Tourism a La Mode

Before even really thinking much about it, I was going to start this blog off with a relatively insincere apology about not posting more blogs since my trip to Paris last weekend. Fortunately, I'm over it. I realized within the past two days back from my adventures in France, the knowledge I get to bring back to the states from Oxford is more than I could have asked for. I have read about double the amount of books I intended to, remain engaged in class on a daily basis, and constantly have stimulating conversations with surprising people. Okay, I admit. This does sound a bit pretentious. But it's not that I didn't expect this to happen here, its that I really didn't expect the students here to pursue any ounce intellect- outside the strenuous mental stimulation of pub crawls. Academically, I am slowly but surely learning to focus on specifics instead of vague contextual generalizations I find so comfortable (especially in my writing). More interestingly, this epiphany is not just one that might produce better grades (which I could honestly careless about in the grand scheme of my education), but perhaps a greater understanding of that realization in my colloquial life, which I have already begin to see emerge.

Blah blah bleepidy blah. Boring--- =)

As far as Paris goes, I am going to have to agree with the rest of its over zealous tourists and say that is was an absolutely stunning city- almost to a disgusting extent. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed every moment I possibly could have but there is something about a place that oozes so much romance that just makes me want to chunder (*English slang term for vomit). However, my traveling partners and I DID find a way to cure the tourism blues. You know, us uncultured American college students navigating the French metro, finally getting there but not quite getting there, then taking a taxi, finally getting there, finding a bathroom, waiting in line, seeing the attraction and then wanting nothing more than to sit down just about anywhere. Well, have no fear because the Parisians (and I am sure other cities as well) rocked this problem to the core. Paris had these great tour buses that you could take all around the city, get every picture you could have possibly wanted, listen to a patient/well-spoken tour guide via ear phones, sit, and enjoy the city the way it should be enjoyed: with European ease, satisfaction included. The details about the monuments, architecture and museums are boring. But I remember everything I saw that day and if I forget, I am sure the days will bring a even greater appreciation for each photograph I took.

As for this lovely photograph...When jumping off the tour bus for the first time (yes, it was hop-on-hop-off, so great. Right??) We stopped at Notre Dame and as I was taking a stupid amount a pictures I found what I look for most when surrounded by hundreds of sweaty, dirty tourists- children completely disregarding sanitation. You're probably thinking, "D, are you batshit crazy? That little boy is practically drinking out of a water fountain- totally harmless." But what you don't know is how absolutely gnarly the water is in Europe in general. In fact, most of the sinks indicate "NOT drinking water." Which makes me wonder a) where the water is coming from and b) who decided that it was okay for tap water to not be human friendly?

Oh Paris, thank you for being all shades of wretched, disgusting and beautiful.

TMifE,

D

Touche Amsterdam...

Well, although it has been a few days since I got back from Amsterdam and I am still thinking about all of the things I experienced whilst there. The overall theme of the weekend as my tourist-partner-in-crime and I toured the city asking locals where to go and them responding with the subtly condescending question "Are you American?" (...we would flash our expensively excessive orthodontic smiles and give them the truth as they judged us with progressive Dutch eyes), is that Americans (according to the Dutch) are a bunch of squares. Yes, everything we boast about having is bigger, better, and tastier (dear god the food is dreadful in England), than anything European's could even attempt at creating, but here are the reasons why the Dutch think that we are all a lovely group of unprogressive pricks (with as many pictures as I could provide...which is not alot):

1) Marijuana is openly smoked on the streets and is, therefore, legal. Thus, we become a happy group of green- haters. I would assume the argument Amsterdam makes for why it IS legal is that they have a crime rate about half the size of ours. And as I asked locals and coffee shop owners why they responded with an answer I would assume someone in the South would give for being able to own guns: it's just the way it is and it works just fine. So, touche Amsterdam. However, is correlation always causation?

2) Prostitution is legal. Morality aside because I am not prepared to defend myself in any extensive argument on the subject, but the Red Light district is not exactly Utopia. But, it is taxed which made me wonder if perhaps destroying the black market of this trade, making it legal, and taxing it would help our economy. I suppose the same would be true for marijuana. Just food for thought, if you will.

3) There are more bikes in Amsterdam than people. Which means a couple of things: they are more environmentally aware than any Prius or SmartCar in suburbia could attempt at being, their transportation system is efficient and successful on daily basis, and the people, therefore, are fit and better looking (I kid you not, except, biking may not exactly make you better looking but I would assume that it creates a better gene pool)

Ill-thought-out arguments/politics aside, Amsterdam is an amazing city. And more often than not, they've got it right. But I do have to agree with some of the Dutch. Some Americans won't ever change the way they and past generations have thought. Although I hope this isn't completely true, I am young, stupid and hopelessly optimistic.

Whilst yet to prove.

Well tomorrow I am off to Amsterdam. [Insert anxiety/excitement/anticipation here]. But more as for today, there was another day trip with lots of British countryside and historical nonsense. I am not quite sure if it is the lack of sleep or perhaps that I woke up this morning with my right eye practically swollen shut from what could be a variety of things-- one professor said a spider bite (in which case I will find the nearest row boat to the US ASAP), hayfever, or simply a sty-- but I came to the conclusion today that I really just don't know the social conditions of being a tourist. (As far as my eye goes... no worries, I'm going to nurse myself with some English medicine and hopefully all will be well for my travels tomorrow morning). I suppose being touristy is something that goes well with a nice tall glass of age but I can't help but thinking I continue to put off this dreadful American persona. I take lots of pictures, yes and I try to read as much as I can on the tour but sometimes I find myself incredibly disinterested. NOT in a I-hate-walking-lets-find-a-pub-disinterested-type-way but that I wished I knew more about the subject before hand so I could make some sort of educated connection. Does that make sense?

For instance, the other day at St. Paul's cathedral in London there was this overwhelming vibe from students that this was one boring day trip to take whilst being in such a great city. And I have to admit, the tour guide spoke some kind of crazy jibberish British and smelled like he hadn't showered since the Victorian era so it was hard to be enthralled with the experience and not tag along with the rest of the miserable student.

So, naturally, instead of being frustrated, I found other ways to occupy my time by exploring (although I technically wasn't supposed to) and taking lots of photographs. Strangely enough, it was on my escapade and through all of the archaic tombs and stained glass that I found a rather small dedication on an obscure wall commemorating the death of poet John Donne. My heart fluttered a bit and I was so excited that I could have at the very least had a small conversation about that wall space. That's what these places are for right? To open a discourse about a learned experience? I refuse to let my European adventures to become some kind of whore house for other Facebook goers to live vicariously through. It's just cheap and hungry. So I wont. =) On the bright side, boy do I adore English poets...

Youthful Folly

Well, week two is here and I am still impressed with all things Oxford. Unfortunately, I've gotten a bit sick and cant really tell if it is from allergies or a cold or simply getting practically no sleep at all (violent English pub-goers and anxious American students can be a deadly combination-- oh and waking up for class too). Either way, that is my terribly ill-thought-out excuse for not writing on here as much as I should. On the sunnier side of things, my roommate and I got a call last weekend from an old friend/SMU graduate/sorority sister who lives in London and decided to spend the weekend with her. It was lovely. I WILL live in London one day. Even if it is the last thing I do.

Yes, if you haven't already noticed, I have been lacking a decent amount of creative energy. So I apologize if this post seems like a waste of space but those of you totally over my lack of juicy Euro details, here is a picture of my stunning quaint little campus. Go ahead, let the English lushy-ness woo you to the core.

Cheers to a second round of London!

...yes, I'm going again today. Concerned a bit that I might just like this place too much... I guess I will take the time now to introduce a pretty important character in my adventure story- Mary- my roommate, little pocket of Miami sunshine and outrageous partner in crime. We spent practically the whole day together yesterday from St. Paul's cathedral to the British Museum and Tower of London then very SMU-esq boat ride (cash bar included) with all of the SMU Oxford students and professors to bring the night to one messy close. Without her, this trip had the potential to be too touristy for comfort and a bit silly. But it ended up meeting any expectation I thought I had. We had a stupid good time. We adventure and she makes sure I don't take my impulses too seriously =). The Supertour was great and I refuse to bore you with details- that's what my parents and good friends who have no other choice are for. For now, I will tell you my London love[lust] affair has just begun. I will try to keep up with the courtship and maybe fill those interested in along the way.

Just so bloody excited!@(&#

London, today[tomorrow], you are mine. For the first time in my life, I will be going to London tomorrow(eeekk! excitementzz) and to make things simple/lovely/worth-reading I will most likely make a list of the things I found the most ravishing whilst there.

The day will be long (leaving Oxford at 8 am- if I make it =)- and getting back at 12 am) so I am not totally positive I will be able to write as promptly as I would like to. Take this as a preface/teaser, if you will, and I will update with the most juicy details upon my return.

TMifE,

D

Sore Accent-ident

Horror movies make my life better. I would assume this isn’t exactly the same reaction most get from this art form but I really do think sometimes that without horror movies my life would be substantially less interesting.

(I promise this has to do something with Oxford but it involves some back-story for those who don’t know)

Last year, I lived with a good friend of mine, Missy, who was about as obsessed as I am, if not more, with all of the greatest horror movies known to mankind so my obsession became progressively worse as our year living together grew longer. Not to mention, I also blame my mother who is from New Orleans and therefore has all kinds of creepy running through her veins and an unhealthy addiction to the absurdly terrifying.

Well, yesterday in Oxford, I was lucky enough to meet a group of Brits at a pub who effortlessly met my criteria for English acquaintances: 1) about my age 2) relatively interesting 3) not an overly orthodontic tooth to be seen. We got to talking which mostly consisted of them telling my roommate and I how strange American vernacular is. How “gas station” is “petrol” and “SUVs” are “four wheels” (and only driven around by stupid Americans who move here- which I could not agree with more). Anyways, we got to talking about zombies (naturally, of course) and horror movies. And although I was not THAT surprised how impressed they were with my knowledge, it was entertaining to see the American films they love here which I would consider pretty terrible cinematic experiences in the US. Then, one of the boys asked me if I had every seen the movie “Sore.” I, not understanding which was a common thread to much of our conversation, asked, “Sore, like open sore” (graphic, I know). And he said “Yes, you know, the movie where the guy puts other guys in terrible situations and makes them try to figure out how to get out alive.” Then I said, “Do you mean SAW?” He laughed and agreed and as he mocked me for talking like a cowboy, realized how dreadful the American (most especially Texas) accent is.

Thank you again Oxford for making me feel charming and like a fool all at the same time.

One Decadent Oxford Woman.

Hello! and greetings from Oxford!

Although I intended my blog posts to be more photo based, I accidentally forgot my camera connector in the states so I guess I will have to woo you with my words in the meantime. Speaking of…I cant help but think how incredibly silly it is that the Brits (boys especially) find the American accent “charming.” Last I checked improper English and using the work “like” far too often (which I am guilty of) is far from charming but I guess this is where the phrase “To each is own” would come into play?

Anyways…

I really would hate for this to become a “Today in Europe I did this” type of blog so I will most likely pick out one or a few things I find worth writing about.

Today, walking the streets of Oxford I saw this old woman wearing at least 3 different furs, 4 or 5 watches, and what looked like every ounce of jewelry she owned. The purpose of this story is to tell you, a curious third party participant of my adventures abroad, that I want to be her one day- roaming the streets of Oxford in what looked like a drunken stumble at 3 pm. She was glamorous and uninhibited- practically everything I could hope to be. Thank you Oxford.