Britain, Ho!

Britain, Ho!
Dear friends,

 
Salutations from Britain! I am here, I am alive, and I am well. The past couple months have been all kinds of busy, and I've got more than enough content to distract you for a few moments from whatever important duties you were just undertaking (YouTube can wait). So let's dig right in...
 
After a frightening last minute student-visa saga west of the Atlantic, arrival in England was surprisingly painless. A curt greeting, a toothless grin, and a firm stamp: Approved. Whew. Getting settled in my new place was equally trouble-free as I arrived a full week prior to the start of classes, giving me plenty of time to unpack, snoop around the local area, and form first impressions (read: rampant generalizations) about the British people. I am living in a private shared student housing complex that is affiliated with the University of Sheffield. Floors are divided into "flats" where six students live together, each with their own room and bathroom, but with shared kitchen facilities and common area. America could really learn something from European student housing. These dorms are nothing special from the British mindset, but having lived in a typical American dorm with a roommate and communal bathroom, this feels like absolute and unadulterated opulence. It's new, it's big, and there is this novel thing to me called "privacy", so I find myself very comfortable here - not to mention the fact that it's practically spitting distance to the music department, a definite boon for me. My flatmates are all other postgraduate international students, which ensures quiet evenings and clean shared spaces. We have three Michaels ("Mee-kay-el" from Italy; "Mike" from Canada; and "麦克尔" from China), as well as Wei from Taiwan and Marijana from Croatia (who actually grew up in England, so it's nice to have a local flavor around, not to mention some estrogen thrown in the mix). All my flatmates are friendly and respectful and, since most have been at Sheffield at least one year prior, have been incredibly helpful in getting me oriented. 
 
A key part of that orientation - indeed, the only component as far as I'm concerned - is learning that cars here drive on the left side of the road. The left. Why this is so hard for me to wrap my head around, I have no idea. Many things work differently in England, and I have encountered no trouble acclimating to any number of other changes: flavorless food, outrageously oversized crosswalk signals, non-neutered dogs everywhere, no problem! But this, my friends - this is a true challenge. Every time I cross the street I hold my breath and run for my life, hoping a stray car will not come careening around the bend in the "wrong" direction to level me as flat as my American accent. No matter how many times I stress to myself "It's just the other way here", I constantly feel as if head-on collisions are imminent. And streets are not the only problem - pedestrians keep left as well, something I always forget until I find myself in the midst of a horde of oncoming foot-traffic, feeling like an awkward tweenager being tossed about in the throngs of a death metal concert's mash pit. And the car steering wheel situated on the right side throws me, too. I can't count the number of times I've looked through the windshield of a car to see the "driver" eating, reading, or - most disconcerting of all - passed out asleep (infant "drivers" all fastened up in their car seats also warrant a double-take). This seems like the kind of thing that would get easier with time, but almost eight weeks in and I feel no less comfortable in any form of locomotion than I did the day I arrived.
 
The town of Sheffield is delightfully pathetic. It is the fifth largest city in the United Kingdom, and probably the 134th least well known. With all the other gorgeous locales to explore in England, it is no wonder most people pass up Sheffield to visit the likes of London or any of the -shires. Still, compared to the cookie-cutter architecture and suburban sprawl I'm used to in America, this place is incredible. It has a decidedly grungy, dirty, rugged feel, but more in a 'raunchy-hardcore-hipster' way than a 'filthy-british-chimney-sweeper-with-poor-dental-health' way. Looking beyond the crumbling bricks and peeling paint, you'll find the town is brimming with interesting discoveries: a vinyl record store neighbors the organic bakery across from the vintage used-clothing outlet next to the 24-hour café. Ahh, college towns. Locals know to steer clear of the University campus and the student-infested main drag, which provide to me everything I need within a five-minute walking distance. This comes in handy when the weather is bad. Which is always. Some sort of precipitation manages to infiltrate each and every day here, be it showers, heavy rain, or the more common drizzle/mist/fog/spray/overcast/sprinkle/sludge/killmenow. Even the sheep on the countryside are often outfitted with custom rain-jackets (not kidding). The only upside of such miserable weather is the unexpected daily rainbows, which seem to oblige the viewer to some forced happiness, as if to say "Cheer the bloody-hell up!" Whatever, it works.
 
Classes are now in full swing, which means I am committed to a colossal eight hours of lecture each week. It's not to suggest the program is not demanding (the 24-hour student commons are equipped with showers...I hope it doesn't get that demanding), although I do blush when I tell people I am a full-time graduate student, knowing I have more weekly free time than a kindergardener. I am following a course entitled The Psychology of Music, which basically studies how music affects the way we think and behave in everyday life. Many of you asked exactly what I will be studying, and while it's too early to tell just now, I am considering doing my dissertation on gender stereotypes in music performance...stay tuned on that one. Future possibilities with this degree are extremely diverse, but most students tend to pursue academia (research and teaching) or music therapy. My classmates are equally varied in terms of age, nationality, and background. There are a grand total of eight students: one each from Japan and Malaysia, two from Spain, and four from England, including two "mature" students (one Spaniard and one local). The subject matter is precisely what I am interested in, and I absolutely adore the diversity of thought and opinion and the individual contributions of each student. With such an assortment of colorful accents, interpretability offers daily amusement, but we somehow manage to find a middle ground and get by.
 
Speaking of language, I thought studying in an English-speaking country would prevent the need for much familiarization, but oh how I was wrong. To say they speak English here is to say Donald Trump styles his hair - true, but heavily misleading. It actually takes several words before I can even understand if people are speaking English at all, and often after a full conversation I leave still wondering the same. I find myself having to suppress the urge to mock everything people are saying, not because I think it's ridiculous or funny, but because I am genuinely interested in what it feels like to have those peculiar sounds emanating from my own vocal tract. And the variety of accents is fantastic - I swear Britain manages to cram more distinct accents into this tiny land body than throughout the entire U.S. I've actually received some nice but unexpected praise for my own American speech ("Aw, dear, you have a lovely accent..."), even if locals have no idea what I'm saying ("...but I haven't a clue what you've just said"). It goes both ways - I've kept a running list of the expressions that most stick out to me that I'll share below, American on the left, British on the right:
 

Intermission = Interval

Trash Can = Bin

Cotton Candy = Candy Floss

Drugstore = Chemist

Dessert = Pudding

Pudding = Custard

Jell-O = Jelly

Jelly = Jam

Jam = Marmelade

Pancakes = Crepes

Granola Bar = Flapjack

Thanks = Cheers

Get along = Get on

Ladybug = Ladybird

Candy = Sweet

"I guess..." = "I reckon..."

Awesome = Wicked

Hello = Hiya

Second Floor = First Floor

Occasional = Odd

Baked Potato = Jacket Potato

Math = Maths

Drunk Driving = Drink Driving

Cookies = Biscuits

Shorts = Pants

Eraser = Rubber

Amazing = Immense

How are you? = Are you alright?

Detour = Diversion

Lots of = Heaps/Loads of

Oatmeal = Porridge

As a good ol' southern boy at heart, the cookie/biscuit distinction has given me the most difficulty; I haven't had biscuits and gravy in years, but the degree to which people throw around that word here leaves me craving them daily. But then I just as soon lose my appetite when a classmate exclaims: "Ahh bugger! I made a mistake - can I borrow your rubber right quick? I'll give it right back, promise." Thanks, but . . . it's yours.


You may notice that food features prominently in the above list, as it should in any list as far as I'm concerned. In the past two weeks I've had "Haggis, Neeps & Tatties" (haggis, turnips, and potatoes), mushy peas (a local favorite), and learned that in the UK, salt is on the table, not on your food. Brits may be known for their fish'n chips, but other culinary idiosyncrasies I've discovered include the fact that "pepper" on the dining table is in the form of a white powder (that still tastes like pepper), and that almost the entire frozen foods section in every grocery outlet is occupied by various forms of potatoes and/or peas, with the occasional bag of brussels sprouts thrown in for good measure. I asked a supermarket employee if they carried frozen spinach, only to be led to the frozen "mushy peas". I smiled weakly. At least she tried. 
 
As for my free time, I am taking advantage of a few random volunteer opportunities, seizing every chance to play some music, and yes, I do actually have homework. But what I really like to do is jump on a train and ride about five hours north. Having a girlfriend studying in Scotland means I essentially get to experience two new countries at once - in fact, I currently write you from Glasgow, where I'll be until Sunday. At Sheffield, this week is dubbed "Reading Week" in which students are expected to remain on campus to take some time and catch up with academics, review current literature, and make plans for their dissertation topics and future studies. Instead, most spend the week in all manners of inebriation. Some actually study. I go to Scotland. 
 
And here I am, lazing around Triinu's dorm while she's in class, embarrassing her roommates as we pass in the hall, feeling devilishly delightful about the absence of obligations this week. Yesterday we talked a friend into playing hooky to take a day-trip to the Scottish coast. Today I passed the afternoon strolling leisurely up and down old Scottish streets. Friday we are headed to an International pub crawl throughout the city. I sure hope the real world doesn't catch up with me too soon - I don't think I'm ready to grow up yet. It's smooth sailin' folks.
 
Happy Halloween, Happy Thanksgiving, and in case you don't hear from me until afterwards, Happy Christmas.
 
Love, Dashiell
 
P.S. - At the risk of writing until your eyes melted out of your face, I've neglected to mention some recent exploration which will feature prominently in the photos. Chatsworth house is a well-known mansion inhabited by the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire, located in the Peak District (wikipedia will be your best friend, here). We also went to the Isle of Man, an incredible little island just a forty minute flight from Manchester. You may recognize it as the shooting location of the film "Waking Ned Devine" and easily one of the most spectacular areas I've ever had the opportunity to explore. You can find many more photos with this link, viewable to anyone: http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.2156504281581.2104319.1515690091&type=1&l=d45e69d585