An American in London, Episode 2: Finding Nero

An essential part of working in London is discovering your coffee shop. This is of the utmost importance. The coffee shop is that most magical of places, the neutral zone between home and work. It is where you steel your courage to face the day. Many Commuters will only spend a few minutes in their coffee shop, a quick cup of something to take away on the last leg of their journey. I have quite a different relationship with my coffee shop.

Today's episode: Finding Nero, wherein our heroine has her moment of Zen.

The first day I commuted into Hammersmith, I was left with a conundrum. I had an hour before I had to be at work but the walk from the station would only take ten minutes, fifteen if I dawdled. I peered through the crowds and traffic, trying to find some sort of place that I could waste the next forty-five minutes. I spotted a Caffé Nero through the stream of cars and vans and headed off. Caffé Nero is a chain coffee shop, like a Starbucks but, to my American sensibilities, different. For one thing, it has a different logo. Okay, so it’s like most chain coffee shops, baristas, teas, coffees with exotic sounding names, baked goods, a small selection of wrapped sandwiches, selections of classical music, and comfy chairs where denizens read their newspapers or books. I would have no trouble relaxing here for forty minutes.

That first breakfast in Hammersmith.

What began as a mere pit stop in my daily commute quickly turned into something else. For one thing, I discovered the most delightful of breakfast foods: honey yoghurt. It is as good as it sounds: Greek yoghurt with a hint of sweet, honey flavour. It is what I most look forward to when I wake up. I have also challenged myself to try all of the blends of tea on offer (save decaf, who the hell drinks that stuff anyway?). Thus far I have enjoyed Tea. Earl Grey. Hot, Chamomile, English Breakfast, Green Tea, and today’s blend was Raspberry and Ginseng. Monday will be Peppermint and then I can go back to my most favouritest of blends, Earl Grey. I have taken to writing during my morning stop at Caffé Nero as well (yes, I’m in Caffé Nero as I type these words). For forty-five minutes I slip into a delightful bubble, not quite a bubble, a haze more like. I can write, stare off into the distance, or contemplate the very odd things that frequently pop into my head. My moment of Zen.

It’s that moment where your busy morning slows down, the world outside the window of the shop continues on at warp speed, but inside everything is calm. Your easy chair wraps you up with its arms and you can watch the madness from its warm embrace. The classical music piped in from the speaker becomes foregrounded as the rest of the sounds of the world fade away. I have had lovely, odd thoughts in this state.

The one that visits me most frequently are the childhood dreams I had of becoming a ballerina. I blame this particular reverie on the canned music. It’s music that ballet teachers would play in class for bare work. (I am convinced that one track actually is one that I danced to at some point.) One morning I began to imagine what my life would have been if I had pursued dance as I had wanted to as a child. Zen set in and the thoughts danced around my head. What if I had come to England to study ballet? Maybe I would have been fifteen or sixteen wandering the streets of London, going to class for hours on end, the bleeding blisters, the beautiful costumes, the surge of adrenaline from the performances. I wondered if my ballerina-self would have had a coffee shop, too. For a second, I half expected my ballerina-self to come through the door and order a cup of tea. I blinked and the reverie was broken. I took another sip of tea.

This morning I got to Caffé Nero earlier than normal, ordered my Raspberry and Ginseng tea and honey yoghurt, and grabbed my preferred table. From my seat I can see through the door way into the front of the coffee shop and on through the large windows out into London. From here a dreamer can invent her own reality. I watch people walking by and invent stories about who they are and where they are going. That bloke with the gym shorts and backpack is training for the London marathon. He’s running for a gerbil charity to commemorate his childhood pet. That woman with the blackberry has an important presentation this morning. She has invented a product that will make anyone invisible for precisely 0.68 seconds. (It’s still in the development stage.) I stay in my chair long after my tea is gone dreaming and writing. At quarter to, it’s time to meander over to my building and begin the rest of my day. The moment of Zen is over and I join that stream of stories out of the window.

An American in London, Episode 1: The Commutation of the Commute

Two weeks working in London have flown by like an express train from Paddington Station. I am halfway through my work placement with the Theatre and Performance Archives at the V&A and spring has reached England’s green and pleasant land. I do apologise for failing to update last week but I found forming a new routine to be all consuming. It would take far more words than I have time to devote to explain every nuance of the past twelve days or so, so I will provide you, dear Reader, with just the broad strokes. They may seem rather mundane but things like finding your coffee shop, memorising the train schedule, and learning the walking route to and from places takes on such importance when you are starting a new job that they tend to overshadow the more monumental episodes like, oh, I don’t know, working at the V&A? Over the next few weeks I will devote some posts to various elements of my life in London, they will be short, but hopefully interesting.

Today’s episode: The Commutation of the Commute, wherein our heroine is transformed.

I am living outside of London in a village near Maidenhead. You may remember I stayed with friends before Christmas near Windsor. They graciously agreed to host me for the month of my work placement and I have been thrown into the family mix. I must admit that after the confines of my tiny study bedroom in Durham, having a real home to go to every evening has been beyond comforting. Living outside of London does have certain disadvantages though. For one thing, it’s outside of London. I have not, nor will I conceivably have time to see and do things in the city. I am that certain class of Londoner at the moment; not really a Londoner, a Commuter. Commuters are a special breed. They plant themselves outside of major cities in delightful suburbs and villages but always near a rail station. The rail station is to the Commuter what the migration routes are to wildebeests on the African plains. Every morning they are herded onto ridiculously crowded rail carriages and zipped into the city. I had to learn this routine in order to properly blend in with the species.

Commuters in their natural habitat. (Photo by Route79)

It started with a journey to one of those rail stations to obtain that most coveted of Commuter items: a monthly rail pass. This necessary rite of passage does have its costs. I left the station £370.00 lighter, but with the means to travel between Maidenhead and anywhere in London for a month. The next morning I would join the herd to begin my four week placement at the V&A. I was now ready to become a Commuter.

One of the main duties a Commuter has is to learn the railway time table. I had to determine the best trains to take in the morning and again in the evening. I needed to work out the nuances of the Tube and carefully sculpt my journey much like Michelangelo sculpting David. Do I take the District line to the Overground? Do I take the Hammersmith and City line and walk? Or do I take the District line to the Central line to the Overground? The patterns and complexities of the decision were enormously fun; it was like an artistic puzzle to be pondered.

The first decision though had to be which train from Maidenhead. An internet search provides an answer or of course there is an app for that. (Over the past two weeks I have graduated to a higher level of Commuter since I always search for my train’s platform number before I get to the station, saving me from the Junior Commuter mistake of having to actually look at those screens. Noobs). Determining the proper train is not straightforward. Later trains may in fact get you into Paddington earlier than early trains. I blame this seeming disruption in the spacetime continuum on wibbly wobbly timey wimeyness. (It is England after all.) For example, if you take the 17:42 from Paddington (yes, you need to get used to 24 hour time here, it’s used all over the place) you arrive in Maidenhead at 18:13. If you take the 17:49 from Paddington you arrive in Maidenhead at 18:07. (I also think the 17:49 is bigger on the inside.) Either way, both trains will get you to Maidenhead. A Commuter should always know at least two or three trains around the preferred train in case of unforeseen misfortune such as gasp delays!

London Paddington (Photo by El Scrapeo)

Once I had determined my preferred trains and memorised three trains round that one, I was ready. I must say that I have found a rather wonderful rhythm to my commute. I leave early enough to have breakfast in Hammersmith and a leisurely walk to the office and my reverse journey isn’t too taxing on my weary brain.

So there I am. I am Commuter. Ich bin ein Kommuter. (No that is so not the German word for commuter, but it totally should be.)The Cambridge Free Dictionary defines commute as “to change one thing into another.” (How I do love the English language!) I have sculpted my commute and it has in turn sculpted me.

Our Professor Lupin

If you cast your memories back to September (or use the search option on the side of this page), you may recall my first meeting with my course director, Robin Skeates. (Insert flashback fade here.)

I got to chatting with the American guy who had watched our things. He was from Indiana and arrived on Wednesday. He was also in our college, but I had not seen him before today. The three of us sat talking until a blonde haired man with a goatee entered the room. He smiled kindly and looked at all of us. This was our course director, Robin Skeates. In that moment he reminded me rather of Professor Lupin, kind, soft spoken, but at the same time very sharp.

He spoke to us about the Museum and Artefacts program. He talked about our Easter break work placements, our research papers, and our timetables. Then one by one, we went up to meet with him and go over our course selections.

(Incidentally “the American guy” would turn out to be Alex, one of my closest friends here.)

Over the course of the last six months, Robin has managed to endear himself to everyone in the programme. My initial comparison to Professor Lupin was not only shared by everyone but had arisen independently of my observation. It didn’t help that on occasion (oddly timed with the full moon), Robin would miss meetings. It was when he came in with a gash on his nose however, that we all knew he had had a rough transformation the night before. This further spawned an entire Harry Potter alternate universe in which everyone involved in our programme had been assigned a character, professors and students alike. (Yours truly came out as Hermione Granger.) I think it has been Robin’s genuine desire to help us all succeed that has generated this affection in all of us. Whatever complaint, problem, or question one of us might have, he is willing to hear us out and come to some sort of solution. It may also have something to do with his absent-minded academic type persona. How can you not appreciate someone who, in the middle of a lecture, glances out the window and says “SQUIRREL” or someone who puts the strangest pictures on his lecture slides and then can’t recall why he did it?

It was about two weeks ago that we all came to the realisation that our last lecture with Robin was going to be on Wednesday 19 March. Instant depression set in on all of us. No more Robin. No more silly stories. No more odd comparisons. No more squirrels. I’m not entirely sure how the idea arose. I think a number of us came to it simultaneously. We decided to throw a farewell breakfast to celebrate making it through two terms, to give us a proper send off on our placements, but mostly to thank Robin.

Preparations began in earnest. Nearly everyone volunteered to bring something, food, drinks, balloons, cups, plates. There was even a suggestion that we all dress as our favourite museum, though the logistics of which proved more difficult. We were all so excited about how Robin would react. The night before I was busy concocting a French Toast Casserole. It required some creative jiggering as it was an American recipe and for some reason they do insist on using the metric system over here and maple syrup was scarce. I woke early the next morning to pop it in the oven and headed over to the classroom to help set up.

Gemma and Lauren were already there, blowing up balloons and moving tables. I set the casserole down and began to help. Alex came in next with some fruit selections and then came Kate with juice and tiffin. Every time we heard the door open we jumped, terrified that Robin would arrive early and ruin the surprise. One by one we all trickled in. Finally, once enough balloons were taped and the food was all laid out, we took out seats and waited.

We waited.

And waited.

Robin was usually there at half past eight. It was just going quarter to and he still hadn’t come. Then the suppositions began.

What if class was cancelled?

What if Ben (our other lecturer) got jealous and decided to tell Robin that we all hated him and weren’t coming today?

What if Robin got Ebola and is bleeding out of his eyes?

The door opened and in walked Robin.

The reaction was better than we had all hoped. He was truly surprised and touched. He just kept looking around at everything saying things like “wow” and “this is great.”

We had the first half of our lecture and then dove into the food. It was a brilliant end to term and a fantastic farewell to Robin. He wasn’t going anywhere just yet and we were sure to see him throughout the spring and summer, but it was the perfect way to say thank you. 

The Land of Cadbury

I recall a once legendary battle which took place over twenty years ago between myself and my brother Steven. It was a week or so after Easter and we had eaten our way through our candy and we now down to the last, coveted Cadbury Creme Egg. Both of us loved Cadbury Creme Eggs and we found ourselves smack dab in a shortage of resources situation. It’s an old, old story; one with which I am sure you are familiar. One person has what the other person wants. Today, the trauma of that engagement has dulled my memory. I recall a great deal of running and shouting. Finally, in a climactic show of frustration, my brother let loose the very object of our disagreement and it hit be square in the arm. I had a giant bruise for the next week but I had come out of the trenches the victory and I enjoyed every moment of eating my triumph.

I suppose it is fate that I have come to the land of Cadbury where my wildest dreams have in fact come true. I have seen with my own eyes, giant Cadbury chocolate eggs. It was too much to hope for that they would be filled with that most heavenly of tastes, the cream. I have also seen miniature Cadbury Creme Eggs which with one bite are devoured whole. This is no exaggeration, dear Reader. I have come to the Promised Land after a lifetime of crusading.

Now my current profession will not allow me to merely rely on these flowery reflections upon the gloriousness that is the Land of Cadbury. Rather, what follows is a preliminary report on my findings, a comparison really. I hope that you will find it useful should you ever be lucky enough to follow in my footsteps. 

Object Name                                                 Cadbury Creme Egg (Mini)

Accession Number                                        YUM.21.3.14.a

Culture                                                           United Kingdom

Date                                                               Best Before 31 July 2014

Material and Construction

Primary Materials                            Milk, sugar, cocoa butter, glucose syrup, invert sugar syrup, cocoa mass, humectant (glycerol), vegetable fats (pal, shea), emulsifier (E442), colours (E171, paprika extract)

            Completeness                                    Complete, for the present

Decoration                                                     Foil wrapper

Dimensions

            Height                                                35 mm

            Width                                                 24 mm

            Depth                                                 26 mm

            Weight                                               11.5 g

Acquisition

This object was acquired on 21 March 2014 via purchase from the Howlands Shop in Durham, County Durham, UK. It arrived packaged with seven similar objects. Total cost amounted to £1.

Object Description

Object arrived individually wrapped in colourful foil with the phrase “Cadbury Crème Egg” printed twice across it. The dominant colours in the design are red, yellow, purple, and white. The obverse of the decorative foil is plain silver.

Once unwrapped, it was clear the object had been decoratively moulded. Four oblong lines run along the length of the piece. Centrally, on both sides the moniker “Cadbury” is enscribed with two eight point stars.  

An obvious joint can be noted running along the length of the entire piece, suggesting it was manufactured in two pieces and later joined together.

The centre is filled with a white and yellow fondant that is quite delicious.

Object Name                                                 Cadbury Creme Egg

Accession Number                                        YUM.21.3.14.b

Culture                                                           United Kingdom

Date                                                               Best Before 31 July 2014

Material and Construction

Primary Materials                           Milk, sugar, cocoa butter, glucose syrup, invert sugar syrup, cocoa mass, humectant (glycerol), vegetable fats (pal, shea), emulsifier (E442), colours (E171, paprika extract)

            Completeness                                    Complete, for the present

Decoration                                                     Foil wrapper

Dimensions

            Height                                                53 mm

            Width                                                 38 mm (at widest)

            Depth                                                 39 mm

            Weight                                               36 g

Acquisition

This object was acquired from Boots Pharmacy in Market Square, Durham, County Durham, UK. It was purchased as part of a meal deal with a sandwich and smoothie. It was not packaged in any other way save for its decorative foil.

Object Description

Object is individually wrapped in a colourful foil. The primary colours used on the foil are yellow, red, purple, white, and black. The foil has several words written on it including “Cadbury Creme Egg” and product information such as ingredients and the sell by date. The obverse side is plain silver.

Once unwrapped, the moulded design of an eight pointed star and three ridges is clear. This design appears on both sides of the egg.

An obvious joint is seen running along the length of the egg. There is a gap in this joint toward the narrow end of the egg. This suggests that the joining process was not fully completed.

Inside the egg is delicious white and yellow fondant.

Object Name                                                 Cadbury Milk Chocolate Egg

Accession Number                                        YUM.21.3.14.c

Culture                                                           United Kingdom

Date                                                               Best Before 31 July 2014

Material and Construction

Primary Materials                   Milk, Sugar, Coca Butter, Cocoa Mass, Vegetable Fat,    Emulsifiers, Flavourings

            Completeness                                     Complete, for the present

Decoration                                                      Foil wrapper

Dimensions

            Height                                                 160 mm

            Width                                                  116 mm (at widest)

            Depth                                                  123 mm

            Weight                                                 277 g

Acquisition

This object was acquired at Tescos in Market Square, Durham, County Durham UK on 15 March 2014. It arrived in a box with five treat sized Cadbury bars. Total purchase price was £2.

Object Description

The object is wrapped in a decorative purple foil with white letters which read “Cadbury” repeated in a pattern.

Unwrapped, the decoration of the egg is rather plain. The word “Cadbury” appears on both sides of the egg and indentations are seen near the joint where the edges of the moulds met.

The egg does not contain any fondant.

Comparison

All three objects were easily obtained in Durham, County Durham, UK. They are all egg shaped and wrapped in a colourful foil. All contain relatively the same ingredients though YUM.21.3.14.c does not contain fondant. Apart from the differences in size, YUM.21.2.14.a and YUM.21.2.14.b are virtually identical.

Conclusion

Cadbury Creme Eggs are delicious.

A Weekend Down South

Last Wednesday I hopped on a train headed for London. I had received an email from my supervisor at the V&A suggesting I come in for a chat before I began my placement. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to get out of Durham for a long weekend and clear my mind.

The term was winding down but it had been one of the busiest most stressful times I have had. Apart from the normal work of graduate school, I had been rehearsing the choir every Monday evening, I was working at Palace Green Library with the exhibitions department every Friday, I was still trying to go to CrossFit twice a week, and somewhere in between all of that and lectures, essays, and lab time, I was trying to have a social life. I was living at an accelerated pace and had completely forgotten how to slow down. I didn’t relax anymore; I just collapsed at the end of every day. It’s understandable that I would reach my breaking point eventually. It was just ironic that it came in the form of a bad reaction to antianxiety medication I had been taking since December. After coming off of it, I began to slow down quite a bit, the work load didn’t lessen but I was able to stop on occasion and toss on an old episode of Jonathan Creek in order to unwind a bit. This weekend away couldn’t have come at a better time.

I managed to cram my small rolling suitcase with everything I needed. I got the 12:30 train from Durham and on the three hour journey to Kings Cross I took care of some admin work for the choir. Our concert was on the following Friday and I still needed to finish the programmes, ensure that the room would be available (I had booked it three months in advance but another event had been scheduled right before ours and the stress from this was mounting), I also needed to find some readers for two poems I had selected to break up the evening. Charlotte was coordinating with the Ustinov Intercultural Forum to have one of the poems translated into several languages but I still needed someone to read Whitman’s O Captain, My Captain. As I sped towards London, I realised I was hardly beginning my weekend away in any kind of relaxing way.

We got into Kings Cross on time, which is somewhat miraculous. I grabbed my suitcase and began the now familiar walk to the Hammersmith and City lines on the tube. I weaved in and out of the crowds and began to feel somewhat settled in my mind. Perhaps that’s why I loved the city so much; it travelled at my normal pace of life. In Durham where things are calmer, I tend to feel somewhat overblown, too quick, too much. In London, I was just normal.

I boarded the tube toward Paddington and fifteen minutes later I was climbing on a First Great Western train toward Maidenhead. I was so grateful that I would be staying with my friends for this weekend and over the course of my placement. You may remember I spent a few days with them before going home in December. I arrived at the station and there they were, waiting to pick me up.

I took a deep breath and I felt the stress begin to melt. That evening we all ate at the Belgian Arms in one of the neighbouring villages. Fish and chips with minted mushy peas was the order of the day and it felt so good to be in a family setting again.

Then next morning I woke early. I would be heading into London to meet with my supervisor at the V&A and it would be the first time I tried out the commute. For over an hour that morning, all of us went back and forth on the best way of getting to Kensington Olympia from Paddington. We finally settled on the District line to West Brompton and then up on the Overground. My meeting was at 1:30 so I gave myself an hour and a half to get there, get lost, and get found. An hour and ten minutes later I was standing at the gates to Blythe House, a slightly intimidating Victorian edifice. 

I had time to kill and I hadn’t eaten yet so I found a nearby convenience store and bought a sandwich, bag of crisps, and a bottle of water. I walked around the neighbourhood as I ate, trying to get an idea of my surroundings. There was a lot of work going on in the nearby houses. It looked like many were being refurbished, but in general it was a quiet sort of place, not too far from Holland Park.

I finally returned to the iron gate and pressed the buzzer. Nervously, I gave my name and business. The voice on the other end told me to come in. I pushed the gate open and then began walking toward the inner court. As I entered the visitor waiting area, I saw large glass cases filled with pop culture memorabilia. Star Trek, Doctor Who, Star Wars. I was in the right place. I was home. I signed in, got a wrist band and was met by a bubbly young woman. My supervisor, Ramona, was still at lunch but my guide took some time to give me a brief tour of the facilities. I saw the archives, the library, and the place where all of the costumes (over 2,000) were stored. It’s funny, but museum stores are so similar. For some reason I expected the V&A stores to be somewhat more special. Like, perhaps the boxes everything was kept in would be made of gold with magical laser force fields. They weren’t, by the way. Everyone I met reminded me of my days in performance and theatre. It felt really comfortable.

I had a brief meeting, somewhat like an informal interview with three of the people I would be working with, including Ramona. I had been terrified that maybe because it was the V&A that everyone would be posh and walk with their pinkies ever extended. I was so relieved when they were amazingly kind, open, and down to earth. I found out some of the details of my placement and was pleased that they were hoping to give me as broad a range of experience as possible. I left feeling more excited than ever to return in two weeks.

I got back on the overground and began my journey back to Maidenhead.

The next afternoon, I decided to test out the local CrossFit box. I had scoped them out online and I had decided to do a drop in class while I was visiting. I felt slightly nervous. I had always gone to CrossFit with someone else, either Sam or Claire. As I walked in, everything looked slightly familiar, but different at the same time. There were the boxes for box jumps, kettlebells, pull up bars, weights, and wall balls, but it was a much smaller box than the one in Durham. I was met by one of the coaches and he said to stick around for the noon session. After warm ups, I began to settle in. That’s one of the great things about CrossFit, once you know the moves and terminology, you can really go to any box in the world. The WOD that day was a good one, but exhausting. Two rounds of one minute on and thirty seconds off rotating between rowing, wall balls, diamond press-ups, toes to bar pull ups, sumo high pull kettlebell lifts, and 20” box jumps. Afterwards, I felt amazingly good. I needed more CrossFit in my life.

Afterwards, Camilla and I went into Windsor for brunch. I got a vegetarian full English breakfast (which I had been craving for a solid week). We walked around the shops before we went to pick the children up from school. The weather was incredible. I was sunny and in the high sixties. I was certainly still dressed for Durham weather which was currently peaking at around 58 or so. It was the perfect weather for someone who was feeling stressed and in need of a change.

On my final day down south, we went to Henley-on-Thames for dinner. I had never heard of Henley but it had gained fame for the royal regatta held there every July. It was hard to believe that the recent flooding had taken place. There were of course, still patches of water out in surrounding fields, but the town itself seemed unscathed. English towns are a funny thing. I think it is the mix of architecture and the very odd dichotomy of modern and ancient. We passed some cottages built in the sixteenth century and then less than a block away, shops like Accessorize housed in modern buildings. There were also nineteenth century buildings which had been converted into shops and restaurants. It’s unlike towns in America where the architecture often mimics these styles but is completely unauthentic. When you actually walk passed a row of sixteenth century buildings, you see the tiny doors, and the narrow stairs, it’s quite amazing. We just don’t have houses that old in the States and if we did, they certainly wouldn’t still be used as private dwellings.

The weekend had definitely helped me to de-stress. I felt more in control and less overwhelmed as I stepped on the train that would take me back up to Durham. Though the upcoming week was filled to the brim with all sorts of things, lectures, choir rehearsals, and the concert, I felt more mentally able to cope with it all in stride. As the scenery scrolled by my window, I took solace in the fact that in two weeks I would be returning and starting a new chapter of my adventure over here.  

Spring has Sprung

For about three weeks the air around Durham has had this vague hint of change. It’s that feeling that you begin to get when you know the worst of winter is behind you and the promise of summer is on the horizon. It’s that intangible but very present Spring Feeling. Back home I always knew when spring had come just based on this feeling alone. I would go to bed one night and it would be winter, but the next day the sun would be that much brighter, the grass that much greener, and the air that much more charged with promise. I used to call that day Spring Day and it rarely corresponded to the first day of spring according to the calendar. It was always one of my favourite days at home.

I find it a bit odd actually that when people ask me my favourite season I always say autumn. I do adore autumn, that crisp bite in the air, the colours, the apple cider and spiced cakes. I find myself though missing spring at home terribly, more so than autumn. They are odd things that I miss, too, like the sound of lawn mowers. Who misses the sound of lawn mowers?!  I miss going to Home Depot to potter around the garden section and choose flowers, herbs, and vegetable seeds for an epic garden plan I have in my head that never quite gets pulled off. Then I find myself thinking ahead to summer. I think the quintessential summer taste is water out of the garden hose, that slightly plastic, tubular taste. That, my friends, is childhood right there. It was inevitable that I would feel homesick at some point, it’s just surprising that spring would have triggered it so forcefully.

Violets on the Science Site

Spring in Durham is similar to home. There is still that charged feeling of promise, the grass is greener, the sun brighter, and the violets and daffodils have begun to pop up all over. I even got to hear a lawn mower while I was down in London last weekend for orientation at the V&A. It’s perhaps the similarities more than anything else that make me miss home. When the sun, grass, and air all feel like home, it seems impossible in my mind that there is an ocean between. Perhaps if life here was completely different I wouldn’t feel those pangs so keenly. As for now, when I begin to feel homesick, I close my eyes and imagine spring at home. Sitting on the porch, listening to the birds, watching the squirrels, planting flowers, making homemade pickles, riding my bike in the park, taking the ferrets outside to explore the wonders of the backyard, spring cleaning, more daylight, having the windows open and smelling the fresh air as it meanders through the house. When I close my eyes and think about these things, that ocean doesn’t seem so big after all. 

Cathedral Sleepout

Previously on an American in Durham: I ran into some very friendly people on the Science Site who had a massive inflatable duck. After naming said duck Caesar, I was told about an amazing event for charity called the Cathedral Sleepout. All I had to do was raise £30 and I would be able to spend the night in Durham Cathedral. We re-join our heroine after she has raised the necessary funds (thanks to those who donated) and is preparing for her evening in an iconic English landmark building.

I had no idea what to pack. I’ve been camping before and as you all know I’ve packed for stays in London hotels and I’ve even packed for a year abroad. Nothing in my packing history had yet prepared me for spending the night in a 1000 year old cathedral. This was certainly a case where I had to leave both the gun and the cannoli since food was not allowed inside the cathedral. I also had the unique problem of not having a sleeping bag. Now, as I’ve said, I’ve been camping before and I’ve slept on all manner of ground, so I was well aware that the stone floor would likely be flat, cold, and unyielding. Not totally dissimilar to the mattress provided in college but still it would be a good bet that this would be a slightly uncomfortable evening. Eventually I rolled up my duvet and jammed it into my small rolling suitcase. I was able to fit a pillow, pyjamas, and my reindeer slippers before the bag refused to take on anything else. I slipped my glasses and toothbrush in a side pocket and called it a job well done.

I was grateful that I wasn’t the only one in my circle of friends going to the event. I had received a Facebook message from Jess a few weeks before asking if anyone else was thinking about going. While sleeping in a 1000 year old cathedral is pretty amazing, I could imagine that it would be a long night if I were on my own. I met Jess outside of Fisher and we began our walk to the Bailey.

“So this will either be really amazing or it will be really….” I trailed off and let my worried expression finish my statement for me.

“Exactly,” replied Jess.

We spent the walk down wondering exactly what the evening would entail. The details had been rather vague and so neither of us had any idea what to expect. We arrived at the Cathedral doors at 8:00 and went in.

Our campus cards were collected, bags were checked and then it was time to stake out our claim. We headed down the nave and turned into the transept.

“How about under one of the columns?” Jess suggested. I thought it a perfect idea. When else would we have the opportunity to sleep under one of those massive, columns ever again?

We unpacked and made up our “beds” for the evening. As we tried them out we both realised it would be a long night and one that wouldn’t be the most comfortable on record. The stone floor was harder than I thought it would be and my flimsy duvet was no match against it. We both laughed at the knowledge we would be sore the next morning.

Luxurious accomodations

After changing into our pyjamas, we began to people watch. All manner of onesie was present that night. From giraffes, to bears, to cats, to Sully from Monsters, Inc. and Stitch from Lilo and Stitch. Finally the evening began with a speech from one of the organisers of Moving On, one of the charities that was benefiting from fundraising. She spoke of the problem of youth homelessness and showed a brief video about their organisation. Two programme users spoke and told their stories of being out on the streets and then finding help through Moving On. Afterwards a drum choir performed a few numbers. They were quite good and I enjoyed hearing some African pieces for a change especially in that space. Their last number echoed through the stone cavern and then died out into applause.

Refreshments were available in the form of tea and biscuits. I had hoped for a sandwich but made due. Jess and I decided to wander through the cloisters and take some photographs. I had yet to get a really good shot of the cloisters and it is one of the most familiar settings in Durham. Portions of the Harry Potter movies were filmed there. We ran into one of the campus police officers and had a rather nice conversation. Turns out he had been doing security while Chamber of Secrets  had been filmed and he spoke of seeing Maggie Smith and talking to Daniel Radcliffe. I was ever so grateful that when I mentioned being from New Jersey he didn’t immediately say Jersey Shore but instead said, “Oh Bon Jovi!”

They are building a Lego replica of the Cathedral in the Cathedral!
I'm pretty sure this qualifies as early trans-dimensional engineering.

When we got back to our spot under the column I began to settle in. It was almost 11:00 pm and exhaustion was beginning to set in. Jess and I both decided to try to get some shut eye. Unfortunately we hadn’t accounted for there being an open mic night as part of the “entertainment.” Terribly flat singing reverberated around the room as though the walls themselves were trying to reject the sounds that were bombarding them. I pulled my blanket over my head and tried to go to my happy place. Eventually though, the singing stopped and the lights went out.

The cathedral in the dark is a truly wondrous thing. The only light was that that filtered through the round arched windows. It was possible to just make out the outlines of the columns and pews, but all else was shadow and darkness. This was the best part of the evening. The noises began to die down and the Cathedral was dark and silent. I finally drifted off to sleep.

I’m not sure whether it was the environment or exhaustion but I had a strange dream that night. I was wondering through the cathedral and cloisters looking for one of my ferrets that had died years ago. I was shouting his name frantically. “Abbott, Abbott!” worried I would never find him. Then I spotted his skinny, white silhouette under some ironwork against the wall. I picked him up and hugged him, not wanted to ever put him down again. Then I realised he wasn’t alone. I saw Ziva and Toby, two more of my ferrets who had passed away both unexpectedly. I picked them all up and was carrying them around the Cathedral totally unaware of how strange it was that they should all be alive again.

“Can I have your attention please,” a deep, male voice with a thick Northern accent woke me from my dream. “It is now 6:30 in the morning.”

The lights came on and slowly everyone began to wake. Event organisers came around and made sure any stragglers were well and truly awake. Jess and I looked at each other.

“How did you sleep?” I asked.

She gave me a look, “I woke up almost every hour.” I smiled sympathetically. Though it hadn’t been the most restful sleep, I had managed to sleep through the night.

We packed up our things, collected our campus cards, and started the long, cold walk back up to Howlands. It had been an odd evening, but one I would not soon forget. I had never even considered putting sleeping in a 1000 year old cathedral on my bucket list. But like many of my to do lists, I was happy to add it on right before I checked it off.