Ahhhhhhbu Dhabi

View just before landing.

Arriving in Abu Dhabi was a bit surreal to say the least.  After landing and making contact with the travel agency who would be transporting me, I waited at the airport for about two hours for the rest of the group to arrive.  Once we were all there, all as in 30 or so, we were loaded on to any number of vans and transported to the hotel.  This for me a an amazing start to the trip in comparison to London, so I was feeling okay.  The first week was filled with meetings, doctors appointments, more meetings, more appointments, and loads of information flying at us from all directions.  Within the first two hours of orientation I found out I would be placed in the Western Region of Al Gharbia.  

Oh, did I forget to mention that I had no idea where I'd be teaching...yep.  I was under the impression that I'd be teaching in Abu Dhabi, and I am, the state of Abu Dhabi, but not the city.  Ahhhhh, technicalities! I'm living about 2.5 hours outside of Abu Dhabi City in a small town called Ruwais.  Technically, again, they get you with the technicalities, it's not actually a town or city, it's a province or settlement that has sprung up to house the oil company employees and their families.  It is modern, featuring a movie theater, bowling alley, ice skating rink, STARBUCKS!!!!!, ColdStone Creamery, and several other shops...all located inside the mall.  Think Karcher Mall but much more impressive to look at from the outside, and much less depressing inside.  Okay forget Karcher Mall.

Mammas and babies!

The town I actually teach in is called Al Sila.  It is about an hour or so away from Ruwais and is a little fishing village located very near the boarder of Saudi Arabia.  I driver to work every morning and pass any number of men putting their camels out to graze on the sagebrush and bits of grass along the highway. They are beautiful and every-once-and-awhile, I can see the silhouettes of a small herd being run in the distance.  Often on my way home from work on Thursday I will pass any number of trucks transporting camels to Abu Dhabi.  All I'm generally able to see is a camels head or two poking above the truck, lips flapping in the wind.  It's pretty cute.  I've heard they are feisty bastards, but I've kept my distance and prefer to think of them as sweet and endearing creatures. Um, and they have Camel beauty contests here.  YEP!  More on that later.   

The school I'm teaching at is called Bayah.  It is an all girls school in which I teach 6th grade English.  I have three groups of girls A, B, & C.  They are from all over the world and are the most loving and ornery bunch of girls I've ever had the pleasure of teaching.  I have students from all over the world, including Sudan, Jordan, Egypt, Syria, Palestine, and The UAE. This has been one of the most challenging undertakings I've ever embarked on, but I do not regret it for one minute.   The school is square with classrooms all around the outside and a huge canopied courtyard in the center.  Every morning the girls line up in the courtyard for assembly.  They look so smart in their uniforms with their Shaylas covering their heads.  My girls are the youngest in the school and some are a good foot and a half shorter than me.  When I first came the girls stared at me and told me I was beautiful and wanted to hold my hand or touch my face.  Even the Arabic teachers gestured to each other about my face or skin and smiled in approval.  The older girls would seek me out to tell me that I was cute or that my eyes were beautiful.  They are full of questions and are not shy about asking.  If I wear something that they particularly like, the material of my sleeve is felt throughout the day.  It's a strange feeling to be such a novelty.  It will wear off soon, I'm sure.  

Transition

If I could describe this, my 33rd year, in one word it would be transition.  I have, for most of this year, been in transition waiting for one thing or another to happen.  Some have and some have not. I have refrained from posting for a very long time because I feel that a story should be told in its entirety and for quite some time I didn't how this one was going to end.  

Teaching in London

In July of last year I accepted a teaching position through an agency in London. After interviewing a few places, I was offered a job with the initial school I interviewed with.  I was ecstatic.  I felt that this was an opportunity to extend my time in a place I loved so much.  I began teaching in September, just after finishing my internship at Core Arts.  My thesis was still being written with the due date rapidly approaching and I was also in the process of selling my home in Idaho.  Needless to say I was balancing quite a bit.
I was up for the challenge of teaching in a different country and interested to see just what the differences were between England and the States.  What I found was that the curriculum content is much the same in England, however, the system is much, much different. I was still teaching novels like "Of Mice and Men" and "To Kill A Mockingbird," and focusing on literary analysis, however, I was learning an entirely new system when it came to evaluations, grading, achievement structures, school hierarchy, processes and procedures.  I felt as though I was trying to learn a foreign language while teaching my own simultaneously.

I was teaching two 10th grade English classes, two 10th grade remediation classes, which focused on developing writing skills, two 7th grade English classes and one 8th grade English class, on an alternating A/B weekly schedule, with a rotating prep.  Which meant I didn't have a single class consistently from day to day during the week and that the time I saw them was never the same.  For example, I may have one of my 10th grade remediation classes Monday 3rd period, Wednesday 5th period and Thursday 2nd period, but the next week I may see them only twice on completely different days and during completely different periods than I had the previous week. Some days, depending on how the schedule fell, I didn't get a prep at all.  I was at school most days until seven preparing for each of the classes I would have the next day.  It was a steep learning curve to say the least.  I'd never taught so many different preps before and had never had to juggle so much information coming in all at once.   I was fortunate enough to be working with incredible people who were supportive and helpful beyond words.  I learned so much in the first few weeks being there and grew as a teaching immeasurably.

During this time I was also trying to secure my new visa, as my student visa was about to expire.  Through a series of miscommunications and misunderstandings I found out, just as first term was wrapping up, that neither the school (because I was under contract with the agency as a supply teacher) nor the teaching agency were going to sponsor my visa.  As you can imagine I was devastated. After several frustrating phone calls and emails to the agency, it came out that when I had been handed off from one recruiter to another, several things had not been correctly communicated.  I had to explain to the gal I was currently working with, that before I singed any kind of contract, I had stated the situation regarding my visa to my initial recruiter and told him that it would be an issue as it was expiring at the end of October and I would need a sponsor.  He assured me, as he took a copy of my current visa, that they dealt with this kind of thing all the time and that it wasn't an issue.  When I was transferred to another recruiter, assumptions were made about what had been done, and so on, and so forth, until I end up at the end of a term unable to continue teaching.  My biggest concern was for the school and my students.  Because of this I had left them in a terrible position and they had only a very short time to fill my position before the students returned from half-term break.  Also, I didn't say anything to my students, which was the worst.  I didn't get to say goodbye to them or tell them how much I enjoyed having them as students.  I was just gone.

I then had to pack my things and fly home fairly quickly as my visa was about to expire. YIKES!!!

I'd like to take a moment now to confess, that when I initially took the position with the agency -which was the result of a misplaced phone call on the part of the recruiter, though I had put in applications to teach in London- it felt like the hand of God.  I have previously taken two other positions in schools, both of which were the result of phone calls which came virtually out of the blue.  The first phone call, a misdialed or miswritten number, resulted in my scheduling an interview at an elementary school.  After the interview was over and the position offered to me, I asked the principle where she got "my" application.  She told me it came from the district office.  I then went straight to the district office and filled out an application.  The second came during the first year of my masters and resulted in my teaching job at East Valley, which lasted six awesome years.  So to me, this wasn't anything out of the ordinary.  I had honestly seen the Lord work like this in my life before, so I wasn't phased by the nature of its beginnings.  However, I had this nagging feeling that it was a bit too good to be true, and when it all fell apart, I felt that I should have been more attentive to that still small voice.  

Home, But Not

When I got home my house was in the process of being sold and I arrived just prior to closing, which was awesome!  There were a few hiccups in the process and it was stressful at times, but eventually, it closed.
This for me was bitter-sweet.  I loved my home, but in the end it was best to let it go.

Let me just take a moment to tell you that while I was home I was also furiously applying for teaching jobs overseas, at colleges on the East Coast, curatorial positions, gallery assistantships, anything, pretty much anywhere.  I knew I wasn't ready to come back to Idaho permanently, and having just sold my home with the mindset that I would be living in London for another year, what else was I going to do?

I was also what most people would call "a hot mess" emotionally.  I was unable to sleep, so I would stay up nights filling out application after application, attaching transcripts, teaching licenses, resumes, and tailoring countless cover letters to each specific job in hopes that something would flesh out.
I was sad and anxious.  I couldn't quite get my head around what this was all for or why it was happening, and even though visas fall through all the time, I felt as though I had failed in some way.

Back to London

After I sold my house I went back to London to collect the rest of my things from my flat, spend a few more weeks with friends, see some sights and say goodbye to London properly.  Within the first few days back, I received a message from a colleague at the school telling me that we needed to meet up.

Angie, whom I love to bits and respect as a teacher immensely, picks me up from the tube, and in the car on the way to the pub tells me there have been some major changes within the department, and that there is a permanent position opening up and she would like me to apply.  See ya later Japan, London I'm back!!!  I was literally gobsmacked (I just love that phrase!).  I had this ridiculous grin on my face all night, I was calling and texting people to let them know I was unofficially, but officially back!  I was going to have to apply and interview for the position all over again, but I was willing to do whatever it took.  Show me those hoops, I'm ready to jump through them all.

So, I had just been unofficially offered a job, again.  Since I was only going to be in London a few weeks (because I had only planned on collecting my things and leaving), the interview process was going to have to happen fairly quickly.  I met with the Head Teacher, scheduled a teaching interview, applied for the position online, had another interview after my teaching interview and it was done. What was great was coming back to the school and seeing my students and colleagues again.  The hugs and squeals of excitement from my students (and me) were fantastic.  One of my year 7's told me that she would see me in 5th period and she couldn't wait. She ran off so quickly I didn't have a chance to tell her that I wouldn't be back teaching just yet. Sitting in the lounge with my fellow teachers was an amazing feeling.  When I was offered the job I took it gladly.  There were still a few details to be sorted, like my visa, which the school was handling, so I was headed back home for Christmas, only now I would be returning in January to begin teaching again.  Hooray!

Waiting

Before Christmas break had officially begun for the schools I came back to Idaho.  Once here, I received an email from the gal handling the visa sponsorship at the school informing me that I wouldn't be able to start teaching first thing in January because she hadn't received the necessary information from the Home Office in order to push the sponsorship through.  No problem, I'll just push my ticket back.

Once January rolled around I got another email informing me that sponsorship of my visa wasn't viable and that they were very sorry.  No explanation as to why, just sorry.  Upon enquiring why it was they were unable to secure a visa for me, I was told it was because they had advertised for the position incorrectly and because my tier 4 visa, which had expired while I was teaching there, had expired.  I was so incredibly frustrated and heartbroken.  Emotionally I felt like a yo-yo.  I was excited, crushed, excited, crushed...WHAT WAS GOING ON!?!?!?  It was a lot to take in and process.  I didn't know where I would land and that was a difficult reality to be faced with.

Once the emotions settled, I went into a survival mode of sorts and began looking at overseas teaching positions again, however, this time I began looking at the Middle East, Abu Dhabi and Dubai in particular.  I interviewed over Skype and was passed on to the next round of interviews quickly.  This next interview was to take place in London in February and would be held with teachers and administrators from the Abu Dhabi Education Council, also over Skype.  Another interview and I was informed within a week that I had been selected for a position beginning in September.

I am now officially homeless (in the very loosest sense of the word).  I'm living at my parents house, working a temp job, waiting for September.  I'll be teaching summer school in the Boise district in June and July, which will help occupy my time and then I'm off.  But for now, I'm in transition.  This has been the hardest adjustment, to exist in the spaces between the endings and the beginnings.  To thrive in the lulls in which I struggle to feel like I have a place or a space that is my own.  

The Lesson

I think sometimes the Lord allows us to be shaken by situations so can understand that He truly is the only thing we can depend on.  He is the only thing that is steadfast and our faith, hope and trust should always be in Him.  I will not say that I am adept or even good at this, but I'm learning.  I am heartsick for London and miss it on a daily basis, however, I have hope that at some point the Lord will lead me back there for good.  

Core LOVE

Over the last year I've been fortunate enough to be able to volunteer and spend time at a place called Core Arts.  What initially began as a nine week internship quickly became a deepening love and commitment to an innovative place and it's people. 

Core Arts is a charity based in Hackney which promotes the arts and artists in an array of genres, including music, creative writing, painting, drawing, printmaking, vocal coaching, music production and mixing, textiles, pottery, casting, gardening, and the list goes on and on.  These amazing artist and performers also happen to have enduring mental health issues and have sought out Core as a place of refuge, growth, transformation, transcendence, community, and strength through the development and expression of artistic inclinations.  Not only does Core offer classes and workshops, it also holds regular gallery exhibitions, concerts and open mic nights, as well as artist promotion. Core is also an advocate for awareness and education in the UK as a means to breakdown stereotypes and stigmas surrounding mental health.  

I can honestly say that I have been changed by the people at Core and am so sad to see my time there come to an end.  I feel so blessed to have been a part of this community and the lives of it's members.  

The video below says more about Core than I ever could, as it is true representation of the heart and soul of the organization and it's members.  I hope you see what was immediately evident to me and share a small bit of the LOVE I have in my heart for this incredible place.

Stigma

A little less than two years ago I found myself in a place I'd never been before.  I guess you could say that things had been building over the past six year or so, and had finally come to a head.   I was a mess.  On the outside things looked okay, but I was struggling.  The breaking point came when I had a total melt down over rescheduling a time to meet up for a tailgate party.  I got off the phone and immediately called poor Cassie back and told her "I'm going to take a nap and change my diaper and then I'll be ready for the game. I'm so sorry!  I don't know where that came from?!"  Later that summer I went to the doctor because I wasn't sleeping, I was emotional (a gross understatement), withdrawing from social situations, becoming overwhelmed easily, and the list goes on.  Basic things like the daily task of getting ready or going out with friends resulted in a kind of ongoing narrative in my head.  "Okay, you need to walk the dog and then have a cup of coffee and you'll then have enough momentum to take a shower and get ready.  Then you'll feel better."  I was having to give myself pep talks to do almost everything.  On the weekends if I had committed to more than one event I felt overwhelmed and often cancelled one or all because it took so much emotional energy to get there, to be present, interact, and enjoy myself.  Those of you who know me know how much I LOVE people!  I love being around people of all shapes and sizes and often feel at home with those I've just met.  As a child, at the ripe old age of five, I made friends with a wino at Lake Lowell and invited him back for dinner.  At conferences my parents often heard "She's very social."  Which is a nice way of saying "Your kid won't shut her gob!"  Needless to say, I've never met a stranger!

Having just finished my fifth, and most difficult, year teaching I wondered if I had it in me to continue teaching for the rest of my career.   The thought of retiring as a middle school teacher literally made me feel like I wanted to curl up in a hole and die.  It was physically exhausting to think about.  In the previous years along with teaching I had undertaken a masters full time, was running a Young Life group at the school, advising student council, coaching tennis, hosting a weekly bible study at my house, running an after school program going on it's 4th year, teaching summer school, subbing for night school and occasionally working at the Rec Center in the evenings as the Night Supervisor. It was the first time in my life I felt so overwhelmed by things that I honestly loved doing.  I loved teaching and being around my students!  I just couldn't figure out why I felt so on edge all the time.  My poor boss would see me coming and grab the box of kleenex before I even got into his office, knowing the floodgates were about to open.  So of course, I thought I had some kind of hormonal imbalance; certain I was pre-menapausal at 30, oh Lord!  When I went to the doctor he said it sounded like I was depressed.  In my head I though, "Jackass! I'm not depressed!  I'm making plans and I'm hopeful for the future! I'm looking forward to the next school year and I'm applying for grad school in London!" This is also why I'm not a doctor!  :)

What I didn't realize is that there are different kinds of depression and that I was most definitely depressed.  I assumed that if I were depressed I would have completely shut down and wouldn't have been able to function.  Stigma.  There it was, that word.  I had ascribed to the stigma surrounding depression and was immediately trying to separate myself from "it."  Growing up in the church there was a stigma surrounding issues like depression and I remember reading articles and books that frowned upon the use of anti-depressants.  Several insisted that seeking medical assistance for struggles with depression was a sign of weak faith.  Stigma.  If I could have willed or prayed myself to a better place, and believe me I tried, I would have.  I thought that by pushing forward I would see reward in the end and I would have some great epiphany about my struggle.  Stigma.  In truth, I was depressed and I wasn't capable of fixing anything without help.  I had been through counseling and was in the process of making major life changes, but I still couldn't manage to pull myself together.  

Today was the first time I had encountered the stigma surrounding depression from the other side and the reason I decided to write this blog.  I went into the doctor to check in, because a few weeks prior my medication had been reduced and she wanted to see how I was functioning.  The doctor I had previously seen was out sick so I was to see another doctor.  No problem.  I went into her office and sat down as she looked over the notes on the screen.  I told her I was just there to check back in because my prescription has been reduced.  She began asking me questions about how I felt.  I told her I felt fine, no difference really.  She said "I bet you're feeling less medicated?"  I told her that wasn't the case and that there wasn't really any change.  I told her that I was taking the max dose in the U.S. and it was different in the U.K. so I was fine to reduce my prescription and go from there because it was only a minor adjustment.  To which she replied, "Well, we're not so gung-ho about prescribing medication like they are in America." I explained to her that my doctor didn't just put me on the max dose and that it was a gradual process that took place over the course of a year.  Then she said, "I've never met anyone taking that much before." I felt like she was looking at me like I had three heads.   So, I explained to her that I'd had several conversations with my doctor and my brother and sister-in-law, who are psychologists, about my reservations about increasing my dosage.  And that it was a matter of figuring out where my baseline was.  I had been struggling for so long, I didn't know what normal felt like anymore.  I wanted to make sure I wasn't taking medication to make myself feel happier and happier and happier.  (Which my sister Bekah explained does not happen.)  She then told me that in the UK the only reason they prescribe that much is to treat people with Bulimia, "Do you have Bulimia?  Do you make yourself vomit?"  My response was, "Oh, I don't have the discipline to make myself throw up!"  I thought it was funny, but she apparently didn't.  Throughout the course of the rest of the conversation she asked me two more times if I made myself vomit.  She then asked me how long I was here for and if I had friends.  I told her I'd be her a year in total and assured her I had friends in London.  I explained to her the conversations I'd had with my doctor about this not being permanent and that I most likely wouldn't be on anti-depressants my whole life.  The rest of the appointment when pretty much like that and I left feeling frustrated, hurt, and deflated. 

I tell you this because it was the first time I'd ever had someone look at me and treat me the way she did.  She knew nothing about me accept what was written in a 1x5 inch box on a computer screen.  It was the first time I had encountered the other side of the stigma surrounding depression and it made me feel terrible.  I wasn't a person who has a life and goals.  I can't tell you how many conversations I've had with people since I began being treated for depression, who've found themselves in the same place I was just a few years ago, experiencing the same struggles.  These conversations reassure me and remind me that I'm not alone, and I'm comforted by that.  I have also found that by listening and sharing my story with others, I find a deep sense of peace.  I'm thriving.  I'm happier than I've ever been and have again found the joy that I'd been missing for so many years. I'm pursuing my dreams and have recently taken an internship at a place called Core Arts, where I will be teaching art classes to people who have been marginalized their entire lives because of stigmas.  I realize that my little story pales in comparison to what many of them have experienced.  However, I feel fortunate to be able to be a part of something like Core and am certain it is where I'm supposed to be.  Maybe this is my great epiphany, the big Ah-Ha moment?  Or maybe its just another one of those things that draws me closer to my Creator and to those He created.  

Don't Feed the Monkeys

I'm Pro-Giraffe!   

Shortly after "The Great Walk," when I had gained feeling in my feet again, Sam, Avi and I decided to go to the zoo.  We  talked about it and made a plan to go on a Sunday.  We decided to meet at 1, and with only some minor difficulty, we all made it there around 1:45.  It was a cold, greyish day in January, so the zoo was less than crowded.  Although the sky threatened rain, it held off and we were able to see what we wanted.  Sam had his heart set on gorillas and penguins; Avi wanted to see the lions and tigers; and I wanted to see the giraffes and otters.   What we didn't realize was that The Monkey House was the place to be!

The Monkey House

 On the left side of the entrance there are two large plexiglass windows that reveal the inside of the shelter for the Bolivian Black-Capped Squirrel Monkeys.  They were tinny and there were so many of them.  What I didn't realize is that you actually get to go into their habitat and interact with them.  It's a netted off area with an open top created to replicate the rain forest in Bolivia and the monkeys are everywhere.  It was super cool to say the least.  We wound around the path and came to a stop where people were taking pictures of a few that were sitting on a post.  These little guys are super cute!  They are a little bigger than a cob of corn and are quick!  There were two volunteers  in oversized jackets standing close making sure no one grabbed the monkeys and vice versa.  As we watched, a woman with a stroller, sans baby, came near to the action.  Suddenly one of the monkeys jumped onto the stroller and picked up a bag that was tucked into the handle of the stroller and pulled out the remnants of a muffin and began eating it.  The volunteers panicked a little and tried to get to the little guy without success.  It was in the bushes within seconds, knowing that was his only chance of keeping his treat. The women in their huge jackets began jumping around sticking their arms and faces into the dense shrubbery in an attempt to locate the critter, who was now joined by an accomplice.  Due to the giggles in the crowd one of the women popped up and panted in her most serious voice about how it was not funny because of how bad the food is for the monkeys; which is entirely true, however from our perspective things looked a whole lot different.  The fact that these two women were flapping around in clownishly large coats trying desperately to catch two monkeys the size of corn cobs, hiding in a giant bush with contraband, was hilarious!  The monkeys were popping in and out of the bushes while the women tried their best to grab the remnants of the muffin from them.  It was like watching the hillbilly version of whack-a-mole.  After a bit a crowed had gathered, so we decided to move on to another exhibit as we had already seen the show.  

One of the things I appreciate most about the British is their sense of humor.  They have a very polite and humorous way of being honest.  As we approached The Monkey House I noticed a banner hanging on the outside of the entrance.  It had a cartoony character on it and was blue and white.  I didn't pay much attention  initially because I assumed it had to do with a kids camp or something similar.  On our way out of the monkey house, I looked over and noticed the same sign as before, but this time it wasn't obstructed.  It was a cartoon of a boy on one side holding his right hand in the air which contained four intact fingers and a bloody stump of a ring finger.  On the opposite side of the banner was a monkey sitting on a stump with blood running down its teeth and chin.  It read "Meet Norman Nine Finger (he tried to feed the monkeys) Please don't touch or feed the animals - they sometimes BITE! Bahahaha!  AWESOME!

Norman Nine Fingers

Avi being gobbled up by a lioness!

We proceeded to visit the penguins, otters, giraffes, lions, tigers, llamas (one of which had only one eye and had been given the name Captain, and was cartoonishly depicted in a sign with an eyepatch, classic!), pigs, camels, zebras, and all sorts of other animals!  It started spitting just as the zoo was about to close so we made our way to the only shelter we could find, the gift shop,  and warmed up a bit, well played zoo, well played!  We looked around and then headed out.  We walked back through Regents Park, which is filled with rugby fields, manicured gardens, walking paths and benches.  It was getting dark but the walk was crisp and beautiful none-the-less.  And at one point, Avi stopped in his tracks to ask why we were walking so fast.  Sam's reply, "We are walking at a normal pace!" 

Sam and I on the bus

As we were all cold and hungry we decided to grab fish and chips from a chippy (a British term for a fish and chip shop) down the road from my house called "The Venice Fish Bar."  I'd not yet had their fish and chips but had heard they were amazing.  We jumped on the bus and off at the chippy.  There they freshly battered and fried three huge fish fillets for us and stacked each one onto a heaping bed of chips, topped them with vinegar and salt and wrapped them up in newspaper.  We walked up the hill to my flat and ate until we were full.  What a great way to end a day with friends!  

Fish and Chip GOODNESS!

**Shameless plug!! Since then, I've tried several different versions of the same meal other places around London and nothing seems to quite measure up to the fish and chips of Little Venice!

The Great Walk

This semester flew by quicker than I expected and I suddenly realized that it's been months since my last post.  I've missed blogging and how it acts as a reminder of where I've been and how I've grown and changed as a person.  One of the reasons we grow is because we encounter others in our lives that push, stretch, and challenge us to be more than we think we can be, or maybe they help us reach our true potential.  I've met some incredible people while I've been in London and I'd like to share some of the best days I've spent here.

The Great Walk

As promised, Avi, I'm finally blogging about "The Great Walk."  Towards the tail end of Christmas break I had decided that I was going to figure out a walking route to the school because I was tired of waiting for the tube.  (It takes me 40 minutes on the tube and 30 minutes on foot to get to class, hmmmm?!)  And because, let's face it, if my flat didn't have a giant skylight I would have had a serious vitamin D deficiency because I rarely left the place over break.  I needed to get out.  My good friend Avi had offered to show me Hyde Park and so I asked if he would come with me.  Something you have to know about Avi is he's very knowledgable and is passionate about passing that knowledge along, which means inevitably there will be a quiz at the end.   And seeing as how I can only remember the names of two of the four corners of Hyde Park,  I may have to google that business.  

Moving on.  

Long story short, I had never been down to the Thames or to Westminster Abby, and I had only ever glimpsed Big Ben out in the distance, from Trafalgar Square.  Basically I hadn't done all the really fun touristy things you're supposed to do when in London.  Avi suggested we go to the water and I was game.  Having left everything at home save my phone and keys, I insisted that we skip the tube and walk.  I didn't want him to have to pay for me to ride the tube because it is kind of a rip off to buy a ticket for a single ride.  So we walked.  And walked.  And walked. At one point I got impatient because the water seemed so close but we were not going straight there. Later I found out the reason why.

When we got to the Thames and the tide was low and it was spitting; a term the Brits use to describe a sprinkle.  Avi suggests we sit and I insist that we keep going...he keeps doing this as well as periodically telling me that we're walking to fast.  I kept thinking to myself, what's his deal, I'm fine, lets just get there.  What I later realized about Avi is that he's they type of person who tries to make the most of every minute.  I often refer to the book "The Pokey Little Puppy" when trying to explain what it's like walking with him. He doesn't walk, he moseys.  He is frequently behind if we are walking in a group and have no immediate destination, because he is taking in everything around him.  Although I have an eye for small details, I often miss really BIG things because I'm more focused on the destination rather than the journey.  

Big Ben

A prime example of this would be the fact that we were sitting on a bench at the back of Westminster Abby and I had no idea, it was so plain and unassuming, nothing grandiose about it at all.  As we walked around the side of the church I realized where we were and I had this ridiculous grin on my face and then I felt terrible for being impatient.  Avi confessed that he had been trying to be discrete about coming here so that it would be a surprise.  He thought I would recognize the church. So we crossed the street and sat across from the church and Big Ben for a while taking it all in.  Pretty incredible stuff!  From there we could also see the London Eye across the river and in the distance St. Paul's Cathedral sat quiet and proud amongst colorful lights, it's dome simply lit.  As we walked and the river snaked and meandered, the dome floated back and forth on the horizon.

We kept walking because, well, why not.  As we walked Avi named off each bridge we passed and continued to keep an eye on our pace to make sure we weren't walking too fast.  I pointed at one bridge and asked if it was the one that had been destroyed by Death Eaters in Harry Potter (Yep, I did just say that!).  He had no idea what I was talking about.  I insisted that there is a walking bridge that crosses the river and it was on Harry Potter, and everything on Harry Potter is true and accurate, duh!! Okay, I realize that's ridiculous, but the bridge does exist.  After making "Y" shapes with my hands and describing what the bridge looked like, we actually found it and discovered that it's called the Millennium Bridge.  It had been built for the Millennium Celebration in 2000 and has become a permanent fixture. I had been wearing flats all day and was less than prepared for "The Great Walk."  By the time we got to Millennium Bridge I was pretty quiet.  Having started out the day unusually (okay maybe not unusually) chatty, at this point it was crickets in comparison.  I was loving every minute, but was coveting every motorized scooter we passed, I have never before in my life given such serious consideration to mugging a senior citizen.  
It was dark now and we had been walking for about 3 hours.   I climbed the steps and stood that the foot of the bridge and waited as Av threw something in the garbage.  As we began to walk onto the bridge Avi asked if I saw it?  My initial thought was, yeah, I'm standing on it.  Then he pointed behind me and there it was in all it's glory...the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral towering over me, brightly lit against the dark sky.  I was so tired I didn't see it!  I freaking LOVE Mary Poppins and could sing "Feed the Birds" to you BY HEART!!  (I know my dad would be proud!) And have...to several unsuspecting people who were with me the next time I was near it.  No joke!  And here I am standing in the shadows of the Cathedral, the Cathedral and I'm so tired, I don't even see it.  That's some blind spot!:)

St. Paul's Cathedral

We walk over the bridge to the other side of the river.  This is where The Tate Modern sits, a huge old power plant converted into a modern art museum; it's open late tonight, but we decide to skip it.  As we walk we pass men selling cinnamon roasted peanuts which makes it smell amazing, well for me at least, Avi is allergic and less enthusiastic about the smell.  We walk beside The Globe Theater and sit for a while.  I was surprised at how quite it was on a Friday night.  London is such a big city, but it has a distinctly different pace.  It has the hustle and bustle of a major metropolitan city, and yet there is something reserved about it.  Everything begins to close down around 11 and the tubes make their last run at 12:30.  London puts itself to bed at a respectable hour.  

Tower Bridge

We pass several other bridges until we come upon Tower Bridge.  During the Olympics, this was the bridge that boasted the olympic rings.  Needless to say, it's massive.  We started to cross the bridge but had to stop at one point because the bridge was raising so a boat could pass.  We crossed and ended up on the other side where The Crown Jewels are kept.  I'm not going to lie, by that point, I was done.  We took the tube back home and I was praying that the walk up the hill to my house went quickly.  When I got home I put on the most comfortable shoes I could find because I felt like I had just walked around London bare foot.  Avi was nice enough to make dinner because he could tell I was exhausted.  

The next day Avi sent me an email with the route we had walked mapped out on Google Maps.  It turns out we walked just over 10 miles that day.  Not to shabby!  I've posted the link below so you can see "The Great Walk" for yourselves!  

http://goo.gl/maps/tAVQs

I'm grateful to have friends who are literally willing to go the extra mile with me in order to help me make the most of my time here!  

London In Retrospect

Having been in London for a little over four months now, I've taken some time to reflect back on my experience thus far.  It seems that my first semester of school flew by and I've already started second semester, where has the time gone?  London has offered me plenty of adventure and misadventure, but on the whole has welcomed me with open arms and treated me like an old friend.  

As I've said first semester flew by in a kind of whirlwind.  Between finding accommodations and starting classes my plate was quite full.  Having finally found a place to call home, I was able to settle into a routine quite quickly and learn my way around the city.  For the most part I did little exploring, as I was acclimating to the copious amounts of reading and writing required by my program and allowing myself time to take everything in.  I knew there was no rush to see the city all at once, as I would be here for a year, so I could take a leisurely pace and not run myself into the ground trying to cram in all the sites!  

Classes proved to be interesting, while the coarse work was challenging and rewarding.  My professors are some of the most incredibly knowledgable people I've ever met.  They all bring different experiences from various areas of the art world, as they are all still working for galleries, museums, foundations, philanthropists etc. as well as teaching.  My favorite class last semester was Art and Its Histories with Dr. Deborah Schultz.  This class focused primarily on philosophies of aesthetics, as well as theories and analysis of art.  Dr. Schultz, who earned her PhD in Art History from Oxford University, is incredibly knowledgable and was able to help us navigate the weighty material of philosophers like Kant, Hegel, Panofsky and Wollflin.  I enjoyed this course not only because of the content but also because of its structure; the dialogue and collaborative nature of the class allowed us to interact with the information in a more comprehensive way, making abstract concepts tangible.  I was also surrounded by incredibly intelligent women who provided varying insights and thought provoking commentary in every class.  

Due to the fact that I'm studying Art History many of the classes took place in galleries or museums throughout London.  One of the major benefits of public art is that most of the galleries and museums are free to the public and/or students.  I have had the privilege of seeing some of the greatest art in the world as part of a class or as a requirement for an assignment.  Outside of this I didn't venture out a great deal.  I took a few trips: one to Norway, another with my cohort to Venice; again seeing some incredible art, architecture and history, along with some small day trips to places like Cambridge and Oxford.  Needless to say there was plenty going on without my having to seek out extra outings, so when Christmas break rolled around, it was welcomed!  I spent much of the break reading, sleeping and relaxing.  I let myself do whatever I felt I needed to do...so I took lots of naps!!  I also got to talk to my family and friends back home via FaceTime and email, which was wonderful!  I used this time to take in all the things I had experienced over the last few months as well as consider what comes next for me once school is done.  I did quite a bit of thinking about my thesis topic, as I had considered changing it, but feel certain that I am going to stick with my original idea dealing with the iconography of Christ, something which is incredibly interesting to me.  

Towards the end of break I got out and saw more of the city.  I can honestly say that I LOVE London!!  It is a beautiful place full of warm, friendly people, history, culture and diversity!  It feels more like home than I could ever have imagined and I'm looking forward to the next nine months I get to spend here. I also feel blessed by the relationships I have formed here.  The Lord has surrounded me with smart, kind, wonderful friends who are thoughtful and considerate.  People who are intentional, who go out of their way to listen, talk, laugh and be together as we share this experience.  People who challenge, support and encourage me, and who are equally passionate about their own purposes and pursuits. 

I find that there are times I can't believe that I'm really doing this; living out the dreams the Lord planted in my heart at such a young age.  However, for the first time, in a very long time, I have a sense of contentment, peace, and joy!  I feel myself coming alive and growing as each day brings new opportunities, challenges and insights.  It's as though a part of me had been sleeping and is finally awake!    

Don't Piss-Off The Priest

The first time I ever saw a nun, I think I was eight.  She was riding a bike in her habit and this to me was hilarious.  I honestly didn't realize that they actually wore habits or that they were allowed to ride bikes in them.  Again, I was eight.  Around this same age I had worked it out in my head that a little elf lived under the middle of each intersection and had a kind of parascope which enabled him to see when the cars came, so that he could change the lights.  Lets just say, giggling at nuns was amateur stuff in comparison.  So, there I was riding in the little pick-up with Grandma Heckathorn giggling...well, like an eight year old seeing a bike-riding nun for the first time.  Little did I know, this would not be my last encounter with one of God's humble servants.

My friend Sam invited me to go to Cambridge this weekend.  Being that I'd never been before, I took him up on the invitation.  I had looked up a few things which seemed interesting that we might be able to do, but didn't have anything specific in mind.  I like to have ideas but I'm not a fan of ridged itineraries.  We planned to meet at King's Cross Station (THE King's Cross Station from Harry Potter...nerd alert!) and would take a train from there.  After purchasing our tickets we were off.  I am a huge fan of travel by train, now that I've done it a few times.  As gorgeous country side passed,  Sam and I had a lovely chat about where his research was leading him and how school is shaping up for me.  

At Cambridge station we disembarked from the train and immediately found a map to orient ourselves and find some of the significant landmark-ish areas of the city.  We decided to head to the university campus and see what we found along the way.  As we were walking we came upon a gorgeous old church. It was called something like Her Lady of Awesomeness Catholic Church (that's a rough translation).  It had beautiful stained-glass windows, amazing gargoyles and I'm pretty sure Shakespeare's head mounted beside a buttress.  Oh goodie, old stuff!  So I asked Sam if he wanted to go in and he was down.  

To all my Catholic friends, no disrespect.  I love going to Mass and find it beautiful.  I love the tradition of Mass and the fact that the biggest change in it's delivery in the passed three-hundred years has been that it's no longer given in Latin.  I like that there is something inherently healing about holding hands with a stranger as you pray.  I like knowing I'm standing in a hallowed place while I offer and receive peace and good tidings from those around me.  But most of all, I love the fact that even though I'm not Catholic and cannot receive communion, I can still go up with everyone else and receive a blessing.  But lets just be real, priests and nuns scare the hell out of me.  And rightly so I suppose, it's their job, isn't it?

As we walked in we realized communion was being given, so we tried to be as quiet as possible.  We looked around at some of the beautiful paintings in the back of the church and admired the truly amazing architecture surrounding us.  We watched for a minute as people stood in a small line down the center isle to receive communion.  I asked Sam if he had ever received a blessing before. He said he hadn't.  So I asked him if he wanted to.  He said sure, so I explained what to do.  "Rather than put your hands out for a communion wafer, you put them to your chest and ask for a blessing.  The priest will give you a blessing and then you're good to go."  I told him I'd go first so he could see what to do.  

Apparently I didn't explain myself well enough or Sam misunderstood or both.  As I turned around to wait for Sam to receive his blessing, I watched as he took a wafer and popped it into his mouth.  I was horrified.  Not only that, but he walked directly passed the woman holding the communion wine.  It now makes complete sense why she downed the rest of the cup when it was over.  So we are standing in the side isle and I'm quietly explaining what the stations of the cross are, as we walk passed the carvings on the wall.   And then it happened.  Out of nowhere, the priest, a tiny man (all of five feet) in a huge white hat, which actually completed his stature of five feet, practically ran up to us and started grilling us very loudly, in his british accent, bad teeth getting in the way and all.  He asked if we were fit to take communion.  Of course I immediately panicked and started to speak, but he dismissed me and said, "oh, yes, you only received a blessing." Let's just be honest here, if he hadn't cut me off, I was totally going to throw Sam to the snuggle toothed wolves.  I'm pretty sure I had pee'd myself a little.  It was like this little man was staring into my soul.  And then he turned his beady eyes on Sam.  

Again to my Catholic friends, I'm sure you have experienced the terror we were facing and because of this experience,  I now fully understand the expression "nervous as a whore in church."  He then asked Sam, "Are you fit to take communion?"  Let me just say that although Sam speaks five different languages, out of them all, he speaks English the poorest.  He looked at the priest and said, "Yes." I was sure a thunderbolt from the heavens was going to come crashing through the roof.  He lied to a priest!!!  Then the priest, practically shouting, his little hat trembling at eye level, sprayed out the words, "It's too quick, sit down and say your prayers, it too quick.  You can't just take communion like that, sit and be thankful."  So Sam, with head bowed after his public scolding turned into a row and sat.  I followed.  After a second or two, after I could no longer hear the adrenaline and my heart pumping in my ears,  I looked up to make sure the priest was gone and then I looked at Sam; probably just to see if he was still alive.  "We should go." I said.  "On three." Said Sam.  "One, two, three."  I would have run, but I was sure the priest would have hurdled the pews and cut us off at the pass, so a very brisk walk it was to the door and away.  

Outside the church I gave Sam crap about lying to the priest.  He admitted that he couldn't understand what the priest was saying, so he just shook his head and said "Yes." I told him that skipping the wine was a dead give away.  His response was, "Who drinks before noon?"  For the rest of the day as we passed random churches I would ask Sam if he wanted a do-over, or I would tell him that the Presbyterians, Baptists, Pentecostals, insert denomination here __________________, would not yell at him, or that it was just a warm up and now he was really ready. Best start to a trip EVER!!  

The rest of the day was great as well, we went to an art gallery, saw dinosaur bones and fossils at a museum, ate some pretty delicious hamburgers, went to a science/discovery center (on Jesus Street oddly enough), hit up an old fashioned candy store, a book store, and most appropriately, ended the day at a pub.  On the train ride back we agreed to completely ignored each other and read the books that we had bought earlier in the day.  A fun day all around!

This was a gigantic prehistoric elk/deer, about the size of a moose!

Can't remember the kind of Dinosaur, but cool!

T-Rex scull

Candy!!

More candy, you can buy it by the piece, ounce or pound!

Snuffleupagus

If you are reading this post expecting it to be about Sesame Street, you should probably stop reading now.  This post is about men who masturbate in public.

If you just read the last sentence and your eyes started bleeding, you should probably stop reading.

If you are my parents, for God-sake, STOP READING!!

Let's be honest, I know they're going to read on, I know them too well.

In Norway Julia and I were having drinks and we were swapping all kinds of funny stories, when she told me about her experience with the New York City subway system, and the various instances in which she had encountered men, well, flogging their molly, having a wank or whatever you want to call it.  I was in disbelief that people could be so disgusting.  And there were multiple stories, multiple! including: a homeless man "sleeping" on a train packed with women, just holding his business with both hands, like it was a cup of hot coffee...in this story, the book Julia was holding immediately doubled as a shield just.in.case;  an empty train and a twenty-something business man (in a three piece suit) at the opposite end swinging his junk around like the blades of a helicopter; and finally, two-pump Johnny sitting two people down and across from her on a train...no one thought it was silly sting dude, NO ONE!!! I'm so in shock that Julia has experienced these things. I will admit that I often prompt her to tell the stories to new groups of people we hang out with, because the way she tells the stories are so funny, inevitably, I end up in tears because I'm laughing so hard!  You can't make this crap up!

Then it made me kind of paranoid, because what if I saw someone...what would I do?! On our train ride to the airport when flying to Venice, Julia and I sat across from a man watching his iPad.  Okay, lets just say this guy had "masturbates on trains" written all over him, right down to the thick gold chain tangled in his creepy, ginger chest hair, proudly displayed for the world to see.  I started watching his hands and then began to regret not taking out my contacts in favor of my glasses for the ride.  I like my eyes, I want to keep them, BOTH! I have a friend whose roommate almost lost an eye in a tequila shooting accident, I can't imagine what...silly string would do!?! The panic subsided as I saw him doze off, another quick hand check and....we're good!  Whew!  As we waited for the plane Julia told me that she was watching him too!

That was weeks ago and since then I'd really forgotten to be on the look out or paranoid in any sense of the word.  And wouldn't you know it, the minute I stop being wary, that's when it happens.  When I walk to the tube from my house, I walk down a small connecting street to avoid the busy corner.  Ahead of me were two green garage doors and in front of them stood a man with his back to me.  I just kept walking because I thought he was peeing or possibly tagging the garage, because he kept looking over his shoulder.  I saw that he had no teeth because suddenly, he was smiling.  I was half way down the road when I realized what he was doing.  That wasn't a spray paint can he was shaking, but that garage door was never going to be the same....SWEET JESUS!!  Internally, I panicked and thought about turning around and running, but he had seen me...EFFFF!  And let's be honest, I was worried that my running away would alarm him, which might cause him to think: "Why is that woman running away? What's happening? DANGER! I better run too? I'm in danger, no time to put this thing away!!" which would inevitably lead to my being chased down the street by a man with his Snuffleupagus hanging out. OKAY, Plan B: just look at the ground and walk. PLAY. IT. COOL.  I hate plan B.  There was a street's width between us, which wasn't and will never be enough space.  How did the few other people and cars on the street not see this!?!  Well, because apparently London is like Sesame Street and people are use to seeing Snuffleupagus ALL THE TIME!!!

To Norway And Back Again

London is an incredibly diverse place filled with all kinds of incredible art, music, history, and culture.  I often find myself thinking that I don't need to rush to see this or that because I have time, in an effort to avoid adopting the mindset that I have to squeeze everything in all at once.  The down-side of this attitude is that I often forget to take in my surroundings.  On a daily basis, I walk passed any number of parks, statues, houses, museums, libraries, auditoriums which are centuries old.  So I've made it a point in the last few weeks to be present and conscious of what is around me, to take in all I can.  I've also been given wonderful advice from several people, namely Suzie, to "Take every opportunity and make the most of my time away."  This has been the most useful advice I've been given, well, besides Merilyn's, which was mainly about not talking to strange men! :)  So with that I share with you one of two incredible adventures I have been fortunate enough to take, thus far,  while living abroad. 

Norway

Julia and I flew in to Stavanger, Norway on Wednesday night.  I was so excited, namely because it was the first time I'd ventured out of London and also because I was officially "traveling" Europe, something I'd always wanted to do.  So, you can imagine my excitement when I actually got a stamp in my passport!!!  I had been told by numerous people that they don't stamp passports anymore, THEY TOTALLY DO! Yes, the trip started off on a high note, and considering a stamp in my passport as a high note, things could only get better.  Julia has traveled the world, so mostly she just shook her head and smiled at my ridiculous grin and giddy elation over some paper and ink.  We were only in Norway for two nights, so we had to make things count.  The next day we wandered around the city taking in the street art, which was beautiful and EVERYWHERE!  We eventually found the Nuart show and several fun shops, in which we bought gifts for friends and a few things for ourselves.  We also found an incredible restaurant where I had THE BEST HAMBURGER I've ever eaten in my life, no joke, and a seriously large cheese selection that could constipate a mouse.  I'm seriously considering going back to Norway just for the burger and cheeses.  We also took a ferry ride to several of the small islands off the coast of Stavanger, which were unassuming and quietly beautiful; covered in pine trees with freshly painted homes in bright shades of reds, yellows and greens which peaked through the trees in striking contrast.  It reminded me of McCall and I felt very at home.  

Julia and I 

THE MOTHER OF ALL HAMBURGERS
...it changed my life!

Nuart

Street art is often not considered art because of it's subversive, anti-establishment nature and because it is accessible to anyone and tends to be the voice of a marginalized minority.  Poignant in it's content, it is often a blatant commentary on social and political issues of the day.  The street art exhibition we saw was housed in an old brewery near the water.  It had been converted into artists' studios and work spaces which are then rented by artist for reasonable prices.  The show itself was sponsored by the Arts Council and brought in well known street artists from all over the world.  Each artist was given a separate space to display their work and as we walked around the city, the artists works would also pop up in large scale all over. The best part is that the city welcomes them and their art wherever they would like to create it!

Below are pictures of my favorite artists' and their work as displayed at the Nuart exhibition:

The Nuart studio

The movement of these is incredible.
Took up an entire wall. By Dal East of China.

One of my favorite artist, 
Martin Whatson of Norway.
I love his use of color.

This was the entire back wall of the room by artist Hush from the UK another of my favs!

Martin Whatson

Hush

Artist Toyz as you can see.

One of Julia's favorite artists Ernest Zacharevic of Lithuania.
Incorporates objects, like the tire, into his work.

Incorporating half of a car into his work here.  If you look closely, you can see the kids inside the car too!

Little girl pushing on the trunk of the car.

Loved his use of light and shadow, very interesting.
By artist Strok of Norway.

Same artist outside.

I believe this is artist c215 of France.

Again c215

c215

c215

Artist dot dot dot of Norway.  His work was very large scale and was kind of menacing, but still beautifully done.

This was a building on our way back from the show.
I've never seen this technique used before; the plaster has been removed
to reveal the brick, which creates the portrait. This is so beautiful and by far my favorite artist of the entire show.  His work is incredibly sophisticated and creative in its execution.
This is done by artist Vhils of Portugal.

There are more pictures to come.  Look up these artists and the work they are doing, it's pretty incredible!  :)  Enjoy!