An Englishman, an Irishman, and a Scotsman Walk Into a Bar

Sunday, October 16, 2011

When asked about travel to Wales, Harlaxton faculty and staff have been in two camps: Don’t mention the rugby and Do mention the rugby. On Saturday, October 15, all I knew about rugby was what I had been told by Ziggy, the shuttle driver: it’s sort of like American football, but without padding, and they don’t stop the clock every twenty seconds. In other words, I knew almost nothing. Nevertheless, I decided I would mention the rugby. In fact, I watched it.

It all started last Wednesday, at about 3:10 pm, when I ventured into town to buy milk. I hadn’t been outside since Sunday night (it can happen when you live in the Manor) and was desperate for a break from my studies, even if it was just to the local Morrisons. Ziggy and I exchanged the usual greetings (me struggling to open the shuttle door, him getting out to help), and he asked if I had any plans for the weekend. “I’m leaving for Cardiff on Friday,” I said. “Do you have any tips?”

“When you get there,” he said, “find a pub to watch the rugby on Saturday. Wales are playing France, and it’s going to be huge.”

So we did. At our hostel, we asked the friendly American at reception to recommend a pub. Pubs weren’t really her area, she said, so she called over “the expert,” a young man wearing a t-shirt with “The Ten Welsh Commandments.” (“1. Worship Sheep.”) He was absently singing along with an Adele song on the radio. “Do you always sing harmony to popular songs?” asked my friend Margie, ever the vocalist.

“It’s a Welsh thing,” he explained. “When we win, there’s gonna be loads of singing.

“This may be an ‘I’m a dumb American’ question,” Margie said, “but do you guys have a separate national anthem?”

They do, which hadn’t even occurred to me, so I guess I’m the dumb American. It’s called “Hen Wlad fy Nhadau” (“The Land of My Fathers”), and he played it for us. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SMI5wpwXTCY&feature=fvwp&NR=1 — sung at Millennium Stadium.) It’s not a march like so many national anthems, and I had a feeling they must be singing about something peaceful. I was partly right. “Basically,” he said, “it means ‘you’ll never get rid of our language, so sod off.’ ”

He told us that tomorrow (Saturday) we should go to a pub called Y Mochyn Du (The Black Pig). “Everyone’ll be talking and singing in Welsh, but they’ll speak English to you,” he assured us. We knew we would be the outsiders, but we decided to go anyway. “You can go to a castle anytime,” he said. “History will be made tomorrow.”



Saturday morning at eight o’clock, we looked out the window at a sea of red. Everyone we could see was heading toward the futuristic Millennium Stadium, which was practically on top of our hostel. But the match wasn’t actually happening there; it was happening in New Zealand, which was why, as our hostel friend said, it was being played “at stupid o’clock.” So that crowd was headed to watch the match on a gigantic TV screen, to cheer and boo and sing in harmony in the company of thousands.



There were people with painted faces and daffodil hats, carrying signs and wearing flags as capes. Walking the opposite direction in our everyday (non-red) clothes, we stuck out more than a little.



At the pub, Y Mochyn Du, we stood in a corner and did our best to cheer when everyone else did. I’m not going to try too hard to explain the match; I really didn’t know what was going on, and anyone who actually cares already knows the whole story, play by play. I was interested in the people. They started out drinking coffee and tea but had switched to beer by the second half. By this time Wales had scored three points (“It’s a field goal!” my friend said), the angry-looking player (captain Sam Warburton) had been taken off the field and looked even angrier, and France had scored six points. All the commentary was in Welsh. Interestingly, most of the people spoke English, and occasionally a guy not far from us would translate the commentary for an Englishwoman who seemed to be his girlfriend. She may not have understood the Welsh, but she watched the game like her life depended on it, clutching her neck when France got close to the goal line and jumping up and down when Wales scored what looked like a touchdown (a try?). It was now 8-9. Wales were only one point behind.

I don’t think it’s possible to understand the electricity of the last twenty-something minutes of that match without standing in a pub in Wales watching it. Quiet was an impossibility. Various people shouted at the screen, and no one seemed to mind, even though they knew it wouldn’t change anything. Every couple of minutes, a man with big ears yelled “Come on, Wales!” in a voice that could have carried across the street.

With a few minutes left, Wales got to make a penalty kick that could win them the game. “I can’t look,” one of my friends said. Many people were shielding their eyes. The English girl was digging her fingernails into her cheek. When the ball soared toward the posts I could tell it was going to go in. We all cheered. We jumped up and down. People hugged each other.

Then came the replay. The ball had gone just under the bar. It was still 8-9. We sighed. We thought we had won.

Wales held on, fighting to score until the very end of the eighty minutes. The man with big ears yelled “Come on, Wales!” several more times. When the clock finally stopped, the pub went silent. The English girl sighed deeply, and her boyfriend put his arms around her shoulders. Suddenly, I could hear every breath, the Welsh from the TV running over it all. Everyone was trying to comprehend that they had lost.

We sneaked out the back door—as my friend Allie said, “trying to avoid all the sadness.” I realized I had a stupid grin on my face. I was at once both thrilled and terribly sorry. History could have been made here, today, and instead it was being made somewhere else. Why was it that I cared so much? I had cheered with these people, jumped up and down with these people, watched with them with bated breath. But I wasn’t one of them. What was it that made me want so much to be a part of this country I had never seen before yesterday?

Part of it, I think, is the Welsh attitude. Rugby was everything in Cardiff that Saturday, but I had a feeling no one was going to go beat up French people. A couple of hours later, the die-hard fans (after, I presume, drowning their sorrows) were back partying in the streets, many of them still wrapped in their Welsh flags. They had lost, but they were celebrating a nobly played game. This picture is one of my favorites from the afternoon. The sign reads “An Englishman, Irishman & Scotsman walk into a bar. The Welshman…still in New Zealand.”



Many went home to mourn, I’m sure. But one of the side effects of identifying a people so closely with a team (“We lost” as opposed to “They lost”) is that what’s important is being a part of it. Being in New Zealand, being at Millennium Stadium, being at the pub—that’s how those supporters made history. Being there was something they would celebrate, and we could celebrate it, too.

Culture in the Manor

One of the biggest points of study abroad is to immerse oneself in local culture. Something I wasn’t expecting was for Harlaxton to make it so easy. I was afraid being in an isolated manor with a bunch of other Americans would create a kind of barrier between us and “Britishness,” but I’ve discovered that only happens if you let it happen.

It seems like at least once a week we have some kind of cultural event. Many are run by locals. So far I’ve learned traditional dances at the Ceilidh, watched a London theatre troupe (including Kevin Spacey) perform Romeo and Juliet in the Great Hall, and participated in a group discussion of politics with Grantham-area MP Nick Boles. Other events have included poetry readings and movie nights, and tonight some clog-dancers are supposed to perform as well.

Supplemental lectures are available some evenings on special British Studies topics. Tours of Grantham and the manor were available in our first weeks. Some weeks highlight the culture of areas we might visit, such as Germany or Spain. During those weeks, the hallways will be decorated with words of the native language, and the refectory will make cultural foods. British Studies takes field trips to several relevant areas of the country throughout the term.

In mentioning culture I can’t forget the Meet-a-Family program. This year it was so popular that we ran out of families to pair people with. This is a fantastic way to connect with real people in Grantham. I’m learning a lot more just by being in their home, eating their food, and talking to them than anything else.

Basically, Harlaxton throws a lot at you. School. Culture. New people and professors. Living in a castle. Driving on the other side of the road. If you allow, they will throw even more at you—and every second will be worth it. Principal Kingsley is living up to his claim that this would be the most intense educational experience of our life to date. I’m just trying to absorb every second.

-Katelan King

Sveden Ya?

There I was, on a limb, in Sweden. I thought I’d jump out of the norm and take a flight to Stockholm. Why? Dunno really, maybe it was because I read those Dragon Tattoo books. But anyways, here was I, in Stockholm, without a plan or a clue.

The point I’d like to make in this blog is that it’s possible to go somewhere random and out there without an itinerary except your boarding passes. As in my previous blogs, I’d wager it’s the best way to learn and to experience foreign cultures, but also a really easy way to drop a lot of cash and wander around like an idiot in the middle of Stockholm for three days — probably a product of planning the trip late in August.

Things to know: Sweden is on the Kronor — easy, 10 kronor is almost a British Pound. Easy enough to translate. The language, though, was a bit tougher. They mostly speak Swedish, reserving English for schools or learning just enough to take money from tourists. It didn’t pose too many obstacles except when it came to ordering food or asking for directions, but it was manageable. But the thing to really know before you go somewhere is what you’re going to do and where you’re stayin.

I flew in late, just in time to see the sun setting beyond the North Sea, but by the time the shuttle took me from Stansted Airport to Stockholm it was already 8:00pm, not to mention I lost an hour on the flight. Easy, I said, I’ll find a hostel…sounds simple, but the ones I found in walking distance were closed to walk-ins without prior booking. So note, current and future study abroaders, that it is important to book your rooms early! It’ll save you money. So what I ended up doing was asking a cab driver to find me a cheap hotel, which was not too cheap, but a bed’s a bed after 12 hours of shuttles, trains, and planes.

Day two I had one goal — see the Viking museum. Check. Was a nice place, well located and easy to get to…even when its 5c and raining outside. But what then? I wasn’t sure…the tourist place I found wasn’t helpful for day-to-day activities in Stockholm, so I figured I’d go about the town and find my way to a hostel which, while cheap, reminded me of a Motel 6 without any walls.

The next day I did what I did the first full day and walked around, going into the many souvenir shops and seeing what there was to see. Oddly enough, my trip coincided with the New York Rangers playing some pre-season thingy and the Red Hot Chili Peppers — too bad tickets were sold out (for the concert…not hockey). Beyond that there wasn’t much to do for an American in the city.

My flight was to leave Sunday morning at 9am, which seemed like a good idea, until I realized I had to take the 8pm shuttle to the airport to take advantage of my 100 Kronor return ticket. Saved me another hostel/hotel bill, but a night in a small airport isn’t the most comfortable, especially when they shut off the heat and it starts frosting in the Scandinavian tundra. The night was uneventful, but filled with laps around the airport, 8 cups of free coffee, and a two hour nod-off on three fold-up chairs I found.

Enough ranting. I had a good time, saw cool things, and survived. That’s about all you can ask for on an on-the-whim trip. But, next time, I will remember the following…1) check the weather, 2) brainstorm a few viable touristy places to visit, 3) book hostels in advance, 4) bring plenty of cash in case the ATMs don’t take American cards, and 5) bring a friend. No matter how painful it is to plan and compromise trips with other people, it’s hard to call it a trip unless you have more than a few pictures and carved Vikings to show for it.

Oh...as for the picture at the top -- in order to get pictures of not just buildings, but you, it takes skill and craft. You need to find an older couple, preferably with a camera themselves, to take your picture. Don't ask some random kid.

-Brennan Girdler

Ireland: The Most Beautiful Place I Have Ever Seen

The weekend that I went to Ireland was the weekend that I fell in love…with Ireland, that is. It is seriously the most gorgeous place I have ever been privileged to visit thus far in my travels. Although the school took a trip this same weekend, a few of us decided to go independently-scary thought! Everything turned out perfectly though!

Three girls and I booked a three day Ring of Kerry Paddywagon tour and it turned out seven boys from Harlaxton had also booked the same tour for the same weekend. So altogether there were ten of us from the college. Taking a Paddywagon tour was the best decision we could have possibly made! We barely had to do any planning which took a lot of the stress off of our shoulders. I would highly recommend this tour to anyone. Their advertising says they are the number one tour in the world and I would have to agree.

The first night we got to Dublin and the Paddywagon bus picked us up from the airport and took us to our hostel for free. After getting all settled in, we decided to go check out Dublin. We ended up at a traditional Irish pub that had live music. All we did was sit there, drink a pint, and listen to the music but it was an amazing experience! The music was also traditionally Irish and almost everyone in the pub was very familiar with the songs and were singing along. It was just so great to get to experience some of their culture. Not to mention, I was a huge fan of the music! We went back to the hostel early that night because the paddywagon bus was picking us up bright and early the next morning.

Day 1: The bus picked us up right outside our hostel and we were ready to see the amazing country of Ireland. There were people on our bus from everywhere: Canada, Russia, Australia, China, America (of course), and some English people as well. Our first stop was at Dunquaire Castle where we finally got to get outside and experience the countryside for ourselves. After spending some time there, we loaded back up, and made our way to the Mini Cliffs of Moher, which we thought were the most amazing things we had ever seen until our next stop. The Cliffs of Moher. I have never experienced something so breathtaking in my life. I could not believe that nature made something like this. I took a ton of pictures, but pictures cannot do it justice. One must experience this with their own eyes. That night, our whole tour group stayed at the same hostel that had a pub attached to it. We all ended up hanging out together in the pub that night singing karaoke which was a ton of fun!

Day 2: We spent most of this day along the Atlantic coast. We visited a beach where the water was ice cold. However, all the boys from Harlaxton decided it was a good idea to swim in it. They were brave. I just put my feet in and they were instantly numb. I can’t imagine going fully in the water. Once again, the site was beautiful. We then drove a little more and visited an extremely old church that was made entirely of stone and was smaller than the size of my dorm room. Once again, the countryside out there was gorgeous. That night, we made it to Killarney where we went on a carriage ride through the National Park. It was unbelievable. Even though it was a bit cold and wet, it was totally worth it! There was wildlife everywhere. It amazed me how calm the deer were around people. After the carriage ride, we went back to the hostel, warmed up, and got ready for the night. Our bus driver, Barry, and most of the other people on the tour went out to eat together. It was nice to get to talk to the people from other parts of the world and hear their stories. After dinner, all of us Harlaxton kids met up with some of our friends that were on the school trip and decided to go to some pubs. We ended up at a pub that had the most amazing cover band any of us had ever heard and we decided to stay there for the night. They played music from RHCP to Oasis. We all had a great time.

Day 3: We made the drive to Blarney Castle, climbed all those narrow steps, and kissed the Blarney Stone. According to the legend, I now have the gift of gab. After kissing the stone, we made our way around the gardens and the wishing steps, where we all took turns walking up and down the steps with our eyes closed, making a wish. After the Blarney Castle, we hopped on the bus and made our way back to Dublin. We then got to tour the Guinness Storage House. Although we didn’t get to actually see the brewery, it was still very interesting. We got to learn how Guinness is brewed and how to correctly pour it. Our admission also included a free pint. Although, I’m not a huge fan of Guinness to begin with, I have to admit that it does taste better in Ireland than in America. Unfortunately after that, our Paddywagon tour was over. Our friends from school were also in Dublin that night so we met up with a few of them and found a pub that was putting on quite a show (for free!). We got to see Irish river dancing and some more live music which was amazing. We then made it an early night and caught a cab to the airport where we stayed the night because we had an early flight the next morning.

This was one of the best weekends of my entire life. I would do it again in a heartbeat! However, after a long four day weekend of airports, buses, and hostels it was great to finally be back at the manor!

Getting from Here to There

If, like most students from Harlaxton, you are from the Midwest, you have probably had very little experience with public transportation as a means of travel. I know for me, the only public transportation available in my hometown is a bus system that is often unreliable and a rather scary. My town even has an Amtrak station, a rarity these days, but it is only practical for traveling to Chicago. But coming to Europe introduced me to the realm of public transportation by force.

Having been in England a little more than a month (how time flies!), I’ve experienced just about every form of public transportation. So I’m going to use this blog to give you a quick rundown of what you need to know. We start, of course, with the Harlaxton shuttle.

Some people may not consider the shuttle when they think of public transportation, but I think it deserves a mention. The shuttle runs several times a day Monday-Friday and several times a day on Saturday, though with an altered schedule. On Sunday the shuttle only runs back and forth to church. The biggest resource of the shuttle comes from talking to the drivers. Locals themselves, they know everything from how to find the movie theater to where to find the best food in town to finding that one item on your shopping list that seems to be not in stores anywhere (such as index cards…).

Next we have public buses. This is the one form of transportationn I haven’t really used yet. The shuttle drops you off at the Grantham bus station, so I know there are plenty of buses to take that run around Grantham and to a variety of close cities, such as Lincoln and Nottingham. There are also bus systems that run around most of the tourist cities, but I am content to walk most places. If you have any tips about using buses, feel free to leave them in the comments.

Trains. To me, trains are the quintessential form of transportation around England. They travel quickly (significantly faster than cars) and, in the United Kingdom, can get you to almost any destination. If you invest in a Young Persons Railcard, it will quickly pay for itself. Armed with thetrainline.com, you can get almost anywhere in Great Britain. The Grantham train station is small, but you can get connecting trains to many of the bigger stations. If you’ve never traveled by train before, my one tip is that the departure board is your friend. As soon as you get to a station, locate the departure board. Your train will be listed by the time it is set to depart the station and the final destination of the line. This destination will likely not be where you are headed, but that’s ok. When you get to your platform, there will be a list of stations that the train is calling at and your destination should be listed there. The trains are almost always exactly on time (a big change from the American Amtrak…), so be sure to allow yourself plenty of time to be on time. I’ve already traveled to Edinburgh and London by train, and I’m still in love with train travel.

Along the same line as the train, we have the Underground in London. Because London is such a popular destination for Harlaxton students, I feel it deserves its own mention. The Underground is wonderful- you can get from one side of London to the other in around half an hour, depending on how far out you are going. Once you understand the concept of the different lines and how to change lines, the Underground quickly becomes your best friend. One thing you should make sure to be aware of is line closures. As Miranda noted in her most recent London blog, we recently found ourselves facing closures that almost made us miss our train. Luckily, the tubes stops are close enough that we could make it to another one without too much hassle, but it was still annoying. So, before you head into London, make sure to check line closures, especially on weekends. Also, if you are coming this coming spring, be especially on the lookout- the Underground is being upgraded in preparation for the Olympics, resulting in more closures than normal. Even in September, more than half the lines were completely or partially closed for construction work. Other than that, invest in an Oyster card (a huge savings on individual tickets) and make use of the Underground. Though it may be a little bit crowded, it does get you from point A to point B quickly. And you don’t have to navigate the confusing city streets of London.

Finally we come to taxis. I would venture to guess that everyone coming to Harlaxton will take a taxi at least once during their stay. And for many students, this is a new experience. I have taken a taxi twice home from the train station and once to the train station. One tip- if you can call ahead, even a full day ahead, so schedule the taxi, do so. Otherwise, it can take a while for your taxi to get to you and often takes much longer than they tell you it will take. Harlaxton has a deal with a local taxi company that offers a trip to the manor for either 6 or 9 pounds, depending on the time of day. This deal is worth planning ahead to make sure you can get a cab with this company.

I hope this was somewhat informative and gave you an insight into public transport. If you have any more tips or questions, feel free to leave them below!

When a Man Is Tired of London...

27 September 2011

“When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford.”

So said Dr. Johnson, and I am reminded of him whenever I wonder what it is that brings me back to the city. When I mentioned that I would be spending last Sunday there, someone said, “You know we’ll be back there before the end of the semester.” I do know that, but London is a book to be read more than once—even more than twice. Every time I go there, I see or understand something new.

The first draw for me, I think, is the theatre, which was the reason for my most recent trip. My friend Allie and I went to see Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus at the Globe. To anyone who has not seen a play at the Globe yet, I highly recommend it. (Their season ends October 2, though.) Not only is it five pounds for a standing ticket in the “yard,” but these tickets are some of the best in the house. We arrived in London around 10:30 am and went directly to the theatre, where we joined a short queue of people waiting for the house to open at 12:30. You don’t have to get there as early as we did—forty-five minutes to half an hour is more than enough—but it was exciting to be some of the first ones there, squashed between some theatre students and a guy reading The Death of Ivan Ilyich.

Because we were some of the first in the house, we got to stand right up against the center of the stage, where much of the action happened. If I needed further convincing that we had the best spots in the house, it came in the form of the official photographer, who stood next to me after intermission.




Doctor Faustus is an odd play because it is technically a tragedy—Faustus, a learned man bored with the mortal world, sells his soul to the devil—but it is full of spectacle and lowbrow comedy. This production balanced the two levels perfectly, and it was both entertaining and scary. The two leads had perfect chemistry: Paul Hilton as Faustus, power-hungry and full of dramatic gestures, and Arthur Darvill as Mephistopheles, from whom all the power really comes. Where Faustus swings dramatically between fascination with his incredible power and fear for his soul, Mephistopheles is docile, completely compliant with Faustus’s will and only occasionally revealing the pain he knows Faustus will suffer, which he, Mephistopheles, suffers eternally. He is always in the back of the scene when Faustus impresses people with acts of magic, and Faustus’s grand gestures are always accompanied by a small motion of Mephistopheles’ hand. The staging prompts the audience to ask who really motivates the action, a question emphasized by some clever costuming, which makes the two characters look more and more alike as the play progresses.

But in addition to being intellectually challenging, the production is just plain fun. Understanding, I think, that Marlowe intended Faustus to be much less a morality play than an entertainment, this interpretation is completely faithful to Marlowe’s wacky comedy. It includes, among other things, a song and dance number, a beheaded man coming back to life, and some harassment of the Pope involving grapes. Oh, and did I mention there were dragons?

We left the theatre thoroughly satisfied.

While I’m not sure London has “all that life can afford,” as Dr. Johnson said, it is certainly impossible to be bored there. We managed to occupy several hours before our train mostly by walking around. We crossed the Millennium Bridge from the Globe, which is almost on top of it, back to the north bank of the Thames. On this side of the bridge, rising above everything else, is the dome of St. Paul’s. It’s impossible to miss, but somehow I’d never properly noticed it before. Oh, my god, I thought. It’s freaking St. Paul’s. This epiphany, albeit in more eloquent terms, must be exactly what the builders of the bridge intended for us.


When we eventually attempted to return to King’s Cross, we ran into the first hiccup of the day. By this point we were in Trafalgar Square, having sat there to study for our British Studies Quiz. (Studying on top of a national monument? Check it off the bucket list.) We walked to the Charing Cross Tube station, but the entire Northern Line was down! With little time to spare, we blundered our way back to Leicester Square, and by the time we made it to King’s Cross we were running up and down the escalators. One of us said to the other, out of breath, that we probably had a fifty-fifty chance of making it. We checked the departure board, put our tickets through the slot, and took off running—skipping? we definitely held hands at some point—toward our platform. We just made it. We took our seats, winded but proud.

Check it off the bucket list? Absolutely. I’ve learned my lesson—check the Tube closures before coming—but there was no harm done. I still love coming to London, and I hope I never tire of it.

Learning: All Together

Coming here, we are all expecting something. We are all expecting to have the time of our lives and to travel the country. But what I didn’t expect was to make so many great friends so quickly. At Harlaxton College, we are given so many opportunities whether it’s just going for a tour of the manor or taking a trip to Paris. Whether in the classroom or not, we are learning so much here and we are all learning it together.

On the first day here, Principal Kingsley gave a speech telling us about what a big red “L” means when it is labeled on something here. It’s means learning. For instance, if you pass a vehicle with a red “L” on it, it means the driver is just learning to drive. Around the manor you will see these “L’s” posted everywhere to remind us that we are “learning all together”. It’s true. Coming here, you expect to learn some things, but what I didn’t really think about is the people I’d be learning with.

Experiencing all of these new amazing things with all these people just brings us so much closer together so much faster. At this point we have been lost in big cities together, figured out how to maneuver our way around the London Tube together, planned trips together, eaten every meal together, and experienced this once in a lifetime opportunity together. We’ve have only been here a month, yet I find myself thinking of some of these new friends as some of my best friends.

It doesn’t matter if you’re going out for a night on the town in Grantham or staying in and having a “Glee” marathon, there’s always someone willing to do it with you. I still have 2 and a half months left here, yet I find myself getting sad when I think about leaving all my new friends. But for now, I’m going to take advantage of the days that I have left!