So I left America exactly a week ago today, and while I've been doing an okay job chronicling my adventures in the UK thus far, there are naturally some things I haven't had the chance to cover. So I present to you, dearreaderwizardpeople, the
10. Pants are dangerous.
Okay. So remember those pants I bought in a fit of desperation on my first day here? They were a pair of black skinny jeans from Primark, and they were very nice considering they cost only £9 (including sales tax - God Save the Queen!). I chose them because in my brief observation of real live British girls between the ages of 16-24, they seemed to fit the Oxford aesthetic. They were also really comfortable, and black matches everything. I like to think it was a pretty smart consumer decision, given that I know next to nothing about pants.
Anyway, somewhere around day 3 I began to pay attention to my nails. The accumulation of dirt under them, specifically. While my lifestyle involves running around doing a lot of random things, acquiring scrapes and bruises in mysterious ways, and occasionally literally getting my hands dirty, rarely do they look consistently unhygienic. That's when I noticed it wasn't just my nails - my hands were covered in dirt, too. And this had been happening for a couple of days.
"I think being here makes my hands dirty," was the theory I imparted to Anna.
"Really? My hands are fine," she said.
That night before bed, I peeled off my £9 black skinny jeans (one cannot simply take off skinny jeans. It's necessary to treat your legs like a banana if you want to remove them), and found that my legs were black. My pants may have protected me from the harsh British elements, but they also dyed my skin.
I hate pants.
And the Internet agrees with me.
That's all.
9. People are birds here.
I was walking past a bench of three my-age-ish guys a few days ago, and one of them went, "Hey!"
So I turned around, even though I figured he wasn't addressing me. But he looked right at me and chirped.
Like, full-on, honest-to-blog chirped. And raised his eyebrows. At me!
Was this the British version of whistling? I didn't know what to make of it, so I just went, "Good. Good," and went on my way.
I certainly didn't expect to experience that again, but when Josh and I arrived at Christ Church later that day, there was an entire crowd of people chirping! Loudly! Repeatedly! And that night we were walking through a crowded intersection, and it was like being in a bird house at, like, a really intense zoo.
Welcome to historic Oxford!
Chirpers everywhere. It seems to be more of a recreational activity than a form of communication, but I'm hardly an authority on the subject. Most mysteriously, on first glance it seems like the sound is coming directly from the chirpers' mouths, which caused my friends and I to spend a solid ninety seconds trying to figure out how to the hell to do it. Our efforts were unsuccessful.
I later heard a rumor that some clever entrepreneur invented a device that produces this noise. How anyone would market such a thing is baffling to me, but apparently it was effective.
8. Cultural discomfort
Saw the UK tour of Legally Blonde last night. "Gay or European" shifts a bit on the funny/uncomfortable scale when surrounded by actual Europeans.
But the UPS guy was incredible.
(This was not our UPS guy, by the way. Ours was much more attractive. His entrance stopped the show.)
7. "Ugh. Americans."
When most Americans catch a snippet of a British accent - or any foreign accent, really - they're generally excited. Here, I always see the little pause when I first speak to an Oxford native I don't know. The way words take just a half-second longer to come out of their mouths before they reply to me, the blink of surprise when I automatically say, "Have a good day," or whatever after buying something. It's not like they're unhappy about it, necessarily, but they're hardly thrilled.
So Anna, Josh, and I walked into a pub (spoiler alert: this is not the beginning of a joke), and I automatically began walking towards a table. Then Anna went, "Juli, you can't sit there. That's the dining section."
Behind me, I heard someone go, "Ugh. Americans."
Which is stupid because I am at least as much of a ditz at home as I am on foreign soil.
...But maybe that's the point.
6. Grass here is nice...
...because of all the rain. But if you want to walk on it, this happens.
5. THE 414 IS REAL
Once upon a time, Mikey and I went to Summerfest in the post-apocalyptic wasteland of Milwaukee, Wisconsin. I find Wisconsin hilarious for a number of reasons, including but not limited to their Cheese Castle and insistence on mispronouncing basic English words. An actual Milwaukee native from NU informed me that locals have several nicknames for their great city (so Mikey and I could fit in at Summerfest):
+ The 414
+ Chillwaukee
+ Illwaukee
+ Skrillwaukee (I can only assume the dubstep scene is hopping)
+ Killwaukee (due to the high homicide rate)
And my personal favorite...
+ The Ill Mill
And I met a guy at BADA who was wearing a Wisconsin shirt...
Me: Where are you from in Wisconsin?
Guy: Milwaukee.
Me: Oh, the 414!
Guy: Whoa yeah, dude, the 414! Are you from there?
Me: No.
This might only be funny to Mikey and I, but I'm really happy it happened.
4. I'm becoming more flexible!
Oxford is full of intelligent people who seriously underestimated the hygienic needs of the future residents of their dorms. Exhibit A: every time I try to shave my legs in my tiny shower, I have to do this:
Except I don't look anywhere near that good.
3. Cloistercise
When Josh and I failed to located an affordable gym, we decided to embark on a video workout program called Insanity. If you are considering doing Insanity yourself, here's what I can tell you: you're gonna suffer, but you're gonna be happy about it. On the first day we tried it, three other kids joined us, and due to the aforementioned grass rules, the five of us worked out in a cloister.
So I guess I can cross that off my to-do list.
2. Fine dining
On Sunday night we had a Welcome Feast - a formal, multi-course meal in Magdalen's dining hall, which is also incredibly Harry Potter-esque. Before dinner there was - shockingly - a drinks reception on the lawn, and then a man in a waiter's uniform came out, rang a bell, and went, "Dinner is served."
You guys. I am not important enough to dine in this manner. But I attempted to dress like I am.
NU killing it as usual.
1. I am Aladdin
Unfortunately, eating in our picture-perfect dining hall is less exciting when we're not being served. I'm convinced now that the Great Hall at Hogwarts only operates effectively because of the house elves. Normal meals are self-serve, so all 100-odd BADA students and faculty have to make our way through a buffet line to get food. This is made far more challenging than it should be due to the tiny tiny kitchen area preceding the dining hall itself.
By far the most coveted items at every meal are the rolls, which are in a bin by the cutlery. Not only are they warm and consistently delicious, but they're also one of the few things I can eat as a vegetarian. But I'm never at meals early enough to get the rolls. It's become a law of my existence that the last roll will be taken at approximately the time I enter the dining hall. Luckily, I figured out that the roll bin is refilled throughout the dinner hour, and also that no one will yell at you if you're stealthy about re-entering the kitchen.
I should maybe be more concerned that Disney lyrics are suddenly so relevant to my life, but the rolls are delicious so I decided I don't care.
