On the first day everyone was absolutely exhausted. So many of us had spent our entire days traveling, and the flight from JFK to London was no picnic. It was my lucky morning though...as we were landing we encountered a bit of turbulence...that's right...I was THAT girl who threw up on the plane.
Fortunately that wasn't a sign of things to come. A few hours later I discovered I had lucked out with the rooming assignments. Allison and I hit it off right away. It's a good thing she's so laid back and willing to put up with me...I have a feeling other people wouldn't be so thrilled if their roommates had been here a week and still hadn't fully unpacked. I'm getting around to it, I swear.
There are about a hundred of us here through Syracuse (I think), but everything is pretty much split up by program. My program (Politics and the Media) is a really good mix of people. The first day/night was an appropriately awkward getting-to-know-you affair (with Allison and I being the loudest, and Mikey-Mike laughing at us the whole time, naturally), but everyone seems to have settled in by now. I feel like I've known some of these people forever.
Of course the first weekend involved a lot of exploring. There was a big soccer game the night a bunch of us went to Trafalgar Square, and it was absolutely incredible to hear the singing and chanting and to see everyone dressed in their team's colors. I've never been very into soccer, but that night helped me see why it's so important to people. There was such pride and an incredible spirit that I have never seen replicated in any other sport.
Sunday we took a group trip to Greenwich. It was great, except for one very small problem...I fell in love with my tour guide. I'm only half kidding. Jennings and I were sitting in the front row with ridiculous 13-year-old "I have such a crush on you" grins. British, attractive, British, charming, British, smart, British, funny, British....I think the other females on my bus are on the same page.
I think I've cooked more in the last week than I ever have in my entire life. Granted, the only things I've made have been cheesy bread and salmon, but still - I think my flatmates would agree that they were successful. Of course, my definition of successful is making it through without burning anything down or injuring myself or anyone else. Maybe this trip will be good for my domestic skills?
Classes kicked in this week, and I was definitely a little worried on the first day. It was mostly lecture (to get us up to speed with how politics and the media work in the UK), and I just can't sit still for that long unless I have an IV of coffee going into my veins. Fortunately the subject matter was very interesting and as the week went on we went to different places and talked to different people.
We went to The Times on Wednesday to listen to Danny Finkelstein, the Executive Editor. I walked out of there inspired and ready to go out and be a journalist. It was so refreshing to hear someone say positive things about the industry. I'm so used to hearing about how stations are consolidating and cutting back, no one is hiring, you'll be poor forever, the lifestyle is difficult, you have to sacrifice everything for a thankless job, etc. But Finkelstein has such faith in people's desire for news and in journalists' ability to fulfill that desire.
One thing he said that really stuck out was, "The more times you shoot at the target, the more times you score. So just go out and do it." Every since seventh grade, I've known I was going to go to Syracuse to become a broadcast journalist. It was never a question - it was a decision. In the past three weeks, I've been second-guessing that decision a lot, wondering if the pursuit of an awkwardly ambitious 13-year-old's dream is worth everything it comes with. Finkelstein made me realize I've been over-thinking it. I just need to do it, to keep shooting at the target. I may not succeed; I may not even end up in journalism. But I've never been so committed to making sure I know that I shoot at target as many times as humanly possible.
On a lighter note, yesterday's trip to Oxford was the most fun I've had in a long time. The tour of the Union and the debate itself reminded me of my mock trial days, and watching all those people speaking in front of everyone had me itching to do a closing argument just one more time (Ken, I think I'm starting to turn into you).
But before the debate we managed to get into Christ Church without paying, thanks to Jon's smooth-talking abilities. We saw the Great Hall from Harry Potter and the beautiful chapel...Allison soon dubbed the place "Harry Potter Church," which I found completely appropriate. I'm proud to say we were "those Americans" while we were there, sneaking into places we weren't supposed to be, trying to figure out how to get past the places that were roped off. It worked about 90 percent of the time.
Our biggest adventure of the day, though, was punting. There were four of us in a large flat boat - at any point during the trip one of us would have a very large rod that we'd use to steer the boat by pushing it off the river floor. I'm proud to say, with as much humility as possible, that I was the best at it! Jon was not pleased that the people running the boats saw he had given the driver's position and heavy rod to the girl in the dress ;)
As a group, we've already done so much of the wonderfully touristy things - Platform 9 3/4, Greenwich, Oxford, Trafalgar Square - but so far my favorite "activity" has been the early-morning walk I took with my roommates one day before class. We didn't have a particular destination in mind. We just...walked. And by the end of it I felt like I was actually a part of the city, cheesy as it sounds. Yes, I get lost every five seconds, and if I tried to use the charming British accent people would probably throw things at me. But that morning it hit me that I live here now. It's a thrilling, terrifying, and comforting thought, all at once.
So many parts of this trip remind me of France - especially the train ride last night. I was leaning against the window about to fall asleep and I had a huge flashback of using Chase as a pillow on the way to Nice (and everything else), lost passports, explorations of Paris, late-night "rebellious" activities....Chase, Allison, Katrina, Lexie - can we go back? Please?
I have a funny feeling that if I blink, this entire trip will be over. Guess I'll have to focus very hard on not blinking.
Beautifully written. Je suis très jalouse! Also, where's the loo, bro?
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