Nearly a Month!

I am remiss. I should have said many things in the past, uh, month. But I have been a bit busy in the mean time, I assure you. So, a recap:

I got home, safe and sound; British Airways again delivered good food, and fabulous movies. My time at home was filled with visiting relatives and friends, and somewhat stunted. I arrived home on May 2, very late, and departed on May 19.

This time, I flew into London, and didn’t continue on to the continent. Instead, I found myself in a rental car with my parents, struggling to stay awake as we headed to Wales.

I should explain my newfound fascination with Wales. I’m of Welsh descent, and of all my ethnic extractions, it’s the one I cared least about. I mean, it takes a lot of effort to be Irish and English, keeping up with all that history, and the folk songs and traditions. Not to mention the cultural tensions. And then, I had the whole Polish thing; defending my heritage from those who would mock me. Doesn’t leave much time for Wales, which hasn’t been to verbal in the last few centuries to make me take notice.

And then came Russell T. Davies, and his new “Doctor Who”, and spin-off of “Torchwood”. Now, I’ve been a Whovian for some years, and really love the old series and its endless quarries; but the new one seems to find it necessary to highlight Cardiff, and all of “Torchwood” is set in Cardiff. My interest? Piqued. And that’s how I found myself in a hotel in Bridgend for four days.

The second day (because the first never really counts), I saw iron works and the Big Pit coal mine. The second day was Cardiff city, including the Doctor Who exhibit. The fan girl in me giggles at the memory. Third day was Swansea and castles, and Arthur’s Seat. Fourth was Caerphilly and driving back to England and Swindon.

I remember lots of sheep and rocks from the country, and the simple beauty of the place. I really did love Cardiff, and would love to go back for an extended time. Much as I love London, Cardiff is just so much calmer and easier to live in, I think.

Which brings me to now; I’m in London, in the little one room apartment I get to myself for the next three weeks. I arrived last Sunday to start my second study abroad program. I get to stay settled in one city for a month, and really get to know London.

It’s been a busy week. I’ve been up early and home late everyday, and each day is packed with walking tours and shows and all sorts of goodness. It feels as though I’ve done so much I could never really catch up on everything, and certainly not tonight. I have to be up for a Stonehenge excursion early in the day, and I’m feeling a bit under the weather at the moment. Could be all the rain, or any number of things, like my lack of proper rest these few days.

I’ll give a better update, and my feelings on being back here soon. Suffice to say, I’ve seen David Beckham live, and on the day of his 100 caps. Life is good.

I'm Going to Go Back There Someday

This is it everyone, the night before I fly home to the United States. It’s hard to believe that it’s been fourth months (well, close enough) in Europe. I’m still not entirely sure that I had classes. I have a few memories of wasted hours spent staring at a blank document for some “assignment” to remind that I did have academics demands on my time.

Now, as I sit in my room, all of my very heavy luggage waiting downstairs for the morning bus to Milan, I keep thinking back on all the things I’ve done, the things I have yet to do, and the changes that occur within a single semester.

Living in Riva has been very much like living in a bubble; news from the outside world reaches us through the internet and e-mails from home, and none of us are terribly rigorous about reading the news, much less talking about it. I see the same group of people everyday; 27 other students, three teachers, an RA, and sundry architects circle around us, but this group of 27 was together quite often. Too often some might say; I’m surprised by the way this semester has ended or the friendships that exist. I have learned over the years that pledges of parties and constantly hanging out and eternal friendship usually end as lovely memories and broken promises. High school taught me that lesson three years ago.

In the end, I don’t truly think much about the changes of group dynamic or friendships made and broken over a given span of time. I’m thinking more about how I have changed since January. I remember visiting Nice that first weekend in February; that was the first trip I took while here, and the first time I had ever arranged for a hostel or train transport. I was travelling with two people, and I couldn’t say I knew either one very well. Looking back, I was so tentative about that trip, and so ill-informed.

At dinner the conversation tended towards packing; I have never taken a trip in the United State without a reasonably sized suitcase for checked luggage, no matter the duration of the trip. Now, the thought of taking something larger than a backpack for a weekend, or even four days seems so excessive. How could I possibly need so many clothes for such a short time? Even while packing today I had to throw away my normal pack-rat tendencies. I’m still wondering if I should go back and throw out more items.

I know that the "me" going home tomorrow is different from the one who left in January. There’s nothing quite like a semester in foreign lands to force the maturation process in humans.
I know that Saturday morning I will be thrust back into reality with acres of paperwork and other responsibilities and pressing concerns. Until that time, I have a full day of travel to isolate myself with the in-flight entertainment, and the rest of tonight to consider the semester that has passed and the person I have become.

Here’s to hoping that British Airways doesn’t strike tomorrow.