Advice From a Non-Brit to Non-Brits

Alright – here we go – second semester. I resolve to write more, travel farther, and to continue my unbroken streak of consuming the equivalent of my body weight in Americanos each week. To start things off, and in honor of the highly esteemed Tyler Kibbey/best friend dropping in later this week (it’s his first time in the UK) I’ve compiled a short list of need-to-knows for anyone visiting Merry ‘Ole England for the first time.

Also to be read as “Lessons I’ve Learned the Hard Way.”

Stormy Skies

Exactly halfway through the fall semester of every English university’s academic year is a week officially known as “Reading Week.” As the name suggests, Reading Week is an entire week granted to students that is free from lectures, seminars, essays, and otherwise official duties, with the intent that students will use these seven days to catch up on required and recommended readings for the courses they’re enrolled in. In reality, it’s a full week for university kids to do whatever the hell they want, wherever the hell they want, while visions of sugar plums and academically responsible students dance through their professors’ naïve little heads.

The Journey So Far…

A roughly chronological compilation of happenings this semester. Enjoy!
Song is “Wanderlust” by Frank Turner.
itunes.apple.com/gb/artist/frank-turner/id108696785

Cliff Walking: A Narrative

This past weekend I joined the University of Manchester’s International Society on a day trip to the Isle of Anglesey in Northern Wales. Cutting right to the chase – this trip affected me. We saw nothing surprising, we did nothing extraordinary, yet the feelings I experienced at certain points on our excursion across the island were nothing short of religious.

To best relay the essence of these experiences, I’m going to attempt to – in utmost detail – repeat and relive one of the first stops we made during our tour of the island. Our group was only given one hour to explore, but the profound beauty of our surroundings was so intense that I refuse to leave them unremarked upon. Below is a description of the walk I took and the things I felt, and, although views and emotions were borderline indescribable, I’ve done the best I can to do them the justice they deserve.

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Something Familiar

There’s a saying that goes, “Every now and then when someone’s body enters the world in one place, their soul enters it in another.” If this has happened to you, then you already understand me. The unavoidable magnetism of another culture, a landscape that stirs something deep in your bones, a foreign land that you slip into as easily as a second skin – these are all signs that part of you is whispering, “Hey look, we’re home.”

The City of Manchester: An Overview

“Cities have the capability of providing something for everybody, only because, and only when, they are created by everybody.” – Jane Jacobs

The sky is its usual sheet of gray, but these days it feels more like a big, soft, protective blanket than something sad and oppressive. A light patter of rain drizzles down, always present but never quite heavy enough to get me wet; the gentle coolness it brings feels fantastic through the thick sweatshirt I’ve bundled myself in. With quick steps I keep pace with the crowd swarming down the sidewalk alongside me and push deeper into Manchester’s city center. It’s a Saturday and, since I’m all caught up on homework and have nothing else planned, I’ve decided to grab my camera and start really exploring the metropolis that’s now my temporary home.

Source: Google Maps (click to view larger)

We Are The Travelers

We are the travelers.

We are the surf and the brine, the wind in the trees.

We each carry our own universe inside of us, our Northern Lights spilling from our eyes and solar winds bursting from our lips. You will know us when we walk into a room. You will know us because you can feel us. Feel the pounding of the blazing sun throb with the beat of our blood, rocking your soul and shattering the earth you stand upon.

Upon Arrival

“So what’s it like over there?”

“Well, it’s definitely very British.”

It’s officially been three full weeks since my arrival in Manchester. Wow. So far my time here has been a mix of ups and downs, rain and sun, burnt toast and delicious, Middle Eastern street food. My perceptions and expectations of “studying abroad” have undergone a major overhaul, both for the better, and for the worse.

A month ago, the phrase “study abroad” conjured up mental images of wild, exotic places and experiences. Listening to someone talk about their time away always seemed to involve stories about getting lost with cool foreign friends in a beautiful city, getting drunk off foreign liquor at wild parties, and, of course, becoming ridiculously entangled in a steamy and fantastical love affair with a suave local.

I’m discovering that the reality, as it usually is, is quite a bit different.

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Canals, Alleys, and Wine! Oh My!

“Hey, you’ve been to Venice, right? What should I do when I get there?”
“Anything you want, just stay away from the tourists.”

Back in the spring when I began to look forward to the start of university, I realized that after my summer job ended there would be a gap of almost six full weeks before school was set to start. The extra money I would end up making over the summer coincided nicely with this gap period, and I resolved to make the most of it.

But what to do, exactly, with this free time? Since I was already heading to Europe for my exchange program, I decided it was high time to start an exploration of the continent so much of American culture seems to stem from. Because I didn’t want to accidentally blow too much cash before the academic year had even begun, I decided I would spend a single week in one of Europe’s more well-known cities, instead of scrambling around the countryside trying to cover as much ground as possible. So, the final question: which city would I choose? I created a list of some of the most clichéd destinations in Western Europe, and after much deliberation made my choice.

As it does with most people, Venice has attracted me for as long as I care to remember. For centuries it has ranked decisively amongst the top travel destinations in the world for obvious reasons; the virtues of Venice’s twisting alleys, vaunted history, and trademark canals have been extolled ad infinitum (ad nauseam). The postcard industry alone has likely made billions off the city whose images are some of the most widely circulated in contemporary western culture. So, after extensively researching flight and lodging options, I gathered every bit of excess cash I could spare and, one week before I was due in Manchester, set out for the City of Masks.