept called profiling. Serials killers never turn out to be who you think they are. They're very often quite charming individuals who lead normal lives and it's always shocking to the community when they discover who the murder is. For this reason, I definitely do not believe the killer was the bootmaker with the leather apron. That would be too obvious. I wouldn't be surprised if it was some regular joe who lived in the East end and hung out at all the local spots. Maybe he even had a wife or girlfriend who didn't know where he disappeared to at night.

As far as his sudden disappearance goes, I originally liked the theory that he left London and possibly headed to the US, but I don't know anything about any murders in the US that were similar. And if there's one thing I have learned from many years of watching Cold Case, Law and Order: SVU and CSI, serial killers don't just stop killing. Something has to force them to stop. My guess, therefore, is that he died himself somehow, maybe in a bar fight, maybe from something else.

If you have other theories or evidence to share, feel free to comment on this blog.

Random Thoughts Elana Style

Random thought #1: Why isn't salad considered a meal in England?

I love salad and I'm not afraid to admit it. I love salad with chicken, I love salad with avocado, I love salad with oil and vinegar. I just love salad! I'll eat it for lunch or dinner or any moment in between, but do you know what I find in most shops here? Tiny, pretty unappealing salads that are prepackaged in a side portion. Where are all the chinese chicken salads? The cajun chicken salads? Anything tasty and multicolored sitting on a bright, fresh bed of greens? Not here, that's for certain, unless it's hiding under the beef and potatoes.

Random thought #2: How can primary schools not have their own libraries?

I discovered while visiting the Barbican Library this morning that the majority of primary schools in the city of London are lacking in libraries. Instead, they visit the public library as often as once a week to check out books and experience story time. The public library is also responsible for sending over books for class projects. This is nuts! Students do not have a room full of information and adventures at their fingertips. What about the students who finish books quickly enough that they want to exchange them for new ones? I'm assuming they either wait or need their parents to accompany them to the public library. This is incredibly depressing. What is a childhood without oral book reports or the paperback exchange?

Random thought #3: Why do some cathedrals think they're so special that you can't take photos?

While touring both Westminster Abbey and St. Paul's Cathedral, we were very sternly instructed that no photography was permitted. However, when visiting Salisbury Cathedral, we took as many photos as we desired. This just does not add up. Are photos banned to aid in the preservation of the structure? That wouldn't make sense because Salisbury seemed to be in better condition than the other two. Perhaps the photography interrupts prayer and services? That wouldn't work either because all three are practicing religious institutions. If anyone has an answer to this random thought, please let me know.

History or Our Story?

I spent over three hours wandering around Hampton Court Palace and gardens today. How did I benefit from the experience? Good question. Most of those three hours resulted in photos that I plan to put in my modeling portfolio because 5'2" models are in demand right now,

a video filmed by Katy that demonstrates my acting chops Blair Witch style and a good hour of Katy and me cracking on the voice-over artist who played a young page working in Henry VIII's apartments on the audio guides. Yes, we did appreciate some of what we saw, both in the architecture and gardens, but I am the first to admit that we definitely were not exhibiting our most mature behaviors.

Why did we behave in such a way? I was wondering the same thing about an hour ago and here's what I came up with:

When you grow up in the United States, history is not exactly on the level of European History, which is why I call US History "baby history" and European History "real history". When we learn about the history of the US, we very often know of a family member who was involved, be it an ancestor who is living or dead, though recently so. My grandparents have experienced about a third of the history since the US became an independent entity. Europeans, including Brits, just don't have the same attachment. How connected can one possibly feel to great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandpa Henry who may have been in a war that we only learn about from books?

I have a lot more respect for US History now than I did 12 hours ago and will from now on be grateful that I can ask my parents and grandparents about so many events from our country's past.

Hen and Stag?

I didn't know that poultry and horses have become so chummy. Is it like a big game of chicken (pun intended) where the hens hang out on the backs of the horses and try to knock each other off? Nope. Hen and stag parties are the UK version of bachelor and bachelorette parties. I quickly became schooled in the tradition of hen parties while visiting Brighton in the South of England with Katy, a girl on my program, and her British friend Fran. While waiting endlessly in London Bridge station for the track number to be posted for our train, we couldn't help but stare at a gaggle of ladies who looked absolutely ridiculous. They were all dressed in neon pink tank tops and wore headbands with tall springs topped with little triangles that said "hen party". Apparently, these are called head boppers. One particularly hyper gal even decided to bring along her male blow up doll, who I have decided to name Stuart.

I was beyond confused when observing these overly energetic girls running around looking for snacks and drinks at 9:30 in the morning on a Saturday. I don't know about you, but the bachelorette parties I've been to happen only at night and we definitely are not that chipper the next day. We typically appear in our pajamas with bags under our eyes and feed bags strapped to our faces for any morning after vomiting.

Imagine our shock when we arrived in Brighton and passed hen party after hen party of women dressed as fairies, cowgirls and ladies from the 60s and 80s. Apparently, in England hen parties can be weekend affairs that do not solely revolve around binge drinking, penis novelties and practically naked men, but rather being incredibly girlie, giggling a lot and looking dumb.

Podcast Assignment

Check out the podcast I create for my Multimedia class.

The song I've used is "Paris London and Back" by Daisy Mae and was taken from the website creativecommons.org.

It's Hunting Season. Oh, I Meant Tourist Season.

They come in all sizes, shapes and colors. They arrive from all over the world and I'm pretty sure their main goal is to annoy the heck out of me. Who are they? TOURISTS! I know what you're thinking "But Elana, you're a tourist right now." That is where you are so incredibly incorrect. I am NOT a tourist, but a traveler. As the English novelist G.K. Chesterton said "The traveler sees what he sees, the tourist sees what he has come to see." As a visitor in a foreign land, I choose to blend in and very often stand back to observe the unbelievably similar, yet completely different culture that exists in the vast city of London. 

Is this a new dislike that I have only recently developed due to the number of tourists who very often block my path by stopping dead in the middle of the sidewalk near city landmarks because they are completely lost or dying for a photo? Absolutely not! I packed this issue in my suitcase right alongside my lacy underwear and tea tree shampoo. Where did this all begin? Let me take you across the pond to a city I like to call New York and a destination commonly known as Times Square. I, however, see it as the downfall of Manhattan and do my best to avoid it at all costs. I know that New Yorkers are typically seen as obnoxious and unsympathetic, but that is not the case. Rather, we are usually just in a rush to be somewhere, whether it be work, school, dinner, or the all important drink with friends. Do you know the most dangerous obstacles that New Yorkers face? Don't guess erratic cab drivers or piles of police horse doodoo. It is nothing more than a camera toting tourist, who instead of paying attention to what is happening around him, is walking while staring straight up at skyscrapers that famously dot the New York skyline and often stops short without considering the domino effect that occurs behind him. 


I do my best to not be a tourist and all I ask is that when you are traveling anywhere, please try not to inconvenience the locals because they will learn to hate you too.

Time After Time

Time. What is time? Why is time such a loaded word? I learned one very intriguing piece of information today that completely alters the view of time that I have carried with me since I was grown enough to understand that Punky Brewster ran for a half hour every day. I know you would think that this epiphany probably occurred in Greenwich during our class visit to the prime meridian. However, you would be dead wrong. Honestly, I didn't find the prime meridian to be so terribly exciting. Actually, I'm pretty sure that I spent more time trying to find somewhere to sit out of the persistent rain than focusing on the significance of the piece of metal in the ground that represents 0 degrees and the start of the time zones.

So when did this most exciting concept hit me? Well, to be brutally honest, it was more my flatmate Kaitlin's idea than mine. After arriving back at our flat from the Greenwich excursion, she wondered aloud about the origin of the prime meridian and whether it was some snobby British gent who demanded that the prime meridian be placed in England, specifically Greenwich. This statement had my mind reeling and being the researcher that I am, I jumped onto the Internet immediately to find the answer. What I found was rather astonishing. It turns out, according to Wikipedia, that there have been many prime meridians over the years, not just in Greenwich, but it was US President Chester A. Arthur who organized a conference to decide where the prime meridian belonged. The attendees chose Greenwich partially because the Royal Observatory is perched there, but also because so many people already saw it as the location of this very significant landmark. While all of this is very interesting, my favorite part of the story is at the end. After the conference, most people accepted Greenwich as the prime meridian and began to place it on maps. All except the French that is, who continued to use the Paris prime meridian for generations.

I'm starving, who's for some freedom fries?

The Grass is Always Greener

While touring the Salisbury Cathedral with Katy, Lynn and Hugh today it occurred to me how much better everything sounds with a posh British accent. Hugh read us a letter from the 19th century that had been sent to the cathedral by a congregant, which contained the phrase "Mary Ann Smith slapped her in the face and called her a whore". Now, this sounded vulgar and slightly silly when we said it, but coming out of Hugh's mouth came across as more curious and lighthearted than anything else. His version resulted in the ladies and I being overtaken by an uncontrollable fit of the giggles.

Of course, Hugh is not the only one with an accent that changes my perceptions. Small children are possibly my most favorite of all. They just sound absolutely brilliant when they open their mouths and British accents fly out. I know this is ridiculous, but there is a part of me that feels like a four year old with a British accent is definitely more sophisticated, if not smarter than me. On the tube the other day, a little boy, probably no more than three, was sitting in a pushchair (stroller if you're in the US) when he turned to his mother and very nonchalantly asked "Mummy, do we need to go on anymore trains today?" I know reading the phrase doesn't do it justice, but with his tiny voice and perfectly rich accent, he may well have been reciting the numbers of pi or delivering a monologue from Richard III.

Needless to say, I have been practicing my accent like mad and when I return to the States will immediately begin to speak that way and try to convince everyone that I've always had a British accent, but they just never noticed.

A Spot of Tea

I just returned to my flat from an afternoon tea at the British Museum and have only one thing to say. That was a lot of food. Now, I am an eater. I don't just like food, but rather, I can out eat most full grown men and still have room for dessert. A large meal is nothing foreign to me, but this was still a lot of food. Perhaps I shouldn't have eaten the remainder of my goldfish crackers while taking a load off in my flat around 1400, but I didn't think a handful of those orange, crunchy wonders would effect me in the long run. I was sadly mistaken. I understand that typically one tea service may be shared by two or three people, but this was still a ton of food.

After stuffing myself beyond full, I began to ponder the heaviness of the offerings, wondering how anyone can eat that stuff and then go on with her day. I know many foods in the US are terrible for you, e.g. Taco Bell, Pizza Hut and a million other options, but yet we don't have items like clotted cream, which could probably cause major arterial blockages from simply a spoonful. How healthy are people who live here anyway? They may not appear to be overweight, particularly in London, but yet they eat tons of toast slathered in butter and pies for every meal. Are they all walking around town with svelte bodies but insides that are curdled with milk solids?

It's the Little Things

More and more every day, I notice how many architectural details exist around London that people may never even pay attention to, especially tourists who are so busy looking at the big picture. It seems as though no space was wasted in the creation of this city, be it the base of a lamppost or the keystone of a doorway. While some neighborhoods around where I grew up have attractive streetlamps, none of them are carved with the intriguing characters found here.

 Even the smallest, most typically overlooked parts of buildings are adorned with some type of writing, sculpture or design. One of my favorites is definitely the downspout I noticed while waiting to enter Westminster Abbey. What at first appeared to be seemingly typical turned out to be truly unique.

During our tour with Hugh the other day, I became enamored with the decorated keystones above house doors in Bedford Sq. Obviously, keystones exist not to add beauty to a doorway, but to prevent the arch of that doorway from crashing to the ground. Why not add a bit of drama?

Flat Gia's First Day in London

On this, my fourth day in London, I finally decided to let my puppy Gia in on the fun. Unfortunately, she was not available at the beginning of the London coach tour this morning, but eventually popped up a bit later, first posing in a booth where British guards typically stand.

Later on, she decided to check out the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace, first viewing the procession of the soldiers down the road and then heading around the side of the courtyard to get a broad view of the event. She even managed to sneak under the fence when no one was looking.

Lastly, she decided to get up close and personal with Big Ben during an afternoon jaunt down by the Thames where she took in the full experience of being at the waterfront.

Let's Pack it All in

Today was a day about packing in as much as possible. This morning revolved around the Bloomsbury walking tour with Hugh, who was brilliant. My favorite photo was not of him, but of a great juxtaposition between posh London and the individuals who chose to let it all go.

During the tour at Bedford Sq., I noticed a doorway that much reminded me of home and my parents' backdoor that is sadly a bit off. Generations of wood expanding and contracting with the weather will do that to you.

                                                                         

So Much to See, So Little Time

After much walking early this afternoon, Katie and I ended up in Leicester Square, an area I adore because I am a huge theater fan. I immediate headed toward the tkts booth to check out the discount ticket situation. Tkts hold a near and dear place in my heart because I have spent many a Saturday afternoon at its Times Sq. sister eagerly scouting out Broadway deals, so I felt it absolutely necessary to grab a picture of myself there.

I cannot wait to head back there on a weeknight to get my hands on a 50% off ticket to something packed with British flavor, such as "Oliver".

Let the Fun Begin

After a 6 hour red-eye flight where I was lucky enough to have a row to myself which allowed for plenty of sleep, I was incredibly excited to be back in my beloved London. Navigating the transportation available thanks to the Heathrow Express was a cinch, as was grabbing a taxi, even if the queue was quite extensive. The rude awakening did not occur until after I grasped in my hand the small, brown envelope containing my swipe ID and flat key. With all the enthusiasm in the world, I grabbed by luggage and headed for my building, only to come face to face with one of the narrowest and steepest staircases I had ever encountered in my 28 years.

With all the strength I could muster, I trudged up three flights of those suckers, stopping constantly to prevent myself from falling backwards, which would have put a serious damper on this three week adventure of mine. Once I successfully completed my trek, I discovered that my flat is located at the top of the building in what feels very "Harry Potter" under the stairs broom closet, but in a good way.

After unpacking and taking a much-needed shower, I headed out with a couple other ladies to explore the area a bit. What a wonderful neighbourhood we are located in, with tons of shops, eateries and cultural locations. We are only two blocks from the theatre that is showing "We Will Rock You". It does not get any better than this.

On Your Mark...

I'm excited to finally be prepping for London, with the first round of packing completed and my mascot almost done. I have decided to bring a picture of my dog pasted onto a piece of cardboard that will be attached to a stick because it's the closest thing I have to bringing her with me. I look forward to ending up with some great photos of her at the Eiffel Tower as well as other famous touristy destinations.

As I packed, I had to keep reminding myself that this is only a three week excursion and that I do not need my entire summer wardrobe and that washing machines do, in fact, exist on the other side of the pond. Hopefully, I will get my over-packing under control before these new airline checked luggage guidelines take me for all I'm worth.

Having not been back to London since I spent a semester there in 2003, I cannot wait to dive back in and explore even more than I did previously. I am particularly excited to visit many tourist destinations that I missed last visit due to the amount of time I spent in class and interning outside of London, which limited my exploring opportunities.