I'm back, but let me fill you in....

Hello fellow Bloggers.

Yes, I know. My dedication to these updates has waned. Sorry about that. In case anyone was worried, I am not still in England or wandering around Europe unable to get home. I arrived in the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave on the 24th of July, after a rather exhausting trail of events.

But I’ll back up.

Ok, so my last days in England passed by very quickly (hence the lack of blogging). The Elliotts left for holiday (very sad), but not before a goodbye dinner and lots of hugs and promises to write.




The quiet that followed their departure was strange to the point of being unsettling, but happily, it did not last long.
Soon after the Elliotts left, I found out that Marynn, one of my good friends from William and Mary, was going to be in London for the day. She is studying in Cambridge for the summer, and so merely had to catch one of the many buses running into the city. I met her at one of the most confusing bus terminals known to man, but somehow, we found each other and began to explore the city.
One good thing I can say about the terminal, is that right outside of it stands a large theatre, a massive green billboard happily glittering above it—that’s right. Wicked was playing. This 60 foot emerald advertisement being hard to miss, we walked by and were immediately captivated.

Wicked being one of Marynn’s favorites (and me always game for a good musical) we headed to the box office to see if any tickets were available. Long story short, they were, we flipped out, we bought the cheap seats, we flipped out again—high pitched girly squeals were much involved in this scene as box office agents looked on with bemused and slightly impatient expressions.

Anyhoo, so we got the tickets and then continued our so far short-sighted exploration. We hit all the major sights—Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, Big Ben—and also walked along the river and talked on one of the many bridges for probably hours.




After a quick dinner and more high pitched squeals, we settled into our seats at the theatre and waited expectantly for the show.
It was amazing. No really, I know I’m a musical geek and not too hard to please, but for real—it was amazing.
On a musical high (I’m pretty sure neither of us could wipe a grin from our faces), we made our way back to the bus terminal from hell and I bide farewell to Marynn. I then caught my train back to Gerrards Cross and collapsed into bed at around 1:30. Ah living outside the city.

Ok, so for all of you who hear the word “show” and give a little smirk, or “musical” and think: “I’d rather get a crown replaced on my molar”…..turn back now. No really. You will not be able to handle this.

The next few days were a flurry of musical bliss. See, I have a problem--this intrinsic, gooey, weak spot somewhere inside me reserved especially for broadway shows. I don’t know how this happened, I’m guessing my parents have something to do with it, and possibly the whole growing up around plays and hearing Les Mis blasting as my mom cleaned the house. Whatever psychological analysis you want to perform on me, it does not change the fact that something within me leaps skyhigh when I hear the word broadway, and this thing was released my last week in London.
The night after Marynn came, I went to meet my German friend, Kai, in the city. A few days before he had called me (I had told him I was determined to see a show while I was here and he offered to get tickets when he was in the city), and said he had gotten us tickets for a show. I asked which one and he replied “Les Miserables”. I think I swallowed my tongue I gasped so loud—it’s my favorite show probably ever.

Ok, so anyway, we saw Les Mis (I cried), and the next day Emily came in to visit from Paris, and while she was here we saw King Lear at the Globe theatre (um, I have no words—we were “groundlings” and so saw every little detail, though I must say, standing for three hours can take a bit of your enthusiasm away),



Stomp (SO COOL—these people are ridiculously talented), and finally, Phantom of the Opera (cue hallelujah chorus). *Sigh* Never again in my life will I experience such a show-filled week. It was glorious.





Anyway, it was very cool having Emily there with me. We explored the city too, which was great (we also saw the European Premiere of The Dark Knight going on in Leicester Square and caught a glimpse of Christian Bale—craziness).





Sadly, I had to say goodbye to Kai, and then to England. And the next morning I left bright and early to catch a train back to Paris.





That’s right, I had one more day in my wonderful city. It was amazing—I had all day to wander around, lingering in all my favorite spots and bidding the city of light farewell.
I got my hair chopped (I figured when else was I going to have the chance to do something impulsive in Paris, right?) and of course went to Shakespeare and Company, the Notre Dame, and my favorite park, Buttes Chaumont.



I then made my way to the Champs de Mars and lay under the Eiffel tower for hours, staring up at its magnificent height as the sky’s brilliance slowly faded, until at last it was dark enough for the twinkling lights of the tower to burst into life. Emily met me there (she had caught a late train back) and we said goodbye to the emblematic tower and made our way to the apartment to pack.



After a solid two hours of sleep, I began my grueling day of travel. I had prepared myself mentally and emotionally for the worst. I was exhausted and carrying at least 80 pounds of luggage by myself: my rolling suitcase, huge backpack, and laptop bag, and I knew getting up and down the stairs of the metro was going to be hell. God was definitely present, however, sending me lots of kind people who offered to help, and a very sweet man who helped me to the train station, carrying my suitcase all the way. God bless him. It was still quite a journey, however, and by the time I got to the airport, through security, and to my gate, I walked on to the plane I was running so late. Scary. But—I made it. A seven hour flight followed, and we landed in Newark around noon. I then waited for about ½ an hour for my luggage, and when it arrived walked it about 30 feet to another station where I checked it right back on again. Ah customs. It seemed absolutely pointless to me, and (not gonna lie) had me fuming as I ran with my backpack in tow to my next gate and AGAIN walked right onto the plane. It ended up not mattering that I was late, however, because—although we made it to the runway, we never made it to the air.
It was announced that we had to go back to the gate, and after awhile of waiting, finally announced that we had to disembark as well. People were just a bit unhappy. Not having a clue what to do, we all stumbled off the plane praying we wouldn’t need to spend the night in Newark. One guy in particular was screaming obscenities so that the entire airport could hear, claiming he’d rather die in a crash than deal with this incompetence. I’m pretty sure most of the staff, and not a few of his fellow flyers, were quite ready to let him.
Anyway, after a confusing hour and a half (in which I sat emotionally numbed with exhaustion, staring at a wall and nursing a Venti frappaccino), we finally made it on a flight, but not before I had pulled my shoulder slinging Big Bertha (my backpack) a little too forcefully over my right side. Rats.
So I made it home after all—although the mix up caused me to arrive without a single friendly face to greet me, as they had come and then left again, having been told I was arriving later (I understood, but man, after 16 hours of traveling you just want some arms to fall into at the other side of that gate).
But anyhoo—I’m back Stateside, safe and sound.

Soo, this has been a nice little novel for you all to read—sorry about that. I’m still debating whether I’m going to keep this thing up or not. I’m thinking life will not sound quite as exciting with no Alps or hostels or Eiffel Towers to report on. It does give me a way to keep up with a lot of people though, so we shall see.

If not, Au revoir et merci, Ciao e grazie, Cheers and thank you !!

Jess (:

A Soggy Day in Londontown

Hello to all—

Well, since the week is out, I guess I am due for an update.
I’ll take you through the events of the week:

Thursday I went with Deborah to Milton’s cottage in Buckinghamshire. His only remaining house, it is now set up as a museum, and is tucked neatly and inconspicuously in the tiny village. In fact I may have walked right past it had I not known of it’s existence there already. It is small and humble—a few rooms dedicated to the priceless first and second editions of Paradise Lost, Paradise Regained and Samson Agonistes, as well as some of his more political works with whom I am less familiar (and to be frank, less interested in).


It’s a strange and somehow uncomfortable feeling to stand in the room where one of the world’s most gifted and renowned authors penned their masterpiece. One can’t really grasp it actually. You keep repeating silently: these are the floorboards he paced as his mind concocted such fiery lines as: “The mind is its own place, and in itself/Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven”—where in his sleepless nights, Milton bound in linguistic chain the infernal hero of this epic poem: taking all the vain conceit and powerlust of man, in order to form a figure worthy of that hateful title; filling his mouth with the speech in which he addresses his host of demons: “Here we may reign secure; and in my choice/To reign is worth ambition, though in hell:/Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven.”
Yep. Doesn’t register does it?

Well I’m glad I’m not alone in that. I think the gravity of it settles on you more in retrospect anyway. Plus it’s cool to say you’ve been there.

Moving along…
Friday was cooking day in the Elliott household—a well-thought out day in which the women of the household (well, me, Deborah, and Brenda—their cleaner) take the afternoon to make about five different dinners, all big enough to feed a party of about 20, and then freeze it for emergency use in the future. I am so adopting this plan when I have my own household. On top of that, Deborah was pledged (or rather volunteered) to make cakes for every single teacher, assistant, and other employee of Laurence’s school for the end of term. We were a flurry of carrot chopping, flour-spilling, and meat grinding for the whole of the afternoon. It actually was quite fun, however, and by the end of the day I had in my mind at least 4 new recipes, one of which was for Carrot and Orange soup—which despite its odd combination and unconventional color, is in fact very yummy. (:
That night, Granny Elliott arrived by train, and the next morning we were all up bright and early to attend Laurence’s speech day at school. Now, as many of you know, I am not exactly one to pop out of bed bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at some ungodly hour of the morning (“ungodly” = < 9 am), but I armed myself with enormous amounts of caffeine and a good solid book and made it though the 4 hours of presentations and speeches with only 3 aspirins and minor bouts of depression at my own failings as a nine year old and as a person. Let me explain: if 80 nine year olds receiving prizes for subjects you’ve never even picked up in your life wasn’t enough (were you fluent in Spanish at the age of nine, having also received high commendations for Tennis and Rugby and honorable mention for Drama—ok good, glad I’m not the only failure here)….as I said, if that wasn’t enough, the conclusion of the meeting was done by the guest speaker, what’s-his-name:the youngest man to have climbed the tallest peaks on all seven continents. Oh yeah, and he’s 23. Now, before you let yourself sink into the same thoughts I did of: “I’ve never even heard of Aconcagua, the tallest mountain in South America, and I didn’t climb Mount Kilimanjaro at the age of 15 (He did) and holy moly I’ve not even thought about climbing Mount Everest much less traveling to Antartica to find whatever mass of ice they’re calling a mountain!”—let us pause and I will comfort you with the same thought I had that let me breathe a sigh of relief: you are a normal human being. Ok good. Moving on:
Sunday was the surprise 80th birthday party of Antony’s mother’s cousin. And if you think all afternoon with a group of 70 and 80 year olds is anything short of entertaining, think again. In fact it had it’s downright hilarious moments. But let me sweep over this day, and suffice it to say, that when the day was done, and the cakes and sandwiches and champagne were gone, Auntie Brenda’s face was aglow and she had exclaimed more than once that she couldn’t remember the last time she had had a party. And so we all were satisfied (:
Right, so let’s fast-forward to Tuesday: my day out in Stratford with Deborah. Contrary to Milton’s home-sweet-home, you couldn’t miss this as Shakespeare’s old dwelling if you tried. Signs from miles away announce “Shakespeare’s Stratford”, and the first things you see as you enter the village are the various puns atop the shop doors: “Much Ado About Toys”, “The Food of Love Café”, etc…


We made our way to Shakespeare’s birthplace where that same uncomfortable feeling sat on me as we perused the rooms of Father Shakespeare and his glovery workshop (the old man was probably not too pleased when little Will decided he didn’t want to take up the prospering business, but wanted to write stories instead). Moving on from here, we had a wonderful lunch, talking for hours and using the light rain as an excuse to chat some more over another cup of coffee.

After this we made our way to the church where Shakespeare is buried, and then to the highlight of our day: a show at the Courtyard Theatre. I had been looking forward to the production all day, and the players did not disappoint.


The show was The Merchant of Venice—one which I was not too familiar with, but which was done with such brilliance and enthusiasm by the famous Royal Shakespeare Company that I enjoyed it immensely. Shylock was played with a perfect sense of gravity and cruel revenge as he demanded Antonio's "pound of flesh", not exaggerating his Jewish heritage. Portia was quick-witted and believable, engaging the entire audience in her comedic timing. In short, it was one of the best plays I have had the good fortune to see—and to watch players who truly understood Shakepeare’s language, bringing to life all his nuances and double-entendres, was amazing to see. Ok, I’ll stop gushing now.
Despite these busy days, I have had quite a lot of free time as well, enabling me to enjoy the soggy English weather, curled contentedly by the dripping window, Gone With the Wind in my lap. There is something charming about a soggy afternoon, despite its habit of banishing all life indoors. So, though the week has been a particularly wet one—and perhaps is the reason I have spent so much of my time with a book in hand, drinking my own weight in tea—it has still been pleasant, and on the whole, rather busy. We shall see what this next week brings to pass (:
I’ll update again soon. For now, I must see how Scarlet O’Hara will scandalize herself next…

"Bits and Bobs"

'Allo Chaps--

Quick update on my life the past couple of days. I think I left off in the weekend of boy-scout activities and nine-year-old mobs...Since then it has quieted down a bit, but still been very busy.
Saturday I went with Laurence and Antony (his dad) to Laurence's ballet lessons (yes, there are more. He as 3 different teachers!!! Can you believe it??) It was nice to see him dance (He's actually quite good) and also, one of his classes took place in a huge mansion built by Sir Christopher Wren. Not bad!!

Sunday I went with Antony and some of his friend's to see "The Life of Christ", a play in a nearby village. I thought this would be comparable to "A Man Called Jesus", which it was a bit, but it was actually done on a much grander scale.
The play was all done outdoors on this huge estate. It was very beautiful, with loads of hills and a lake and so on....It lasted all day and the audience actually moved around a couple times, following the action.


I think my favorite part was on the way to the crucifixion. It was very cool and yet very jarring. The whole audience mixed in with the actors as we made our way up the hill to "Golgotha"...Jesus was literally right beside us, bloodied and nearly fainting as screams echoed around us, egging on his suffering.


It really put the whole scene in perspective--suddenly I was there, I was the compeller and witness of his death. The death he suffered for me and all of mankind. Very powerful moment.

On a very different note...

When I got home, I got a call from my friend Kai--he's my German friend who I met in Paris and who is now doing an internship in London. That night I went into the city to meet him at a German Beerhouse where we watched the final of the European Championship. It was so fun... It was Spain vs. Germany and you do not know what team spirit is until you have been in a German Beerhouse, cheering on a German team, with who knows how many faces painted and flags a-waving. Everyone was talking and shouting in German, and well...um...."Deutschland" was pretty much all I got out of any conversation. Haha. It was great though. We lost (yes "we"...), but it was still very fun.
The next day I went into the city and got to explore the Tower of London. It was so cool and very interesting.




They gave a free tour with the ticket I bought which was really interesting, and I got to see the crown jewels as well. (Is it wrong that I entered this world-famous jewelrybox and in typical girl fashion immediately thought--"Ooh, sparkly....I want one" =P )


I then wandered around for a bit, pacing along beside the river. I of course walked along London Bridge, humming the tune in my mind, and I of course took countless photos--all of which look identical--of the iconic Tower Bridge.



Eventually, like a moth to the flame, I ended up at Shakespeare's Globe, where I purchased tickets for a show (King Lear on the 19th!!!! SOO Excited!!) and then wandered around in literati-ecstasy through the giftshop, where phrases engraved upon my mind were celebrated and sold in t-shirt form for a mere 15 pounds apiece. "Out damned spot!" was made a handbag, while "I will not be mad!" was a hoodie. Baseball caps declaring one to be a Montague or a Capulet adorned the shelves and "poor Yorrick" was stamped onto anything that held still. And dont even get me started on the vast selection of plays, in all forms and editions. While one would think I would be befuddled, or even indignant of this sort of cheapening of the Shakespeare appreciation, I strangely was sucked into it as well, even considering a Midsummer night's Dream t-shirt for awhile, although I eventually resisted the temptation and contented myself with a postcard. Ah, consumerism.

Annnyway, moving along with my week....

Today I got to go visit Oxford, which was very cool. This guy named Chris from the Elliot's church, who Deborah introduced me to (bless her heart, she's practically hunting down anyone my age and then forcing them to talk to me) goes to Pembroke in Oxford and he offered to show me around. It was very cool--much more spread out than I had imagined, but beautiful nonetheless. We ate lunch at the "Eagle and Child"--a pub frequented in the past by Lewis and Tolkien (I had a "proper" fish-n-chips). I also got to see a memorial to Percy Shelley and the door through which Alice traipsed into Wonderland. Very cool. We also went into Christ's Church, which for all you Harry Potter fans is where much of the filming for the movies have taken place. Not exactly what I came to Oxford to see, haha, but still very cool.

Anyway. Just wanted to give you all a quick update on my life and report a few "bits and bobs", to use a phrase frequently said by Deborah (:
Hope you all are doing well!

Cheers!
Jess