The Queen's Pavilion in Brighton.
It wasn't as warm in Brighton as I had imagined.
Bath
The Roman Bathes 
Stonehenge. Obviously. 
Jewels at the Royal Opera House.
Stomping down the divots at the polo match.
Oops. Back to D.C.
Creeping in front of the Capitol. 
Am I Really That Ugly?
Well… it depends who you ask.
I titled this blog Ugly American because of the 1950s book and movie by the same name. The concept of the Ugly American has to do with the general opinion abroad that Americans are culturally insensitive and ethnocentric. Obviously, I can’t speak for all Americans or pass judgment on the British people as a whole. With that disclaimer in mind, let me describe my personal experiences as an American in London during a time when the U.S. does not enjoy wide popularity abroad.
The Neutral Brit
Overall, I feel like most Londoners don’t really care about my nationality. That, or they’re too polite or busy to pick a fight. Also, the large immigrant population of London makes me--one little American--less outlandish.
The Angry Brit
I have had one truly negative cultural experience with a very cranky gentleman on the phone. Hearing my accent, he accused me of being a drunken American and of single-handedly starting three world wars—quite an accomplishment at nineteen. Apart from that incident, I do receive the general, mild scorn of waiters, shop clerks, and passerby. A cab driver, assuming me to be an oaf, told me that the street I live on does not exist. (To be fair, there is the possibility that I am mispronouncing the name.)
The American-o-phile
My boss falls under this category. I think he’s under the impression that I can bring some sort of “Yankee Ingenuity” to the table or help to expand the business into the American market. I have also met some Brits who dream of traveling or moving to the U.S. One woman wears cowboy boots and other ‘western’ paraphernalia while planning road trips across Texas. Others talk with glistening eyes about wide-open spaces and bucolic Little House on the Prairie-style childhoods. It’s all rather charming. Sadly, like all fanatics, I think these people will be disappointed with the reality of the United States.
This past week I finally had the opportunity to get out of London for a little while. The excitement started at four am Saturday morning when one of the worse examples of American cultural in our program, an upstairs neighbor, attracted a jealous gentleman who pulled our fire alarm. Shivering on the street corner in the pre-dawn light, I wondered what qualities in any woman could merit such affection. An hour later, I trundled onto what was apparently a senior citizens coach up to Stonehenge and Bath. Stonehenge was about the same as ten years before. Large Rocks. (Some of my friends went to the crazy summer solstice rave at Stonehenge where thousands of dirty hippies are permitted to desecrate the stones in creative ways. Thankfully, I missed out on that sodden night.) In Bath, I visited the Roman bathes and really enjoyed the little winding streets and Italian-style architecture. However, one can only take so much rapturous touring and after a particularly horrible traditional English meal in Bath (lamb shank), I was ready to slink back to the bed from which I had been so rudely awoken.
On Sunday, my friend randomly stopped by with the proposition of traveling to the seaside town of Brighton. And so it came to pass that eight CAPA students went romping down to Brighton beach with beach towels, sunglasses, and little swimsuits. The windy and pebbly beach was a good reminder that it is perpetually early April in England, especially in June. To make up for the rather lacking beach, there is a fifties-style amusement park that I found adorable. On some decadent whim, we bought the package deal—40 tokens for 30 pounds. (About USD $45) After one absolutely terrifying ride on a rusting old rollercoaster, it was clear that no one wanted to use the remaining 35 tokens. Using our capitalistic instincts and innate ‘Yankee ingenuity,’ we hawked the tokens back at full price and turned a profit. To think I ever wondered at my ugliness.
I did turn to more cultural pursuits on Tuesday when I saw Eonnagata with Sylvie Guillem, my idol from the ballet years. It was a sort of fusion between traditional Japanese fighting and contemporary dance. Guillem, at 43, was absolutely stunning and still maintains her incredible foot-to-ear extensions. I feel so lucky to have seen Guillem dancing live so near to the end of her career.
I’m going to try to put up some photos soon for those of you that continue to resist the great power that is facebook.
What am I Doing?
Because so many of you have asked me what the heck I am actually doing in London, I’m going to try and clarify. The truth of the mater is, I’m not too sure myself.
I’m taking classes at CAPA, which is an international university associated with Imperial College. I have a modern British history class that is deadly boring. We started with WWI and are moving onwards towards Thatcher. Today I presented a short piece about Oscar Wilde for this class. I also have a course for “experiential learning.” In this class, we travel to various museums and read literature that corresponds to the topics in the British history class. Finally, there is a course that deals with creating a portfolio from our various internships. This portfolio should essentially summarize our progress in the internship.
My internship is with CNIguard. This company sells security devices to water companies that detect terrorist intrusion into hatches. I actually signed a five-page non-disclosure form, so I can’t give detailed descriptions. (I also have a very limited knowledge of technology, so I can’t give detailed descriptions even if I wanted to.) CNIguard’s products are required to be installed by the UK government. Such requirements for security don’t exist in the U.S., but it is probable that more strict regulations will be mandated in the next few years. Because of this, CNIguard is preparing for a massive expansion, expecting to increase almost ten times in size in the near future! My role as an intern is largely based on market research. Last week I prepared a report for the U.S. market and I will be continuing this type of research in other countries. I also helped, in a limited sense, to rejuvenate their French website. Of course, as an intern, I also have tasks like making tea, stuffing envelopes, and organizing desk drawers. I’m really happy with my internship. I think this will be a really good learning experience and I hope it will help me to break into whatever career I choose later on.
This last weekend was really fun and a nice break from the gloomy weather all last week. On Thursday, I went to a gorgeous bar that is on the tenth story of an old building. (Relatively high up for London standards.) I could see all across the River Thames to the London Eye, Big Ben, and numerous Pret A Manger’s (a ubiquitous chain) sprinkled across the city like little red Christmas lights.
On Friday, I went to the British Museum. I find this title rather ironic considering that almost nothing in the museum is actually British. Instead, the historic building is stuffed full of stolen treasures from other countries. I didn’t get to illegally touch the Rosetta Stone this time (like I did the last time I saw it at age seven) because it was behind glass—probably because of naughty children like myself. However, rather notably, my flatmate did get in heaps of trouble for sitting in the lap of a genuine priceless Egyptian statue that she thought was a replica. Oh, Ashley.
After that fiasco, I settled for a play on Saturday. I saw Grasses of a Thousand Colours (ha, not Colored Leaves of Grass as I kept saying. Yes, not a reading of Walt Whitman by a black individual.) Anyway, I saw Grasses of a Thousand Colours, by Wallace Shawn, that bald guy from The Princess Bride. Wallace Shawn starred in the play, alongside Miranda Richardson and Jennifer Tilly. This is the most bizarre play I have ever seen. I don’t really know how to describe it. Let me try:
ü 3 ½ hours long
ü No less than three monologues about Shawn’s penis
ü Detailed descriptions of Shawn’s sexual forays with cats
ü Oh yeah, and the end of the human race
Check and check. I can’t even pass judgment, it was too weird.
These rich accounts of bestiality inspired me to seek more wholesome entertainment, and on Monday I saw Balanchine’s Jewels by the Royal Ballet. I’m not a huge Balanchine fan, but I loved this ballet. The principle dancers were absolutely stunning and the Royal Ballet performed quite a nice adaptation of a sometimes dull and plot-less work. What’s more, we were so late that we got to sit in 75-pound seats instead of disturbing everyone to reach our 9-pound seats. Sometimes it pays to be tardy.
This morning I wandered over to the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square (excellent pigeon viewing) and saw their new impressionist section. There were some lovely Monet and Manet works and a few of Degas’ dancers as well.
A rather erudite post. I’ll try be less cultured this week, just to mix things up.
Hi everyone! This is meant to be a way to share my doings in Europe over the next year with friends and family. I’ll try not to bore you with photos of empty castles and churches, but stick more to the hilarious and true (such as “Ping Things” for those who remember).
Well, three long weeks have passed and this is the first entry in my blog. I’ll try to get you up to speed:
For the first ten days of this program, I was in Washington, D.C. with The Washington Center (TWC). I did my program through this institute because it allowed me to get credits for my internship in London and because I also received a scholarship from The University of Montana. However, this was a terrible program! In a nutshell, we were treated like children (yet we were required to wear formal attire everyday). We discussed such things as homelessness in the D.C. area and immigration problems facing the U.S. We also completed a D.C. scavenger hunt that required extraordinary amounts of walking and small fortunes worth of metro passes—all to snap photos in front of signs. The program was, for the most part, rather disorganized, too asinine for motivated adult students, and not really related to London. So, don’t go to TWC--if you were thinking about it.
Apart from TWC, my time in D.C. was very fun and rewarding. There are almost thirty students in this program, and we were able to get to know each other in D.C. It was a bonding experience because we all shared a deep dislike for TWC. I did all of the touristy stuff—saw the capitol, took illegal photos of the Constitution, and gazed at the giant, phallic Washington Memorial. It was a good trip. I think that the highlight was walking through some of the lovely old neighborhoods and eating at tiny local restaurants. D.C. is beautiful, despite its reputation for high crime and homelessness rates. Definitely, the lowlight was going to the Holocaust Museum. Given, it is an amazing museum. But, really, genocide is not fun. At one point, I was trying to escape from the horrible labyrinth-like exhibit and it would not release me! (Oh, and did anyone else read about how some white supremacist nutter shot some people at the Holocaust Museum? Guess my visit could have been worse.)
Well, D.C. was fun, but I think we were all glad to be finally heading overseas. The jetlag was pretty rough. This was mostly because I decided not to sleep on the plane because of the library of free movies provided by British Airways. When I finally arrived, we had orientation activities right away. People kept falling asleep during lectures and tours. I was not one of these people.
I live in a flat very near to the center of London. I have three flatmates, two of which are my roommates. One is Kate, from Missoula as well. The other is Ashley, from a tiny conservative school in Ohio. The flatmate who is not in my room is Niketa from D.C. Needless to say, it is a little crowded here, but no one is complaining when we are all in such a wonderful location in this amazing city. (Actually, Niketa was complaining today that cereal in the U.K. is not as good as the American kind. She’s having her parents mail some frosted flakes to her.)
Blah this is getting so long… I promise never again to leave three weeks of life go undocumented. Switching to note form:
The Best Things in London—in no particular order
1. Visiting the Tower Bridge (the one that looks like it might be the London Bridge) on a rare sunny day.
2. The Royal Ballet’s production of Ondine. A ballet set as if it is underwater.
3. The comedian Paul Foot from Last Comic Standing. He told a hilarious set that went on for half an hour—just about vans!
4. All of the locals who mock my American accent and become easily offended by tame jokes.
5. My internship with CNIguard, smart censoring systems for critical national infrastructure. http://www.cniguard.com/ My job is to research possible markets for their expanding business.
6. The tube strike. Yes, it necessitated walking five miles to class today, but it also allowed me to work from home.
I’ll keep you updated as more interesting things unfold.
