Good morning! Woke up half an hour ago and am about to go running. Today, we’ll be visiting Westminster Abbey. Maybe I’ll actually try to dress nice, apparently we’re getting our photos taken.
Good news is that I bought some batteries at the Tower yesterday, so I can use my digital camera again!
Anyway, thanks for reading. I’ll be back later!
After visiting the museum, we had lunch on the lawn outside, during which time we were watched from the window by some weird museum-goers as we munched our sandwiches (I went with ham and cream cheese today, one of the more normal available options by my standards).
It was cool to eat practically against the remains of the original London wall, which I read a bit about in Peter Ackroyd’s London: The Biography. The wall appears and vanishes at random throughout the city, some slices in stone, some in refurbished brick; the whole thing seems pretty odd to me, but the citizens move by these crumbled ruins without so much as a passing glance.
At the risk of sounding like a Big Amurican Turist, I submit that Wall Street does, also, pay homage to its U.S equivalent: Wall Street. Just look at these dapper folks.
Lots of photogenic buildings as well.
Even the Starbucks here are amazing.
We have yet to ride one of these double-deckers, but I love looking at ’em.
Sir Christopher Wren’s gold flame-topped Monument to the Great Fire of 1666! At 202 feet high, it’s the tallest isolated stone column in the world. Here it is, all 311 steps of it!
We climbed every one of them.
For our efforts, we were rewarded with this unbelievable view.
For the record: if you go up, don’t look down. I probably spent 600 years retaking this photo because my hands were shaking and making it blurry.
Then, back to Earth! Lots easier, but it’ll make you dizzy.
P.S. Don’t forget to check out the engravings at the base!
After the Monument, we hit the road (sidewalk, rather) and moseyed on over to the Tower. Lots of sights here. And LOTS of tourists.
Have I mentioned how much I love Brandy?
Followed by… the Tower Bridge!!! (Fun fact: this is the bridge that the kiddy song “London Bridge” actually refers to.)
Storming the tower!
I get really excited about lighting.
DRAMATIC LIGHTING.
The Tower of London: What ominous secrets lie herein…? LENS FLARE. DUN DUN DUNNN.
And then we wait in line to see the Crown Jewels.
There is a guard outside. I briefly contemplate how terrible a guard I would make, being incapable of suppressing laughter at anything. I even laughed thinking about it. I’m laughing now.
Sadly, photography is not permitted inside this exhibit. But I suggest visiting it. My favorite pieces were probably King Henry VIII and Queen Victoria’s crowns. I also liked the gold platters. One piece that’s no longer in use but was once enjoyed at post-coronation feasts was a huge gold punchbowl. It was insane. I could bathe in that thing.
So then we were free to split off and explore. Which I gladly did.
These dudes were just all over the place.
“Please move to the side, lady!” they told Ivy, a girl from Houston, as they approached her from behind.
“Lady?” she hissed to us. “Not even ma’am?” Personally, I was hoping for something along the lines of “duckie” or “love.”
After a visit to Bloody Tower and a look at the various torture methods employed there throughout history (nothing to photograph, really), Brandy, Ivy, and I decided to check out the Fusiliers’ Museum.
Thought this was pretty. A silver wine cooler presented by King Henry VI to Colonel Lord Frederick Fitzclarence for his Regiment’s exceptional service.
A British Army winter uniform!
King George V, Colonel-in-Chief of the Royal Fusiliers, in uniform. Looks like a pretty fun guy.
Here’s Brandy trying on the Fusiliers’ pack, used for operations. The one on display was on a quarter of the real thing’s weight, and it was still nearly impossible to lift for everyone who we saw tried.
There was an entire room dedicated to medals.
Major John Andre’s last words really struck a chord with me. (Also, the blurb about him involved a recalling of his service during the American War of Independence. This was interesting–the British take on the war sounded just a smudge different than the American version I’ve grown up with. Y’know, I’ll just include that for you too.)
Here’s the hall. Reverent pictures of war heroes, one and all.
And, of course, a snapshot of the costumed staff! They were very distraught by the drizzle; I think they were off to hairspray their wigs in this photo.
All around, a great day!
Wow, such a busy day.
We kicked things off with a drive to the Museum of London, on the way to which I made sure to get a few photos.
I didn’t like the look this duck was giving me.
I’m obsessed with the architecture here. Charlotte’s certainly has some stylized elements, but this is a whole different ballgame.
We passed Buckingham Palace at one point and saw the guard advancing toward us. Definitely one of those crazy “woah, I’m actually here” moments.
Oh, and look, you can kinda see the London Eye!
Eventually, we made it to the Museum, my need to pee eradicating my capacity for any other thoughts.
…Except how adorable these little British schoolchildren were. I feel like all the students here have uniforms!
Plus the accents make them a hundred times cuter. The diversity over here is crazy, they all sound so different.
After I’d established a sufficient level of pedophiliac creepiness and endured inquiries in the vein of “Aren’t you cold?!” from my peers (I was in a T-shirt and Norts and, no, I was not cold, but I was prepared for the 66 degrees that the weather would summit later that day), we entered the museum in groups of two and three.
I got a little carried away with reading student-authored poetry in the early Roman Empire exhibit, and was quickly separated from my group. On the bright side, this have me ample time to drag along at my own pace (that is to say, press my face to the glass and revel in every dust mite and dirt clod trapped in the exhibition cases).
The cool thing about the Museum of London (one cool thing about the Museum of London) is that the exhibits move chronogically, one after the other. So, you begin with a thrust back in time, to about 2000 years ago, and as you make your way around corners and down the stairs, winding through halls and walls and rooms and capsules and miniatures and models and artifacts, you bear witness to London’s growth and expansion during the Civil War, the Great Plague, the Fire, even through the 70s, 80s, 90s, 2000s. And it’s dynamic too. There are videos and buttons, rooms where holograms dance in perpetual, hypnagogic masquerades, a Victorian abbey complete with invisible, clopping horses and the distant groans of a bell tower. Although the sheer volume of information seems a bit submersing (after all, London’s history is a weighty one, and even a native or annalist can find themselves gasping for air), it proved my favorite location of any we’ve visited thus far.
So, without further ado… PICTURES!!!
Above is a quote I liked. Still epitomizes the essence of London, I think.
Below is a miniature model of the Rose Theatre during building in 1587, which may have been the completion year, although some sources also suggest that construction was under way through 1592. It was the first theatre on Bankside, in Surrey (near where I am!), and resembled existing animal arenas. At only 72 feet in diameter, it was a cozy space for performances, and records show that it may have even had capabilities for double-leveled staging, the likes of which are called for in shows like Titus Andronicus. (I just like theaters okay?)
Below is a representation of what would very well have been a 17th-century London merchant’s living room, complete with furnishings typical of that status of household. This would have been a pretty wealthy one, as indicated by the silver, pottery from Southwark, wall tapestries, rocking horse (which would have been painted), oriental carpets on the tables, and the like.
I really geek out over these room representations. They’re like open houses. But from, like, hundreds of years ago. Like… what? Think about how cool that is for a second. Just think about it.
Here’s a quote about the Great Fire I liked. There was a whole portion of the museum dedicated to this event. I peeked my head inside one of its rooms and noticed that a video about the fire was running from an overhead projector, seeming to relay it sequentially, hour by hour, while a miniature of the city below the screen mimicked the fire with glowing red lights. I didn’t stick around too long because the room was packed pretty tightly but it looked awesome.
“Wrap her stately head in clouds of smoke and sulphur.” Not bad, Evelyn, not bad.
Below is a description of the first exhibit downstairs, which focuses on international relations throughout history. I found it sort of poignant.
I quickly rushed off to the masquerade room. (That isn’t what it’s called but the actual name escapes me.) This was really cool, if you’re interested in historical fashions like me, because it’s set up to resemble a foggy, candle-lit courtyard, with dark, faceless figures encased in glass and sporting traditional gowns and suits and other costume wear. However, some of the figures are, in fact, not encased in glass, and I nearly broke my leg fleeing the supposed advances of one of the exhibit’s “escapees.” Word to the wise: watch your step. Figures will emerge at random from the darkness.
In one part of the museum, old prison walls had been removed from their original homestead and placed on display.
I don’t know who this Edward Burk character is, but he’s got better penmanship with rocks on wood than I’ve got with actual pens on paper.
The antique watches were a big point of engrossment for me.
Over the course of 30 years, by 1776, the price of each watch was reduced from £20 to £2 merely through the institution of “division of labor,” by which individual parts were passed from craftsman to craftsman before a final push to the finisher, and then the retailer.
Nikes versus the classics. Who has the upper hand on fashion? Er, foot. Haha.
Please laugh, I spent like 10 minutes coming up with that.
A musical clock by George Pyke that plays 10 different tunes by use of an organ within. The clock incorporates moving painted gears that, when activated, produce an elaborate scene involving a dog swimming after a duck, a water-wheel, ships, and three workmen engaged in heavy labor.
This Spitalfields silk mantua belonged to Ann Fanshawe, and integrates 14 different colored threads and four types of wires. The designs represent her father’s trade as a merchant and brewer.
Silk weavers of the time were poorly paid and politically active. They often organized protests and riots, but those for whom they produced their goods (like Ann) hardly ever interacted with them directly, instead dealing with the silk mercers, so they were at least not well-aware of the struggles faced by their weavers.
Ah, yes. After reading up on the fashion community, it was time for a little stroll through Victorian London.
First, I stopped by the merchant’s office.
He wasn’t in.
I decided to take my money elsewhere. So, I plodded my way down to the Pawnbroker’s shop. I’d really been aching for a fiddle. Or a spoon.
The door was locked. He too must have been away. Perhaps in the crystal showroom? I peeped inside.
No one. This was absurd. Typhus was going around, I didn’t have a lifetime to wait around to be served.
I squinted into the window of a widow a block or two down from the pharmacy. (Could it be… a retro blogger?)
I ended my investigation at the toy shop. Verdict: these creepy dolls probably killed everyone.
After my adventure in Victorian London, I stumbled across an eight day regular clock from 1860, which displays the times of 8 different cities and was shown at the 1862 International Exhibition.
Then, luckily, I bumped into Brandy, who had also become separated from her group (for similar reasons) and empathized with my desire to take everything in at a leisurely pace. And she also snapped a shot of me in front of a cool old-timey London carriage. (Hey mom, dad… new car?)
We made our way through the decade collections. I was pretty pumped about the 70s installment.
Groovy.
Also, the Olympics volunteer dress for Danny Boyle’s opening ceremony: yay or nay?
Regardless, I did appreciate the inclusion of this portion of British culture. I was one of those people who skimmed on watching the Games when they aired last year, so it was nice to go back and be a part of that today.
…And then we were done! London’s history, beginning to end, all experienced in one culminating hour. More or less.
Up next: London, the Monument, and the Tower!
We are at the Museum of London right now. The ride here was long–about 2 hours–but worth it because we had lots of exposure to sites we won’t see later on. I’ll upload the photos I snapped in a few hours, the process takes much too long here.
Got up this morning and ran 2 miles. It was great, but my calves are killing me. Breakfast was a nice reward, though. Croissants were available at the buffet today, and they were warm and soft and amazing. My only complaint is that the blueberry muffins that have become my favorite breakfast choice were not available. They’re just SO GOOD.
We’re about to leave for London again, and our first stop will be the Museum of London. I absolutely can’t wait. I will also be looking for some AA batteries for my camera during the day. Otherwise, I’ve been trying to conserve my money–haven’t spent any yet! (If I know you personally, beyond the bloggers’ microcosm, please email me with a gift request. I am not a very good shopper and will probably buy you something dumb without guidance.)
We also just received another sheet of events!
Be back later!
Almost forgot. For those who are interested, here is the overview we received outlining British history, and the monarchy throughout the years. (Have a look, fellow “Dummies”.)
Bonus! Here is the map of London we’ll be using this week. Several locations we are going to visit are circled.
NOW I can sleep with a clean conscience. I’ll be back for more tomorrow!
First of all, I wanted to take this time to let my followers know that it would be totally okay–in fact, awesome— if you wanted to email me, maybe about your own experiences in London, misconceptions vs. realities, suggestions, recommendations, ideas for blog posts, things to look out for, stuff to eat, places to shop, gift ideas, cat videos, etc, etc, etc. I’d really like to open up the conversation and hear from you all. I mean, it’s really exciting to me that one person is reading this blog, let alone… more than one. So please feel free to talk to me about whatever: mackieboo1996@gmail.com. I’d love to hear from you!!!
In any case, unfortunately my blogging has been so excessive today that it seems I’ve run out of time to use the track, so I’m opting instead to get a little more sleep. I was really tired today.
So, can’t wait to run this in the morning!
Goodnight! (And to everyone back in Charlotte, have a good evening!)
So today was amazing. Our first stop was the National Gallery, where I wanted to take pictures, simply because the architecture is, arguably, just as incredible an achievement as the artwork. I found myself drawn particularly to the floors, which were adorned with huge, intricate mosaic images inlaid by tiles that couldn’t have measured more than a square centimeter each… although I suppose that unit of measurement is moot here. Anyway, we were split into three groups of five and six, and presented, in separate sessions, with a bit of background on several paintings, including “The Execution of Lady Jane Grey,” seen below. The picture really does not do the original painting any justice. Standing in front of it is a totally unreal experience. Take a close look at some of the smaller details: the strings of pearls, the fingernails. Insane.
The painting depicts Lady Jane Grey, a 16-year-old young woman who reigned as Queen of England for only 9 days, in a flimsy attempt to maintain support for the Protestant faith, before being replaced by Edward VI’s Catholic half sister Mary and beheaded at the Tower of London the following year. Behind her are her ladies in waiting, Sir John Brydges, the Lieutenant of the Tower, who is directing her to the execution block and likely hearing out her last will, and the foreboding executioner, his axe gleaming and gaze hauntingly apathetic. The straw beneath the execution block, a point of interest to many viewers, was meant to soak up the blood. In fact, the beheading took place outside, as was custom at the time, but Paul Delaroche, the artist, chose instead to render the scene inside the Tower, successfully concocting a far more ominous tone than would be wrought by a landscape of grass and trees, and also allowing Lady Jane Grey’s dress and blindfold to serve as standouts against the bleakness of the dusky stone. Delaroche even visited the Tower during his lifetime in order to study it firsthand. This painting is so popular that the adjacent floor actually has to be varnished more than any other in the room, let alone the museum, due to shoe scuffing.
We also received a bit of background regarding William Hogarth’s “Wedding A-la-Mode” series, below.
I’ve always been “keen” on these linear collections that can be read as if as comics. This one in particular was a satirical take on aristocratic society–in particular, the marriages within that society. Hogarth takes an impersonal narrative perspective, guiding the viewer through an 18th century soap opera-esque tale of adultery and corruption.
In the first painting, the Earl Squanderer settles on an exchange with a wealthy merchant. The deal? His own daughter’s matrimony to the merchant’s son for a sum of money. As the two discuss the exchange, Silvertongue–the family lawyer–whispers to the daughter, as the Earl’s son–the Viscount–admires his reflection in the mirror. A hideous growth is seen protruding from his neck, a common symptom, at the time, of treatment via mercurial pills for venereal disease. The dogs chained together in the foreground are often interpreted as a symbolic device, intended to foreshadow the marriage.
In the second painting, the two have been wed, and their dog sniffs curiously–perhaps suspiciously–at the Viscount’s pocket, where a woman’s cap has been carelessly stowed after a night spent in a brothel. The merchant’s daughter is seen stretching and yawning after hosting a card party the precious evening. The couple’s butler is seen striding out of the room, towing stacks of bills and throwing up his hands as if in frustration. The house is clearly in utter disrepair.
The third painting depicts the Viscount with his young mistress, consulting a French doctor regarding alternative treatment for his disease. The mistress, in addition, has presumably contracted the disease herself, as the woman assumed to be her mother stands to the left of the Viscount, wielding a clasp knife, her face twisted in anger.
The fourth painting follows up with an image of the merchant’s daughter, now a Countess due to the death of the Earl; she is surrounded by posh new company–an assortment of party-goers at left. Silvertongue points to a sort of diagram of a masquerade to which he is inviting her. The scene implicitly suggests an affair between the two.
In the fifth painting, Silvertongue is seen making a hasty escape from the window of the bagnio (sort of like a motel of the era) to which he and the Countess have retired after the masquerade. The Earl has been stabbed by Silvertongue after following them, and the Countess begs on her knees for forgiveness just as the Watch and master burst in to investigate the commotion.
Finally, in the sixth painting, the Countess is dead, having swallowed a poison upon hearing of the Viscount’s execution on the grounds of accusations that he killed the Earl. The Countess’s daughter hugs her, the mark of venereal disease on her neck. The merchant is seen removing the Countess’s ring for his own financial gain–a notable reflection of the first painting which brings the entire series full circle.
After walking around the gallery a little more on our own (I spent a substantial amount of time admiring “Psyche Showing Her Sisters Her Gifts From Cupid,” a 1753 work by Jean Honore-Fragonard that looks something like this…
…only in person the colors are far more vibrant.)
We ate the lunches we packed outside in Trafalgar Square, people-watching and trying our hardest not to feed the pigeons. I had a turkey and cheese sandwich, enhanced with a sweet pickle spread. The taste was unusual for me, but it wasn’t bad! Soon after, a small group of us took a loop around Chinatown, passing the Odeon and–whaddya know!–a bust of William Hogarth in Leicester Square, as some students went to exchange money and boost the credit on their cell phone plans.
Afterwards, it was back on the bus and over to Tate Gallery, where we split off for a short while, then congregated once more in our smaller groups to receive some insight into “No Woman No Cry,” a painting by Chris Ofili, which is propped up, in the room dedicated solely to 90’s pieces (this was my favorite section), by two cubes of elephant dung, symbolic of Ofili’s African heritage. (One thing I really appreciated, in addition to the exclusive exhibition of works by British artists, was the division and organization of pieces into separate rooms based on the decade of completion. It was interesting to cross through a threshold and see an evident shift in style and/or subject. Even just over a century ago, tons of artists still aimed to emulate those of the Renaissance era. Crazy to see how far we’ve come in so little time, right?) Here’s Ofili’s painting.
This is one that I really had to cozy up to to enjoy. Once you get up close and personal, you notice a lot of little details that get lost at a distance: for instance, all those little dots making up the woman’s skin? Those aren’t just painted, they’re three-dimensional. There is sheet upon sheet of pattern layered behind her too, some in acrylic paint, some in oil, paper collage, pins, resin. There are even splashes of glitter and pieces of elephant dung mixed in. And it almost escapes you, if you’re not being especially probing, but there are faces in the woman’s tears.
The story behind this piece is actually kind of a tragedy. It’s a nod to Stephen Lawrence, a teenager who died in a racially-instigated murder. (The woman depicted is his mother, and the man in the tears is Lawrence.) Only recently did the police’s investigation methods emerge, along with the truth about their own institutional racism. Our guide described this as a shock to the British public, as the modern police force has always been seen as, well, anything but a force. I hadn’t been aware if this previously, but they don’t even carry guns. A member of law enforcement could very well be one’s friend or neighbor. It was difficult for Britons to grasp the idea that something insidiously oppressive could be stirring within that system.
After we left the Tate, we again boarded the bus and I contemplated how great it is that neither gallery we visited charged an entry fee. I can’t name a single museum in Charlotte that’s free. Soon after this thought arose, just about everyone fell asleep, including me, while I attempted to engage my attentions in this week’s “Economist.” This made me 10,000x more tired than I’d been before, so that was a mistake. (Fun fact: the most effective power nap length is 20 minutes.) I woke up as we pulled into the campus parking lot, and everyone went their separate ways.
At about 6:30, we had dinner, and then we had an hour and a half-long discussion with Mr. Worthington about the plan for tomorrow (visiting the Museum of London, St. Paul’s Cathedral, the Monument, and the Tower), and to give us some context for the experience, we also heard a little bit about British history, from the Tudor period to Britain’s joining the European Union, and all the royalty in between. I’ll post that chronology in just a minute, plus some photos taken today.
It’s somewhat later than would be ideal for me to get everything done that I’d like to, but I’m hoping to tack on four more miles to my two from this morning, and also read some of The Fault In Our Stars, since I didn’t get the chance to last night.
Well then, prepare for lots of pictures!
Good morning! It is 6:45 here in Surrey and 1:45 over in Charlotte. I have this image of my dad’s BlackBerry buzzing in the middle of the night to alert him about my early posts, and I really hope nothing along those lines is happening to anyone.
So now I’m just sitting in the common room, listening to twangy jazz music drifting from the open door of a school administrator’s office and waiting for 7 so I can go out and run. My legs are really sore, but I’ve always been okay with that feeling, knowing that it means something wonderful is happening under your skin.
Had some very weird dreams last night, but I guess that’s what I get for drinking Twinings’s “Orange, Mango, Cinnamon” brew before bed. “A moment of calm,” the packet advertised. False. A moment of screaming baboons and hovering heads of British monarchies, and other such chaos. I’m telling you, they were some very weird dreams.
Brandy is still asleep. She told me last night that she was getting up at 6. I asked her what she would be doing for the hour and a half before breakfast, particularly considering that she can’t run, having recovered from a serious ankle fracture only about week ago. “Math,” she replied. Math? What freaky alternate dimension are you living in that you’d rather do math than sleep in? I guess she sided with me over her alarm clock.
Wish I could shower after I run but I don’t think I’ll have the time… I’m also a little disappointed that I won’t be able to take pictures in London today because my camera is low on battery and I’m not sure how to charge it, or if I even have the charger with me.
I’ll check back in as soon as I can.
Since you haven’t heard enough from me about my day yet.
Hm. Where to begin? Picking up where I left off, the “walk through the common” to West End was unbelievable. I mean, the trail was beautiful. As one of our supervisors remarked, it’s not everyday that you find huge, winding nature trails available for public use in the US, but this one was open to anybody and everybody (and their little dogs too). There were hundreds of trees, and the range of species was crazy. Some of the hills alongside dropped off into hundred-foot ravines, and you could see through the forest to the sweeping landscape of striped fields and scattered farmhouses below. (My severe compulsion to pee during the entire hike was, unfortunately, somewhat distracting, but as I was blessed upon my conception with the bladder of a rodent, I have experienced many hours of training in the field of “holding it,” and was able to do as much.)
Once we made it to Winterdown Road, some of us clutching our crotches and frantically bouncing in place, the steeples of small churches and equestrians on whizzing bicycles (cycles, scratch the “bi”) had risen into view, and we crossed the street and split up for half an hour to explore Garson’s. It was a great site for photo-taking, a fact to which both the readers of this blog and followers of my Instagram feed can (begrudgingly) attest. So I spent my time walking around a glorified grocery store with my camera slung around my neck, shamelessly embracing my role as The Tourist, to the annoyance of a cashier and several jam enthusiasts. And it was pretty great. They had these Lindt truffles the size of my head, literally. I considered buying one before realizing that I a) had no money on hand (primarily to prevent myself from making terrible investments like this), b) did not yet have enough knowledge of dollar/pound equivalency to confidently make a purchase, c) did not need any more food, and geez, chocolate nonetheless, and d) could not transport it home without it melting/breaking/being confiscated by some well-intentioned uniformed authority/etc, etc, etc. Sorry, Anabel. It would have been for you.
Oh, while I’m making direct acknowledgments, let me say this: PLEASE, PLEASE DO NOT text me while I am here in the UK. Believe me, your gluten-free-vegan cuisine buffet business proposals mean the world to me, but they rack up about 10 bucks per message. So please do not send them. (That means you, Sofie. Although the buffet idea sounds awesome. We should definitely discuss it when I get back.)
Anyway, after the walk back to campus, we had an hour and a half of free time. (And yep, I blogged.) Then it was time for dinner, which was followed by dessert–bread pudding, which I’d never tried, but liked, but would probably not pick out of a dessert lineup. And afterwards, we had orientation for tomorrow and a brief overview of future excursions. One supervisor (I promise I will learn all their names at some point!) recommended that we watch the BBC’s “Pride and Prejudice” in the television-furnished common room, but if the dated tale of Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth’s love/hate relationship didn’t turn the group off to the notion, the length–an excruciating 300 minutes–certainly did. So I went outside and ran about three and a half miles on the track (on which the shepard’s pie I had for dinner seemed eager to join me), and then came back inside. Once I finish this post, I’m going to go throw on my pajamas, pour myself some tea in my complimentary British flag-printed mug, and curl up in the main common room with The Fault In Our Stars. I’ll be in bed by 11 at the latest, and up at 6:30, ready to run at 7, eat breakfast at 7:30, pack a lunch, and spend a day in–yes!–London!!!
…Which we heard plenty about this morning in our Geography and Economy lectures. These were actually really interesting, and NOT just because I’m a freak who likes lectures. The professors talked about things like why it doesn’t get as cold in London as it does in, say, Chicago–despite its location 51 degrees north, just south of the Hudson Bay and way north of Ottowa and Montreal, the Gulf Stream warms the region… which–fun fact–is so intensifying the amount of sugar in the grapes growing in places like Champagne that that the alcohol levels are becoming too high for marketing, and thus more land for orchards is being purchased in other places like Cornwall. Apparently, our generation might very well see a huge shift in the alcohol industry during our lifetime. They talked about the possibility of Scotland’s leaving the UK after only about 150 years of unity, and what that may mean for Great Britain: Should the militaries be separated? Should the use of pounds be continued or should there be a shift to euros? And what about the EU application process? Much of the focus of these information sessions was the global interactions in which the United Kingdom has participated. So, there was discussion of African revolutions which were rooted in London, the United Kingdom’s vision of Japan as a gateway to the Atlantic and the consequent treaties between the US, UK, and Japan that opened markets between the three, and then the consequent Boxer Rebellion. There was discussion of opium sales to the Chinese, of the integration of Jamaicans into the British economy, of the migration of Pakistani citizens into East End, of Communist conferences hosted in unassuming London businesses. The British sales tax–20%, value added–was mentioned, as well as the items exempt from this tax, including baby clothes, books, and newspapers. The economy professor even raised a few existential questions with his suggestion of the opportunity cost of contemporary American society. “America is moving toward gated communities,” he declared. “Is the trade off of affluent society a sense of anxiety?” I’d never considered this.
Okay. I’m being told to go to bed now. Wow, I’ve been sitting here forever. So I leave you tonight with this quote by Oscar Wilde: “We have really everything in common with America nowadays except, of course, language.”
Goodnight, all!
mackie abroad 