Some Observations of the mores and ways of the Northeast of England

1. All the shops close at 5 or 6 p.m.
This means that the day I arrived I could not purchase bedding. I slept on a bare mattress with a sweatshirt as a pillow, wearing two pairs of sweatpants and a thick jacket. This also means that after 6 p.m. there's no shopping to do in Durham. Why? Because there are a billion pubs in town and everyone wants to get their drink on... even shopkeepers.

2. Turns out, the term "geordie," when used to refer to a person, means trashy. Case and point: GEORDIE SHORE. Yes, it is exactly what you think it is.

These are the only decent ones I could find. Trust me, it's much worse.

3. People drink. Like... a lot. Mythbuster: I haven't seen anyone drinking hot beer.

4. The fashion here seems to be even more 80s than in America. It's like every single young person shops at Forever 21. This is particularly true of high school students. Postgraduates dress FANCEEEY. I mean, like magazine models for some posh brand like Calvin Klein or Tommy. I feel like a hobo in my clothes.



5. CHEERS. Apparently, we toast about everything here. Even without a drink on hand. It seems that "cheers!" it's like saying "alright!" or even "thank you!" in an enthusiastic way. I haven't ventured to use this expression (yes I have, but it was extremely awkward and I'm not sure I used it in the right situation).

6. Never worry about buying bottled water again because, you know what? The bottled water here seems to be tap water sealed in a bottle and sold at convenience stores. I just went into my bathroom, open the faucet, and poured some water into my glass. If I am still alive in ten days, I will declare Great Britain's tap water to be the most important British asset.

7. Contrary to popular belief, the British don't seem to be as punctual or as organized as we like to believe. In fact, I've noticed they're quite, quite chill. As a semi-American, I find this intolerable. But don't worry, I will get used to it. Example: the gate for my flight to Newcastle was closing at 1:20 p.m. I arrived at the gate at exactly that time. And people hadn't even started boarding the plane. Also see: both planes were late, the train was delayed, the bus is always a tad late, and people arrive kinda on time to things.

The Countess Dowager is not impressed. 

8. It rains. A lot. Remember when I told everyone that in the winter we only get 3 hours of sunshine? Well, that's only because the rest of the day is cloudy. Gray skies fo' life. Bad for my comfort-eating addiction. But you know what's worse? People don't seem to mind. Like... they... leave us out in the rain for hours for our school photo, in which we all look like this:

9. No Wal-mart, which means  that
a) you have to go to a bunch of different stores all the time.
b) you don't get to see this: http://www.peopleofwalmart.com/photos/

10. People don't really know where Mexico is, for the most part. The only Mexican restaurant in town makes its salsa with ketchup.

 And I know they think we still ride horses in Texas... they are just embarrassed to ask. The closest I got was "you guys have rodeos, right?"

11. Burger King had no trash cans. And it's absurdly expensive.

Also, strangely, no Mcdonald's in town, but THREE SUBWAYS? LOL. 

12. Walking is a thing... which might explain why there are very few overweight people. Then again, the number of calories we take in every day--I just don't see how on earth I can lose weight.

I didn't actually search for Emma Stone gifs... she just seems to pop up everywhere. She understands me. We are BFFS.

13. THE R.C. CHURCH. Come again? That's right. After a while, I figured out what it means: Roman Catholic. It seems just a nice little euphemism/politically correct term invented by a formerly overwhelming Protestant majority/the Church of England. The funny thing is that even the R.C. churches/schools use this term. And, ironically enough, it seems that most of the people that attend church services in the UK are Catholic. L to the O to the L.

14. Most Brits I have met do not like Downton Abbey.

They blame it for making Americans think that people in the UK still live that way. I've explained that everyone who watches Downton Abbey without getting bored is cultured enough to understand the historical implications of the show and how we know it's not like that anymore. They still don't like it.

15. Brits know WAAAAY MORE about America, politically, socially, economically, than Americans know about the UK. There's been endless coverage about the government shutdown in British news channels. That just makes us look like really a-holes who don't care about other countries in the world (I'm speaking of the majority of Americans, not the minority of educated people who listen to NPR and donate to Red Cross to help Syria).

Anyway, I will post more on this subject as I continue to discover Northeast England's culture.

Monday--I finally went into the Durham Cathedral

Not a long post. Got to go into Durham Cathedral. World Heritage Site. Built in 1133. Enormous and glorious and ridiculously stunning.

Just have to say that, because they don't let you take pics here, I had to grab all these from the internet.

when you first come in. WOAH.

A View of the altar.

the pulpit

Breath taking stained glass work

Just my favorite. The Pieta, North England style. Looking at this broke my heart into a thousand pieces.

Not sure if you are religious or if you believe in God or not. But, to me, this masterpiece of humanity, this Cathedral demonstrates our innermost need to seek God:

"You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you." -St. Agustine

Saying that Christianity has only slowed down and impaired the human race culturally, intellectually and socially is absurd. Look at this place. It is a work of art, an architectural masterpiece. Done by human hands and great genius simply for the glory of God. Anyone with a beating heart can appreciate that (I don't know about Zombies, though).

First Weekend

It's me again!!

How the heck are you, anyway?

Well, I've been experiencing all the spectrum of emotions throughout this first week. And I know, I'm going to sound like a jerk, but by Saturday I was already regretting coming here.

I know you want to kill me.

Don't get me wrong. I am very grateful for this opportunity, and, if anything, I was blaming myself for "this mistake." I felt very discouraged because I live so far from everything, I had been walking non-stop for two days, I had no mom cooking a hearty meal,  it's too cold for September (gotta blame Texas for that), and I was being bombarded with information. And feeling terribly alone. To the point where I have to have music playing in the room at all times. Suddenly, I didn't want this so bad. I wanted to go home (especially after the shitty Friday night I had). 

Thus, I don't remember much about Saturday. I remember more feelings than actual events. I probably shopped, I went places, had a free meal somewhere, and I don't remember the rest. Oh yeah... I remember going out to look for my nearest Catholic church and being unable to find it. So there, just a crappy day.

Moreover, if you know me at all, you know it takes me quite a while to get used to new people and to warm up to them enough to consider them friends. An introvert in disguise, I find meeting too many people in a short period of time really exhausting. And you cling to these acquaintances because they really are all you've got here, but you know, deep down, that you are strangers thrown together in the same situation. It's a strange feeling. 

Anyway, Sunday arrives. I wake up early, get ready, and walk. Walk. Walk. Until I find it. St. Cuthbert's R.C. Church. The church seems to be falling apart from the outside--it might be sinking into the ground or something like that because there are metal beams going up and down the walls of the building, as if supporting the structure. It's in shambles. As I go in there, I feel my heart filling up with a strange combination of nostalgia, love, and peace. I love this little tiny and modest church. I am home. No, no usher greeted me. Even better--Jesus greeted me personally. MY LORD AND MY GOD!!!

Anyway, my non-believing friends might be sick to their stomachs or simply bored by now, so moving on. Mass was (as always) extraordinary. I received my Savior in communion--whole body, blood, soul and divinity (aah well, I can't help it, non-catholic friends. He is, after all, the love of my life). After spending this hour in my new home, the sky seemed bluer, the breeze felt gentler, and the day was brightening up. With renewed strength, I went back home just in time to hop on a train to....*DRUM ROLL*

NEWCASTLE UPON TYNE!!!!!!

This is the nearest city to me. About 15 minutes by train. And it's a nice, nice place. The Geordie mecca of the world!

I went there with a few others from my building. We went to the shopping mall. I tried clothes, I complained to the mirror about my body, bought stuff, and just walked around. Here are some pictures:

Not such a new castle, eh? LAME

The Cathedral of St. Nicholas (C. of. E.---see what I did there?)

City of Bridges

River Tyne

yes, this is bizarre.

inside St. Nicholas Cathedral

St. Nick's

St. Nick's

After that, we came home, exhausted, but also a lot closer to friendship. A very good day.

I think all I need is time. 

-C

Friday, 27th of September… A day that will live in infamy.

We head to the Castle early in the morning for coffee and a brief introduction to the college. Blah blah blah, we are the best, who wants a rape whistle? Take this invisible marker that works only with UV light and mark all your stuff, beware of people throwing eggs from cars, more blah blah blah, the “chaplain” (a woman “priest”) is here to drink tea with you when you need someone to talk to, and more blah blah. Apologies, the blah is just to fill in the parts where I couldn’t understand what people were saying. Still trying to get used to the accent.

After that comes the good part of the day: A tour of the Castle. It was glorious. Dutch tapestry from the 17^th century, Romanesque architecture from the 11 and 12^th centuries, a medival underground chapel with amazing Anglo-Saxon engravings on the walls and columns. The oldest continuing running kitchen in Europe. IN EUROPE. A kitchen that has not stopped working one single day since the 12^th century. Go figure (naturally I would kill to work there).

Anyway, turns out that the castle is a hodge-podge of architectural styles because it used to be the prince bishop’s palace for the Catholic Church and later the Church of England, and each bishop really wanted to out-do his predecessors and make the castle more badass. The castle was donated to Durham University in the 19^th century and now is Castle (University) College. Because of the engravings on the columns in the medieval underground chapel, the castle is a World Heritage Site (the Cathedral is as well).

Picture of the amazing Anglo-Saxon Chapel

In short, what a wonderful day it was.

Except....

I walked around 1.5 miles carrying 5 heavy bags of groceries. Need I say more? It was so painful my whole body cried uncontrollably.

I thought I was going to get stigmata because them plastic bags were cutting into my skin so bad. You might think, "hey, listen, 1.5 miles isn't that bad." BUT LISTEN. My bags were easily 20 pounds... and the trek home is on a fairly steep slope. It was all poor planning on my part, and it made me wish I was dead. I flicked off a bus that didn't stop for me. It wasn't its stop... I just wanted it to stop specifically for me. Clearly, I was delirious. 

When I finally got home (drenched),  all I wanted to do was sleep. BUT NO, my heart kept saying “go to the international students party, you will regret not going.” Freaking FOMO. 

Well, now you know better, dummy. Don't listen to your stupid heart. Not going to lie, it was a great party. But I walked like two miles in high-heeled boots to get there. ALONE. And when you are by yourself, parties suck. That’s that.

There was karaoke, dancing, drinking, socializing. It was awful.

The truth is I was trying to find a way back home as soon as I got to the party. Luckily for me (not), I ran into the only other Mexican in Durham, who happens to live in my building. I asked if I could share a cab with him and his friends and he said “of course!!!”

AT LAST, I WAS GOING HOME!!

Except we had to make a little stop. At a club. For clubbing. For many hours. It was horrifying.

Because, you know me, I hate clubs and all. But this club was scarily packed AND had the heating on. It was a sauna in there. Girls with booty shorts (practically thongs) and some gay guy groping one of the guys I had just met...just post-apocalyptic chaos. Did I already mention it was horrifying? It made me want to take a blanket and pillow and go to sleep at the feet of the Tabernacle inside the nearest Catholic church, in the fetal position.

I waited and waited. Worse part is that I could tell there were people among this little entourage that soooooo didn’t want to be there, but they wouldn’t say anything.

We are a peculiar set of beings, us humans.

So, at 12:30 a.m. I broke my chains and said F**** IT, I’M GOING HOME!! And no one seconded me on that, so I went home alone. As I was waiting for the cab, a drunkard came my way and tried to help me.

Drunkie: Heeyee, ye lost? Wheredyou live?

Cris: Keenan House (You think I’m going to tell a drunkard where I live?)

Drunkie: don’t be… I’m juss tryna help. What college are you?

Cris: University College.

Drunkie: But whissssch college?

Cris: University. That’s my college.

Drunkie: Here in Durham? But whissschhh college?

Cris: oh, there’s a taxi. Good bye now.

Transition to:

Taxi Driver: where are you from?

Cris: Mexico, but live in USA.

Taxi Driver: how old are you?

Cris: twenty-six.

Taxi Driver: errr.... are you married?

Cris: .............................................................hmm....no.

Taxi Driver: but...eerrr... you have boyfriend in America?

Cris: 

"yes.... My boyfriend is in America."

Made it home. Thanked Jesus. Lights out.