Today I Became a Cleaning Fiend

Today I got fed up. My plan was to eat lunch in the kitchen (not my usual method of studying) while typing on my computer without the distraction of the internet (we don’t have wireless; that is another blog post in itself). I was following this plan until I got writer’s block. Then I looked around and decided to take a break to wash my dishes and a few of the random spoons, forks, and knives that have accumulated in a pile for about the last, oh, three weeks or so. Suddenly, as I was walking to the sink, I decided to fully take matters into my own hands. I was suddenly transformed into Flora Poste (if you haven’t read Cold Comfort Farm, you should). All of the random, dirty dishes lying around the countertop were dumped into the sink—everything in the spoon, fork, and knife pile, all of the mugs, the wine glass, the scissors, the can openers. Everything that could be washed was going to be scrubbed.

(It should be noted that this mood has come upon me before, but not with the vengeance that it did today. I’ve washed the utensils before when the workmen were scheduled to come to replace the countertops. If it was between doing everyone’s dishes and waking up early in the morning to angry workmen who couldn’t do their job because of the vile mess in the sinks, then I was going to take one for the team. Moving on.)

This time, my cleaning frenzy was going to be even more obsessive compulsive than ever before. All of the large utensils, such as wooden spoons, would go into one glass. In a smaller glass went all of the normal-sized spoons, forks, and knives. And into a small glass tumbler went all of the tiny spoons that we seem to have. Oh, and before this, I broke out my anti-bacterial spray and paper towels to clean a space of the counter beside the rice cookers on the far end of the counter. My thought was that someone would take the hint. So all of these glasses were arranged in order of height, and all of the other mugs and the ice tray (not sure if that is what that thing is) were arranged beside them. One of the can openers I adopted (just like the measuring cup) since no one seemed to want to take responsibility for it.

This done, I noticed the drying rack. For some weeks, I have contemplated the residue that has accumulated in the bottom. I had been trying to avoid thoughts of what was happening to my clean dishes after putting them in this plastic repository soiled by the dirty dishes that seem to make their way into it, especially in the small compartments for the utensils (incidentally, who puts dirty spoons in the drying rack? What kind of a person does that?). So I decided that this grey thing was going to get the same treatment. After using copious amounts of anti-bacterial spray (applied twice in some areas on the drying rack and the sink and counter underneath it), I was almost satisfied.

I have been personally offended by those metal strainers that fit into the drain and are designed to catch food that you don’t want to go down the drain. Why do they offend me? They are habitually removed from the sink, often with food still in them, and are placed on the counter. How can this in any way be sanitary? I ask you. I have a sneaking suspicion that sometimes the cleaning man does this, but I can’t confirm it. Well, one of these things has been sitting on the counter near the drying rack where most of the clean skillets go. Back into the sink went this health hazard and the effect of its presence erased by said anti-bacterial spray.

Sometime during my drying rack scrubbing, the cleaning man arrived. I usually follow the strategy of getting out of his way so that he can do his job. Sometimes if our stuff is in the way, he won’t clean that area. And in my mood, I wanted him to clean as much as possible. So finished up and vacated the kitchen. It makes me happy to think that the stove and the trash cans will be clean when I go back in.

At this point in my rant, I feel that it’s necessary to say that I’m not a germophobe. Despite what you might be thinking about obsessive compulsion and irrationality, I really am okay. I’ve just been living with all of this for so long that I decided that the only way that it would be cleaned was if I did it myself.
The refrigerators just might be next . . .

A visit to Chatsworth

Rebecca and I decided to celebrate the end of term with a day trip to the vast estate of Chatsworth House, the home of the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire. I was looking one night at a map of Britain and came across this estate and, after looking it up, discovered that it was the façade of Pemberley in the Pride and Prejudice with Keira Knightley. And the movie The Duchess, based on the life of the Duchess of Devonshire, was also filmed there, since it was her actual home. I looked it up online and saw that it was gorgeous. I told Rebecca, and we decided that we had to go. It turned out that we would have to journey to London to get a train to Chesterfield, a town near to Chatsworth, to get there. We ended up spending hours studying train and bus schedules to find out if this trip was even possible, but we managed and bought train tickets from London to Chesterfield online as well as entrance to Chatsworth to get the online discount.
To maximize our time there, we had to leave Egham as early as possible, which meant the 5:57 am train to London Waterloo. To prepare ourselves for this epic journey, we went to bed early on Friday night (well, at least we tried: I had insomnia and Rebecca’s flatmates decided to party). That morning, I was up by 4:30 am, Rebecca came over at 5 to make a hearty breakfast, and we were out the door a little after 5:30. We had to take the long route to the train station because the back gate isn’t open that early. So we arrived at the train station and bought our tickets at about 5:56. At least we were out on the platform by then. As were doing this, a train roared by without stopping. We didn’t think anything of this until the expected 5:57 train didn’t appear. The screen said that the next train would arrive at 6:23. Panic. We had no option but to wait. It was so frustrating to think that we could miss our train due to something that wasn’t our fault! If we missed it, would lose all of that money that we spent. We decided that we could only do our best to get there as fast as possible once the train arrived.
As soon as the doors opened in Waterloo, we booked it. We literally ran through the station, down to the Tube, and down to the Northern Line. Fortunately, Rebecca spotted a short-cut using the Piccadilly Line from Leicester Square. At this point in time, I really didn’t think that we were going to make it. We still had to print off our train tickets from King’s Cross, which is across the street from St. Pancras, where our train was leaving from. But I tried not to think about it as we rushed off of the Piccadilly Line and out into King’s Cross Station. We printed off the tickets and ran to St. Pancras, stopping only for the traffic light (and my lack of endurance somewhere in the middle St. Pancras). We finally arrived at the screen listing the trains. As I labored for breath, Rebecca exclaimed, “Sarah, the platform hasn’t even been assigned yet! We made it!” It was true: minutes later, the train was assigned to the platform right in front of us. The impatient ticket lady (almost) barely fazed us as we made our triumphant way to our carriage and assigned seats. High-fives were definitely in order.
About two hours later we arrived in Chesterfield in Derbyshire (Mr. Darcy country for the initiated). We navigated to the bus stops almost painlessly (there was some epic crossings of streets at a giant roundabout trying to find a street). We were happy to find an earlier bus to take us to Baslow, one of the towns close to the house. The drive was incredible. We were now in the Peak District. There were not peaks that I could see, strictly speaking, but there were pretty, green hills with the typical piled-stone walls. Most of my public transportation trips have occurred in cities! The bus driver was one of the nicest that I’ve met so far and he even made sure that we were where we wanted to end up.
We easily found directions from the stop to the house. We knew that we’d have to walk a distance to get there. It was such a pretty walk! There is an extensive park around Chatsworth as well as a National Park in the area. There were sheep in the park, so we were able to get relatively close pictures, considering that they ran away from us. Finally we arrived at the house. It was bigger than I anticipated. Unfortunately, it was undergoing restoration, like everything else in England, so there was stark white plastic covering the left half of the house and the inside courtyard. Our tickets covered the house and the gardens; we decided to start with the house.
We collected our tickets, bought the audio tour, and began. The house was absolutely gorgeous. Dim lights created a somber atmosphere and the decorations gave a sense of layers upon layers of richness and the long history of the house. I could talk everything I saw, but that would make this post even longer. A few highlights then: wall hangings of stamped leather (looked like wallpaper!) in elaborate patterns in the music room, painted ceilings depicting classical scenes, elaborate wood carving. And I learned more about Georgiana, the historical Duchess of Devonshire, herself. I hadn’t realized how influential she was in her day: she was the leader of fashion, began the style of elaborate headdresses with flowers and feathers, was personal friends with Marie Antoinette, actively supported the Tory party, and even hosted some of the most influential politicians at Chatsworth. Pardon my history side note; I’ve encountered her as a character in historical fiction, so I thought that this was interesting. Memorabilia from the movies had been placed in a specific section upstairs. Some the sculptures in the gallery were in Pride and Prejudice as well.
It rained off and on as we exited the house and walked through the gardens. But was mostly had overcast weather for the rest of the day. The gardens were redone by “Capability” Brown, one of the leaders of landscape of his day. There was a hedge maze!
Classical statues were at almost every turn. One of the most impressive areas was the Stone Garden, which consisted of large boulders piled in groups with paths running through them as well as a waterfall. Near the top was a view point looking out on to the Derbyshire countryside.
On a different note, we found headstones for the family pets of the current Duke and Duchess. I thought that it gave a very personal aspect of them.
We ended our time by stopping for warm Cornish pasties in a small shop by the house. This was my first Cornish pasty, and it was really good! I haven’t mentioned the temperature yet. It was so cold that I had a hard time moving my hands properly: I couldn’t full open my hand to give change to the lady at the till. This is why warm pasties appealed to us. She showed us to an information room with seats where we could eat in the warmth.
We had over three hours until we arrived back in Egham. Once we arrived back in London, we discovered that we had used all of the money on our Oyster cards. We realized that we were that close to not having enough earlier that morning. We might have had enough time to top up our cards, but it might have pushed us over the edge due the stress we were under at that point. And there could have been a long line at the top-up machine, or enough could have been broken to have delayed us getting to the platform. Who knows? So I’ve come to the conclusion that God allows those panic moments and stress situations to happen and then builds in little moments of relief or even grace. Even though the 5:57 train didn’t arrive or stop for whatever reason, God allowed us to have an amazing time in Derbyshire and to have enough Oyster money in London Waterloo. A mundane blessing, yes, but just as meaningful and practical. :)

Journeys, Mishaps, and More

After being extremely busy with classes and three essays, I finally found time to update. I apologize for my egregious neglect, dear reader.

I feel that I have passed through quite a learning curve since I arrived here, and I feel that I may now safely say that I’ve settled in. By now, so many stories have accumulated that I’m not sure where to start. I supposed that I’ll start with the day-to-day.

I’m taking four classes: Gaskell, Eliot, and Dickens; Medieval Epic and Romance; British History 1914-1973; and International Economic Relations. With classes in two reading-intensive departments, I have a lot to do! Our professor lectures once a week, and then once a week we have “seminars,” which consist of smaller groups of students in the class to create a discussion atmosphere. We are expected to read in preparation for seminar, and this can get overwhelming when I’m doing this for four different subjects. For English classes, we have to read a book per week. I’m currently reading 100 pages of David Copperfield to try to finish it by next Tuesday. Yikes! I have to say that there are some things about Royal Holloway that I’m not used to quite yet. Undergraduates are only allowed to check out ten books, which is a problem when you have three essays due in one week.

Rebecca and I have had many adventures since my last post (I can’t believe how long it’s been!). Well-worn are the paths into Egham and to the train station, and navigation of the Tube has become second-nature. One of our significant trips has been into Kent, which is in the southeast of England, for our family home stay. I was excited to stay in the country away from the bustle of the city: our family owned a house on property that used to belong to one of the estates that we read about in 19th century literature. There were beautiful green fields and sheep. Julie and Martin (the host parents) were lovely people who took us to see the sights in the Tunbridge Wells (the town near where we were staying; Kent is the name of the county) and fed us, among other things, tea and scones, and Martin explained rugby as we watched it on television one night.

Other adventures have included day trips with other Royal Holloway international students to Windsor (and Eton college), Runnymede (believed site of the signing of the Magna Carta), and London (which included the Jack the Ripper tour). With Butler (the program that we used to get here) we have gone to Cambridge, Ely Cathedral, Warwick Castle, and Stratford-Upon-Avon. On our own, we have gone into London for day trips to see various places, including Camden Market, an excellent and exciting place to shop.

My list of mishaps has increased in size since my last post. We seem to have continual transportation issues. We have missed a train entirely, thanks in small part to an unsympathetic man in the ticket window. We barely made it to the Butler Cambridge trip on another occasion because we missed a train and, if we had arrived 30 seconds later, would not have gone to Cambridge! The buses were literally leaving as we ran up.

I have also had trouble keeping track of my belongings. I lost one of my gloves during the first weeks of being here. I bought a replacement pair in Kent for two pounds. Those lasted until the Cambridge trip, when I left them both somewhere. I again went without until I bought a pair in Camden Market last Friday for four pounds. They are not as nice as the other pair, I must say. I almost lost one the very next day in Stratford-Upon-Avon. I have learned my lesson that gloves should NOT be stored in my pockets for any length of time. In addition, I almost lost my scarf in Egham this week. Rebecca and I had gone into town to look in the charity shops and pick up groceries. It was the warmest day that we’ve had so far, and I had taken my scarf off and hung it on my purse. After visiting two charity shops, the post office, and the grocery store, I noticed that it was gone. I frantically went back to the grocery store to look, and, while I was inside, fortunately Rebecca found it hanging on a pipe sort of thing. After almost losing my gloves as well, I was so grateful to have it back.

Well, that’s all for this post. I’ve tried to give some of the highlights, but so much has happened that I’ll have to fill it in as I go along. Thanks for all of the encouragement that I’ve received from everyone!

Lost in Translation: Figuratively and Literally

If you have heard anything of our trip to England or of our time here, you know that we have had numerous things go wrong or simply defy our expectations. Of course, language has not proved to be a huge problem, but there have been a few instances in which it has made a difference. First, here are a few examples that I’ve come across.

Pants=trousers
Bathroom=toilets
Wash cloths=flannels (At least I think this is true. This is what a lady at a charity shop told me, but when I mentioned it at the next charity shop, that lady wasn’t sure what I meant.)
Spaghetti=Bolognese (Rebecca and I discovered this one at the grocery while looking for “spaghetti sauce.” I looked through rows and rows of cans looking for it and could only see this “Bolognese sauce.” I kept thinking, “What is this? It’s everywhere. It must be popular.” Then I noticed combinations of flavors and the pictures on the cans and realized what it must be. I whispered to Rebecca over the shopping cart, “It must be spaghetti sauce!” This came in handy because when one of my flatmates asked if her pasta dish looked like “Bolognese,” I was able to answer “yes” with great confidence. I’m still not sure how to pronounce this word, by the way.)

One of the guys from my program, Charles, and I were looking for a store that sold bed sheets. We had spent enough time since London walking around without knowing where we were going, so we stopped in a charity to ask for directions. Inside, two elderly ladies told us to just go down the street to what sounded like “EmKay” or “McKay.” We walked for some time until we saw a sign for M&Co. Sure enough, they sold bed sheets.

I have yet to learn how to distinguish between different accents. It is sometimes disconcerting that everyone knows that I’m from the United States as soon as I open my mouth. Yet I was asked at a party if I had picked up any of the local accent. I told him that I said certain words differently, as I thought that I had done unconsciously since London. The word in question was “sorry.” Granted, the guy had had some alcohol by that time, but he said that I almost sounded Welsh. Oh, well. I do not plan to try to pick up the accent. That would make me a wannabe.

As far as being literally lost, I can’t even begin to count the number of times that I’ve asked for directions. I’ve been lost on campus (sometimes with no time to spare to get to class, and one time I had to ask around two or three times before I found the building), in the library in the Founder’s building (I couldn’t find the exit!), in Staines, in Egham looking for a place to eat dinner, in Staines and in Egham looking for bus stops. Now when I say lost, I mean knowing where you are in relation to other things but trying to find something that you know is in the general vicinity but is not visible.

I’m sure that more of these incidents will occur as I continue my stay in the Land of Her Majesty. But it’s fun exploring the town and learning new things (like cooking!). Each time, I’ve been able to laugh at myself and rest in the comfort that I (hopefully) won’t make the same mistake twice.

Shopping in Staines

Today is the day before classes start! Rebecca and I decided to go shopping in Staines, one of the towns near Egham, because their grocery store is larger. And we wanted to pick up other items such as a hair dryer and a bed sheet for me and a hair straightener for Rebecca. Unfortunately, I stayed up until past 2 am last night, so I didn't get out of bed until a shameful 12:30 or so. (I also theorize that our bodies are still operating on U.S. time, since we get tired early and wake up at odd hours during the night.) We met at around 1:30 and walked to the bus station just outside of campus. Somewhere along the way I lost a glove, which was irritating because I wasn't able to buy a replacement pair (for the reason why, read on).

A major reason for our troubles in navigating is that we have little experience in public transportation. We told the driver as we entered that we wanted to go to Staines, but we didn't know that we should push the stop button to let her know which stop we wanted in Staines. So we passed the stop right near the grocery store. We knew where it was, though, so we arrived without incident.

Shopping for items took some time because we had to, in most cases, find the cheapest price and scan amongst the different brands to find what we wanted. Then, from over the loud speaker came a voice with a message that made us gasp: "Sainsbury's will be closing in twenty minutes at 4 o'clock." Who knew that a grocery store would close so early? We hurried to find the few remaining essential items then queued up to check out.

We lugged everything to the closest bus stop. (I had brought the cloth grocery bag that I had bought in Tesco's a few nights ago, but Rebecca hadn't brought hers. So she had three plastic bags.) Unfortunately, the bus did not stop there on Sundays. While Rebecca watched the groceries and transferred the cans and glass containers to my bag so that the plastic would not rip, I ran back to the store to ask for directions. The young store clerk told me to go "down that road out there" to find a big bus station and he pointed in the direction of the road that we were already on. Well, it turns out that he meant a road in the opposite direction of what I thought he meant, and it was good that we stopped at a petrol station because a very nice cashier told us that we were headed in the wrong direction. (Also, he let me pay 32 pence instead of 33 pence for a bottle of water, probably because I looked harassed at this point.) We gathered our stuff again and walked in the direction he pointed, asked for directions several more times, and finally found it. We met up with other Americans from Royal Holloway and were able to determine the right bus (there were seven terminals). And then the driver did NOT accept our student IDs for the discount, so it was 1.80.

In the end, we bought food and items that we needed, but we still did not buy the hair dryer, straightener, or my bed sheet (I've been talking about the bed sheet for about four days now). Lesson learned: if you want to go shopping on Sunday, go early.

Now That I'm All Settled . . .

I’m writing my first blog post from Egham, England, where I’m studying at Royal Holloway. This is especially exciting for me because this means that I finally have internet in my room. The lack of internet is one of the many things that formed the series of unfortunate events that has constituted my trip to England. But don’t have the wrong impression: I’ve been enjoying myself and am very glad that I decided to come.
There is a whole story about our trip from Houston to Heathrow, but it was so frustrating I don’t know that I want to type it because I’ve told it many times already. Suffice it to say that we missed the group flight from JFK, had to spend the night in Charlotte, NC, and arrived in Heathrow the day after we were supposed to.
Royal Holloway has been great so far. I have few complaints, which I will describe in a future post. Almost none of the British students are here yet, so I’ve been sticking with the Americans from my program: Rebecca Dietz, Charles, Leah, and Kevin.
This post is long already, so I will post what I typed out yesterday and fill in all the previous stuff later.

Royal Holloway, Day 1, January 8, 2009
This morning we had breakfast, checked out of the hotel, and boarded a bus that drove us to Royal Holloway. The campus is just minutes from downtown Egham, which sits at the bottom of the hill. The first thing one sees upon entering is the Founder’s Building, which is the most beautiful building on campus. It is made of red brick and is accented with gray stone, exactly in the type of style that an American such as myself would expect of an English university.
We had some difficulty checking in (paperwork), especially Charles, but we were soon headed to our rooms. I have a temporary swipe card until I receive my student ID. As Jessica, one of the IFSA-Butler girls, was helping me to my room, my next door neighbor, an American girl, came out to say hello.
I really like my room: I have a double bed, a bathroom to myself, and plenty of storage space with a set of shelves, a closet unit with shelves and space for hanging clothes, and space under the bed (for this, there are squarish panels under the mattress that you pull up). I was unpacked in under an hour, I believe, and I arranged to meet everyone to find some lunch and go shopping in Egham. We ended up eating in the Founder’s building and then we eventually found the bus stop just outside the campus. It was £1.30 to ride into Egham. After some wandering (this happens quite a lot, actually) we found Tesco’s, which is a smallish grocery store. I looked for the bare essentials: soap, shampoo, conditioner, hair gel, bread, jam, Nutella, and other sundry items. You might laugh at the Nutella, but peanut butter is expensive and I needed some kind of spread to go on the bread. I plan to go back for detergent and things like that. Only Charles and I needed bed sheets, so the others went back on the bus while he and I hunted for a store that sold them. After asking for directions twice (the first time we went into a neat resale shop that I would like to visit again), we found the M&Co, which looked like just a clothing store from the street. I bought a towel, hand cloth, wash cloth, a “fitted sheet” and a pillowcase.
Then Charles and I had the fun task of finding the bus stop. We walked down one part of the street, asked for directions, searched some more and finally found it across a busy street. This whole process took about 20 minutes. We ended up missing a bus because I thought that it was the wrong one. In consequence, we stood there for about 45 minutes as the sun was setting and as it was getting colder. We made it back without incident.
I partially unpacked groceries, looked for a pair of scissors from my American neighbor, and explored the kitchen. It is spacious and stocked with food from the other flat residents. There is a slight smell as you walk in, and I discovered that this probably came from the refrigerators (there are two) because they are dirty. I really want to clean them.