Perranarworthal, Penzance, and The Lizard

Spontaneous road trip? Don’t mind if I do. Here’s how it went down. Claire, Sophie, Alina and Michael got in a rented car. I have adequate manual driving skillz but an inability to follow a map or grasp the concept of driving on the left side of the road. Mike has adequate map-following skillz but less manual driving practice. So we tag-teamed. A few problems with this: I was driving but didn’t know where we were going. And the steering wheel is clearly on the wrong side of the car. Which means that every time I went to shift gears, I ran my hand into the door. And every turn causes anxiety because the traffic is all going THE WRONG DIRECTION. This is a country of madmen!

Eventually, after a few wrong turns and about 1,000,000 roundabouts, we got our group safely to… Perranarworthal. Yep. It’s a real place, and yes, I spelled it correctly.  It’s in Cornwall, which means Cornish Pasties. And the sea. Anyway, back to Perranarworthal. It is an exquisite (in a dollhouse sort of way) village set into the hills. Hydrangeas spilled out of every garden and the grass was so plush I very nearly started eating it. It was spongy and each step left an impression behind. I could have walked on it for the rest of my life. But enough about the grass.

 After the stop at Perranarworthal we headed toward Penzance –as in Pirates of –via Helston (I’m looking at you, Smith family and BBC aficionados everywhere). Somehow along the way we turn a wrong turning and ended up in… The Lizard.

in case you doubted....

Despite its bizzaro name, I had a feeling that The Lizard was going to surprise us. And it did. With Keynance Cove. This is seriously beautiful coastal country, people.

 After that, it was off to Penzance –as in Pirates of –and pub food.

 and the hostel of all hostels. and Communion at St Mary’s. and Cornish pasties. and Saint Michael’s Mount at low tide. When the tide comes in, the causeway is covered, so you've got to have good timing. which we do.

  and then STONEHENGE.

yep. I took this bad boy.

which was unfortunately closed by the time we got there. but we were still excited, obviously.

And that is how Claire, Sophie, Alina and Mike drove across the country, got locked out of Stonehenge, had many contiguous conversations and pastries, met Cornish peoples, and discovered a veritable gem in the heart of The Lizard.

Lessons Learned

Gentle Readers, as I have now been here for over a month, the time has come to reflect on what I have learned. Months, like many things that start with “M,” such as mirrors and mud, can be highly reflective and useful for looking around corners. That being said, I will be reviewing 8 lessons that I have learned. Feel free to jot these down for when you come to visit.

 

Lesson 1: Look right. No matter how insistently the street visually warns you to look right, sometimes it is not enough to counter 22 years of looking left. It also doesn’t help that none of the cars on the road have drivers. Just a passenger. Clearly they should not be moving, but they are. (In case I die by being struck down by a rogue driver-less car because I didn’t look right, I want a pipe-band at my funeral.)

Lesson 2: Look right twice. Sometimes even though you do look right, there are these buses that have a strange ability to sneak up on you. My theory is that there is a bus training complex that grooms giant, double-decker, red buses into giant, double-decker, red, ninja buses. You wouldn’t guess it from their size and ungainly flat front, but these ninja buses can appear out of thin air without making any noise. In summary, look right twice unless you want to be assassinated by a double-decker ninja bus.

Lesson 3: Not every old lady you see is Judi Dench.

Lesson 4: Not every old man you see is Gordon Brown.

Lesson 5: “Pop into the loo” before you leave anywhere. It can take a long time to make it from Point A to Point B and this is not a land overflowing with easily accessible public toilets.

Lesson 6: Listening to Beyonce can fix… a lot of stuff.

Lesson 7: There comes a time when you have to throw some elbows. Let me set up the scenario for you. Commuter rush hour. Bond Street Station. You didn’t realize until the last second that this was your stop. And there is a humid mass of humanity between you and the closing train doors. Here’s what you do. Grab your bag, clutch it to your chest, yell “excuse me” in a pseudo-British accent, press forward with your shoulder first, prying people apart with your elbows (think like a wedge. this is key), mind the gap when you finally tumble out onto the station platform, readjust your shoulder bag/regain your dignity.


Lesson 8: Reading the Morning Metro over somebody's shoulder in the tube is not a good way to stay current on world events. Apart from the obvious difficulties, "ah man. i wasn't finished reading about The Girl Who Eats Bricks," the British don't seem to ever write about anything relevant. Not that it isn't informative and conversation prompting. "No. way. Another rutting stag attack in Bushy Park? That's the third this month. This is becoming an epidemic!" "Oh good. That poor old lady's spaniel came back. It swallowed a conker, apparently. Thank goodness it is alright." You see what I mean? But somehow I can't seem to stop myself doing it.

And there you have it. Clear as mud, right?

Haggis Nips & Tatties

Yes. I went to Scotland. Yes. I ate several helpings of haggis nips & tatties. Yes. I loved it. No. I did not know what it was.

But back to the topic on hand: Scotland. A country inhabited by the most hospitable people I’ve ever met. And such nice accents, too. The visit consisted primarily of walking. Walking the Royal Mile up to Edinburgh Castle, walking in the footsteps of William Wallace....

walking to the Royal Botanical Gardens...

walking off our city map and walking up Arthur’s Seat for some spectacular vistas...

 then walking back into the city and walking into a crowded pub where I ordered a round of ginger beer, fish and chips and haggis nips & tatties. I just can’t seem to get enough of the stuff.

To top off the whole weekend, I spent the train ride back to London reading Emerson’s Essays. Being abroad has brought out an insatiable appetite for American philosophy and literature. So here’s to a little bit of transcendentalism in the heart of the motherland!

And in case I have piqued your imagination I will divulge the secret of haggis, compliments of wiki:

Haggis is a dish containing sheep’s ‘pluck’ (heart, liver and lungs), minced with onion, oatmeal, suet, spices, and salt, mixed with stock, and traditionally simmered in the animal’s stomach for approximately three hours.

I had sneaking suspicion, so I didn’t ask what it was until after my last serving. 

Welcome to London. Welcome to the blog.

So here it is, homeboys and girls, the inaugural post of my latest blogging escapade. Let's hope it isn't the last.

First order of business: bidding all of my lovelies farewell. And here they are:

Ladies... there are no words. Thanks for the loads of support, friendship and love. Our years together were formative ones, without a doubt.

Next order of business: moving to London. No big D. All you do is: get on an airplane, leave half of your stuff behind because your bag it too heavy, sit in the Houston airport and cry for the good memories you are leaving behind, catch another flight, collect your luggage, talk to customer service about the suitcase that was lost, hire a cabbie named Steve to take you to West Hampstead, frantically try to call your new roommate from Steve's phone because the apartment is locked and nobody is home, sit on your baggage on your new front porch hoping it won't start raining until somebody comes to let you in, and fight the jet-lag.

While sitting on your luggage in the damp London air is a good time to ask yourself why your house looks like this:

when your neighbor's house looks like this:

Then you realize that you don't mind much because you're a student, the rent is cheap, and besides, your neighbor doesn't have THIS bad boy:

That's right, ladies and gentlemen. The view from my roof comes with patio furniture. And I love it. Late night bowls of cereal on the roof? I think so.

Now, on to the next items. School. It takes me 40 minutes to get from my house to school. I time it everyday. Or, if you prefer, it takes me from Chris Brown to Jay-Z on my favorite playlist. 15 minute walk to Finchley Station, change from Jubilee Line to Central Line at Bond Street, take the Central until Tottenham Court Road, walk 5 minutes to no. 30 Bedford Square. It looks something like this coming around the corner:

Then as you approach you will be able to take in the lovely front door of Sotheby's Institute of Art, London.

Guess this is home for the next year.

Now for the rest of the details. Lists of important people.

Teacher: Lis Darby.

Classmates: Amywren from Michigan, Sophie from England, Ezgi from Istanbul, Noura from Saudi Arabia, Jan from England, David from California, Sunny from Canada, Williams from Italy, Lindsay from Baltimore, Helena from Spain, and Claire from Idaho.

Roommates: Larissa, McKenzie, Asha and Megan from Australia, Celine and Sophie from France, and Claire from Idaho.

Church? Only sacrament meeting and Relief Society. Sunday school? Canceled until our building's renovations are finished. They just started work.

I love my life.