Freshers Adventures

The week before classes begin is dedicated to the freshmen and any other new arrivals on campus, including international and/or postgraduate students. This is most definitely not orientation week; those semi-meaningless activities have come and gone. No, this is Freshers Week and all over again I feel much like, well, a freshman. 99% of my friends here are, in fact, incoming freshman because, let's be honest, freshman are more than eager to have fun. Many times I forget that this is their first time out on their own, so to speak though I'm perfectly aware I'm both the oldest in the group and the only American. The majory of us, meaning my friends and I, live on the same campus. Roehampton is split in three parts and we are on the southern-most of the three, Whitelands campus. Unfortunately I haven't taken photos yet but this week, I suspect, I'll have time to start taking some pics of the campus and of the surrounding areas. That way, in the future, you can imagine the scenery whenever I mention these location. Anyway, like I said, I am not only the oldest in the group with more experience than most people my age at switching schools and starting over at new colleges, but I am the only American amongst my friends.

It was only two days ago, Sunday, the day I last posted, any of the British students arrived. So until then my group was entirely Norwegian plus me. I know I said the first friend I made, the guy wearing Red Pants at the airport, turned out to be my closest friend. Well, that remains true a week later and so far we've really bonded over these days of shared experiences.

Yesterday marked our second day of home-shopping adventures. He and I and another of our group made a seven hour journey to Ikea, the Swedish homes store, packed to bursting with absolutely any household item any person could possibly want. 

I swear on my life it was the biggest store I have ever seen. And that, dear readers, IS saying something considering I am an American and from the land of all things huge. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Half the fun of any adventure is the journey, no?

After a frightful morning of dealing with banks and international transactions, our trio hurried off campus around noon with the hope of meeting up with my friend's mom, who was in town with a group of friends, herself. (By the way, I'm intentionally not mentioning my friends' names because they don't know I'm writing about them. They're all perfectly good sports, a cheerier group than most, I'd say, but just to be kind.....) We are practically masters of “getting into London Central” already; just hop on the #85 bus which speeds you away toward the train station, Barnes Station, which is where you, duh!, ride the train until it terminates at Waterloo Station just west of Central London. There are several tube lines connecting from the station and, with the intention of meeting His mom, rode the Central/District Line to Glouchester (pronounced GLAW-ster) Road, which happens to be the same station I would exit the tube when I “lived” in London two years ago. This exit is in Kensington, one of the nicest, wealthiest parts of London (which is saying something considering some of the wealthiest people in the whole world live in London). It's also known as the White City because of all the white buildings with their white pillars and white marble stairs and ornamentations. 

Anyway, though we missed His mom (she had to catch her plane back to Norway) we stopped at her hotel to pick up a care package she left behind. I've been in a few hotels in London and each one is so unbelievably, unimaginably nice I can't even begin to fathom who could stay there. No human being is clean enough to walk through these places, each of which is spotless and shining and perfect in every way, like a museum or a Grecian temple. I suppose a proper British couple, clad in a mink coat and fitted three piece suit respectively, looking appropriately snobbish and haughty, might fit the profile. But three students bumming around London in jeans and carrying big shopping bags? Certainly not. Luckily, the concierge staff were entirely friendly and even gave us faster direction to our destination, in addition to His care package.

Our trio stumbled back onto the tube's Bakerloo Line, headed north into a section of London I had never seen before. Which was just as well because it was certainly nothing much to look at. The further you get from the center of London the poorer the neighborhoods become. Our stop was, thankfully, next to a free shuttle to the Ikea store, specifically. Initially I found that incredibly odd, that a single store would offer its own shuttle right from the tube. Then I realized, upon arrival, why, indeed, they have their own shuttle. This store, like I said, the the most gigantic thing, nothing like it. I was told, by my friends, it's very popular in Europe because they offer so much STUFF and it's all dirt cheap. Example: I got a frying pan for £1.00, which translates to $1.60-ish. Heck, even if it only lasts the year while I'm at school I'm satisfied. The other surprising thing about this store is that to get to the “marketplace” you must pass through the “showroom”; a right of passage system, apparently. In the show room, as the name suggests, they show off all their crap and you're not allowed to touch it. You have to write down #'s for any specific item you want and then re-find it again once you've passed into the “marketplace”. I managed to find every household item I had left on my shopping list for a mere £12. Win.

Well, if you think it's a long journey to the complete opposite side of London, try making the same trip back at the end of the day, 6 hours later, carrying a load of shopping bags. On the tube. Switching between lines. It's fair to say everyone was completely exhausted by the time we alighted at Putney station, the closest to Roehampton, about 2 miles away. One last bus ride and, viola. Home again, home again. Barely.

 

And then I went running. Yes, yes I did. In the dark. In a still strange city. Smart? Probably not.