Dear reader,
Allow me to attempt to remember what has transpired in the last four days. I knew this would happen--I waited and waited to write this post and now I don't remember shite. Therefore, this post might sound like I am high--literary people like to call this "stream of consciousness."
Wednesday, 25th of September.
After hours of struggling with my luggage, I decide to check an extra bag with British Airways for a modest (ridiculous) amount of money. When I get to Durham, I will regret this--you will find out why.
I get to the airport in good time, with all my crap, and check in. My bags weight more than they should, but the nice British lady pretends they're only 50 lbs. (in her defense, they were only around a pound over). I have a sad moment in which I say goodbye to me parents (yes, me, not my) and then they both give me their blessing.
By this point, I am pretty convinced this was a bad idea. I mean, I love my family, I love my house. Why would I want to leave all that? And have to pay for it? WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?!!?!? Anyway, the thing is done, what can you do, right? Moving on. I go through security and I get on the escalator to get to the top level where the gates are. As I am going up the escalator, I can see my parents on the other side of the glass wall dividing the security checkpoint from the terminal. And as they look at me going up, they do this:
They love me. Blame me for it. I taught them well.
I go now and wait for a billion years at the gate, trying to use the crappy airport wi-fi--oh that's right, THEY DON'T HAVE ANY. You get a crappy 45 minutes of "free" wi-fi by a company called boinking or something like that.
TURNS OUT, NO BOOK APP ON A TABLET WORKS WITHOUT THE INTERNET. EVEN IF YOU BOUGHT THE BOOK. Great, what a huge waste of money that was (you will find out why).
Finally we board the huge plane. And, of course, a douchebag enters the scene.
[Enter Cris, with a large carry on, attempting to put on overhead bin of plane. She sees half of the overhead bin is occupied with a small laptop bag and a jacket]
Cris: Hi, yes sir, do you think I could possibly put my bag there and then your bag and jacket on top of my suitcase?
Douchebag:
[Douchebag thinks he's being so generous he must make a big fuss about getting up from his seat to move his jacket himself.]
Douchebag [with a slight French accent--duh]: But, where am I going to put my jacket?
[Cris loses her shit]
Cris: YOU KNOW WHAT? Just forget it man. [takes bag to the other side of the gigantic plane].
SCENE.
Note: it is important to mention that by this time I already had a psedo-British accent. What the hell is wrong with me, you ask? I know not, to be honest.
Well, so I get in my seat. Sit next to a lovely British couple who say absolutely nothing to me the whole way. I attempt to sleep. Watch Monsters University (eh), watch Robot & Frank (ugh), break my neck trying to sleep, then I stare at the North Pole (yes, we flew very high up north... though it was probably just Canada). I don't see much there.
Finally get to London. I see a castle from the plane. It was UNBELIEVABLE. Not sure if it is Buckingham or what--I'm sure there is more than one castle. Then, I get off the plane (after the one million years that it took me to find my bag on the other side of the plane) and realize that I am running kind of late. And that "kind of late" becomes REALLY LATE once I can't figure out where to go to catch my flight to Newcastle. To top it off, Immigration is slow and the security checkpoint is very crowded. The gate is supposed to close at 1:20. I leave the security checkpoint at 1:17.
I get to the gate at 1:20. And people are barely starting to board the plane.
Note: British people are not as strict about time as Americans are.
Get on my plane and sit next to a GHETTO British guy who is wearing girly shoes that look kinda like crocs with cargo shorts and a winter vest. He is also wearing sunglasses the whole time and has his headphones AND HIS PHONE ON THE WHOLE TIME, EVEN WHEN WE WERE SUPPOSED TO TURN IT OFF. He also mumbles "we're fucking late" as we wait in a line of planes to take off.
GREAT FIRST IMPRESSION, BRITAIN.
Thank God Jane Austen taught me better.
Finally, I arrive at Newcastle. Yikes. Tiny airport... sort of dirty-looking. But it's ok--OH! THERE, DO YOU SEE THEM KIDS WITH THE PURPLE HOODIES?!?!?! DURHAM REPS, BABYYY!!!
Then I meet this really sweet Chinese girl, and I have a bus buddy for the rest of the way :)
The rest of the way being like three extra hours because we wait for ever for other people.
The driver of our bus is very GEORDIE. VERY. I couldn't understand a word he said. But he sang and whistled and was funny, so I liked him.
AT LAST, we get to Durham, County Durham, United Kingdom.
As you get the first glance of the Cathedral, your heart stops. Then you see the Castle, and you may or may not crap your pants. It's a Castle, and you'll get to eat inside of it because you got switched last minute to "university college" which is based off the castle.
Parenthesis: UK universities work in a "college system." Durham is divided up in 16 colleges that have nothing to do with academics. Depending of your college is where you live. So, basically, "college" is what we in the States call dorms. I was originally accepted into St. Cuthbert's Society, but ultimately got switched to University College, which is the oldest college of this university and is, as previously stated, based off of this 12th century (that's right) castle.
When I finally reached my dorm, Brackenbury (the name of the building--make yourself familiar with it because it sounds freaking awesome), it was 6:15 pm, and a bunch of strangers that live at Brackenbury were going to a bar, so naturally I flung my luggage into my room and went with them. Little did I know that, later that night, I would be freezing my arse off over a coarse mattress that had no sheets, pillows, or blankets because I didn't buy anything that day. Keep in mind, however, that every store but one in the whole bloody town closes at 5 or 6 p.m. And I thought Conroe was bad.
We went to a bar and I ordered this little sucker...
Not too shabby.
Right around the time I realized I hadn't had food since 8 in the morning, they invited us up to have dinner at the GREAT HALL (of the Castle, of course). DANG TO THE DANG TO THE DANG. I was wearing jeans, you guys. And I hadn't showered for a whole day.
(the Queen was at the Castle two years ago, by the way, for her Diamond Jubilee...yes, that's bleeping awesome).
After that, we went back to the Undie (bar at the Castle, underground) until I begged enough people to go back home (I hadn't slept, you guys).
I showered, put on layers of clothes, and went to sleep. Fell off the bed twice--F****** MATTRESS!!
Parenthesis:
Summary of my dormitory.
Ground level with a big window--beware thieves and always change in bathroom.
Dark blue curtains with a spot of... I want to say "salsa," on them.
Ugly light-colored "wood" furniture.
Single bed--killing me.
Nice desk. Good reading lamp.
No wi-fi... not a laptop computer if you can't move it from the desk because of the internet cable.
Bathroom is nice BUT toilet takes up an insane amount of energy to flush. You have to say a prayer, gather all your strength, and hit that lever like it's a hammer at a county fair and you're trying to win a stuffed animal.
NO CLOSET. Just a small armoire. See why I shouldn't have brought so much stuff from home?
I apologize for the fact that I'm not actually posting a lot of pictures. I have no internet on my phone and my computer doesn't detect the pics when I connect my phone through USB drive. Kill me now. But, to make it up to you, here's some pics of the Cathedral (used my digital camera instead).
