The stories you tell that people can't understand

Last Thursday, instead of class, my theatre class met at our professor's house for dinner. This is the sort of thing already that only happens sometimes in America, and definitely wouldn't have played out the way it did if it had been in America. The professor had cooked a three course meal, including having separate dishes in one course for the vegetarians and meat eaters. Right from the beginning, thought I've never been to a professor's house for dinner with a class, I imagine it diverged from what we would expect in that he insisted we drink wine. Not in a bad way, just in a polite I'm-offering-my-guests-and-want-them-to-enjoy-themselves way. We drank at least 8 bottles. As the evening went on, we were further and further gone and all manner of shenanigans started. Our professor (a german man in his 60's) and one of my friends had a fuck-shouting contest. Then there was the point later in the evening when our professor leaned in close and asked "habt ihr immer marijuana graucht?" "Have you have smoked marijuana?" In german, that's pronounced more like 'marr-i-yu-anna' and I had to explain to the guy next to me what he was asking about, which just added to the interesting feeling of the moment. He told us about one time when he was younger and did pot with a japanese exchange student and laughed so loud he woke his mom up. Then, as we descended into the end of the bottle of schnapps, and one girl was asleep face-first on his table, he started talking about the holocaust.
I, as you all know, am not particularly Jewish. As you might imagine though, there are not that many Jews in modern day Germany. Really few. There was no matzah in stores during passover because there aren't enough people who would buy it to make it worthwhile. (It was in one store, I've heard) Regardless, people find me interesting here because some haven't met Jews. This man, in his mid-60's, was alive during the first generation after the war. The people who were too small during it to remember it itself. At something like 1:30 in the morning, after the bottle of cherry schnapps that burned like whiskey, he lead in with, "Ich bin Katholiker..." I'm catholic, he said, and when I was little there was this family in our neighborhood and we knew he'd been a Nazi - someone ranking - and we'd go to church, and I'd see him there. I'd see him take communion and I though to myself, how can a man like that, such a bad man, take communion with the rest of us. And I found myself putting my arm around this man who I mostly knew for liking empty stages and liked to surprise us by saying 'fuck' in English during class, and patting his back while he cried remembering.

So, that's the most important thing that's happened to me here.

Surfer's Paradise

Contrary to popular belief, I am still alive. May was full of doing all the work I didn't do in March or April. Presentations, papers, labs and assignments, and then went on vacation immediately after.

June 4th was my last day of classes, and it was pretty exciting. Weerona had an end of session party (as did all the dorms), and it was a fairytale and fantasy party. I went as a pirate but people ranged from Harry Potter to Tinkerbell. And then I went to the Gold Coast in Queensland. It seemed like a tourist hotspot, and I was right.

We got off our plane and took a bus to our hostel in a city called Surfer's Paradise. Yeah, that was the name of the city. And man was it awesome. Coming from 60 degree weather to 80 felt great even though I love colder weather. The beach was fantastic although it wasn't as good as the Kangaroo Island ones. A few things about Surfer's Paradise. The city itself is pretty small, but it has a ton of stuff near it like amusement parks and SEAWORLD. We didn't get to go to seaworld though. And their meter maids are girls dressed in golden bikinis. I shit you not. They're sponsored by the city government and all.

Anyway while there we did fun things like play minigolf, go zorbing (they put you in a gigantic plastic ball and you roll down a hill), whale and dolphin watching and even an amusement park named Movieland. Movieland was decently sized and had some good roller coasters. Their Superman coaster wasn't working that day which was supposed to be their best one, but we still got to go on other ones like the Lethal Weapon coaster and the indoor dark Scooby-Doo coaster. The nightlife in Surfer's Paradise lacked a certain allure to it, but i guess that's because we were there during the week and not weekend.

And then there was Infinity (http://www.infinitygc.com.au/about-infinity.html). The pictures don't do it justice. It was basically a giant maze with each room having something interesting about it. One room had mirrors on the walls, ceiling and floor, and had small lights on the walls that reflected off the entirely mirrored room so it looked like you were walking through a star field. We got to a box shaped room with dim white lights and just lied down for 10 minutes or so and stared into the infinite reflections. They had tons of lasers too, and even a room with bouncy balls and seizure-inducing strobe lights. I'd say it was the best experience of the Gold Coast trip.

Well we're back to boring Wollongong and now i'm preparing for exams, and staying up really late to see the World Cup games. By the way, LOL Britain. I also went to Manly Beach yesterday. It's a half an hour ferry ride away from Sydney but it was a nice place to walk through. Great beach, even had volleyball nets set up. I even got a shirt that says MANLY on it. Just 'cause.

Now to study for exams...well, after Tequila Taco Tuesdays at Amigo's, an overpriced Mexican restaurant (except on Tuesdays). I have two, both are back to back on the 21 and 22. Not really worried for them but I'll give it my best. I can't believe I only have two weeks left!

Rest stop:or how I know I'm home

I'm still 3 hours from St. Louis. I had just sort of figured out a way to sleep on these seats, when we pull off somewhere and slow down. I sit up and see rows of semi trucks (anyone else think it's weird to call them semi trucks? I mean they seem like more of a truck than anything else. If half circles walked around being that large and with such high flattening power, would they still be called semi circles? ok....way too tired). Anyway, lots of trucks, "Dixie Truckers Home," "Stuckey's" and a "Cafe and Buffet" (read meat and coffee), and a general store (read chips, candy, soft drinks, and silly souvenirs of route 66). I decide using a real bathroom and a bag free stretch would be nice so I step down the stairs (double decker bus too), and it hits me.

I had muzzily noticed that when I looked out the window, I couldn't see very far and everything seemed to be glowing light pollution orange, but I didn't really consider it and fell back asleep. That haze= fog, in Illinois. So not happy cool sea fog but sticks to you making you clammy and makes you focus on breathing fog. Good ol' Midwest humidity.

After using the bathroom (I was skeptical, the water in there was literally yellow, even after flushing), I noticed a menu on the wall (still in the womens bathroom). It contained nothing but steak specials, except what was listed as bacon wrapped fillet, not sure what they were implying but it had bacon (yay for being back in the land of streaky bacon!) and was the cheapest (at $17+). Oh Americans.

I walked out and went to see if the general store had any Cadbury's. They didn't. Not that I'm surprised that a truck stop on old 66 doesn't have it, but I had to look. They did have those toffee cup things we bought when we went to see Robin Hood, I was tempted. It's so strange being back, seeing familiar but somehow foriegn snacks on the shelf, I literally had to take a minute just to process the sight of hostess cakes. I also noticed a lot of new flavors of different things, which was strange. I feel behind on things I should probably know about. I expected that going into Wales, it's a strange feeling to have in my own country.

Alright, I'm going to try for some more sleep, so I'm not raving mad when my parents come to pick me up. Hopefully this rest stop will be over soon, we're all sick of sitting here.

Bus internet

Well here I am on the bus home to St. Louis from Chicago. Going on hour 20 of travel. Just spent 2 hours sitting on the sidewalk near Union Station in Chicago waiting for my bus to show up (after an hour long train ride, customs, 8.5hr flight, 2.5hr drive to the airport, and lots of misc. waiting around). I can easily say I'm pretty drained right now. It's been an emotional day as well as physically taxing. I dissolved into tears while saying goodbye to Lewis and TC and didn't really get myself back together until well on the way to Heathrow. Leaving Tris in the airport was a whole 'nother bucket of water. *sigh*

The flight was not my worst transatlantic, but it certainly wasn't the best. I was in the very back of the plane, and had a space between me and the other person in my row, but we were right by the not so sound proof toilets, which were very much not smell proof. There was a screaming baby, several times. The flight attendants' galley was right behind us, so that was a lot more noise, especially when they were trying to break up ice. The inflight movies weren't so hot and the radio channels were awful. I also woke up (with a very comical gasp) in midair (well more in midair, like 0g midair) as the plane suddenly plummeted enough to throw us towards the ceiling and knock a lot of stuff in the galley over. Scary stuff. However, the food was good, and I pulled at least an hour of sleep.

Customs was a breeze, both agents welcomed me home, which was really sweet. I was approached by a guy who wreaked of alcohol (and had a bottle in his pocket) trying to find the same train into the city (Chicago) as I was. He asked me a lot about Cardiff (why did you come back?) but was quick to assure me he was not hitting on me as he was "a little gay boy." So my arrival back into the states was pretty hilarious. Felt like I was going to die lugging all my stuff to the train (a really long walk with lots of elevators etc). The train ride to the city was at least an hour long, and it was all I could do to not fall asleep. Once at the stop I wanted, I had to drag my luggage up 2 flights of stairs (owww), as a very nice African lady (full garb and everything, she was neat) cheered me on from the top. She asked where I was coming from, and told me about the time she went to London, and how different she found the people and culture there. Finally (after having to stop and readjust several times) I found Union Station, only to find it closed. Had a guy point me to where megabus leaves from (should have known really) and parked myself on the sidewalk for 3ish hours waiting for mine to show up. Had a nice talk with a guy who had caught an earlier bus, just to have his ride's car break down on the way to pick him up, he'd been sitting there for 2 hours waiting for them to tow their car home and pick up their other car to come get him. I was also serenaded by a priest (collar and all) playing a jazzy soprano sax while waiting for his bus. Traveling is such a strange experience sometimes.

After all the moving around, last minute packing and moving out, I'm really ready to be home. My real bed is calling, even its supreme squeakyness isn't going to keep me awake.

The Road Home Part.3

Aside from a lot of turbulence, the flight passed about as quickly as 8 hours stuck in big metal tube can pass. The turbulence didn't bother me half as much as the screaming baby did two rows up. Nothing could make that kid happy. There was also a family one row up that just took over our whole area of the plane. The aisle, any vacant seat, it all became their space. The stewards had to try to talk to them after a certain point. That didn't go well since english was pretty lacking on this family's part, and I have no idea what it was they were speaking. We arrived just a little bit late at JFK. Just before our final approach the turbulence got really bad, like roller coaster bad, and then it started getting uncomfortable. My butt left my seat a few times, but a few minutes later we were on the ground, and I was more concerned with customs.

Customs was a big race, everyone seemed to be in a big hurry. The pushing and shoving didn't come to anything since it took about half an hour for our bags to be taken off the plane. Checking in to Delta after customs was a breeze, though I was sweating security a bit since the information screens didn't display the same departure time as my ticket. I wasn't really sure what time my plane was leaving until I finally got to my gate, after spending another half hour in security (the third checkpoint of the day, second pat down).

Flight to Syracuse was fine, and though we were only in the air about thirty minutes, it took forty for us to get off the tarmac at JFK. It took awhile for my bags to make it to the conveyor at Syracuse, and as none of the bags of the previous flight had made it to the plane, I was a bit anxious to see my bags. Usually there isn't anything to worry about, but I always feel better when I actually have the bag in my hand, especially when my layovers are not what they were originally scheduled to be.

Parents drove me home, and obliged me with the satisfaction of my first craving/ bit of getting back in to US culture: Panera's.

The Road Home Part.2

After getting through security I wanted something to eat. The coffee place in the airport totally defeated me. I swear that all of the drinks had totally made up names, I couldn't figure out what anything was since there weren't descriptions posted. I think in the ten minutes I was in the cafe one guy managed to order by questioningly asking for coffee. I settled for a Powerade and ate an energy bar I had. The pastries set out on the counter were just for the look apparently. The girl waiting on me explained that they weren't for sale, that they just bought them as decoration every day. There was some food in a cooler, but it was all overloaded sandwiches that looked to be mostly mayo.

Until the gate opened I talked with another American I'd run in to, a child psychologist from Louisiana. It was definitely interesting and unexpected conversation at that hour in the morning. She'd spent her career studying the Scots and the (until recently) better performance of their children in school. Apparently in more recent history the academic performance of American children has caught up. The most curious thing to come out of the conversation was that we both noticed that the tickets for our transatlantic flights listed departure times that we're a lot earlier than they were originally supposed to be. She was worried she'd have trouble finding her way around in Schipol, and I offered to show the way since I'd been there before.

Eventually the gate opened. We had to walk out to the plane, so I took a last opportunity to pause and look at Wales in the light of sunrise. The Cardiff airport sits in a brilliantly green plane with some rolling hills and scattered trees in the distance. A light rain was falling.

On the flight I was sitting with a Spaniard who didn't speak any english, so we didn't talk. I munched on the small breakfast we were given and tried to get a little more sleep.

When we landed I ran in to the psychologist, but she decided not to follow me. She walked in the opposite direction of her gate. In the crowd I couldn't get her attention. I found an information screen showing departures, and noticed my plane was already boarding! I was going to have to move it to get through security and customs. I got to my gate fast, and despite a Romanian woman skipping the entire line and causing some chaos at customs, I was through quickly. My UK visa satisfied the official that I wasn't a threat, and as I could see on his computer screen it added several pages of data to the file linked to my passport. This data included multiple photos, some taken at airport security checkpoints. I guess it just goes to show you that someone is always watching.

Security wasn't a major problem, I was searched and made to turn my pockets out. I also had to empty my wallet. I did make the flight, assigned to an aisle seat next to a Ukrainian teenage girl. Her english was limited but we both respected each others space and I helped her fill out her customs form. The only out of the ordinary moment happened while I was sleeping. I tend to slump forward on to the tray table to sleep on my crossed arms. I'll let my iPod play in the background to drown out the ambient noise. I can tune out my music if I need to. This girl, sometime after I feel asleep. Wadded several pillows up behind me, making a wall of pillows, and feel asleep on that. When I woke up about an hour later I sat up rather suddenly, so I catapulted her upright too. We had a mutual groggy what's going on moment.

Packing

I guess I owe a post before I leave, and I doubt I'll have much time over the next few days. But I'll finish up the saga once I'm back in the states. Last week was spent doing incredible things in Pembrokeshire and getting a tan, but that warrants its own post at a later time. Monday was my 21st birthday, which also needs a separate post, and the rest of this week so far has seen me moping around my room and half heartedly packing. I've made quite a bit of progress, but there's still a lot to do. Washing all my bedding today so I can give it to next year's study group along with all my dishes. Dropping off a few things to donate in general. Need to track down the hoover so I can shrink the space bags. The list goes on.

I'm off shopping with one of the last remaining Colgaters, need to find some shoes for summer ball. Probably pick up some gifts and a Welsh flag for my room next year. Tris shows up tonight, so I need to finish his birthday present. I'm really excited about the ball, but it might rain. It's going to be a good way to end the year here. Just found out Lewis is going too, so that's at least 3 people from my flat getting all dressed up together, should be fun.

I'm really going to miss it here. I'm starting to get excited about coming home and seeing everyone, but it's going to be really hard to leave all of the amazing friends I've made in Cardiff.

The Road Home Part.1

My day, June 6^th flowing in to June 7^th, began with a not well rested me staring down a pile of bags as my iPod play the overture of Within Temptation’s “Black Symphony”. The nearly eight minute long epic swelled in to its proper opening after about a minute and a half of theme establishment, just as I stood up to start dragging my luggage outside. Good timing. I decided to be clever, using a trucker’s hitch to attach one duffel to the top of another, a belt providing the rope. I don’t think I’d get any points for my hitch, it certainly wasn’t elegant, but it did what it was supposed to and it held, and isn’t that really the whole point?

My cab was ready early, early enough for the driver to watch me pull the bags all the way to the trunk. I really wish he’d gotten out and offered to help. I don’t think that there are too many people carrying 5 bags around at three am to confuse him. He did help me pack them in the trunk, sort of, since his first configuration didn’t fit. After I wiggled things a bit we could get the trunk shut. By exactly three a.m. we were on the road to the airport. The driver had obviously been smoking in the car since it reeked of smoke and cheap perfume cover-up spray. One or the other would have been fine, and honestly the smoke would have been better than the sickeningly sweet flower scent of the cover-up. The combination was enough to nearly make me gag. The driver also had a severe wheeze, which he mentioned had been a long term issue. He also has chronic shortness of breath, dizzy spells, and heart issues. He thinks its due to high altitude. Doubtful in Wales, or any of the places he said he’d recently been on vacation. The one fun thing about the drive was when his regular boss made a social call to the driver. His night off was going well, he’d been to the pub and had some drinks, picked up a girl and described his activities back at her place very vividly over the speakerphone. She was making him breakfast.

At the airport the driver was nice enough to get me a luggage cart, though he sent me in through the wrong door. It turns out he wanted a cheap laugh because when I come back out, maybe 3 seconds later, he was outside cracking up. I wheeled my bags down the sidewalk and through the proper door, and got in line for check in. This was about three-thirty a.m. Check in was supposed to start in ten minutes, but ended up not starting for forty. It was a major production to check in since I hadn’t had the option to pay for my bags in advance. That required calling a manager. Security wasn’t a big deal, my belt prompted extra chemical testing, but otherwise no trouble.

Heading out again

After an amazing last night out with virtually everyone I know here on Friday, and nursing myself back to a more functional state yesterday, I've entered my final hours here in Cardiff.

Except for a few items (comb, toothbrush, ethernet cable) that I need to use immediately before I leave everything is packed up. I'm just waiting on Zora so I can drop my remaining food and cleaning supplies at her place. My cab comes to pick me up at 3am, so its going to be a long tomorrow since I'm already tired today and probably won't try to get sleep until I'm on my first plane. If all goes well I'll be back in CNY a little after 5pm tomorrow.

Last Call

My things are mostly packed now, and my taxi is booked. Its getting to be that time.

Last night I had what I suppose was my sendoff dinner with Zora's flat. It was the last time that I was guaranteed to see them all in one place. We went to a Wetherspoon's, which seems to be the UK equivalent of the Applebee's chain of restaurants back home. T.C. bought me a cider, which though not a gigantic gesture was still huge in my book. We didn't all leave the place as one, and the way we all peeled off at our own pace reminded me a little of our singing"Leave her Johnny, leave her" on the Bobbie C. It was impossible not to draw connections and keep the faint trails of that song's chorus from playing in the back of my head.

Most of my flat seems to have disappeared though I know they haven't actually checked out of their room. There's no food in the fridge and no noise or movement in the hall. I've sent them each my contact info and hope to get the same in return from them at some point. We didn't mesh well, but I'd still like to keep in touch beyond Facebook.

Today was all about bad news. Aside from getting some more shopping done, and that the Flyer's won their game last night, it was just a complete disaster. First, Matt's train was delayed in Germany so he missed his flight to come see me. Second, all my debit and credit cards stopped working. Assorted other bits of bad news along with some mildly insulting salespeople and a ton of effort to sort everything out really sullied the day. The holes in the dinghy are at least patched well enough to get me home, though Matt not getting to come for today and tomorrow really stinks. I could use his company and it would've been really amazing hanging with him and getting to play tour guide. I miss the guy, and it'll be awhile till I see him in August. His really rough weeks are coming up soon so hopefully I'll be able to offer at least a little support from home.

The best part of today was an interesting event brought about by the Betty shirt, which I'm wearing today. I was walking past the North Star pub, which is just a bit further up North Road than Talybont Court, when out of the kitchen comes the chef (or a sous-chef, I really couldn't tell you). He kept stride with me for a second, and I noticed out of the corner of my eye he was looking intently at my shirt. After a minute I realized he was talking to me so I took my headphones off and asked him to repeat himself. He asked me if it was me on the shirt. I said no, it was a friend and we'd been wearing the shirt on our travels, taking Steve along with us. He apparently had noticed the Colgate logo on Steve's hat in the photo, and as he'd heard the school's name he asked where it was and how demanding it was etc. He immediately asked if I was Saudi, and based on his accent he might have been from the north of Africa, though that's the best guess I have. In his defense I need a shave and look a little rundown, so my complexion is a bit darkened. I explained I was from New York state, he assuming I meant I was from the city. He didn't wait for me to explain that I wasn't, and said he thought the idea of the shirt was "wicked", and then said good bye. I stopped at my goal the atm nearby, and received a salute from him as he made his way back from the little Tesco, Powerade in hand. I ended up following his lead since I was in need of the hydration. The extra fluids and electrolytes were a nice treat, especially just out of the cooler.