Capturing A Moment

Capturing a Moment

            After less than five hours of sleep, I rolled out of bed on a Sunday morning and into the brisk London air, anticipating my tour of Little Venice.  After successfully taking the tube and meeting Brit, our tour guide, I waited for what seemed like an eternity for the rest of the group to arrive so that we could begin our trek to the boat. I had been looking forward to this boat tour for weeks and decided that the sleep deprivation from the night before was well worth the sights we would encounter on our tour of Little Venice. Little did I know that our charming boat tour was not going to turn out quite as expected.

            After the whole group was gathered together, we unfortunately started the walking tour that I was not previously informed of. I can’t say I remember much from the walking tour…besides the freezing cold temperature and Brit hollering at the group to gather closer together and insisting that the “little ones” get a first row position, as if they were missing out on something by being short and listening from the edge of the group. Brit led us to various spots on the walking tour, one being an ancient hotel that Sigmund Freud stayed at and many others that I wish I could remember. The walking tour eventually led us to the canal that we would be taking our boat ride down.

            The walk alongside the canal towards our boat consisted of rows of “houseboats” that looked like small rickety shacks on  water. At the end of the walking tour we reached another small and narrow boat that made me look around and wonder where we would be led next. It was then that I was informed that this was the boat we would be taking along the canal. After climbing down into the boat and sitting, much too close, to my friend in the three foot wide seats, we sat in the freezing cold boat waiting for it to fill up so that we could leave. As I was sitting there shivering, the boat finally glided away from the dock and past the island that Brit informed us was called “Rat Island”. Soon after, our boat slowed down and reversed so that a group of French passengers could board the “shack”. As the boat floated away for the second time we were bombarded by French chatter that screamed over everything that Brit was trying to tell us on the tour. We were surprised to hear Brit translate her language to French so that the other passengers could be informed of the sights and as soon as they heard their native tongue the chatter stopped and we heard a loud “shhhhhhhh” directed at the American students in the back.

            The sights consisted of old, attractive houses and a short sight of the zoo’s most boring exhibits. The combination of my attempts to stay warm on the freezing cold boat, crouching down by my knees and Brit’s soothing British voice soon put me to sleep. I was pleasantly surprised to be woken up at the end of the freezing boat tour and greeted by Camden market. We exited the dreadful boat and could not wait to get indoors. We thanked Brit, said goodbye, and after a short indoor break where I attempted to get the feeling in my toes back, walked back out into the cold on a search for the food that was overpowering the air. The ethnic food that we soon encountered was devoured within minutes and made me soon forget the miserable morning that led me to Camden market. The rest of the day was still unbearably cold, but the amazing food and unique shops made me realize why I love London and look forward to the unique experiences it has to offer.

Introduction

It was a hot, sticky day in August, 1989 when I was born. I was a chubby, red-faced baby with cheeks much too large for my body. At age two my parents became well aware of my stubborn persistence when I started holding my breath until I turned purple and passed out, in quiet defiance after not getting my way. I was a quirky child with a mind of my own and a flair for the dramatic. After my grandpa referred to my hair as a “rats nest” I decided to give myself a stylish trim; which resulted in a pixie cut that left people thinking I was a boy. My eating habits revolved around one simple essential: butter. Butter sandwiches, butter and rice, sometimes even a spoonful of butter. My childhood was a mixture of playing and bickering with my three siblings while Priscilla, my English nanny, regulated the punches and kicks that inevitably resulted from mornings indulging in too much Power Rangers.

My true passions in life began at an early age. As a child I loved to read and spent entire days in my “Barbie room”, a four foot high storage area that housed my Barbie collection and various hamsters. I spent weeks painting ceramic houses and knickknacks. My best friend was named Macky, an adorable black lab that put up with the unfortunate makeovers I bestowed upon her, consisting of painted pink nails and photo shoots with hats. My siblings and I enthusiastically raced our hermit crabs, hamster, and guinea pig across the wooden floors of our house. Days were full of chaos and constant activity in my household.

 In an attempt to keep us busy, my parents enrolled my sister and I in figure skating, a sport we soon realized was not our style. Instead, we chose to follow our brother’s lead and joined an ice hockey team. Being little girls, many people were surprised by our keen interest in ice hockey that overpowered typical “girl activities” such as dancing or gymnastics but nonetheless, we loved it. Weekends were spent traveling with dad, going to hockey tournaments and weekdays consisted of school and practice. My sister and I were the only kids on the team who required dad’s assistance in gearing up at home for practice before trudging like dorks out of our car and into the ice rink in our flip flops.

My passions from adolescence stayed with me during my high school years. I loved sports and throughout those four years played hockey, field hockey, lacrosse, and soccer. My love for animals, and dogs in particular, stayed with me and still does, but after 18 years and my entire childhood, Mackey was gone and Darby became a new member of my family. My adorable Darby is a yellow lab, named after Darby, England, the city my nanny Priscilla is from because she gave her to us. A few years later, my uncle left us to temporarily watch his lab Abby and has yet to come take her back.

Throughout most of my life, summers have been spent lounging on the lake and winters on my dad’s home-made ice rink, playing hockey in my back yard. College and future careers were far from my mind during the majority of my teenage years. One thing I did know; however, was that I longed to get away from my hometown and while excelling in the subject of English, studies were likely to be headed in that direction.

The beginning of my college experience began at the University of Iowa. Unfortunately, the cornfields of Iowa weren’t everything I had made it out to be and I eventually ended up at the University of Wisconsin, a school which both my dad and older sister attended and which is just a mere hour from home. I quickly adjusted to life in Madison and loved it there. My direction in life was still a bit hazy and confusing, but thinking back to my high school years and interests has recently led me to declare myself a sociology major. Sociology is a broad major that allows me the flexibility to consider numerous occupations, but my main interests are either in law school or teaching. So far, my time here in London has been exciting and invigorating. I hope that this academic semester, as well as my worldly experiences here in London, will help me explore my horizons and push me to realize what I want to do with my life. I look forward to everything this beautiful city has to offer and to what is to come in the following months.