Well, internet people, this blog is reaching you from the glorious UK–specifically, from lovely Harlaxton Manor, where I shall be living for the next four months, except when I’m jaunting off to various other locations in Europe.
Because I am still a bit tired, you can’t really expect much from me going forward in the way of avoiding typos, but I shall certainly try my best. But while it is fresh I happily bring to you the tale of my first journey out of the country, or in fact on an airplane.
The airport. I was quite scared of it. Had stress dreams for WEEKS about all the horrible things the airport security folk were going to do to me (don’t take that the wrong way, of course. Much.) But although the security was appropriately rigorous, no one tackled me. Or patted me down. Or insisted that someplace under my sweater I was harvesting some sort of illegal contraption.
Then we waited. We waited a lot. And then I slightly panicked when we went through a bizarre sort of floating tunnel contraption to get onto the plane, especially since one of the airport employees was offended that I was still clutching my passport desperately. Perhaps I’m going into too much detail, as flying is rather routine for a lot of people, but to me EVERYTHING was both new and intimidating. Still, the metal contraption somehow ascended the sky, on wings I had to avoid looking at because they seemed ENTIRELY too floppy in the wind to be safe (they were, however). I couldn’t figure out the overhead lights, or the little screen in front of me, but the food was a lot less awful than I expected. Other than spending a good deal of the flight with the seat in front of me IN MY LAP because I am entirely too polite to say anything, it wasn’t actually that bad. Except the landing. I hated the landing.
And then. The castle. The gorgeous, gorgeous castle. And finding my lovely little one person room–which I have to leave in a week because it will be given to the chosen RA. I don’t mind–it is going to get lonely in here fast. But I got rather attached to my little single room last night when I happily crashed at the early time of 8:45, done in by the exhausting journey across the ocean. In the sky. A fact I am rather unable to accept, even now.
But here I am! Living in the above pictured CASTLE. In England. HERE! Gorgeous castle, fantastic accents (my thoughts have already gone British on me and it’s all I can do to avoid the habit of talking like who I’m around and seeming rather pitiful) and excitement over the ready availability of my beloved Cadbury chocolates. Already the cultural differences surprise me–our British studies professor offered us a drink, which I accepted despite the knowledge that I would not be able to finish an entire plastic cup of wine. After about seven sips I gave up, got even more exhausted, and journeyed up to my room to fall asleep. Such is my first experience with any considerable quantity of alcohol.
Soon I’ll be learning, traveling, and just generally making an adventure of the thing. For now, though, I have to go off and get fancified for our formal dinner this evening.