Shoes.Shoes.Shoes.

Fashion week instills in me a deeper sense of appreciation and longing for the trends and perfectly put-together outfits that surround my everyday life here in London. Since my arrival in London, I’ve come to the dreadful realization that shopping, for anything that exceeds my life essentials, is out of the question. This insight has left me helpless and stylishly insignificant next to the fashionistas strolling the streets of London in five inch stilettos. Shoes have always been my weakness. Some think that it’s a bit of an obsession or an issue that I have, but I figure that since my petite size six feet haven’t grown since fifth grade, there has to be an occasion, someday, for every pair. And while my shoes aren’t even close to London standards, I can take comfort in the few shoes that were lucky enough to survive the long trek over to London. I have shoes for every occasion here, and while they may leave my feet blistered, wet, or cold, they help to add a little something to the simplistic outfits I’ve learned to accept during my stay.

My shoes and I have had quite the experience since our arrival in London. On day one, my Uggs were the first shoes to step foot on London soil. I soon learned that, yes, it does in fact rain quite frequently here in London and, to my dismay, yes mom, you were correct in advising me to leave my Uggs at home. My beloved Uggs may resemble a loaf of bread encompassing my feet, but they never failed me during the cold Wisconsin winters. These cherished shoes survived the rain; a little water damaged, but have yet to leave the apartment since that first day. To make up for the misfortune that the Ugg boots have faced, my Ugg slippers have stepped up and left me warm and germ free during my days in the brisk and, typically, less than clean flats.

Since the inevitable failure of my Ugg boots, I have learned to cherish and rely on my brown boots that I received this year for Christmas. These boots are the superhero of boots. They’ve survived the torrential downpours in London and have kept me warm through countless pound trips. I realized that these brown boots should not be taken advantage of and purchased some black boots on Portabella Road for only 15 pounds! They are, of course, fake leather, but I figured they would do the job. These boots served me well for about two weeks, but I soon learned that you really do get what you pay for here in London. They may have been cheap, but those few blissful weeks of the black boots may not have been worth the swamp feet I dealt with on numerous occasions due to the four holes deteriorating my newest member of the London shoe family.

When it comes to going out in London, heels are my go-to shoes. They instantly make me feel better about my five-foot-two height and dress up an outfit at the same time! They may not be the most practical of shoes, but they really are the most fun. These shoes have seen the best of times in London and I’m forever grateful for the woman at the British Airways check-in desk, who allowed me the few extra pounds so that they wouldn’t have to be sacrificed. I have my basic black booties, which have seen better days and may be fraying at the heels, but still do their job to the best of their ability. I also have the impractical stilettos that always seem like a good idea at the beginning of the night, but tend to take my nights to a whole different level. Such as the night where I wasn’t let into the club because I was told I was too drunk, when in reality I tripped in my four inch heels. I snuck in anyway bouncer, try not to be so naïve next time when it comes to shoes. These heels often leave me in pain and walking home barefoot, but the few extra inches truly are worth it when you’re standing next to a six foot tall supermodel.

Shoes are a girl’s best friend. You don’t need to worry about the extra double cheeseburger you ate the night before or your pants being too baggy because they haven’t been washed in weeks, which is pathetically realistic due to washing machine facilities that we have been equipped with. My shoes make me feel better about myself and help narrate my life here in London. I have my pink puma’s that accompany me on my runs through Hyde Park, my boots that keep me warm during sightseeing, my heels that go out on the town, and my slippers to spend days in bed sleeping, recovering, and keeping warm. Unfortunately, my style and closet haven’t been able to change much during my stay here in London, but I am grateful that my shoes are always there to add a bit of spunk to my outfit or comfort me through the less than sunny days. Hopefully someday I will return to London and splurge on the bright wedges and stilettos I see sauntering down the street, but until then, I’m happy with my comfortably worn-in shoes.

Chocoholics Anonymous

Food. Where do I start? My entire being revolves around food. From the moment I wake up and crave a delicious sandwich from The Sandwich Shop to my late night binges on McDonalds and one pound frozen pizza. Now my extreme love for food has been hampered a bit by the unnecessary prices upon my beloved Domino's pizza and Wheat Thins, but somehow I’ve found a way to survive…

Chocolate. How can anyone not love chocolate? I'm convinced that any single item of food would only be enhanced by the addition of chocolate. Now here is something that, to my physique's dismay, has not been effected by my pricey and posh London living.

Soon after arriving in London, I had one of my frequent chocolate cravings and discovered Cadbury chocolate bars. These heavenly candy bars are so dangerously delicious; my mouth starts to water just from thinking about them and they’re astonishingly only a pound!

Every once in a while I decide to take advantage of the fact that Cadbury chocolates are only one pound and I treat myself to Ben and Jerry’s half-baked ice cream. This delicious ice cream is almost too good to be true, but is extremely pricey so I try not to spoil myself with it more than once a week. For those sad days that Ben and Jerry’s is out of the picture, there’s always McDonalds hot fudge sundaes which are also just one pound!

This past weekend I had two of my most memorable food experiences yet in London. We had two pound trips where we went to Windsor Castle and Greenwich. After the trip inside the castle, we decided to take advantage of the local Chinese restaurant since we had yet to find good Chinese food here in London. After the delicious meal, where I jealously watched two of my friends devour the all you can eat special, I decided to push my stomach to the limits and caved for an advertisement in the nearby window: Warm waffles topped with two different kinds of ice cream and hot fudge, a chocoholics dream. After the waffles, crème brulee and nutella ice cream, topped off with hot gooey fudge, I was thoroughly satisfied with my day trip to Windsor Castle.

The next day brought me to Greenwich. Upon arriving in the city, we walked through a market encompassed in the aroma of ethnic delights. The entire tour my mind kept going back to that amazing place where I witnessed Thai, Chinese, Ethiopian, and Portuguese food. As soon as Brit told us that we were free to spend the rest of the day however we wished, I rushed back to the market. After a few hectic and glazed moments in which my mind and stomach battled with what to get, I settled on the Thai food, which gave me two different choices along with rice and a box the size of my face; why not? After this delicious meal that left me painfully full, I decided that I also had to try the brilliant kabob of strawberries and bananas coated in warm milk and white chocolate and sprinkled with almonds, hazelnuts, and marshmallows. This perfectly painted kabob was worth every penny and, after all, when am I ever going to be in this exotic little market in Greenwich again anyway?

My time here in London is overpowered by the constant reminder and craving for food. Whether it’s cookies from Ross’s market on my way to class or brownies and cookies made by my generous roommates in celebration of a birthday, I’m forever grateful for the chocolate in my life that has helped me to overcome the expensive food prices here in London. My body may not agree with me and my love for chocolate after my stay here in London, but chocolate will forever hold a warm place in my heart.

37 Hyde Park Gate

The flat located at 37 Hyde Park Gate can be described in many different ways: Posh and sophisticated, with a classic décor; out of place among embassies and multimillionaires, and the bonding grounds which provide the means for 42 strangers to become friends.

Once you venture inside the second floor flat, you’ve entered sorority central. Cat fights over food and the occasional bickering over dishes. You’d never know how much drama could erupt in a kitchen until you dare to enter flat 2.

The common area in the flat could be considered cozy, if it wasn’t for the frigid air that encroaches upon its occupants.  If only the picturesque fireplace would step up and serve its purpose.  However, the beautiful view that overlooks our front yard, Hyde Park, is enough to make you forget about the bitter cold.

The place that I’ve truly learned to call home is 2A. There’s nothing glamorous about this little cubby I call home, but the pen permanently stuck in the sink, ghost that occupies the bathroom, and the constant drip of water down the wall is something I’ve started to find comfort in. There’s never a dull day in our little room. The rare nights in are spent devouring ben and jerry’s ice cream and listening to our favorite jams from the 90’s, while nights out end with parties in 2A and sleepovers in our already too-small beds.  

Mornings are less than pleasant. Four girls attempting to get dressed in the morning is a bit of a struggle with the lingering eyes of the Dutch embassy peering directly into our room. If you’re lucky enough to not have 9:30 a.m. class, you’re pleasantly awoken by construction workers who are trying to tear the building down, but claim to be renovating the mysterious flat on the first floor. I’m convinced that my beloved 2A, which is conveniently located directly above these mad men, will collapse into their destructive hands any day now. 

The maids have learned to leave our room till last, with hopes that they will never again be greeted by the 2A hurricane that left our cubby in a disarray of pizza pans, oven mitts, bottles, and miscellaneous clothes.

The chaos and havoc that erupts in flat 2 of 37 Hyde Park Gate is something that has become a part of my everyday life here in London. I’ve learned to appreciate the cramped coziness of my room in 2A and to find comfort in the outdated bunk beds, the peeling paint on the walls, and even George, the ghost who lives in our bathroom. These odd flats where 42 strangers have been thrown together as roommates are now my home, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Transporting a Thought

            So there we were on the tube: a rowdy and enthusiastic group of American students looking forward to what our next adventure had to offer. I’ve never thought to think about our loud nature, but in this moment, as the rest of the passengers remained eerily silent, I could feel a blush of crimson spread upon my cheeks as the unspoken resentment spread throughout the passenger car. I’m an observer. I love to listen and watch people. Yeah this may seem a bit nosy or be distastefully referred to as “eavesdropping”, but I’ve learned a lot from my people watching. This day on the tube I can’t help but notice two posh Londoners staring and snickering among one another as they contemplate our brash and unruly American conduct.

            Why should the tube hold this unwritten code of silence? What has made the tube this place of silent contempt against those unaware of the British principals? I think back to America, a nation where I’ve spent the entirety of my life. Riding the bus in Madison there’s a mixture of contempt, haste, and yelling. Everyone talks over each other to be heard amongst the chatty passengers. I would love to observe these posh Londoners on a Madison city bus. Traveling throughout London I’m overwhelmed by a culture that is blatantly similar to ours, and yet at the same time remarkably diverse. The language barrier that by all grammatical measurements is minor is significant every time I use an “American” word and am scoffed at or receive a lingering glance glazed with confusion.

            My family is loud. Coming from a family of six you have to learn to scream over each other to be heard. Any London student would be appalled by the undignified speech that resonates around my kitchen table. My mother, maybe the loudest talker I’ve come across yet, would surely be exiled from the London tube. Being one of eight kids, she’s developed her booming and raspy voice that resonates in every room. This voice, that has comforted and scolded me throughout my life, would surely be received by silent disdain, painted on the faces of those superior London natives. What caused this unspoken hated for Americans?

            Is it merely our loud and unkempt voices, or maybe our polite disposition that is deemed suspicious by the people of this alien city? It is unnatural for me, along with many other Americans, to go about my day without the three simple words that dominate the American dialogue: “Please, thank you, and excuse me”. These three words are sparse and rare among my days in London. In instances where the light and friendly “cheers” is uttered as a substitute for, as far as I’m concerned, any word at all, I’m left feeling content and grateful for this friendly Londoner who proved to me that not all British people are without good manners. But what makes our American standards of manners good or superior? Are we the unusual ones for being friendly to all of those we encounter?

            I hope that my time in London and traveling throughout Europe will instill in me a sense of acceptance for these alien cultures that I yearn to understand. Maybe it’s not a matter of cultural superiority, but an understanding that we are all different and yet alike at the same time. One thing that I am certain of is that my loud booming voice and irritatingly American tendencies, which have been bestowed upon me since birth, will not be swayed by the glares of the posh passengers sitting across from me. Instead of being intimidated by this gossip and passing judgment, I return the critical glances with my expert American smile and opt to not change a bit for these skinny fashionistas. I find comfort in knowing that if the situation were reversed, their cynical sentiments would veer towards gratitude once encountering our overly polite dispositions in America.