Clearly a Sign

From the Washington Post, the horoscope for the birthday March 20, 2010:

"You'll have the means to see more of the world this year. Moves are favored, as is travel, especially long distance. A change of venue brings something fresh and fiery to your personal life. Look for love where loving people gravitate, and you'll be basking in the affection of a very attractive someone this summer."

Now, I am by nature a vaguely superstitious person. I get a weird feeling when I step on cracks in pavement. I refuse to say the actual name of the Scottish Play except under very specific circumstances. I have few rituals that must be performed, but most were related to theatrical performances, and now that I spend less time in the theatre they have become unnecessary.

However....I do like my horoscope. I don't really jive with most forms of divination, but I like having a little note in the newspaper each day to justify why I do or not do things on my to-do list. And on my birthday I like to pay special attention. I mean, it's my birthday, surely the one day when a horoscope is speaking directly to me (and everyone else sharing my birthday).

What do I take from this particular horoscope? Simple. When I turned in my application to Galway a few days later, that I would be accepted and it would be decided that I'll be spending a month in Ireland. But why stop there? I doubt I'll be moving in the next year, and Ireland certainly qualifies as long distance. I should like to do more I think.

So off I go to Milwaukee in a few days to kick off my year of travel and discovery. Then to plan in earnest for Ireland. And if I do manage to bask "in the affection of a very attractive someone this summer", well.....I'm not one to complain. But I'm much more excited about seeing more of the world.

And Away Again!

Or in theory, at least. I have managed once again to get ahead of myself in the planning stages of leaving the country. I haven't even submitted an application but I'm already functioning under the assumption that I will be frolicking with leprechauns for half the summer.

Indeed, it is true. Safely settled in graduate school (George Mason, pursuing MAIS-Folklore) I have been lured again by the siren song of study abroad, this time to Ireland. Or at least that's the general idea. I still need to finish and submit my application.

And that's where the first problem lies. 500 word essay? An evening. Letter of Recommendation? Only needs the asking. Insurance policy, number, and primary physician? We'll pause here.

You see, Spring Break is a magical time for the full-time student. A week off to catch up on research, visit the dentist, throw open the windows and breathe in the sweet smell of freedom before returning the darkness that encourages aforementioned research. Spring Break, and the application deadline of March 25 also falls just before one of the more terrifying rites of passage in my life: individual health insurance.

I will be turning 23 soon, and on that day my health coverage under my parents plan will expire totally and completely. Last week I submitted an application to some charming insurance company, but I haven't heard anything yet. Thus, part of my application remains blank, taunting me with a thousand worries. Should Galway happen, this will not be my first time abroad. This will be the first time under new health insurance, in a system I don't quite understand, and don't even know how a medical crisis abroad would work. I've been safely covered by military health care my entire life. In Switzerland I knew I could go to any hospital, and be just fine, but more than that I knew if my wanderings took me near Heidelberg or Naples there was a base I could walk onto and request preventive care at, my right as a military dependent.

And now I'm an independent. Hoping I receive coverage soon, for my own sake, more than this trip's. In the meantime, I still have half a semester's worth of work to manage, and the rest of this application. Priorities must be negotiated, and right now the sun is shining, it's 60 degrees, and I will be attending a talk on Jane Austen adaptations involving zombies, vampires, and sea monsters this evening. Friends are in town to fill my evenings with stories of campuses and future plans, and Randolph needs a new scarf. So away I go to work on enjoying the here and now, with visions of a summer away dancing through my head.

Domestic Affairs

Today is the campus Study Abroad fair, a time I used to greet with the delighted anticipation of what I could do, and where I could go. However, I’m graduating in May, and there are no more semesters for me to go away. Facing the prospect of graduation, with no real plans for grad school as of yet, nor of a job, I’d love to get away again.

As I left the fair, with one brochure for a possible graduate school, I realized I still want to go to Newfoundland with a good friend, and that dream may have to be put on hold with new developments in her life. The list of countries I still want to visit grows daily, and I’m planning on visiting Boston for conference in December.

It’s Boston that’s troubling me most of all. I realized, as I walked home that I know very little about my own country, much less continent. I’ve spent so much of my life looking for ways to use my passport that I have barely looked within our borders. I suppose that I shouldn’t so much look at this time in my life to get out and see the world, as a time to look at home. I’d like to move abroad for a few years, maybe find a grad school or a job overseas, and with all that focus, it’s turning the U.S. into the exotic.

So I’ll go to Boston in December for a few days, and then I’ll come home to manage the problems I’ll inevitably be handling then. And I’ll be spending the remainder of that break probably at home researching and planning for the next step. With any luck I’ll be in Greece for Spring Break. And throughout all of this, I begin to look for the places I don’t know. I always prided myself on my knowledge of different areas and cities in the States, but then are the moments where I realize I know entirely too little about some places. I think I shall have to remedy this.

The Tribes of England

Some weeks late…

I think that we Anglophiles come in two distinct tribes: tea and pints. Those followers of tea and crumpets seem to be eternally enchanted with the Royal Family, consider Shakespeare the paragon of playwriting, and believe wholeheartedly in having a hat to match every sundress for Ascot. The pints care more about catching the Euro Cup finals, keep track of Gordon Brown, and look more at the reality of what England is and was.

I have, and always will, proudly describe myself as an Anglophile. My Facebook list of “Favorite TV” is basically a program listing for BBC America, and I can find my way on the Underground better than I will ever manage DC’s Metro; it’s general knowledge in my dorm that any question about the English can usually be answered by me with a fairly high degree of accuracy. Not that I’m bragging, or encouraging the image of my pomposity.

The difficulty I am having is figuring out where I fit; I keep one eye on the royals, and another on Gordon Brown. Most of my Anglo-centric time is spent on film and television; I read a lot, I watch a lot of movies, and then I read some history. Having spent an equal amount of time in pubs and teahouses, I find myself equally comfortable in both.

So maybe the answer to my dilemma is not nearly as complicated as I think. Maybe the only way to find out how I fit is simply to move to the UK. After all, I like it there. The food is pretty good. I don’t mind the rain.

Although, Wales is pretty cool too.

The City of a Thousand Walking Tours

I remember the last time I went to Oxford I was about to start my sophomore year of high school. It was summer, and the family was taking a day trip. I was struck by how crowded and busy the city seemed compared to Cambridge.

I returned last weekend, really for lack of anything else. I considered Liverpool for my free weekend, but Oxford seemed just as good. I traveled with another girl from the group, just for the security of another body. We left London from Paddington Station, and got to Oxford mid-morning. The plan was to drop out bags at the hostel, and then find out if I could make it into the C.S. Lewis-J.R.R. Tolkien walking tour. Thus began the weekend of walking tours.

Now, I am a fan of the aforementioned authors. I’m reasonably interested in seeing the places they worked. I expected with the recent release of film versions of “Lord of the Rings” and “Narnia” that this may be a fairly full tour. My ticket brought it to roughly ¾ capacity. Well, that’s fine; it’s early in the season! We arrived during exams and graduation! So off on our little tour.

Later that evening friend and I decided on the Ghost Tour. This was packed with people; ghost tours tend to be very well attended in my experience of tours, and this guy was really good. Not much to say about that, other than after the tour we ended up at the opening of the new Jamie Oliver Italian restaurant. Excellent experience and good food, although I normally shy away from celebrity chef places.

Now, the next day, which was the last day (brief excursion you see), friend wandered off to a Castle; I decided to skip the childhood home of Winston Churchill in favor of the “Inspector Morse” tour.

I am not particularly fond of Morse. There’s only one episode I really liked, and I tend to leave the room when the DVD sets come out. Imagine my surprise when I discovered the assembled horde of tourists waiting for the Morse tour. So many, in fact, that two sweet old ladies needed to be summoned from the Tourist Office to handle the group. We were split into two groups just under twenty each. I never imagined the popularity for the old detective; there were English, Scots, and Americans in my group, and although there was a trend towards a certain age, there were a few of us young’uns to shake things up.

And so I returned from Oxford, pausing briefly to see the Dodo. I realize this doesn’t sound terribly exciting. I really think I just walked for two days looking at the same buildings and hearing a different story about each one. But it’s nice to get away from London for awhile, even if the street were lined with glitter and other signs of celebration for the end of exams.

Fate and Fashion

I am a great believer in providence; last week in Salisbury I wandered into Boots for a bit of cosmetic shopping. I walked out with a coupon for half-price sunglasses. Yesterday, my sunglasses broke.

I should explain these sunglasses; I found them in the mall one August day nearly three years ago while out with a friend. She and I picked up some cheap, heavily $6 sunglasses. They were simple, black plastic frames with cherry details. For the first time, I became attached to sunglasses. I’ve never been able to hold onto glasses before, but something about this pair stuck with me. I used to get upset if I couldn’t find this pair and had to resort to the magic bin of half-broken glasses in the house.

I noticed the break on the right frame a year ago. It was just a small fissure, then a chink, and then, yesterday, I removed my glasses from my head where they had been serving the usual role of “hair-band”. Imagine my surprise at the new-found flexibility of my plastic frames. And then the lens popped out.

Being in London, I would have thought this would be fine; sun doesn’t exist here, right? Unfortunately we’re in the middle of a heat wave. I know this because the Tube announcements in the morning inform commuters that they should all be carrying around bottled water to keep hydrated. I always trust my public transport systems.

Luckily, I have this coupon- half price on any pair (excepting Ray-Bans). So I wander into the local Boots after visiting the Guardian with the group, find the glasses, pick up a pair, try them on, and think “well, maybe…” And then the price tag: £30. The mind boggles. I look at other price tags: 20, 30, 39, 43, and 50 quid. The numbers astound me, and even with the coupon the exchange rate makes me cringe. Then I stumble on the magic pair: £5. They’re the cheapest available pair. Maybe not the best shape for my face, maybe not the best thing ever, but they are the new sunglasses. I’ll have to toss the old ones, but at least tomorrow when I go to Bath, I won’t be blinded by the blazing English sun. Except the heat wave is ending soon, so I may end up blocking out the English rain.

One City, So Much to Say

It’s nearing the end of my second week in London, and my third in Great Britain. I’ve decided on a peaceful night in as I have to be up and out early for a foray to Oxford. The good news is that the Inspector Morse tour runs pretty near to hourly, so I don’t need advance tickets.

I’ve been busy to say the least. Every morning class at nine, ending at one; lunch break, then afternoon session at three; more often than not I’ve been at the theatre or some other evening event. I don’t know anytime when I’ve been busier; I must admit it’s rather exciting to live a life where I spend my days jaunting through museums and chatting with authors, and then the evening at book launches and the theatre. If it weren’t for the exchange rate I could get quite accustomed to this life. I have a little flat in Islington, and I have begun to adore public transport. As much as I miss my car at home, I like knowing that I’m never too far from shopping, entertainment, and parks. I’m a short train ride from most of the country, and it’s quite a lot of country to see.

This week I went to see “Pygmalion” at the Old Vic, starring Tim Piggott-Smith. I may have finally gotten over the trauma induced by “Jewel in the Crown”. Last night was Regent’s Park for “Twelfth Night”. That really is a fun little play, and one of the better shows this trip. Part of this program includes a focus on Shakespeare’s plays, which is why we saw 12^th, and “Midsummer” last week. Still have a “King Lear” to come. I have never been so, well, bored by Shakespeare. I didn’t much like certain aspects of “Midsummer”, “12^th” was good enough to entertain and I’m not thrilled by the prospect of four hours standing at the Globe for “Lear” (“Midsummer” was three hours as a groundling. My knees did not function for the hour following the show). Actually, I’m most interested in wandering off to the National Theatre one night to catch “Revenger’s Tragedy”. I rather enjoy the idea of seeing something contemporary to Shakespeare, but slightly less familiar. And it’s the cheapest ticket that involves real seats.

I’m rather excited about taking this weekend. I spent the day wandering the city until my tired feet demanded I continue my exploration of the BBC. I’ll get out to a quieter city, have a few good photo ops, and come home Saturday evening for some grocery shopping (maybe), and spend Sunday at museums and finally some theatre on my own terms. Perhaps the best bit of London is knowing that the majority of the museums are free. Hours of free entertainment in a city that lets Americans hemorrhage money.