Sipping Tea at Downton Abbey

Okay. Important first note.

Last weekend I went to Paris with a friend from home! It was amazing in the springtime! So green! We went to the Eiffel Tower and the Palace of Versailles and the Louvre and I went running every morning through this gorgeous park called Buttes Chaumont with this gigantic rock outcropping and moat and well-dressed old men running with scarves on (?). Also we ate crepes almost every day and I murdered a lot of French words (for instance Louvre is Louv-ra, kind of? Who knew? And why, oh why, do they just ignore last letters of words? This makes no sense).

I know Paris is enthralling and incredible and all. But the rest of this post is not about Paris. Sorry. More important things to discuss: DOWNTON ABBEY!

Oh you know, just sipping afternoon tea on the grounds.

Background for those who live under a rock.  Downton Abbey is this period drama set in the early 1900's in Britain. The pretense focuses on the Earl and Countess of Grandtham, who have three daughters but no son and therefore don't have a direct male heir to take over Downton; the next in line is a distant third cousin.  Predictably, drama ensues.

The show is filmed on location at Highclere Castle, the real-life seat of the Earl of Carnarvon.  The castle was open only for Easter holidays where presumably the family was on vacation and filming of DA had wrapped a few days prior. It was just a train and a short bus ride away.  Too tempting to pass up.

100% worth the trip. Things I learned at Downton/Highclere.

1.  THE ENTAIL IS REAL. Only male heirs can inherit Highclere Castle. The current 8th Earl of Carnarvon's oldest child is a female... and she gets jack-squat.  The heir presumptive is his second child, a 19-year-old male. I'm not saying we're trying to stalkishly track him down in the hopes of becoming a Countess. You didn't hear me say that.

In an interesting side note, the current Earl  (Oxford grad!) is also heir to the title of Earl of Pembroke and Earl of Montgomery, since those titles currently have no male heir and the Earl of Carnarvon is the 8th cousin. There are no male heirs in 7 iterations of cousins. And all these families are related. Geez.

2. THERE'S A REAL-LIFE MAGGIE SMITH.  So apparently the Dowager Countess of Carnarvon (Maggie Smith's role in the TV show) was among us on Monday when we visited. We just had no idea which one of the 300 other old people visiting she was.  300 old people and us. That's who visits historic castles.

One of two pictures I managed to sneak of the inside.
The main courtyard (across the way is
where Mary dragged the body of the Turkish guy....)

You walk into the castle right into the study where the Earl of Grandtham in Downton Abbey always is filmed in. The castle itself is this weird juxtaposition of ancient priceless paintings and portraits mixed with recent family photos; antique couches and lamps mixed with Patricia Cornwell books (the Countess has good taste) and hair brushes. The staff of Highclere Castle double as tour guides of sorts; they tell tidbits of what filming is like; showed us the chair that Maggie Smith gets to recline in when she gets tired.  A lot of the castle is left as-is for filming; the dining room is exactly the same, for instance.

None of the kitchen scenes are filmed on-location, although almost everything else is. The basement of the castle where the kitchen would be? A King Tut museum. Apparently the 5th Earl of  Carnarvon discovered King Tut's tomb. And then died after shaving a mosquito bite, perpetuating the rumor of the curse of the mummy.

In an interesting twist of events, apparently it is indeed quite expensive to upkeep a castle.  The whole third floor of Highclere (apparently, a bunch of bedrooms) was inaccessible because it needs to be renovated. Apparently the TV show came just in time to save the Castle from sliding too far into disrepair.

I was completely that tourist who asks a bajillion questions of the house staff. Other random facts:

• It was built by the same guy who designed the House of Parliament, which makes lots of sense if you look at it.
• It was indeed used as a wartime hospital.
• They had Napoleon's desk and the newspaper from the day that Edward abdicated the throne. Apparently (now queen) Elizabeth was pulled out of her elementary classroom at school to hear the news that she was in line to be queen. Kind of a big day for a 10-year-old. 
• You can hold your wedding there. Just saying. 

Now back to the grind of schoolwork.  This weekend is the big Oxford v. Cambridge boat race though, which will be a welcome break.

Cheerio!

Lisa

Gallivanting in Highlighter Green, Part 2

Back to Irish adventures! See previous post for the first part.

Monday: Found the Kiwis! By which I of course mean my New Zealand friend and her New Zealand friends. One of the Kiwis rented a 7-person car, and off we went for a terrifying careening drive through the Irish countryside. I thought Ecuadorian roads were bad. They have nothing on the narrow twisty full-of-blind-corners Irish lanes.

Sidenote I found myself thinking how the Irish flag is so perfectly representative of Ireland. I have never seen grass so naturally green. Suburban Americans kill for that color green in their lawns. The countryside is full of beautiful rolling hills blanketed in what my Kiwi friend referred to as “highlighter green.” The hills are criss-crossed by rows of gros (goss?), a hedge plant with bright yellow flowers (okay not quite orange like the flag, but close.. see what I mean?).  Add sheep and low medieval crumbling walls, and it is quite idyllic.

I just told this to my dad, and he scoffed “Grass is just green. It can’t be greener.” YES. YES IT CAN. (clearly never been to Ireland. scoff.).

The Glendalough round tower

After braving car sickness, we and the Kiwis first enjoyed a traditional Irish restaurant where lots of stew and lamb and brown bread were eaten.  Then off we careened to Glendalough, an ancient monastic village set between two lakes in the mountains. Saw some nice ruins and some adorable newborn lambs. Tried to not think about that we could have just eaten their siblings. 

And then my friend Ziyi and I were purposefully abandoned by everyone in Wicklow, a town on the Irish coast, where we set up camp at Captain Halpin's Bunkhouse (really). Went to one of two restaurant-pubs (synonymous words in Irish) where we ran full force into Irish hospitality. Irish lads bought us both the “usuals” of Guinness and Jameson+ginger ale, and then after a bevy of some of the worst (and increasingly unintelligible, see previous post about the Irish accent-to-alcohol ratio) pick-up lines I have ever heard, attempted to sneak a kiss when posing for a photo with us .There is an  excellent photo of a shock-faced Ziyi getting kiss-bombed which I will post as soon as I kidnap her camera. Too much fun. 

Tuesday: I cannot get over how good Irish brown bread is.  It is so much better than any other brown bread I have ever tasted and I have no idea why.  They pride themselves in it and the pride is completely deserved.

After filling up on bread, I spent the morning on a long run along the coast of Ireland while waiting for Ziyi to wake up. Yes I ran on vacation (insert Hildabeast friends’ collective gasp of horror, then my subsequent eye roll). Ran along some rivers, meandered through some fields, and skirted the Irish sea.  I love using a run to explore new countries, such a unique way to see the detail of an area. College running buddy Jenna, you would've loved it. Then, tricked city gal Ziyi into hiking by telling her we were going walking. Win! (an astute person would point out that walking is essentially what hiking is of course, but for some reason walking sounded less intimidating?). We hiked about 5 miles up a trail along the Irish coastline.

Sidenote Irish hospitality is truly touching. The Irish are the friendliest people I've ever met. We had three separate Irish elders greet us while walking and spontaneously explain exactly how to reach this beach full of seals and how to get back. We didn't even need to beg for directions. Friendly to tourists? How refreshing.

We hiked to this hidden-away cove where seals were known to sunbathe. No seals on the beach. Disappointing. And then I looked over the rocks, and lo and behold there they were frolicking in the bay! Baby seal was unsure what to make of me: kept popping up, staring at me, looking at mom, and then cocking its head and staring some more  I watched them for at least an hour. I love wildlife.

We then saw some lighthouses (Grandpa Dykhuizen, I'll send you a picture) and hiked back into town. Then this morning I woke up at 5 a.m. and started the journey from Wicklow to Oxford.  sidenote Not that I support this idea, but if anyone is ever thinking of sneaking into the U.K., they should definitely do it through Ireland. Minimal customs on the way in, no customs on the way back at all? Huh? 

Clearly the mark of a successful vacation was my perfect 5-for-5 in the Days in Ireland: Days Drinking Guinness ratio! Everyone should be so proud of me and my low tolerance. I may never drink Guinness again and my body hates me at the moment but at least I made the Irish proud.

Now ready to bury my nose back in the books.  Cheers Ireland.  Until next week! LP

Paddy's Not Patty's! Part 1

Hola!

Just hopped off the plane from jolly ol' Ireland, now sitting in London Luton airport waiting for a bus back to Oxford.  A recap of this weekend's adventures:

Friday:  Took four trains and then a ferry across England, Wales, and Ireland with 11+ friends from Oxford.  Played lots of cards. Set foot on Ireland for the first time and realized how many old medieval walls,well-trimmed hedges, and unintelligible accents there were everywhere (unintelligibility level directly proportional to level of alcohol consumed by the Irishman in question). Set up camp at my Irish friend's dad's apartment in DunDrum, a quaint suburb of Dublin. Geared up for the next day which was....

Saturday: St. Paddy's Day in Dublin! Features of the Dublin Paddy's day experience:

• I have never seen a party with so many generations involved.  Got to the pub at about 2 p.m. and we were dodging the strollers being pushed around the bar. Walk on the PACKED streets, and we ran into green-decked grandparents along with the typical teenagers-wearing-things-they-shouldn't-be-wearing. It wasn't only tourists, every Irishmen in the country was in the streets of Dublin (source: Irishman on the subway). 
• I was expecting that the whole wear-full-body-green phenomenon was something that the U.S. had interpreted as something the Irish would do, not something the Irish actually do. WRONG. So much green. They even lit up Trinity College green. In a spurt of unwarranted panic about not enough ridiculous green clothing, I bought this huge green hat that said "Who's your Paddy?" However, speaking pf something that the U.S. interprets as Irish but is not Irish: No green beer (thank goodness!) (it's all we drink in the U.S. on this day).
  
•  St. Paddy. Do not make the mistake of saying/spelling Patty. Do. Not. Apparently Patty is derived from Patricia, which is just not somethin you call an Irish fella, ya hear...particularly a famous one. 
• Did I mention how many people there were out and about? I can't emphasize enough how huge this party was. Filled the streets of Dublin. Put Mardi Gras to shame. And it was sustained. All day and all night the crowd didn't die down. Too cool!

We went to a pub, and then toured around the streets, and then ... another pub.  And then we watched the England v. Ireland Rugby game with every other Irishmen in a standing-room-only pub. Which was not a favorable outcome for Ireland but seemingly did not change the partying plans of anyone (celebrate if you win, drink if you lose= same result). After several more stops and some jigging with random Irishmen we ended the night at a three-floor club with a live brass band playing dubstep music. It was an excellent 12 hours of Paddy's fun in Dublin. 

Sunday: Sidenote Kudos to what must be an excellent Irish street cleaning crew, because when I went home at 3 a.m. it was raining and the streets were coated in beer cans and green paraphenalia. When I was back in the city at 10 a.m. there were hardly any signs of huge party that filled every street in the city the day before. Nice.

The view of Dublin from the top of the Guinness factory, beautiful.

Guinness tour day! After resolving to go with the (less-sleep-deprived) morning sightseers, I dragged myself out of bed and zombied (not a verb? should be) over to the infamous Guinness Storehouse, which was an incredibly well-done museum and tracked how the beer is made and the history of the brand. Did you know that the Guinness factory buys 2/3 of the barley produced in Ireland? I'm sure this useful knowledge will come in handy in some pub trivia night in my life. Because of this, ended up having free hangover Guinness for breakfast and lunch. Regretted this. And then went to another Irish friend's house and was treated to a huge barbecue with lots of dancing (with Irish parents) and dental hygiene tips (from Irish parents). Good food, good friends, good times.

Monday: Found the Kiwis!

But this post is getting long and my bus to Oxford is coming soon so I will post in two parts, stay tuned for adventures in the Irish countryside with the Kiwis and Ziyi and I getting kiss-bombed by Irish lads at a pub on the coast, among other exciting tales...

British Non-Senioritis, American Stubbornness

Ode to this blog....
I can't tell you how much I love writing this blog. Writing is like catharsis. For awhile I thought I would be a journalist; all through college I had a writing outlet in the college newspaper; by senior year I was writing opinion-editorials about whatever topics I wanted, like the disease of "senioritis" and healthy partying. My favorite elective class I took was memoir writing. I wrote a blog all  through Ecuador. And then I graduated and suddenly I had no outlet for writing. And it made me realize how much I love it. It's such a good way to take a break and reflect on life.

Supermarket quirks...
Aubergine? What's an aubergine? (for US: eggplant, apparently) Why are there no cranberries and so many potato choices? You're not even going to ID me when I buy alcohol? [for Brits: It doesn't matter that I'm well over 21. ID'd every time in the U.S. I look in the plausible range of 21 and they are meticulous] Also, they don't believe in frozen cookie dough! The horror! Additionally, where's all the light beer? And the processed cheese-like Kraft Parmesan and Velveeta?  They only eat real cheese here, where I'd guess if you look in the refrigerators of Americans, a HIGH percentage of them have processed cheese. That might be an improvement. But the lack of light beer is not.

Quidditch

Every Saturday we have frisbee practice, and on the pitch (for USians: field) next to us there are Quidditch games going on. Quidditch at Oxford. How fitting is that. As far as I can tell, one plays this sport by running with a long stick or broom between one's legs, and trying to pass and throw a ball in to one of several hoola hoops hung from trees. And then the two other people (seekers) have to go look around for a Snitch that's hidden somewhere.  I think? I'm not sure  Clearly I need to try this. I think St. Hilda's (my college) has a team. I was saying something snarky one time about the two Seekers wandering around our frisbee practice with brooms between their legs, and then my teammates pointed out we were playing Ultimate Frisbee, and therefore really had no ability to say anything about odd sports...Fair point.                         

Things I've gotten wrong this week...

Pudding in the U.S. = Soupy dessert substance that comes in chocolate, vanilla, or butterscotch. 

Pudding in the U.K. = Dessert. No specific reference to the soup-like dessert substance. Huh. 

Brits are Immune to Senioritis

In the U.S., a fairly well-known disease among college students is called Senioritis.  It occurs towards the end of one's senior (for Brits: 4th) year of college. Seniors already have the majority of their credits (for Brits: grades in every class adding up to a cumulative Grade Point Average) and are 'coasting' through the rest. Senioritis is characterized by a lack of motivation, coupled with laziness and revulsion towards doing schoolwork. And also usually accompanied by a copious number of keggers (My senior month of May = the long-standing tradition 30 Kegs in 30 Nights).  And then we blame it on this incurable disease. 

In the U.K., there is no such thing.  3rd year (for US: only 3 years of college, lucky huh) is characterized by preparing for final exams. Which determine your grade for ALL OF COLLEGE. Literally the evaluation of your work for the last three years. For obvious reasons, Senioritis hasn't spread here. Which is a pity.  On a side note, in my senior year I published an op-ed on senioritis, and got comments from my  professors for days. Good times. 

American Stubbornness

In the U.S., we have this notion that everything should be fair and just.  If it isn't, we argue. And argue and argue. Until we speak to someone high enough in the chain of command who will listen. If nothing else, we register our complaint.  We're used to being able to argue for our rights.  Example: If my dad calls a help line and the person doesn't help him, he'll ask to speak to his supervisor.  If the supervisor can't help, my dad will ask to speak to his boss. If that's not possible, my dad will ask the name of his boss so he can personally tell his boss what a bad job the supervisor is doing. And then suddenly the supervisor pays attention and makes things happen. It's a well-established mechanism of making things happen; one only needs to look at student activism campaigns on college campuses (to get rid of bottled water, for instance) for less-dramatic examples.

In the U.K., it is impolite and much less common to do this.  Everyone is expected to do their best to help you, and if you question this it is considered much more offensive. I think there isn't a preconceived notion of entitlement as much as in the U.S. Example at Oxford: Our program wrote essays four months ago now that haven't been graded, and won't be graded til May. The U.S. in me wants to argue til I find the right person and point out the ludicrousness of this. I will bite my tongue. 

Caveats: yes, yes, I know this isn't true of everyone, there are exceptions, these are sweeping statements. etc. 

On that note, it's the home stretch of the term! Back to essay writing.  Bleeeerrrrgggggggghhh.  Enjoy the snow Michigan! - Lisa                                                                                                                                                                            

Frisbee Blues, Torpids, Pancakes, and Fancy Schmancy

I'm sitting here still in bed in the aftermath of a frisbee-filled day and night, still wearing my OW kit and contemplating a hangover run. The usual roundup of exciting things in Oxford this week:

1. Light Blue v. Dark Blue
Remember when we went to Frisbee NATIONALS? You know what's more important, taken more seriously than the British National competition? Beating rivals Cambridge, of course.

Background on OX-CAMB sports Every year, the Light Blues (Cambridge) play the Dark Blues (Oxford) in every sport imaginable around this time in what they call Varsity.  Playing in Varsity makes you eligible for a Blue, which as far as I can tell is essentially a cool status symbol: a designation recognizing your accomplishments as an athlete. Everyone takes getting a Blue very seriously here. The list of competitions is here. The uni that takes the most competitions "wins" Varsity 2012.

Most of the competitions take place these next two weekends, and both men's and women's Ultimate Frisbee played yesterday!  We play both indoor and outdoor matches, and you couldn't have asked for a better day to do so.  It's February and we're playing in shorts and t-shirts in beautiful sunlight.  Didn't Michigan just get another round of snow?  (snicker)

However, despite all our February photosynthesizing energy absorbtion, the women lost.  I was actually captaining since our normal captain was off playing for Great Britain Frisbee (!), and we spent the last week recruiting enough players to play outdoors.  But the men's team took home the glory for Oxford for the 3rd year running. And then the night ended in me doing a disc race. If you don't know what a disc race is, don't worry, you don't need to.  If you do and you know me at all, you should be phenomenally impressed with me right now, and understand more fully why I'm still in bed with the lights off.

2.  TORPIDS
Also this week was the term's boat races between the different Oxford colleges.  The idea of Torpids is that all the boats line up in a line to start, and you try to bump into the boat in front of you before the boat behind you bumps you. If you bump someone, you move up a spot in rankings. The race takes place over 4 days, and if you "bump" someone every day, you get yet another Oxford status symbol called Blades (they like those here). It kind of works like constant power rankings; teams that are under-ranked should be able to bump a boat every day and move up in the rankings. Check out the cool chart of where the boats ended up, and check out all of those boats in the race! So many!

All the videos are online.  I think now that I've tried rowing I really appreciate it more; it's really hard to have everyone stay in time, AND keep the boat level, AND keep rowing hard for such a long time (hey, 5-7 minutes is really long in rowing), all while your cox is shouting at you.  Coxes have a tough job also to recognize how to take the turns and keep from going into the bank.  One boat crashed the bank so hard that one of the rowers was thrown out, and another crashed in the gut (the start) and broke their boat. 10-14,000 pound boats (dear Americans, that's a monetary amount not a weight measurement), as a frame of reference.

3.  Shrove Tuesday
Instead of eating fattening donuts on Fat Tuesday, the Brits eat pancakes.  But let me clarify.  A pancake is not a pancake.  In England a pancake is a crepe.  But the Brits get mad when I say that too; apparently a pancake is a smaller version of a crepe. Looks like a crepe in my book.  And they eat them not with butter and syrup but with sugar and lemon, which I guess is just not fattening enough for my American taste buds because I thought it was rather bland. Yes I tried it so now I can effectively mock it.

4.  Exchange dinners!
So, what do Oxford students do for fun? Mostly dress up and eat 4-course meals. Woooo, Party Central here. I will never understand why the dressing up part is enjoyable. Fancy clothes are uncomfortable for both sexes (I assume)! Why would college students who don't have to wear them continually subject themselves to doing so!   You have the rest of your working life to do that! The way it works is through exchange dinners, where you invite another Oxford college (see here) to your college to eat, and then you get to go eat at their college where you dress up and schmooze and spill wine on your (or other people's) nice clothes. I really wish they made us wear funny-looking hats to get the true British experience, but they do make us wear our sub-fusc robes to add to the ridiculousness.  Sigh. Despite my mockery, next week I'll go on my 6th exchange dinner this term. It is cool to see the other colleges and their dining halls (think Harry Potter, seriously).

TTFN.  Hope your Sunday is filled with less essay-writing than mine will be.  - LP

Wikipedia-ing & US v. UK Academia

Just got back from a lovely round of frisbee-in-torrential-rain.  I suppose I'd better get used to it.  Apparently it's sunny here... in June.

I find myself accidentally using British terminology when I talk to people from home.  I've absorbed it without even thinking.  The following gets giggles from my U.S. friends:

• Uni  (what you call university)
• Kit (it's what you call your uniform or jersey for sports). 
• Pitch (it's a sports field not a baseball throw)
• Keen (I'm keen to go out tonight) and Fancy (Do you fancy a drink?)
• Laters/ Lols (pronounced lahls) (Okay. I don't say this. But Brits do and if I did I would get giggles from my U.S. friends).

Anyways, the big news from this week was that I got sick (again, gosh darn foreign germs) and that I got to meet Jimmy Wales! Who, for anyone who lives under a rock, is the founder of Wikipedia.  I'm helping out with a study comparing Wikipedia to Britannica, and he came to Oxford to meet the research team.  

It was quite exciting because it was a small group of people.  He dresses in what I will deem Steve Jobs style: glasses, black turtleneck, and was surprisingly conversational. It's always a bit intimidating to be in a room with someone whose more or less a level of celebrity with our generation, particularly when he's the focus of attention of everyone in the room, but I decided to just go for the bravado approach and introduced myself fairly early on.

He was a very friendly guy, given that he must attend about 20 of these types of luncheons a month. I chatted with him about the Wikipedia blackout (he wanted to see the effect on journalism because he hears all these reports from journalists about how they use Wikipedia to ask intelligent interview questions; he wondered if there were a lot of stupid questions in journalism that day) and about how time-consuming email was. Apparently he's friends with the founder of Amazon, and the founder of Amazon's motto is: "If I don't answer your email within 10 minutes, I won't answer at all".. essentially saying that if it doesn't capture his immediate attention he doesn't care. Approach worth thinking about.  He has no qualms about talking about the limits of Wikipedia.  

Yes, one person did call him Jimbo to his face. I had real trouble stifling a laugh into a cough.

Anyways, since I've been studying more or less these last two weeks, I thought it would be interesting for everyone from home to get a kind of inside sociological look of academia at Oxford, told from a U.S. perspective.   

Difference 1: Specialization v. Liberal Arts. In the U.S., most colleges require a broad range of subjects (example here), partially I assume an acknowledgement of the need for a flexible workforce in today's society.  The U.K. takes the opposite approach.  You pick your subject area at age 16ish and stick with it. They spend only three years in college rather than four (or five or six). Considering I believe in liberal arts I have trouble arguing effectively for the British approach, but I will say it offers a much more streamlined path into a career, and gets rid of the quintessential problem in the U.S. of freshmen puttering away/partying/ wasting money for a year before they have any idea what they're doing.

2: The Student Definition. In Oxford, you're defined as a student. Very few students hold jobs during term time. Very few work over Christmas break. I felt like I was always searching for the next employment opportunity in the U.S. during college. Someone once pointed out that that might be a symptom of going to an Ivy-league school rather than emblematic of the U.K.  But I do think there is a more cultural emphasis in the U.S. on getting work experience while in school (illustrates multitasking and time management skills; the "soft skills" needed for post-grad employment), and also  more need to work during the school year to compensate for high tuition costs. It will be interesting to see whether the 300% tuition hike starting next year in the U.K. will see a subsequent boom in the part-time student job market here out of necessity.

3: The Formative-Summative approach: In the U.S., you could have 15-20 assignments or more in one class in one semester, all being worth fractions of your grade. At Oxford, you're evaluated very few times during the year. Rather, you get lots of formative assignments that don't count for credit, but give you valuable feedback on how to approach the assignments that do count (summative).  Summative assignments might be given out once a year and your entire "grade" is resting on them. I really like this approach; it lets you experiment a bit and see what's kosher and what's not without it impacting your grade.

4: Down With Grade Inflation.  Gone are the days where I earned 105% in a class.  Extra credit? Not a concept.  Whereas in the U.S. an A is a 93-100  and frequently one can get above that, here the highest pass is an 80+, which our orientation guide told us was "Newton-level" (he used the same grading system, how weird is that to think about; our grades are compared to some of the best historical figures of all time).

Whew. This post is long enough. Next up, social life at Oxford, through a sociological lens!

Toodle-oo,  Lisa

Snow Place Like Home

Hiya,  (people say that here)

I just got back from a wandering run: one of those runs where you start out with no route in mind and no specific distance intended and just run until you feel fulfilled (nod to Jenna my college running buddy).  I love noticing the world at the pace of running.  I began to think that I've never been anywhere quite like Britain in the winter.  I think we in the U.S. tend to think of British countryside as fairly normal and nondescript, but in fact it's quite unique. Running through British countryside is like running through a painting. Nowhere I've been in the U.S. would have quite the same still, glass-like rivers, seemingly rising almost ground level, fields jotting right up to the edge of them.  It's as neat and carefully traced as a map would be: blue line cutting through green area, no banks for the rivers, one is tempted to take one step and walk from the grass right out onto their gleaming still surfaces. Vast still fields, coated horses quietly munching; everything seems frozen in peaceful silence. Sparse rows of smaller trees criss-cross the vast plains and edge the rivers; it reminds me a bit of Kentucky countryside, but then there are no hills here. Although the trees have lost many of their leaves, some still retain some resilient green plumage; it's not quite as grey as Michigan, but still feels that quiet and dead that winter always conjures up in my mind. It's lovely in its own unique way.    

Snow. I looked out the window of my bedroom last weekend and felt a strange warmth at seeing the spattering of white flakes. Strange delight indeed; in fact it was the first time in a long time that I was actually happy to see snow. It was comforting. It was home. For a brief moment, I was back in Michigan. I went outside and caught some snowflakes on my tongue. It's times like this when you realize that even the most amazing adventures in life can still be accompanied by the occasional yearning for the familiar.

Oxford itself is enchanting in the snow. Gothic buildings look that much more beautiful with a covering of white.  The City of Dreaming Spires indeed.

It does bring up the difficulty for me of how to get to class.  I live about two miles away from class via walking; 2.2 miles away via biking. I usually bike; walking for 30 minutes in chilling cold is not my favorite way to spend my 9 a.m.  However, Martin the road bike would not do snow well, which means next week I will spend much more time getting to class than I would wish to.

Side note One of the most annoying things about living here is the fact that Brits don't have rules governing how to pass someone when walking/running on the sidewalk.  Example: if you're walking towards someone in the U.S., you'd always go to the right side of the path (mirroring the cars).  In the U.K., there's no unsaid rule governing walking procedures.  Happens way too many times where you do a kind of face-off awkward dance to get around someone. Really, this is much more annoying than it sounds right now when I'm writing it on a blog.

Anyways, exciting things I've done this week include:  Oxford Uni Women's Ultimate Makes it to Indoor Nationals by Placing 4th in Regionals!  Particularly exciting due to its unexpectedness. We had two girls new to the sport, two girls who had started playing within the last four months, three girls who had never played a tournament in the U.K., and one (rather key) player for Great Britain. And me. By all logical and objective analysis, we should not have placed well. But we had a game plan that we executed brilliantly. The last three games we won a game to take 6th place (of 12), and then won the game for 5th against Birmingham, and then for 4th against Haze, qualifying us for nationals.  Seven games of frisbee in one day where I played almost every point.  Glorious.

I also have an up-and-running plan for my dissertation, which was truly the success of the week.  I might write about sometime.  No globetrotting for a bit here though, as I've started my series of summative essays (the only marks that count for my course for the year).

I could write more but this post is getting long. One last thing is to my grandparents who I know are reading this: Grandpa and Grandma, your thank-you cards warmed my heart.  They were just lovely to get and are now sitting on my desk. I wish it was culturally acceptable to write thank-you cards for thank-you cards, that's how much I appreciated them.  I've told Mom that I will call from England when she is there soon; send my love to the family in Minnesota.

Take time to appreciate the little things.  Lisa