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First Week First: Mosque Tour

Ready for a heavy post? Then let’s talk about religion!

I don’t consider myself to be religious by any means, but I freely admit that my life has been directly and indirectly shaped by Christianity because I went to a Christian school from kindergarten until I graduated high school. Retrospectively, I realize that I lived in a bubble because everything was explained as either being done by God or done for His benefit, and bad things were routinely swept under the rug. That may work in some circumstances, but it’s a hard pill to swallow when considering wars, natural disasters, oppression, and the other blights on our history (such as the idea that slavery wasn’t all that bad because some owners taught their slaves how to read the Bible, which then led to the slaves’ salvation! I can’t tell you how many times this one was shoved down my gullet).

I never fully subscribed to the concept of Christianity as it was taught to me, but it was a fine model for the first 18 years of my life. Until I started asking questions about things I saw in the real world--people actually cheat on their spouses? Steal from their loved ones in order to fund their drug habit? Good people die for no reason? And so on...it just didn’t make sense anymore. 

*enter rough segue here*

Like most people I know, my first introduction to Arabic culture and Islam as a whole was due to the events of September 11, 2001. This ethnic group and religion--of which I had previously been completely unaware of--suddenly became the enigmatic personification of evil to a country that was devastatingly broken. I never harbored any ill will against them myself because I knew I didn’t entirely understand what was happening, but I certainly heard shocking opinions from the people who I was around the most (my staunchly conservative, immigrant grandparents).

*Another rough segue*

I read an article some time ago that encouraged travelers to visit a house of faith while abroad. Having been to Europe a couple times before, I’ve seen my fair share of cathedrals. And really, they’re a dime a dozen. But how many mosques had I been to? 0.000. Isn’t it ironic that one of the largest mosques in London is just around a couple corners from the flats?

I’ve tried my best, but I’m not able to precisely explain how my visit went. In a word, it was revealing. The woman who gave me an in depth tour of the complex was incredibly kind, as were 99.8% of the other members I encountered. I was greeted as “sister” and I could tell that people viewed me as someone who may not believe they same things they do, but I was respectful and open to learning about it all the same. I’m sure it helped that I set 2 rules for myself before going:

1. Come correct. I covered as much skin as possible, and asked if I should wrap my hair. The woman said it wasn’t necessary, but I was absolutely willing to do it if I had to.

2. Take off my dirty ass shoes. I know about being barefoot on holy ground, but I think I took this to the extreme. I should’ve apologized to the woman for my incessant and varied “Should I take my shoes off in this room?” questions.

In all, it was a very eye opening experience. The woman was patient, explained the five pillars of Islam, and let me ask her any questions that I had about the religion, practices, and facility. I obviously didn’t walk away knowing everything about Islam, but I know enough now to realize that the garbage I heard my entire life was indeed garbage.

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Quotes

Neverwhere

“When you create yourself from scratch you need a model of some kind, something to aim towards or head away from--all the things you want to be, or intentionally want not to be” (424).

This quotation absolutely resonated with me. In terms of growing up but also being a parent, so much of what you are and do is in response to what you’ve seen or learned from others (for the umpteenth time in the last few weeks, it’s the concept of tabula rasa again!). You take bits you like, refuse to do some of the same things your parents/friends did, and somehow you fashion your own way in this world. 

“And it came to him then, as clearly and as certainly as if he had been watching it on the big screen...:the rest of his life. He would go home tonight with the girl from Computer Services, and they would make gentle love, and tomorrow, it being Saturday, they would spend the morning in bed...” (388)

I’m just giving the lead into the paragraph, but it’s the one in which Richard realizes that although he desperately wanted to return to London Above, returning wasn’t an option for him. A ‘normal’ life was boring and unimaginable after the escapades he took part in in London Below. I liked this idea because it seems like so much of life is simply living up to the ideas and expectations that society and our families have crafted for us. His moment of resolution, self-discovery, and ultimately deciding to leave it all behind really is quite magical.

A Monster Calls

“Many things that are true feel like a cheat. Kingdoms get the princes they deserve, farmers’ daughters die for no reason, and sometime witches merit saving. Quite often, actually. You’d be surprised” (64).

In general, I really liked the monster once I came to understand the story. About 90% of what he said warranted attention, but for sake of brevity, I’ll just reference this one. This quote was a straightforward reminder that life just fucking sucks sometimes, and for absolutely no reason at all. Shit goes sideways, but we just deal with it because nobody ever said that life would be fair. It’s an incredibly painful, but humbling realization.

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Reflection 9

Reflection 9: It’s the last day (nearly), you’re packing your bags, we’re heading out.  Using “packing” as a metaphor, what about your London trip are you “packing” to bring home? What’s different about you (as a person, as a student, as a traveler)? What will forever be in your London suitcase? When do you think you’ll take those things out and use them in the future?

 Strangely enough, I don’t think that the city itself impacted me as much as the experience of roommate life did. As I’ve already mentioned, I went from living with my mom to living with my husband. I get the house to myself a few times a year when Cole’s gone on training missions or is deployed, but this time in London has been unique to me in that I’ve never lived with a “stranger” before. It’s had its ups and downs, but above all, I understand the value of living in this sort of environment. I’ve noticed more about myself in terms of how I (prefer to) experience life, things I don’t like, preconceived expectations I had, things I found to be awesome, and so on. It unfortunately isn’t something I can really take with me so to speak, but it is an experience I won’t forget.

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Reflection 8

You’re finishing week three in London and, sadly, we’re heading home.  In your daybook, make two lists: “Things I will miss in/about London” and “Things I will not miss in/about London.”  Why did you add some of those items to the list?

 Luckily for me, I’ve still got some time to galivant before heading back to my real world. But alas, my time is abroad is also coming to an end.

 Things I’ll Miss:

·        Public transportation

o   While the system doesn’t come without its flaws (I guess maintenance is kinda necessary), I will absolutely miss the existence of a relatively easy to navigate and effective method of public transportation. Not having to drive for the last three weeks has been divine.

·        Tea

o   I drink tea at home all the time, but it’s not the same. Having the scones and tarts is an event, and I wish it would’ve taken hold in the States. Like the Spanish siesta, it’s a built in relaxed part of the day that I feel American culture is in desperate need of. We’re constantly running from place to place and doing errands and things that we don’t take the time to simply exist.

·        The Good Smells

o   This may be an odd thing to comment on in a city, but let me explain. Smell is one of my strongest senses, and as such, I sometimes feel like I’m tapped into a slightly different experience than others. I don’t just notice a smell; I fixate on it. I have to figure out where it’s coming from. I’m essentially a bloodhound.

o   Big cities tend to smell like ass, and there’s no two ways around it. Industrialization, food waste, exhaust fumes, body odor—it’s a blend that is sometimes hard to stomach. Not here! London is filled with some of the most pleasant smells and it genuinely took me aback.

§  Parks: It’s almost enough to see a pretty flower or statuesque tree, but to have smelled them without getting right on top of them is something that amazed me. Take the first Sunday at Regent’s Park. I could literally smell the roses from feet away. And even up close, they were delicate, light, and beautiful, which I’ve never experienced anywhere else. I don’t know how to describe American flowers and gardens as anything but heavy. The scent seems shoved directly up my nose as opposed to merely being if that makes sense.

§  People: This is definitely in my top 3 likes about London. Rush hour on the Tube was absolutely one of my favorite times of the day because people smelled good. And not in the “I showered this morning, but I’m a little musky now” kind of way, but “I just sprayed expensive perfume/cologne on because I don’t want to oppress the noses of others while we’re jammed against each other on the Tube” kind of way. It’s a level of awareness and (un?)intentional consideration that I am genuinely going to miss.

·        The Weather

o   I need to write a bestseller and become a millionaire so that I can escape to England during the summer months. No bugs and temperate weather? Say less; I’m here for it. Do I really have to go back to the swampy, sticky, hot pocket that is the American South—at the end of the July?? Please say it isn’t so.

Things I Won’t Miss:

·        The Food

o   Unfortunately, the food was not as amazing as I expected it to be. Part of me hates to realize how dishes have become Americanized, but the other part of me really likes sauces and seasonings. I also miss cooking in my own kitchen and turning out a hearty, healthy meal. Vegetables. Oh my god, don’t get me started on what I’d do for some real vegetables.

§  I’m not against it as an ingredient, but why is mayo on everything here?

·        The Cost/Conversion

o   Living in a city ain’t cheap, friends. I’m looking forward to returning to my usual budget-conscious meals and way of living. Also, since I’m the least competent mathematician, I hate looking at prices and trying to figure out how much I’m actually paying in American dollars.

 I’m not necessarily ready to leave, but I am ready to get these small pieces of normalcy back.

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Reflection 7

You’ve been in London for two weeks – two amazing, jam-packed weeks.  In order to begin synthesizing your experience, go back through your daybook entries and highlight 5 – 8 key learning moments for you: these could be surprises, moments that were unexpected but from which you learned something new; these could be moments when you didn’t so much learn something new as you re-thought something you already knew, or perhaps moments when you simply stop to reflect a bit about how you have seen the world and wondered where your values/beliefs came from.  Write a brief reflection on these moments to connect them, or to show their ongoing disconnections (300 or so words). Be prepared to share one or two of your learning moments in class this week.

One of the things that really surprised me was the discussion of ghosts and then ghosts and disability. It wasn’t until Dr. Kitta and her friend talked about the presence and absence of certain demographics in ghost stories that I realized I had never considered that anomaly before. There were far more working class people in Victorian England than upper class or nobility, yet the stories of the well to do have not only molded our perception of what a Victorian ghost is/looks like, but they have also excluded the stories of others. That’s still incredibly shocking to me because considering the stories of these working class people, it would seemingly make more sense that their stories of trials, tribulations, and terrors would be “better material” for hauntings. I’ve been into ghost stories and hauntings for many years, but this phenomenon absolutely never occurred to me. I’m still shocked.

The tie between ghosts and disability was interesting too. It’s not a full surprise to me. I know that these two have been linked together for ages (by disability, I’m referring to the belief that seeing ghosts is related to mental illness), but being here has allowed for a different interpretation. In some cultures, having supernatural gifts is something to be revered. However, here and in the US, people who claim to have these gifts are often questioned or believed to be crazy. For example, homeless people are viewed as being irresponsible or lazy when that isn’t always the case. Not having access to the help they need results in a cruel cycle of poverty and ostracization. It really is heartbreaking when you take a step back and look at the whole picture.

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Reflection 6

Our second week in London, we added to our study abroad theme by exploring “monsters.” As you reflect on week two, the monsters we read about the ones we discussed, the ones we saw on stage the last two weeks and the ones we dealt with individually while being in a different place (London, Edinburgh, Amsterdam, Paris, Stratford, etc), what is the most salient thing you’re taking away from our discussion and exploration of monsters/monstrosity? Be sure to reference the article on monsters, as well as some of the plays, poems, or novels we discussed.

To me, monsters fall into a category of things that are rooted in misunderstanding, confusion, fear, or hatred. In A Monster Calls, Conor’s monster was more than a physical-ish manifestation who told him stories. He was the embodiment of a complex feeling of loss, sadness, and pain at the realization that he would lose his mother, which Cohen details in his sixth thesis: “Fear of the monster is really a kind of desire.” Conor avoided acquiescing to those feelings and desires, and thus his monster is created. In Strange Fruit, we’re confronted by the monster that is Errol. He is a cruel bastard with a penchant for being nasty to the women who have done nothing but love him unconditionally. The reason for his monstrous behavior is summed up in Cohen’s third point: “the monster is the harbinger of category crisis.” Errol’s (and Alvin too) inability to find a place of belonging and acceptance among people who he believed would take him in explains why he lashes out against his mother and Shelley. That is the only way he is able to retain some power that has been effectively stripped from him.

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Reflection 5

After a week and a half in London, what has gotten “easier” or more “natural” for you as you live here? What do you find yourself doing differently from back home? Are there things you like more here than at home? Are there things about home that you enjoy more? That you miss? Try to imagine, as well, if these experiences were more dramatic — because of not speaking the language or having very different food interests, religious values, etc — how would you cope?

Pros: I may be biased, but I think I’m a pretty damn good traveler. I believe that I was meant to live in a city because there are certain city skills that I’m particularly good at: following a map, navigating public transportation, finding a good restaurant off the beaten path, interacting with strangers, etc. I come alive in a bustling, vibrant setting such as this. It’s funny because I’ve never actually lived in a city where I’ve had to use these skills, but they really do seem to come naturally to me. Probably because I find some sort of comfort in discomfort. I’m not afraid to try new things, get hopelessly lost, or talk to strangers. People have referred to it as fearlessness, but it’s definitely not that. While my choices and nonchalance may seem capricious, I promise that a calculated sort of caution does occur behind the scenes. Like anyone else, I do fear unknowns—but I don’t let that stop me from living. That balance of curiosity and caution gets easier as I become more familiar with the city.

Differences: With that said, a lot has changed between how I live at home compared to how it’s been here. Since I don’t get to FaceTime with my husband and son until early in the morning my time, I feel like I’ve been having 29 hour days. It’s exhausting. Also, I’ve only lived with my mother and then my husband so living with two roommates has been a different experience. A good one!—but still different. If I’m being honest, I’m a bit cleaner/more organized with strangers than I am at home, which is something I’ve come to appreciate (and will hopefully try to implement when I get back).

Cons: The difference of American vs. “British” (British as well as the other ethnicities like Thai, Japanese, Lebanese, etc.) food has been my biggest struggle. I was unaware of how much seasoning or flavors find themselves into US products before we even open them. For example, cooking a meal I’ve made 209 times at home didn’t taste the same here because I couldn’t get the exact same products that I’m used to. At home, I never add salt to any meal, but I find myself dumping ungodly amounts of it onto the food here. Sugar too. Now, I have had some bomb dishes here—I really have—but for the most part, it’s a 50/50 toss up of if I’m going to like a dish or hate it. Aside from the obvious things (my husband, son, bed, animals, and kitchen), I’d say that I miss the certainty of getting good food at home.

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Reflection 4

During week one of our trip, we asked the question, “What is the ‘supernatural’ and what (if anything) distinguishes it from the ‘natural’?” After a week of thinking about the books and articles we’ve discussed, the plays we’ve seen, and the experiences you’ve had around London, what ideas/issues around the supernatural/natural do you find most engaging?

To me, the concept of the ‘supernatural’ has been coming to me in the forms of race rather than in things that are other worldly. While London is an incredibly diverse and multicultural city, it’s fascinating that certain areas don’t have as much of a representation as others. It seems like one’s ethnicity binds them to certain areas—people of Asian descent mostly congregate in Soho, West Indians in Dalston or Brixton, Indians around Brick Lane, etc. There isn’t as much of a fluid, heterogenous mixing throughout as I anticipated, which is again weird considering how diverse London is as a whole.

Disability is another means by which London has allowed me to experience the ‘supernatural.’ I take my health for granted, I do. Having seen people deal with varying afflictions and illnesses has reframed my own concept of a normalized, ‘natural’ state of being. I can’t quite put my finger on what makes it so different, but from what I’ve noticed, people who have disabilities seem to be more equipped to handle life here than they are in the States. For example, I saw a blind woman with her small child on the Tube some time ago. She didn’t have anyone with her to help her, yet she was perfectly able to maneuver her child’s stroller on and off the Tube without any assistance from anybody (as well as navigating through the station). However, the person that stuck out to me the most since I’ve been here was a man I saw at Wimbledon. I’m not entirely certain what his condition was, but if I had to guess, I think he may have had cerebral palsy. Like the blind woman, he did not have anyone with him to provide any assistance either, but he also didn’t seem to need it. Even more surprising to me was the fact that he had to wait in the long queue of people just like everyone else. I expected him to have been quickly ushered through ahead of everyone else, but he waited in line just as long as I did.

I appreciate seeing the difference in perception here because it seems like the UK does a better job of providing disabled people with the means to be self-sufficient. These “supernatural” beings are allowed to have agency and autonomy over their lives, and it’s been really nice to witness.

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Reflection 3

You’ve been in London for nearly a week and walked more than you probably ever expected to.  Look back at your first daybook entry (#1 above) and at your reflections over the last week — how have those guesses at London and initial experience changed? Have they? What’s the same, what’s different? Why? Create another 300-400 post in your daybook that reflects on these experiences

You weren’t kidding about the walking! I’ve always known that most European cities are typically easy to navigate on foot, but I must admit that I’ve been hoofing it a little more than I thought I would (this has been on my own volition; don’t feel sorry for me). Thank goodness for comfortable shoes, am I right? In all seriousness, it’s been really nice to get out and just walk around the city though. It’s something I’ve really enjoyed and will deeply miss when I leave.

All in all, I’d say that my assumptions about London were pretty spot on. The food has been more miss than hit, but that’s not to say that it’s terrible—just different. The people have been fine, but three weeks in, I’m still looking to have a memorable interaction with a native. I’ve met a handful of interesting people in that time, but nobody has really struck me as “that” person yet. Here’s to hoping that I bump into them soon.

Funny enough, it hasn’t really rained while I’ve been here. I think it rained overnight once during the first week, but I don’t count that. I know that it rained the weekend I went to Paris, but again, I can’t count that because I didn’t see it myself. Temperature wise, this place is one of the best locations I’ve ever spent a summer in. Aside from the weekend in Paris and one fluke day in the city, the London weather has been incredibly perfect. Clear skies, highs in the mid 70s…I don’t wanna go back to the Carolina heat!

Anyway, I’m glad I came on this trip. I got to finally meet my professors, socialize with my classmates, and experience a city that had been on my bucket list for as long as I’ve had a bucket list. I like it here.

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Ghost Story: White Witch of Rose Hall

So…since the British Empire has touched pretty much everything, I don’t mind pulling a ghost story from my family’s Jamaican folklore. In short, Annie Palmer (a white English woman) moves to Jamaica, marries a man, kills him, and takes control of his plantation. She gets up to knocking boots with the slaves—as you do—and murders them until (depending on who you ask) one of them either chokes her out in her sleep or pushes her over a balcony. She allegedly still roams the halls of the plantation to this day.

https://theculturetrip.com/caribbean/jamaica/articles/who-is-the-white-witch-of-rose-hall/

It’s a story I first heard when I was really little, but it’s stuck with me ever since. The funny thing is that there’s a huge resort in the area now. Like many other tourist traps, the story and plantation have been turned into a capitalistic venture.

It’s interesting because it ties back to the idea of Dr. Kitta’s friend and our guest speaker saying that ghost stories typically represent one type of ethnic group. Although the slaves are central to the scariness of this story, their ghosts are largely absent or forgotten. Despite the cruelty the slaves suffered, it is only Annie who is rumored to haunt the plantation. Interesting...

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Kew Gardens

So gardens aren’t typically my thing. I admire the beauty and delicacy of the greenspace, but they’ll probably never be my choice place of solace. That said, I was surprised by how much I fell in love with Kew. On the whole, that day was something I’ll never forget. Taking the boat down the Thames and listening to the unofficial history of the buildings along the banks elicited a surreal, “I’m really in London right now” affirmation.

Tag didn’t work out as well as we planned, but it was still a good attempt at fun. Even better, my flatmates and I got to have some personal time with two of our three professors. Badger burrows and felled logs will forever hold a place in my heart.

Tea was fun! That was my first proper afternoon tea, and honestly, it’ll be one of the things that I’ll miss most about being in England. I wonder how hard it is to make tarts…*looking up recipes*

And finally, a small thing happened at Kew that I still don’t quite know how to take. While enjoying afternoon tea with my classmates for about an hour, I got up and went to the register to pay. An older woman was sitting by the window and I couldn’t help but notice that she was staring at me. It’s honestly nothing new (especially here), and it really didn’t bother me…but then she came over to me. Since I’ve heard some sideways comments in my day, I didn’t quite know what to expect, but I didn’t think it was going to be great. It was though…?

“It’s nice to see black people in Kew.”

Uhm…what? Like, I get what she means and I appreciate her telling me how she felt, but it’s such a weird sentiment to say directly to someone’s face. It’s almost as if her being surprised at my presence reifies the fact that I didn’t “belong” there…although that’s literally the opposite of what she said. There wasn’t any sarcasm in her voice either; she smiled, and was as pleasant and jovial as could be, but still. It’s an offhanded compliment that I’m still wrestling with.

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The Shows

Now that I’ve seen the four required ones and Waitress, let me weigh in on my thoughts as a whole.

Top Girls: Didn’t like it. Aside from being hard to hear, I found it to be a little confusing and unresolved. I don’t see what all the fuss was about, but I also don’t regret seeing it. It was my first time watching a proscenium play/play staged in the proscenium fashion(? I have no idea what the correct terminology is, but you catch my drift), and that part I actually enjoyed. The sets were gorgeous, and actually my favorite of the five.

Strange Fruit: Heavy, but incredibly moving. Of all of the plays, I felt that I could relate most to this one because of my ethnic background. I also really liked the fact that it tied into my thesis. As a whole, the Bush Theatre was my favorite of the five we went to.

Midsummer Night’s Dream: I already bored you with how much I don’t like Shakespeare, but this production was exquisite. It modernized Shakespeare and made even an uneducated potato like me understand what was going on. And then to be in the world famous Globe is a point of awe in and of itself. Did I like standing the entire time? Not necessarily, but it wasn’t the worst experience in my life. I just wish I’d stood in the front as opposed to choosing somewhere that had a slightly obstructed view. But yes, the play itself was fantastic.

Present Laughter: Star quality. I was a little starstruck when I realized that Indira Varma (Ellaria Sand from Game of Thrones) was in it. Not that it didn’t have my attention beforehand. Overall, I thought that play was really well done. I wish I’d seen Sherlock or known of Adam Scott beforehand, but I still genuinely enjoyed the performance. My only drawback is that theater. The Old Vic is not conducive to people sliding by you without forcing you to stand up, and that really grinds my gears so to speak.

Waitress: Me and my love of smells couldn’t get enough of this one. The. Theater. Smelled. Like. Apple. Pie. I couldn’t handle it. Alright, olfactory stimulation aside; this one was incredibly humorous, and I’m so glad I went. I want to see the movie to compare them, but I’m already certain I’ll like the play better.

Hamilton: I go to see this one tomorrow and I absolutely cannot waaaait! I’ve been hearing about it for years now and it’s unreal that I finally get to see it (and for cheaper than I would’ve seen it in the States).

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The Peter Pans

Setting aside the fact that Peter Pan is a kid stealing, narcissistic asshole scamp, let’s talk about his statues. Starting with the worst—Kensington Gardens. I lied—let’s go straight to the one at Great Ormond Hospital. If read from the standpoint that Peter is meant to accompany children who had died or are dying to the afterlife, a part of me appreciates and actually likes the statue at the hospital. That Great Ormond is a children’s hospital can’t be overlooked. In that sense, he’s more of a comforting presence than a kid stealing, narcissistic asshole scamp, and I can tolerate that interpretation.

The statue in Kensington Gardens didn’t do it for me. I didn’t find it endearing in the least. Even worse was Cody sharing with me the fact that if you call a number, it’ll speak to you. It just creeps me out and makes me want to distance myself from the story even more.

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Wimbledon

Bucket list item: check.

I don’t remember how old I was when I was introduced to tennis, but I do know that it was by one of my favorite aunts. She explained the game to me and for some reason, it just stuck. I’ve been watching the 4 major opens (Australian, French, Wimbledon, and US) for as long as I can remember. Of those opens, Wimbledon has always been my favorite—the tradition and clean, crispness of the all-white outfits against the green lawn has always been tremendously beautiful to me. So since the stars aligned that I would be studying in London during Wimbledon, it was a no brainer. I was going and there were no two ways around that. And let me tell you something: it was an unforgettable experience.

Getting There

“It’s a Tuesday during the opening week. Nobody will be there!” I said. I was horribly mistaken.

I expected a line queue, I did. However, I didn’t expect for 9,736 people to be ahead of me. I’m usually a planner so I must first admit that this day was probably my worst day in existence. I didn’t have not a one thing together. Woman troubles, my phone wasn’t fully charged, no jacket—on the day when I needed to be the best, most prepared version of myself, I was the biggest mess I’ve ever been. It’s nobody’s fault but my own, but I quickly realized why my experience was more shit showy than that of others—I was basing my day off the abnormal days that others experienced. Of course it’s easy to score tickets when top seeds don’t make it through the opening rounds! That wasn’t the case this year.

Anyway, there I was in a queue of thousands on a field in Wimbledon Village. A part of me saw the line queue and figured I’d never get in, but I’m glad I stuck it out. It took two and a half hours, but honestly, I’m just so happy that I was able to get on the grounds. I may not have seen Serena play, but the entire experience was well worth the £25 and every minute spent waiting on that field in Wimbledon Village.

Takeaways

1.       Don’t go for the food.

 a.       “Mexican” burrito and Eton mess

 Granted, I didn’t go all the way out there just to eat a naked burrito, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t take a moment to explain just how bad it was. Pulled pork, tomato rice, cheese, salsa, avocado, sour cream, and lettuce are all the makings of a wonderful dish, right? Nine times out of ten, it usually is.

 Avocado is sometimes dodgy, so I tried that first. It was surprisingly delicious, so I dumped it into the bowl. That salsa though? “You can’t mess up salsa,” I said. For the 1283rd time that day, I was wrong. I didn’t taste it before I dumped it into the bowl and mixed everything together. I’ll never make another large scale mistake like that again for as long as I live. Instead of the stampede of savory flavor I expected, I got hit with what I now assume is standard British salsa: sweet ketchup with a few chunks of tomato sprinkled throughout. Disgusting isn’t the word and I’ve had a mistrust of tomato dishes ever since. While the dish was inedible even for dogs (who shouldn’t be eating tomatoes anyway), I think my biggest problem with it was that I spent £10/$12.54 on it. I’m still incensed.

 The Eton mess was another source of disappointment. Having seen it showcased on Wimbledon for the last 219 years, I knew I couldn’t leave without having it. It was alright at best, but that could’ve been for a variety of reasons. First, I got them in a grab and go rather than wait in another gargantuan line for the fresh version. I probably should have waited, but I rationalized that by sitting in the cream for longer, the strawberries would actually be better. Mark that down as another thing I was wrong about that day. The strawberries weren’t ripe enough and the cream…I don’t think it even had a flavor to be honest. Childhood expectation definitely did not live up to reality.

b.       Pimm’s

A classmate is particularly fond of Pimm’s and since it’s also a Wimbledon staple, I had to try it. My mouth and soul were still raging from the disaster of the burrito, but the Pimm’s more than made up for it. It was absolutely delicious. Super refreshing, especially on that sometimes warm, sometimes breezy day.

 2.       Make friends.

 a.       Queue friends

Thank goodness for queue friends. I’m not the type to live on my cell phone, but I definitely couldn’t have done it then because I somehow didn’t think I’d need a full battery for the day. Anyway, I lucked out. The group directly in front of me was a sweet older British couple and one of their friends. Listening to their previous experiences at Wimbledon calmed and reassured me that I’d be able to get onto the grounds despite the sheer number of people ahead of us. And the friend gave me one of her printed copies of the order of play for the day!

Two men from Hong Kong were directly behind me. I only really spoke to one of them, but he was also very calming. He told me about his past experiences, the weather in China, and offered me his jacket when it got chilly. I didn’t need it, but I appreciated his generous, chivalrous attitude toward this unprepared American.

Naomi was behind the men from Hong Kong, and she was the best. An Irish woman about the same age as me, Naomi and I had a decent conversation for the 2.5 hours we were with each other. She also gave me a particular woman’s item that I can’t thank her enough for. We hung out until we got onto the grounds and made tentative plans to meet later, but I never did bump into her again. It really is a shame.

b.       Megan and Aunt BK

After being assaulted by the salsa and saved by the Pimm’s, I meandered over to the infamous hill behind Court 1. You know the one where people gather and watch the coverage of the other courts on the large screen? I finally made it there! And it just so happened that I bumped into Megan, an American from Connecticut.

She was incredibly nice, funny, and relatable. We talked about Wimbledon, our families, our love of other sports, our backgrounds, our partners, etc. For all intents and purposes, I made a friend! And that’s usually difficult for me to do when it comes to women, but I did! I hung out with her and her 70 something year old aunt for hours, and my only regret is that we had to say goodbye.

 All in all, it really was a fantastic day. I learned a lot (get my life together before going), met great people, and had a really good time!

[chipsandscones]

Paris

I’m not exactly sure I should be covering this because it’s obviously not London, but I still think it contributed to my overall European experience. So here goes:

Myth: The French are a classist, nationalistic people who are rude and won’t speak to you if you don’t know French.

I had already busted that myth in 2005 and again in 2015, but I can now dismiss it with full certainty since I’ve collected enough interactions over the course of a weekend. The French are actually some of the nicest (and best looking) people I’ve encountered in a very long time. I’ll get back to that in a second…

But yes, speaking French would obviously have helped, but I didn’t feel that anybody hated the very essence of my very being because I didn’t speak their native language. If I’m being honest, I actually prefer Paris to London, language barrier and all.

Sites

In real tourist fashion, I tackled the Eiffel Tower, Palace of Versailles, Notre Dame, the Louvre, and Disneyland Paris in the span of a whirlwind weekend. It’s been a week and I’m still tired.

Eiffel Tower

I don’t want to say that I didn’t care about it beforehand, but I never quite understood the romantic allure. It’s a building…except that it’s not. It really is breathtakingly gorgeous. Literally. I gasped when I came up from the Metro and saw the top of it over the buildings near me. And then to see it lit up at night really was something I don’t have anything to compare it to. I’ve seen the New York skyscrapers and none of them did it for me like this one did. Well, One World Observatory was close, but even that was different. We didn’t pay to go inside/up it, but honestly, I think the better view was from the ground.

Palace of Versailles

I didn’t particularly care about this one. Opulence just isn’t for me. I would hate to live in an estate like that. People regard palaces as a place of power, class, and a symbol of “winning,” but all I see is a sterile environment where nothing is comfortable. We spent 1.5 hours in line (on white pavers with the sun beaming down from a sky with not one cloud in it) and about the same amount of time inside and I was not moved. It’s a shame because I really thought I would’ve been. 

Notre Dame

I would’ve loved nothing more than to have toured this cathedral. I remember reading about the fire in April and feeling my heart drop. We were at least able to see it, but I do wish the experience would’ve been different.

The Louvre

A lot of people told me that this wasn’t worth the visit. I’m glad I didn’t listen to them. This was the thing that I enjoyed the most, and I’m not usually big into museums, especially art! The best part about it was that on the first Saturday of every month, it’s open late and free. If it’s free, it’s for me. We waited for about an hour and ten minutes, but dammit if it wasn’t worth it! The art was astonishing, especially the statues. Don’t get me started on the baby choking out the swan. I can’t think or look at that picture without smiling. Aside from the greatness of the baby wrestler, I really was starstruck by being in the room as some of the most famous statues in art history. I’ll never forget that.

Disneyland Paris

I must preface this by saying that I’m extremely fortunate to have grown up in central Florida and to have always known someone who worked for the Mouse. I’ve been to all of the theme parks umpteen times and almost all of them were free. Not many have that experience, so I fully understand that I am incredibly lucky.

As a (somewhat) theme park connoisseur with a (kinda) specialty in Disney World, I will say that DLP was a nice park. I didn’t expect it to be a carbon copy of DW, and I’m really glad it wasn’t. There is some borrowing of themes and rides, but I see DLP as its own unique entity.

Some rides were better (and by rides, I really mean lines. The wait times were nowhere near as bad as they are in Orlando); some were different. The biggest takeaway is that the rides’ setup (where they pitch you the story) really can’t be taken as seriously in French. Darth Vader just doesn’t have the same power over me if I can’t understand what he’s saying.

I’ll say it: Paris gave me life. It’s never been a bucket list city, but I genuinely enjoyed my time there. I don’t necessarily plan on returning, but should the opportunity arise, I would absolutely take it.

Random bits

The train

Call it an American romanticizing an oddity, but a part of the trip that I really liked was taking the train to Paris. Yeah, we have trains in the US, but for certain geographic regions, they just aren’t a valid mode of transportation. Call me a sap if you will, but I enjoyed waiting on a platform, loading onto a train, and getting my ear drums blown out under the English Channel.

 The people

Back to the people I mentioned before. What I loved more about Paris than London was the fact that people approached me. Not that I feel uncomfortable in London (I don’t), but people haven’t initiated contact with me here like they did in Paris. After just 3 hours in Paris, an older French man held out his arm, encouraged me to take it, told me all about our future life together (2 kids and a beach house), and let me go after gently giving me 2 French cheek kisses (not to be confused with French kisses). I loved it. An older shop owner saw me marching toward him on the way to the Louvre and made a point to get in my way and dance with me. I can’t get enough of that, and sadly it hasn’t happened here. It may sound weird, but in most social settings, I feel like I’m viewed as a black girl, with all of the social apprehension and baggage that accompanies that. These interactions—the ones in Paris—make me feel human.

 PS. The food was waaaaaay better in Paris than it was in London.

[chipsandscones]

Poetry Anthology

In terms of poetry, I’ve been pretty unlucky on the Tube. I only saw maybe one or two poems the whole time we’ve been here, and I swear I was really looking for them. Alas, I picked some from the TFL website that resonated with me. Enjoy!

A Birthday

My heart is like a sining bird

Whose nest is in a watered shoot;

My heart is like a rainbow shell

That paddles in the halcyon sea;

My heart is gladder than all these

Because my love is come to me.

Raise me a dias of silk and down;

Hang it with vair and purple dyes;

Carve it in doves and pomegranates,

And peacocks with a hudred eyes;

Work it in ld and silver grapes,

In leaves and silver fleur-de-lys;

Because the birthday of my life

Is come, my love is come to me.

Christina Roessetti (1830 - 94)

To my dear and Loving Husband

If ever two were one, then surely we.

If ever man were loved by wife, then thee;

If ever wife was a happy in a man,

Compare with me ye women if you can.

I prize they love more than whole mines of ld,

Or all the riches that the east doth hold.

My love is such that rivers cannot quench,

Nor ought but love from thee give recompence.

They love is such I can no way repay,

The heavens reward thee manifold I pray.

Then while we live, in love let's so persever,

That when we live no more, we may live ever.

Anne Bradstreet (1612 - 72)

Anglo-Saxon Riddle

I'm a strange creature, for I satisfy women,

a service to the neighbours! No one suffers

at my hands except for my slayer.

I grow very tall, erect in a bed,

I'm hairy underneath. From time to time

a od-looking girl, the doughty daughter

of some churl dares to hold me,

grips my russet skin, robs me of my head

and puts me in the pantry. At once that girl

with plaited hair who has confined me

remembers our meeting. Her eye moistens.

from

THE EXETER BOOK

ANON. (before 1000)

translated by Kevin Crossley-Holland

Cradle song

lden slumbers kiss your eyes,

Smiles awake you when you rise;

Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,

And I will sing a lullaby,

Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

Care is heavy, therefore sleep you,

You are care, and care must keep you;

Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,

And I will sing a lullaby

Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

Thomas Dekker (1570 - 1632)

Her Anxiety

Earth in beauty dressed

Awaits returning spring.

All true love must die,

Alter at the best

Into some lesser thing

Prove that I lie.

Such body lovers have,

Such exacting breath,

Theat they touch or sigh.

Every touch they give,

Love is nearer death.

Prove that I lie.

W. B. Yeats (1865 - 1939)

from The General Prologue to The Canterbury Tales

Whan that April whith his shoures soote

The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,

And bathed every veyne in swich licour

Of which vertu engendered is the flour;

When Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth

Inspired hat in every holt and heeth

The tenfre croppes, and the yonge sonne

Hath in the Ram his half cours yronne,

And smale foweles maken melodye,

That slepen al the nyght with open eye

(So priketh hem nature in hir corages);

Thanne longen folk to on on pilgrimages,

And palmeres for to seeken straunge strondes,

To fern halwes, kowthe on sondry londes;

And specially from every shores ende

Of Engelond to Caunterbury they wende,

The holy blisful martir for to seke,

That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke.

(lines 1 - 18)

Geoffrey Chaucer (1340? - 1400)

[chipsandscones]

Day 4: Oxtail and Strange Fruit

I intended to stretch my legs and walk all over London today, but after a brief 1.6 mile trek to Dalston for Jamaican food, I called it a day--it didn’t help that getting turned around added another half mile to my journey. Anyway...I always order oxtail in order to feel a Jamaican restaurant out; either they’ve got the magic touch or they don’t. This place unfortunately didn’t, or at least not the kind of magic touch I’m used to. The people were as sweet as could be and the portion size was actually pretty decent, but something in the seasoning was off. There’s no need to go back because the city has a wealth of other options, but I would if I lived here, and that means something.

After a glorious nap, I headed out to Shepherd’s Bush to feel out the area before the show. The Shepherd’s Bush Market reminded me of little kitsch touristy areas in New York City (purses, knickknacks, outfits, luggage, fresh food, prepared food, etc.), and that made me think of the trip Cole and I took up there a couple years ago. But instead of sinking into myself and thinking about how much I miss my boys, I found a pub, got some cider and boneless wings, and chatted up the Canadian bartender. Push through!

Then comes Strange Fruit. Holyfuckingshit (sorry, professors). It’s intense, it’s provocative, and it’s heartbreaking. And relatable! Since I had just hashed out a thesis idea about race and identity with my professors the day before, it honestly felt like the play was performed for me. I saw pieces of my family (their heritage, culture, belief systems, and relationships) in the characters. Not things that were like them, but things that were them. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a strong connection to literature or theater before this, and I don’t know if or when I will again. For that, I’m eternally grateful to be here in this space and time to have experienced it.

Before I go, let’s talk about the space. Bush Theatre is a beautiful venue that allows for an incredibly intimate performance because seating is arranged on all 4 sides of the stage. I might not have been able to reach out and touch the performers at all times, but there certainly were times that I could. In addition to that, it was a very gender conscious facility. Maybe it’s because North Carolina is still in the shadow of HB2, but seeing a bathroom with the permissive foresight to ensure inclusion gave me an ooey gooey feeling. Sure, it may be “just” a bathroom, but of course, it’s not.