THE LONDON REVIEW 2015

Meet David– the first bungee jumper p.62

The Red Lion of Whitehall p.21

The Weirdness that is Welsh p.48

Londoner View

The

THE LONDON REVIEW

FORGET QUEEN ELIZABETH +Christopher Wren is a real monarch

THAT’S LONDON CALLING The best places to buy books, grab afternoon tea, and “mind the gap”

VOLUME 20, ISSUE 15

UP IN THE AIR

+Seen through the London Eye

NIGHTWALKS +London by the moonlight

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The night of the living lookbook ...............11 Queen Vic ...............12 American presence ...............14 Architecture: past and future ...............15 The Church of England on conspiracy and theft ...............16 A brief history of Parliament ...............20 The Red Lion of Whitehall ...............21 How to smuggle candy into the States ...............22 Full English breakfast ...............26 The importance of a full English breakfast ...............27 High tea for high-class people ...............29 Good eats ...............30 You can take the girl out of America ...............32 A pint of order ...............33 This trip to London was brought to you by Coca-Cola ...............38 Speaking English ...............39 Fibit through London ...............40 Pick a side: the dilemmas of walking orderly on a sidewalk ...............42 Pedestrian problems ...............43 Pub music ...............46 Two steps back ...............47 The weirdness that is Welsh ...............48 Cockney is the language at East London, otherwise known as the rhyming slang ...............50 We’re here, London ...............56 Forget Queen Elizabeth, Christopher Wren is England’s greatest monarch ...............57 The myth of Winston Churchill ...............58

What’s Inside...

Profiles in debauchery: David Kirke ...............62 On ducks and shyness ...............66 Laura in London ...............67 Realizations across the pond ...............68 An ode to Mary ...............69 Harrods ...............74 Wherefore art thou Oxford chill pants? ...............76 Back to the classics ...............82 Tate Modern: poetry and dream ...............83 A taste of Picasso @ the Tate ...............84 London, Lyceum, and lions ...............88 The Magna Carta: celebrating a youthful 800 years ...............94 The time of toys ...............95 The secret treasures at the British Library ...............96 Walking among invisible giants ...............98 London Bridge isn’t falling down ............100 Kensington Palace ............102 A walk in Virginia Woolf’s shoes ............104 When I almost missed the Harry Potter studio tour ............106 Which way to the bay ............110 Only seen through the London Eye ............112 London in the moonlight ............120 Tube tact ............121 Sorry we left you in Oxford ............122 Maiden voyage ............123 Biking in Hyde Park ............125 Going off by yourself ............126 2

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24-25 36-37 54-55 70-71 80-81 92-93 114-115

8 Culture

54 People

92 Sights

+A global city 10 +The art of splitting checks 18 +In the House of Lords 19

+Are you serious? 59 +Street performers:

the busker’s art 60 +Mind this gap 64

+Londinium to London town to London 103 +We are the Chelsea 105 +We’re off to see Hogwarts 108

24 Food/Drink

70 Shopping

114 Adventures

+High tea at Kensington Orangery 28 +Pints for days 34 +London brews 35

+London fashion 72 +Only the Americans like those 73 +Not just a toy store 77

+The view from Waterloo 116 +An unplanned adventure to Cambridge 118 +Exmouth Market 124

36 Observations 80 Arts

Others

+The pups of London 41 +Wham Jeans 45 +London: through the eyes of a Sim 51

+Selfies and bios 4 +Superlatives 128 +Dear Mary 130

+Standing room only 85 +Shakespeare in Love 86 +A night of jazz 90

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Matthew Applequist is a senior currently stumbling through degrees in Political Science and English. His grandmother hopes he will soon get his life together and attend law school. While in London, Matthew could be found physically dragging the rest of his group into nearly every pub they passed. He was most captivated by the awesome people he shared drinks with throughout the trip, the imposing architecture of the city, and the brief views he got of the English countryside on the way to Oxford.

Jackson Byam is a sophomore creative writing major from Grand Rapids, Michigan. Jackson spent a great deal of the trip either asleep, eating, or on the way to either sleep or eat. In between that, however, he had a fantastic adventure of a trip making new friends, trying new things, and comparing the ages of certain English things to the age of the United States. Jackson would like to thank Dr. Mary Klayder, his parents, and Bill Self for making the experience such a smashing success. *Jackson forgot to take a proper selfie on the trip, so attached is a picture of a really good sandwich he had.

Whitney Ashlock is a junior studying journalism with an emphasis on advertising and is minoring in communication studies. She loves watching movies and playing sports in her spare time. Whitney enjoyed taking selfies just about everywhere in London. This is one of Whitney’s selfies in the London Eye. The Eye was one of many of Whitney’s favorite experiences in London because she got to see everything at once during the sunset and in the dark all in one ride. Whitney’s favorite part of the trip was sharing amazing experiences with good friends and her least favorite part was trying to stay warm!

Rachel Benefiel is a semiprofessional dilettante and second-year student at KU majoring in American Studies and Film & Media Studies. Her interests include cinematography, semiotics, and just about everything else. She is also a strong believer that Harpo is the greatest Marx Brother. Regarding her future plans, she is resolutely silent and trying to put off deciding for as long as possible. Passing on advice about London, she wishes everyone to know that there is no such thing as a through street in London.

Jesse Burbank is a sophomore majoring in History and Political Science and minoring in Economics.

He plans on attending law school after graduation, and is now hoping to earn a master’s degree in the United Kingdom as well. Much of his time on the London Review was spent fawning over anything political, interpreting modern art after a glass of sherry, and marveling at the free museums of London.

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Laura Carlson is a sophomore English major from Tulsa, Oklahoma. She lives in Sellards Scholarship Hall and couldn’t imagine a better place to live. Laura’s skills include climbing walls in Oxford, finding people throughout London, and chasing mice across Millennium Bridge. She also loves biking and can’t imagine a trip without a bike ride. In the future, you can probably find Laura in Antarctica, one of the two continents she still needs to explore. One more thing, ask Laura about Baby, it’s an interesting story.

Justine Culver grew up desiring a degree in English. She is now a senior double majoring in Creative Writing and Applied Behavioral Science.

For the past year she has tried unsuccessfully to modify the behaviors of her husband, two kids, a dog, a cat, and three rabbits. When not studying, Justine is a connoisseur of naps, occasionally binge watches a series on Netflix, and goes to concerts. A collector of tattoos, she added to her collection in London with a Tudor rose. Being a Whovian, Justine was thrilled to meet the 11th Doctor Matt Smith last spring and visit the Dr. Who Experience while in Britain this spring. She’s currently working on a plan to secure funding to go to Comic Con to meet the 10th Doctor David Tennent, who is her favorite Doctor.

Elizabeth Erker is a senior studying journalism with minors in business and English.

She will graduate in May; for now, that’s all she knows for sure about the future. As far as the past is concerned, she considers it a very happy coincidence that she was seated next to Mary Klayder at freshman orientation so many summers ago, and that the London Review finally became a reality for her.

Ashley Farris is a senor studying Biochemistry. The London Reviw was her present to herself for spending the previous semester tearing out her hair during graduate school applications. Luckily, she has a lot of hair and a position at Johns Hopkins in the fall, so nobody really noticed. Her goal to swim in the Thames didn’t come to fruition this year (despite Alex’s best efforts), so she supposes she’ll need to come back to London when they clean it up a bit.

Lindsey Fleming is a sophomore graduating in December of 2015 with a major in Psychology and a minor in Women and Gender Studies. She hopes to attend graduate school to obtain a Masters and PsyD in Clinical Psychology. She enjoyed everything about London, but her favorite parts were visiting Cambridge and going to the Harry Potter studio tour. Lindsey plans to return to London in the near future to live there with her two cats and marry her soul mate, Harry Styles, whom is 1/5(now 1/4) of the boy band One Direction. Lindsey did not take any selfies on the trip, so she used a photo taken by Ashley Farris.

Nicole Hawkins is a Senior from Chicago, IL with a focus in Communication Studies. She has an undeniable love for fashion and hopes to move back to Chicago to pursue fashion buying or merchandising after graduation. For the most part, you could find Nicole in either Harrods or eating candy or a fancy dessert.

She also spent a great deal of time touring the neighborhood museums and buying post cards which she never sent. She credits the London Review for exposing her further to brands that are way out of her price range (as of now…)

Maria Kingfisher is a freshman at the University of Kansas studying English with a minor in Journalism. She is a current Hawk Link student and a member of KU’s 2015 Orientation Assistant team. This photo captures the moment Maria realized she was in London. Though freezing and windblown, she couldn’t have been more thrilled to be there in that moment. Maria is looking forward to her upcoming years as an undergrad at KU, and hopes to continue her growth and study abroad again in the future.

Mary Klayder has taught English at KU forever and has just directed the 18th London Review! And she still loves doing it! Also, she wants everyone to know, “It’ll be fine.”

Alex Kolomaya is a freshman who for some reason decided to major in physics and hopes to attend medical school one day. He is fascinated with how the world functions as well as the antics of the people living on it.

Alex returned with only one regret, not pushing Ashley Farris in the river Thames.

Lover of music, he could be seen in venues tapping his foot excitedly absorbing London’s sounds, while wishing he had a sound track as great as London’s.

Kerry McCullough is a sophomore journalism and linguistics major whose favorite reason for leaving her home state of California in order to come to school in Kansas was because she thought it would be an adventure. And the basketball. She’s a huge basketball fan. She really has no idea what she’s going to do after graduation, but her ideas stretch from forensic linguistics to book adaptation. Her love of both athletics and theater translated well to her time in London in regards to the insane amounts of walking she underwent and the nerding-out she did while attending various theatrical productions. Kerry had way too much fun listening to the variety of languages used in London and trying to pretend like she knew what she was doing.

Logan Meyer is a junior at the University of Kansas studying Journalism with an emphasis in Strategic Communication and minoring in Business. Logan enjoys spending quality time with great friends and family. This photo captures Logan taking in the excitement of being in a new country and standing with the London Eye positioned in the background, a landmark that quickly became one of her favorites. Logan found her experience is London to be exciting, extremely memorable and just a little chilly! After graduation, Logan plans to work as an Event Planner for a venue local to Lawrence or the Kansas City area. She is looking forward to the remainder of her time at KU and finding out what her future holds.

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Casey Mwangi wears many a hats….

A Neurobiology Senior who whilst trodding about the streets of London, received good news from the Americas that he’d been admitted to the University of Kansas School of Medicine. That’s all he would seem to remember of that pleasant evening amidst empty champagne bottles and whatnots.

Casey is also in the United States Army Reserves where he works as a Combat Medic. He is likely to be found at a local Tesco or Pret-AManger scoffing off those delicious Digestive Biscuits.

His next scheduled visit to the Old Blighty will be no sooner than a few fortnights for yet another go at London in the name of British Summer Institute with yours truly Dr. Mary Klayder.

Davi Nicoll is a senior studying Creative Writing. Currently, her work explores chance, focus, and adaptability in poetic process, performance, and common creative space. Upon graduation, she plans to continue writing poetry and pursue witchcraft, grad school, a steady paycheck, and a decent cup of coffee. She would like to thank her family, friends, scholarship donors, and especially, her cat, Cosmo, for their encouragement, travel tips, and being nice to the babysitter while she was away.

Abby Ogden is a junior majoring in Strategic Communication and minoring in Psychology. Her biggest regret from London is having to turn down the “Chocolate Glory” dessert at Pizza Express the first night due to her battle with the stomach flu the first few days. Her greatest memories, however, include facing her fear of heights both at the tower in Oxford and in the London Eye, conquring the tube, and making 27 new great friends.

Sanjay Parashar is a sophomore majoring in Cellular Biology. He plans on attending medical school in the future and saw the London Review as an opportunity to actually have fun over a school break instead of sleeping or continuing to study.

During the trip he could be found eating at any and all ethnic restaurants, taking pictures of everything he saw (including every meal he ate), and geeking out about every conversation being spoken in Hindi, Spanish, or Japanese.

Austin O’Grady is a junior studying petroleum engineering with a minor in geology. In his spare time, Austin enjoys playing sports, being outdoors and traveling. In London, he enjoyed the cars, the pubs, and wandering the city aimlessly. The Science Museum, Natural History Museum and ‘Churchill’s War Rooms’ were among his favorite attractions. He hopes to return to London after graduation and spend time outside the city, exploring the countryside. 10/10; Austin would recommend this experience to everyone.

Derek Pendergast is a senior majoring in English with an emphasis in Creative Writing. With one more semester to go he doesn’t know what his future plans are but is excited to say ‘au revoir’ to college.

Maybe he will finally go back to Oxford and get his chill pants. Who knows, the sky’s the limit, or whatever they say. Derek is terrible at taking selfies so photo credit belongs to another London Reviewer, Ashley Farris.

Jenny O’Grady is a freshman Graphic Design student minoring in Creative Writing and Art History.

She is involved in the Chi Omega sorority, Prototype (Visual Communication Club), and the Student Relays Committee among other organizations and activities. She hopes to graduate with her BFA and go into advertising/branding. Jenny’s favorite thing she did in London was sit second row at the Chelsea v Southampton game, although she would have rather seen a Chelsea win rather than a tie. Cheers!

Savannah Pine (1994) is a History major, European Studies major, and English minor at the University of Kansas. She currently specializes in the history of French Algeria, World War I, the Wars of the Roses, and homosexuality in the Medieval Era. She will hopefully get her Bachelor of Arts in History and her Bachelor of Arts in European Studies in 2017.

She plans to get her Masters and Doctorate in History before she turns thirty years old. Thus everyone must call her Dr. Pine from then on and defer to her historical judgement.

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London Review 2015

Elli Rao is a senior majoring in English and minoring in Jewish Studies, who hopes to attend rabbinical school after she graduates.

As her picture demonstrates, she enjoys both Harry Potter and acting like a fool. She spent most of her time in London searching for ice cream, stealing jam jars, and geeking out over anything bookrelated.

Leah Sitz is a second year student majoring in Journalism and minoring in Creative Writing.

She hopes to graduate in 2016 and become a magazine editor.

Her favorite part of the trip was becoming a master at navigating London with limited wifi and visiting the Victoria and Albert Museum three times. She also loved the older buildings and streets of London. Leah is not a big selfietaker but managed to take one at the Harry Potter museum, where she first discovered her love for ButterBeer.

Caroline VanSlambrouck is a senior majoring in English Literature and pursuing a minor in History. The photo to the left was the closest she got to a selfie while in London and had to acquaint herself with the “crop� button to maintain the illusion. Taken at the Chelsea v.

Southampton match, the photo reflects Caroline’s happiness and excitement to be surrounded by a buzzing 41,837 Chelsea fans shouting surprisingly simple chants that may be too vulgar to reproduce. She hopes to make soccer her day job and will accompany any free time with travel to medieval churches.

Jenny Warren is a sophomore civil/environmental engineering student who also REALLY loves any form of theatre. She is involved in Alpha Delta Pi sorority (hence the lion with diamonds photo) and many other organizations on campus including Society of Women Engineers and Engineers Without Borders. She likes to watch movies in her spare time and she has an odd obsession with the Tudors which made her trip to London much more exciting. She plans on a career in Public Works and saving the world from dirty water.

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London Review 2015

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A global city Sanjay Parashar

W

ith the Greater London Area having a population of over 8 million people, it should come as no surprise that all sorts of people can be found in London. As the second most populous city in Europe, and with over 40% of the city of non-White heritage, London is truly a melting pot of cultures and ethnicities. This is evident from the people seen on the street to the various languages that could be heard throughout the city.

Simply walking up and down the streets of London, one can get a sense of how diverse and multicultural the city is. Whether it is the sharply dressed native Londoner rushing on and off the tube as he or she hurries to work, or the slow meandering of a large group of French teenagers

speaks volumes as to the different kinds of people that make London what it is. However, it was not only the appearance of the people that made me marvel at the diversity of London, but also the way people communicated.

The sheer multitude of the number of different languages I heard being spoken in London was astounding.

Never before had I visited a city in the Western Hemisphere where I heard English less often than I heard a Two Japanese women walking down Whitehall different language. Whether I was sitting in the tube or strolling ed her son in Spanish were some of the down High Street in Kensington, I could seemingly mundane, yet most memohear numerous conversations in all dif- rable experiences I had while exploring fering languages London. They seem fitting to rememfloat in the air. ber the city by, as it was those simple French, Spanish, interactions, spoken in a completely Italian, Russian, different language, which gave the city Chinese, Japa- life and its unique global flair. nese, and Korean Growing up in the South and Midwere just a few west, I only had global cultural experiof the languages I ences regarding my own Indian hericould easily recog- tage and whatever interesting topics I nize being spoken found on the Internet. Yet in London, out loud. Every I found a city where stepping outside day I stepped out- of your door was a global experience. side the thresh- Riding the tube and walking to dinner old of the Grange were learning experiences about difJapanese high school students in Oxford Strathmore I got ferent cultures, ethnicities, and peoblocking part of the sidewalk, or even excited to hear more new and different ples. People define the city they live the ever present selfie stick wielding languages being spoken. Overhearing in, and in London the global commuAsian tourist, all sorts of people from some Japanese high school students nity that has settled there have defiall different walks of life have gath- discussing which souvenir to buy and nitely defined the city as truly an inered in London. One image that re- stifling my laughter as a mother scold- ternational city and a world capital. ■ally struck me as amazing during my trip in London was running into two Japanese ladies dressed up in yukatas, traditional Japanese robes, walking down Whitehall in the rain. I thought it was simply amazing that in a city thousands of miles away from Japan, and in weather that would have most daring souls bundled up in warm clothing, I found and asked to take a picture of the two ladies dressed in beautiful, silk robes huddled under a Holiday Inn umbrella. It was an amazing scene and one that I think truly Tour groups visiting Christ Church College in Oxford 10

London Review 2015

The night of the living lookbook Jackson Byam

T

here may come a time in your life when you have a clothing-based confrontation with some rogue hypebeast in a London basement club.

If you ever find yourself in such a scenario, I have some advice.

Dance.

I should have seen it coming, honestly. I consider myself a relatively well dressed person. I’m not wearing high fashion looks every day, but I try to pick things that fit right and look in the acceptable to good range. In Lawrence, that’s how I look, acceptable to good.

In London on the other hand, that range was closer to dressed in the dark to schmuck American. There were people on the tube at 3 PM on a Wednesday wearing looks that I’ve only seen in Fashion Week Street Style things as day to day ‘fits. I remember seeing a dude on the train wearing a Rick Owens leather jacket and scarf, black Acne jeans, and black Nike Huaraches with white outsoles just going to town on the Subway sub in his hands. I watched in terror as the crumbs of a £5 meatball marinara fell upon an outfit that was worth a couple grand.

One of the reasons I love clothing is that it’s a self sustaining way to feel good. The feeling when you look in the mirror when you look fresh is one of the best there is, anyone else noticing is just a bonus. Guys like Meatball Marinara go another way. They’re like dementors, all their power derived from the looks of awe and confusion of passersby. They know. With each jealous glance, their lanky, pale, show-piece adorned frames grow stronger, sit a little taller in their seats.

They know what you’re thinking, and you’re right; you would look ridiculous in this. Each new room they enter is a

new chance for competition, and they will destroy all who dare stunt in their presence. In the cold war that is trying to look your best at all times, fools like Meatball Marinara are testing nukes. Or, that’s how it appears to me, who is constantly comparing myself to others.

On our last Friday night in London, I actually had a run-in with one of these dweebs. I was with the squad at a club with all of the interior charms of a fallout shelter. The DJ was great, exclusively playing those instrumental house tracks that you swear you’ve heard before but can’t quite place.

Every person I saw there wore a cleaner look than the last, the crowd an amorphous mass of neutral colors and asymmetry. It turned out these fresh out of the lookbook types could actually get down. In a basement full of high fashion weirdos shaking it like they were at a cousin’s wedding, I realized they might not be goons in Givenchy after all, maybe they were just normal people who liked clothes.

I learned quickly in London that I wasn’t going to stand out, so that night I chose a simple dark flannel, black jeans, and Vans. I wasn’t going to catch any eyes, but I didn’t look out of place either. That, in addition to my friends all up and dancing, made for a great night.

We were all on the floor, doing our thing, our painfully uncoordinated thing, and a guy walked by me and bumped my shoulder.

“Hey,” I said, almost out of reflex.

The bumper turned around and I got a look at him. He was slightly shorter than me but dressed exactly like Meatball Marinara from the train; wearing all black from head to his Huarache covered toe.

Meatball Marinara Jr. (MMJ) looked back, his eyes half-openly scanning me, and let out a derisive laugh, “Heh.” You have to understand, in the innately passive-aggressive world that is being weird about clothes, this is as aggressive as an attack there is. I’m not a very confrontational person, but I reacted in the only way I knew how. I snapped my fingers, aimed my pointers and toes to the right. MMJ knew what was about to happen. He mirrored my move. It was a dance-off. I’m not going to lie, I had always dreamed of a moment like this.

MMJ opened up with weak footwork and what could only be described as voguing with his hands before throwing it back to me.

The strangest thing happened after he threw it to me. My tragically goofy dancing from before had somehow become smooth. I did the only moves I knew, which were a combination of synchronized footwork and the Carlton snap dance with my arms. I thrust my chest at MMJ before pulling back, as to say, “I gave you a chance, and this is what you do?”

MMJ looked at his feet and nervously tried to get something together, but he had nothing left in the tank, and stormed off in a huff. He knew the risks. He knew the best offense is a strong look, but the best defense is stronger dancing.

We left the club not long after that.

On the taxi ride back, I saw a Subway with a poster for the Meatball Marinara in its window. I may not be the best dressed guy in this town, I thought to myself, but I’m certainly not the worst dancer. ■ Culture

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Queen Vic Jenny Warren

T

here is no question that England loves its royals, and that they love some more than others.

Look at Charles I and II, for instance. A civil war broke out after the first was killed and eleven years later, the people welcomed his son to the throne with open arms. I knew going in that royalty is a big deal in Great Britain, but what I didn’t expect was an overwhelmingly obvious favor to one queen. No, it’s not the current Queen Elizabeth II, although she is loved by the English and throughout the rest of the United Kingdom. Queen Victoria is the special one and she is everywhere.

On our first full day in London, the group went on a walking tour. As our guide led us through St. James’s Park up to Buckingham Palace, I noticed a large memorial out front, peering down over the crowd. A friend informed me that at the top perched a bronze sculpture of Winged Victory and just below her a statue of Queen Victoria. I started to wonder why she

Hall, the Prince Albert Memorial, the statue of Queen Victoria outside St. Paul’s Cathedral, and many more. Her daughter, Princess Louise, even sculpted a statue of Victoria that now stands outside Kensington Palace. The more I saw of her, the more I wanted to know who she was.

I finally got the chance inside Kensington Palace.

There is an exhibit, Victoria Revealed, that displays many of the rooms the queen used and lived in before she was crowned. There are also gowns she’d worn and toys she’d played with. The most prominent theme, however, is her relationship with Prince Albert. Letters and locks of hair shared between them during their courtship and even private paintings made for each other are shown for public viewing. It was impossible to ignore the evidence that Victoria was head over heels for Albert. They were quickly married and had nine children; and their love never seemed to wane.

But they were unable to live happily together forever.

Albert died at the early age of 42 after suffering from stomach, back, and leg pains for two years. Physicians at the time diQueen Victoria statue under Winged Victory at agnosed it as tyBuckingham Palace phoid fever, but was the one carved into stone. historians have suggested From then on, it seemed that al- the true cause was Crohn’s most every major landmark had some disease or stomach cancer. tribute to Victoria or her husband, Regardless, Victoria was Prince Albert. There was the Victoria heartbroken. She took her and Albert Museum, the Royal Albert husband’s death very hard;

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Prince Albert Memorial

so much so that she was in a perpetual state of mourning for the next 40 years until her own passing. She continued to wear black for the rest of her life and refused to attend many public events. Newspaper headlines were actually criticizing the queen, not worshiping her. This was all very interesting, but it still didn’t explain

Queen Victoria statue at St. Paul’s Cathedral

why there was so much of Victoria around town.

So I did some research. Come to find out, Victoria was queen at the height of the British Empire. During her reign, Britain had a size greater than any empire in history and ruled more than a quarter of the world’s population. The English loved her because they were on top of the world.

Their economy was booming and they thrived from their superior power.

I also learned that every memorial, statue, etc. were the ideas of Victoria herself or of the royal family and since Britain had all the money in the world, they went up quickly and without much dispute. Victoria was also the longest reigning monarch in Britain’s history, although Elizabeth II is due to pass her within the next year. Perhaps in the next hundred years, we will see many more Elizabeth statues around London, though there seems to be little room left.

What I took away from all of this is that money and power trump everything, even love. Victoria was young when she took the throne. Her love for her husband overshadowed her love for England and contributed to the public’s criticism. But she also had all the money and power in the world.

Therefore, she is celebrated as such a royal should be.

Long live the queen! ■

Extra fee Justine Culver I’m not sure what your name was but, I’ll always remember you fondly. Checking my bag at Heathrow for the trip home you didn’t acknowledge it was over the acceptable weight by three pounds. You let it slide by without the extra charge.

So, thank you, ma’am, I appreciate your kindness. (I’m sure I’m not the only one in the London Review who feels this way).

Queen Victoria statue at Kensington Palace

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American presence Austin O'Grady

W

henever I have the opportunity to travel, I find myself making constant comparisons. Sometimes it will be during a road trip down 435 and I’ll make a note of the decrease in quality of the road as soon as I enter Missouri. Other times it will be the frequency of commercials presented during a cartoon show in Mexico. I do not mean it as a way of qualitative analysis, but instead as a barometer to determine what I enjoy about the area that I’m visiting.

After a few hours in London, a common theme that I kept noticing was the influence of American culture on the everyday life on a Londoner; this included songs playing on the radio and the appearance of a Starbucks coffee shop at nearly the same intervals Stateside. My view of American influence changed quickly, however, to just a presence of our culture within theirs. I think it is important to note the difference in what I mean between two.

London is the closest experience I have had to an American city while abroad (with the exception of Canada) but they have their own, distinct culture that is purely an original creation.

They do not aim to be us, as the term influence would suggest, they merely recognize what aspects of our society are successful, and wish to provide a similar experience for their citizens.

Obviously, and maybe unfortunately, these things are the stereotypical characteristics of the United States.

I happily admit I enjoyed a meal at a Kentucky Fried Chicken, Burger King AND McDonalds when I was there, but that does not mean I did not indulge in a healthy share of traditional English meals.

The mutual-inclusivity of London was something that I found to be refreshing and quite appealing. The recognition of another culture was different from what I’ve observed in the US.

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There was no “United States of America Market” as there is a Chinatown in NYC, but instead, little sprinklings of some of the great aspects of our culture, subtly integrated into their city.

My one disappointment was sports.

The only area I found to be lacking of inclusion was American sports presentation availability. Granted, we have repeatedly neglected to recognize the world’s most popular sport, soccer, to the extreme levels that we do other athletics, but it is easy to find a bar or restaurant that will be showing Manchester United versus Chel-

sea or similar big game in the US. The extent of the coverage of the NCAA March Madness tournament was limited to two places we could find within the city of London – one of which was, ironically, owned by the original founder of Oklahoma Joe’s, who had decided to spread his delicious barbeque across the world.

All in all, London is a wonderful city that gave me an incredible foreign experience while still including a sufficient taste of American culture to provide me a gratifying sense of homage. ■

Ode to wifi Kerry McCullough Won’t you please excuse me as I wrestle with my phone?

You see I have to check the wifi everywhere we go.

Someone may have posted something to our facebook page, Gotten lost, or left behind, and looking for some aid.

I don’t mean to be rude right now or come across as unimpressed.

The British Museum, you must agree, is really just the best.

Won’t you please excuse me as I get my phone to work?

The wifi here is spotty and the signal’s all berzerk.

I have to check my twitter feed, there may be news on the KU score.

March Madness isn’t quite the same when everyone likes soccer more.

I don’t mean to be rude right now or come across as unimpressed.

The Tower of London, you understand, is really just the best.

Won’t you please excuse me as I make my phone behave?

I have to use the wifi if I’m ever to get out of my cave.

Instagram is so much fun, now I know it’s not a competition, But with the great new photos of London I have, I’d probably be winning.

I don’t mean to be rude right now or come across as unimpressed.

Buckingham Palace, God Save the Queen, is really just the best.

What is this? It won’t connect. It said there’s a network to try.

A password, are you kidding me? This wifi’s a freaking lie.

I guess I’ll put my phone away and actually enjoy the view, Or the company, or even both while I soak in London too.

Some time away from that device might actually be good for me.

Wait, I need a picture of this quick, take my phone and count to three!

Architecture: past and future Sanjay Parashar

F

ounded in the first century CE

by Romans, London has existed as a city longer than most countries have been in existence. As a result it has borne witness to some of the most historic events in history from the scourge of the Black Plague, to flourishing of theater and poetry during the Elizabethan era, to surviving a non-stop Blitz of German air attacks for 8 months during World War

tall and grandiose with their white stone and red brick facades, respectively, one just stands in awe as to what it must been like to build those places by hand and what those buildings had weathered through their years of existence. Yet, I think the most impressive building of British architecture in London is Westminster Abbey. Built by King Edward the Confessor in 1065, Westminster Abbey has been an icon in London for almost 1000 years.

A giant, Gothic church, the Abbey has born witness to the coronation of every single ruling British monarch since 1066.

The Abbey symbolizes not only the longevity of the British monarchy but also the longevity of the city of London, which has survived, history and culture intact, for hundreds of Westminster Abbey stony arches years. But while the Abbey II London’s long spanning history is no may symbolize the history of London, more evident than in its architecture, it is the new skyline of London, which with buildings surviving from ancient can be seen throughout the city that times open to the public, and it is reveals its future. that same architecture that gives us a While stone and brick may have been glimpse into London’s future. the choice materials for the historic Much of London’s most famous and ancient buildings found throughlandmarks were built before the 20th out London, steel and glass structures century and the advent of modern have certainly found their own niche building techniques. With palaces like within the city. One of the largest and Buckingham and Kensington standing most notable steel and glass structures

The Shard cutting through the London sky

in the city is the Shard. A neo-Futuristic skyscraper, the Shard is over 1,000 feet tall and is a giant glass monolith that can be seen from throughout the city. Home to various offices, hotels, and the Warwick Business School, the Shard is illuminated at night and seen as bright, shining example of the future of London’s skyline. As more skyscrapers and towers are erected in the city, London will start to turn into a city of steel and glass more reminiscent of other global capitals like New York City and Tokyo.

While I do believe that architecture of the Shard is seen as the way of the future, I do think that London’s historic and traditional buildings will never go out of style. Constantly under renovation and close watch, buildings like Westminster Abbey and Buckingham Palace still have a deep emotional attachment to the city and its inhabitants. I think in London, the future and the past of the city will work together to enhance one another, just like how the blue lighting of the Millennium Bridge illuminates the white, stone dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral. ■

St. Paul's and Millennium Bridge glowing at night Culture

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The Church of England on conspiracy and theft Kerry McCullough was going to do it.

I really was.

I was preparing to steal from the Church of England.

I

over and asked where the pamphlet that had just been in my hand disappeared to, and her eyes went wide when I whispered that it was current-

I was sitting in the front pew at Westminster Abbey as Evensong drew to a close. I had meticulously rolled up the daily service pamphlet and slipped it up my sleeve so the paper circled my arm like a brace. No one should have been able to see it as I left the church. My friend leaned

ly inside my sleeve. It seemed like a drastic measure, sure, but I was proud of my effort and determined to leave the church with the souvenir. It was only after I steeled myself to leave with the concealed pamphlet tucked safely next to my arm that my friend pointed out that the congregation

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was openly leaving the church with the pamphlets in their hands.

My thievery skills, as shoddy as they were, didn’t end up being necessary as we left Westminster Abbey. In the end though, I got my souvenir and an excellent story to tack onto an already incredible experience inside one of England’s most renowned buildings.

Evensong at Westminster Abbey.

The name of the event still drips with tradition, and for a Catholic in the middle of London, I really had no idea what I was getting myself into.

But, this service would get us inside for free. So why not? It was cold outside anyway.

I waited in line with my friend until the staff was able to usher the tourists out of the church and let the worshipers in. As a bit of advice, we were told to look as least-touristy as possible as we slinked by the men and women admitting people into the abbey. It worked, and we followed the people in front of us as they went inside.

The interior of Westminster Abbey was so ornate that I really didn’t know where to look first and even after being inside for more than an hour, I probably overlooked something important. The air inside the church was heavy with prestige and I felt small, and not just because the ceiling stretched up into near-darkness that made me dizzy or because my own voice was both swallowed and echoed by the walls.

I got the feeling that I was intruding. It wasn’t that I felt unwelcome; it

had more to do with the fact that so much history happened and will happen within the walls of the building I was standing in feeling small.

It still baffles me that people can consider this goliath of a building their parish church. I wonder if they can still appreciate the magnitude of their privilege.

I felt underdressed. I couldn’t put my feet anywhere that wasn’t a part of some person’s grave and my friend would have started squealing when she saw Isaac Newton’s grave if we couldn’t obviously hear the choir warming up.

If I hadn’t known going in that the choir was an all-boys choir, I would have thought the sopranos had lovely voices.

My friend and I were shown our seats (right in front with the most uncomfortable kneelers imaginable) and the choir precessed in with the officiant. They were all wearing red robes with the most uncomfortablelooking white lace collars. One of the boys kept yanking at the pouf at his

throat and I was reminded that these children are anywhere from seven to thirteen years old. Just kids.

The music was beautiful. I can’t imagine the practice that goes into preparing a performance like that, but everyone seemed to think it was old news. The boys attacked their solos with confidence and stood at the

utmost attention when their director took his stand. The music would swell and simmer all the while swirling around itself. I would look at my surroundings or at the boys singing flawlessly and think about how ridiculously lucky I was to even be sitting there.

It was easy to imagine this ceremony taking place hundreds of years ago while I lost myself in the decadence of Westminster Abbey and the chants from the choir.

I wasn’t expecting the whole sit, stand, kneel routine, but everything was explained in the pamphlet.

We were even encouraged to sing along with some of the songs but I didn’t dare because 1) my voice was thrashed, 2) I didn’t know the songs, and 3) even though the words were on the page, the music was so intricate the choir would go over the same line three times before moving on to the next.

I made up my mind to swipe the pamphlet before the service ended.

And as the officiant and the choir marched out, I feigned nonchalance.

Even after my friend commented on the pointlessness of my secrecy, I walked out of the abbey with the paper rolled around my arm. ■

Every conversation Jackson Byam Where are you from?

The States.

Where in the States?

Kansas.

Is that near Vegas?

Culture

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The art of splitting checks Leah Sitz

Y

ou probably know that Europeans drive on the left side of the street. You surely know that they have a Queen. But what you may not know is London restaurant owners are reluctant to split checks.

As Americans, we are accustomed to going out to eat with friends and receiving multiple checks, or at the very least, the waiter will ask if the check is together or separate. This concept has yet to travel far into Europe.

Our first experience with this phenomenon was on day one. We had just arrived in London and decided to go eat some breakfast. We found a nice café nearby and ordered. Most

of us ordered water to drink with eggs and toast. (The water was not free, but that’s another story.) We all finished eating and remembered from Watching the English that you must ask your waiter or waitress for the check. It was considered rude for them to bring it to you whenever they thought you had finished.

We asked for the check and she came back with one. Being the first day, I had not had the chance to get any European cash. We managed to cover the costs and even left a six-pound tip (unnecessarily, as tips aren’t expected in London).

We ran into trouble at Thai Pot as well. A large group of us had gone to eat before Shakespeare in Love. We were running a bit behind schedule and asked the waitress if she would be able to split our checks.

“We can’t do that. Our machines can’t handle it,” she replied.

So we hurriedly ate our food and began to count our coins. She brought us the check and we passed it around.

Everyone totaled their meal and added their money to the growing pot in the middle of the table. The endeavor

seemed to stress a few of us out, but the waitress came to the table and counted the money. She handed us the change.

“You gave me too much,” she said.

Happy to be done, we rushed to meet Mary at the play. Afterwards, a different group went to eat at the same restaurant. The waiter reportedly brought that group a calculator along with their check. ■

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In the House of Lords Jesse Burbank

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he Palace of Westminster was always the first thing on my list when I was planning for the London Review. The British political process has been a topic of fascination for me, and I have studied it extensively both in my classes and at my leisure. Everything from its impassioned, confrontational style to its curious evolution over the past 800 years thrills me. Thus, touring the chambers of Parliament, where some of the most impactful decisions in human history were made, was a seminal event in my trip to London.

The House of Lords in particular captured my imagination. The room is stunningly ornate. Gold and crimson adorn the walls. Meticulously detailed statues line the chamber. And at the

helm of the room, a golden throne sits ready for the Queen to give her annual speech to open Parliament, a tradition dating back hundreds of years.

In many ways, the details of the room speak to the British political process itself. The United Kingdom has no formal comprehensive constitution, no written document that explicitly describes all of the powers and restrictions of the government. In-

stead, it is built around a complex set of evolving norms, traditions, and political understandings that have been in motion for many centuries.

This is evident throughout the House of Lords. For example, it was taboo for women to reveal their ankles in Victorian Britain.

Accordingly, a tiny curtain was placed on the upper balcony of the room to save the modesty of any women who were viewing the House of Lords in session. To this day, the curtain continues to hang.

In the 14th century, King Edward III ordered that his Lord Chancellor sit on a sack of wool in the center of the House of Lords in order to remind the body of the importance of the wool trade to the British economy. Today, that wool sack – simply called the Woolsack – continues to occupy the center of the chamber.

These examples are illustrative of the United Kingdom’s political pro-

cess at large. In the absence of a formal constitution, each law Parliament passes becomes a new addition to the British informal constitution. Likewise, each tradition and norm established informs this evolving understanding of what the government is and how it operates.

In many ways, the House of Lords itself is a symbol of this traditioninformed version of evolving government. It continues to be largely populated by appointed members, hereditary peers, and bishops from the Church of England. However, its power has been eclipsed by the democratically-elected House of Commons in recent centuries – a testament to the rise of democracy in the nation.

But the House of Lords continues on, just as many age-old British institutions do, acting as a living extension of tradition in British society. ■

Culture

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A brief history of Parliament Alex Kolomaya

O

n our final day in London I along with fellow London Reviewers Jesse and Sanjay, went on a tour of Parliament and I was amazed by the astounding amount of history that occurred in the Palace of Westminster. Parliament began to form in 1066 as the ‘king’s court.” They were a group of advisors that met on the king’s demands.

When this system of consultation and consent broke down, the government could not properly function. Understandably, the counsel (mostly nobles and church leaders) was annoyed by this king’s decision to ignore them. In 1215, the noblemen became so frustrated with King John they forced him to sign the Magna Carta, giving formal recognition to the rights of the nobility, which he betrayed a few months later. The effects of the Magna Carta can be seen around the world in

documents such as the American Constitution and others. However, it wasn’t until 1341 that the House of Commons was established, providing

the first example of the bicameral system and solidified parliament’s emergence as an institution. ■

How to Mary-Selfie Savannah Pine If you’re one of Mary Klayder’s 2718 Facebook friends, you have doubtlessly seen a Mary-Selfie.

You know, it’s one of those pictures where only half of Mary’s face is showing, while the rest of the selfie is some sort of landmark. Want to know how to take a Mary-Selfie? Read on.

Step 1. Move your phone camera so that it has a clear shot of the landmark of your choice.

Step 2. Keep the phone still, and move yourself so that only half of your face is showing. You can move to the side, and have only one eye and part of your nose in the photo. Or you can crouch down, and just show your eyes and forehead.

Step 3. Take the photo quickly before your hand shakes and the picture is ruined.

Step 4. Straighten up and ignore the looks from the people around you, who probably think you’re bizarre.

Step 5. Upload to Facebook, and use #Maryselfieing in your description.

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London Review 2015

The Red Lion of Whitehall Jesse Burbank

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wo of my main goals while in London were to learn of British political culture and sample London’s pub scene. How fortuitous it was that The Red Lion offered both of these opportunities in one fell swoop.

Situated in the government district of Whitehall, The Red Lion represents the quintessential English pub – cramped spaces, ale flowing freely, and hearty laughs all around. As if this were not enough, it is also frequented by a Members of Parliament and government bureaucrats unwinding after a hard day of running the Queen’s government. This sounded ideal for my purposes, and I resolved to visit it as soon as I had the chance.

That chance arose on Sunday, our first full day in London. After concluding our tour of some of London’s finest sights, a group of us set out to eat at the famed Red Lion. When we arrived there, we made our way up to the small restaurant on the upper level in the blind hope that they would have sufficient seating to accommodate all eleven of us. As luck would have it, they did! However, we did have to split into two groups.

I sat down with Elli, Alex, Sanjay, Lindsey, and Ashley at a table near the back of the room. We struck up a conversation, ordered some drinks, and promptly became the loud Americans in the room. As our conversation would grow louder, we would periodically realize how disruptive we were being to the much quieter British conversations going on at other tables.

We would politely lower our noise level only to have it come roaring back several minutes later. This process repeated itself several times.

While we did encounter quite a few disapproving glances from other tables, The Red Lion thankfully tolerated our rambunctious ways and served us an outstanding meal.

I struck out on my own on Friday and decided to return to The Red Lion for a proper pub experience. I entered the pub on the ground floor, bought a pint of Guinness (how could I leave the British Isles without having a pint of Guinness?), and sat down on a bar stool next to a window. It was a rare sunny day and golden light danced on the polished wood of The Red Lion. I pulled out my newly purchased copy of Manfred Steger’s Globalization: A Very Short Introduction and began to read. Around me, people of all ethnicities and languages discussed poli-

tics, business, and life in the global city of London. As I read, my thoughts turned increasingly toward what London embodies – a global city where people from all walks of life interact and prosper. This resonated deeply with me. Perhaps tradition can live in symbiosis with modernity, just as The Red Lion and London do today. If this city shows what a more globalized world can be, perhaps the future is brighter than many of us think. ■

Culture

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How to smuggle candy into the States Leah Sitz

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isclaimer: I am not a law-breaker. I follow rules. The most criminal thing I did in London was jaywalk, which isn't even illegal in London. But from the Heathrow Airport to Houston to Lawrence, I felt like I was #1 on the world’s most wanted.

It wasn’t a lighter or a box of matches that I transported across the Atlan-

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tic. Nor did I carry on a small knife or a package with dry ice. In fact, all four of these objects are acceptable to have on your person 35,000 feet in the air. The object I risked the wrath of U.S. Customs and $17,500 in fines for was nothing but candy.

The Kinder Surprise is chocolate in the shape of a hollowed egg. Beneath

the milk chocolate outside and white chocolate inside is a plastic capsule.

Open the capsule and you’ll discover a fun toy! It could be a car or bike or even an Avenger’s character. But for Americans, the Kinder’s biggest surprise is that they are illegal.

The U.S. has had a ban on candies with embedded toys since 1938; the Kinder Surprise eggs weren’t even manufactured until the 1970s. Regulations prohibit an inedible object to be put inside food.

I happened upon my first Kinder Surprise on the way to the Tate Modern. “Chocolate eggs on sale!” I made the group stop so I could buy some souvenirs. I only bought two little eggs.

The next day, at the airport, I came across special Kinder Surprise eggs; the toy inside was an Avenger! I bought five more eggs, bringing my total to seven. I then went to meet with some of the others to wait for our gate to be posted. I soon learned that the eggs were banned in the U.S. I was devastated to say the least.

My new options were: eat all of the eggs, throw them away, try to return them, or risk them being confiscated and pay heavy fines. I eventually came to the conclusion that the ban was ridiculous. And to show my disproval, I would undermine all airport security and sneak the eggs into America.

As I previously stated, I am not accustomed to breaking rules, so this journey to the dark side was quite terrifying for me. I repeatedly asked others what I should do. I asked Mary what would happen to me if I was caught. I texted my mom to explain the situation and somehow win her approval for my crime.

Before getting on the plane, I stuffed the eggs in my bag. Once we landed in Houston, I got my checked bag from baggage claim and snuck the eggs into it. I put them in plastic bags and under clothes. I wanted them to

be out of sight but not look hidden. If I was caught, I would feign innocence.

The moment of truth came at the security gate before baggage check.

I pulled up my bag beside me and waited for the woman to take it, open it, and send me to a locked jail cell in the bottom of the airport. Instead, she picked it up and threw it onto the conveyor belt. To my knowledge, no one ever checked the contents of my suitcase.

After landing in Kansas City, I anxiously awaited the arrival of my luggage. I saw my bright orange suitcase slide down the ramp and onto the conveyor belt. I didn’t take my eyes off of it until it was safe in my hands. I quickly opened it and found all seven Kinder Surprise eggs safely where I left them.

My next Easter time egg fiasco will include Cascarones, or Mexican confetti eggs. These too are banned in the U.S. ■

Haribo Candy Nicole Hawkins Anyone on the trip that was around me for more than 10 minutes can vouch that I’m no stranger to sweets of any kind. If something has sugar in it, I’m likely to try it. I can eat candy morning, noon, and night. I had it in my purse, hotel room, suitcase at all times. I would eat it in museums, during theater, while waiting for courses at dinner and so on. Haribo gummy brand seemed to have a large presence around London, and those were the ones that I was drawn to the most.

Over the course of the trip, I found myself eating bags of what was called “Fangtastics,” and there was a variety of sour gummies and plain gummies. They had all different kinds of shapes from sunny side up eggs to cherries and Coca-Cola bottles. I had my share of sampling, because you could find these gummies in almost any drug store, or gift shop all around London. A fun fact about the Haribo confectionary brand is that, contrary to popular belief, Haribo was actually invented in Germany, not England. The name comes from the creator, Hans Riegel, and the location of the first factory, Bonn. The first two letters of the man’s name and the location in Germany are put together to create Haribo.

Not only were the gummies enjoyable for my taste buds, but it was also a way to start a conversation with people on the trip. Although I found myself eating more than half the bag in most cases, in my failed attempt to be healthy, I would offer the person next to me what was left in the bag. They provided us a basis of conversation, and then we were able to move onto more important parts of London than just the recently empty bag of candy.

If you haven’t tried this brand of candy, take it from your 2015 London Review self proclaimed candy connoisseur, they’re worth a shot!

Culture

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Food / Drink

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Full English breakfast Nicole Hawkins

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thought that I had stayed in enough hotels in my life to comprehend the meaning of a “continental breakfast.” I planned on eating as much as I could so that I would be able to spend my allotted food money elsewhere, but I questioned how full I could get on what I thought was the continental breakfast. The first morning I stumbled into the dining room expecting to see some old eggs, wrapped muffins, over cooked sausage and of course coffee and some concentrated juices. But to my surprise, I was being waited on and got my own pot of coffee or tea every morning. There was also a selection of the most beautifully wrapped little jams, and other condiments to accompany your so called “free breakfast.” Each morning the wait staff would come to our

tables with smiles on their faces and ask whether we wanted tea or coffee, and then would proceed to pour it for us. The first day I was asked, “Would you like the full English breakfast?” I was confused because I was under the impression that I had already chosen my breakfast from the food that was out. After all, they had a variety of yogurts, granola, cheese and cold

cuts, muffins, and of course croissants. I presumed that this was more than enough to hold someone over until they got lunch a few hours later.

However, since I was given the option for a full English breakfast, I of course took advantage of that. And what was put in front of me was absolutely delicious!

The full English breakfast consisted of beans, your style of eggs, English bacon, sausage, sautéed mush-

rooms, and your choice of “brown or white” toast. At first, I wasn’t sure how I felt about beans for breakfast, but I thought I should give it a try. Everything ended up tasting very good together, and as the week went on I even customized my order to the foods that I fancied more than others.

I opted for egg whites and no meat. At first the waitress was utterly confused when I said egg whites, but then she caught on the days after and we even joked about it. It wasn’t so much that I was trying to be difficult, rather I just didn’t want to waste the food that I knew I wouldn’t eat. I even took a few chocolate and blueberry muffins to snack on as we attended numerous venues throughout the day. As you can imagine those came in handy, and even saved me a few pounds; literally and figuratively.

Overall, I was overly impressed with the presentation, taste, and definition of the continental breakfast. The only request I have is that the water glasses be bigger! ■

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The importance of a full English breakfast Jesse Burbank

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reakfast has always been an important ritual for me. It represents the one time of day where I can enjoy a meal in quiet contemplation and think of the challenges and opportunities that await me in the coming hours. I place a great deal of significance on this ritual, and rarely diverge from my usual course of scrambled eggs, tater tots, and yogurt. The Full English Breakfast served by the Grange Strathmore, however, brought about a radical transformation in my views toward what breakfast is and how it is enjoyed.

The breakfast consisted of fried mushrooms, sausage links, baked beans, back bacon, eggs, white or brown toast, a tomato, and copious amounts of coffee or tea. In summation, the breakfast consists of everything that is good in this world. I had never eaten back bacon before this, and I found it to be much better than the crispy strips of salted fat that Americans lust after. Likewise, I had never even considered that baked beans could be an integral part of the breakfast experience. Taken together, these foods created a wonderful medley of flavor.

If, for whatever reason, one was not satisfied with a Full English Breakfast, a continental breakfast buffet is placed in the room. Here breakfastgoers can graze on individually jarred servings of jam, croissants, fruits, cold cuts, and many other delightful options. I just have one piece of advice: avoid marmite, a sickly brown paste made from yeast extract and popularized during the rationing years of the Second World War and post-war era.

I suspect this did the British government the service of both providing people with a substitute for butter

and killing any appetite they may have had for anything else.

It’s also during my Full English Breakfast that I experienced how odd it is to be served by the dining staff.

It’s a truly strange feeling to have someone pouring your tea or cleaning up the little mess of crumbs around you while you’re still eating. One part of me appreciates their attentiveness; another part feels unworthy of it.

Each day, I would come down to this glorious meal and talk with the group.

We would reflect on the activities of the previous day, discuss plans for the day to come, and revel in how amazing it is to be in London. It was during this time that I was able to connect with other members of the group in the best possible atmosphere – one with lots caffeine and good food.

Paradigmatic shifts in my understanding of breakfast are remarkably rare, but this is precisely what a week of Full English Breakfasts represents to me.

So, why not have baked beans for breakfast? Who says bacon has to be paper-thin and almost entirely composed of fat? And why won’t the waiter at IHOP clean up the crumbs around me? ■

Food / Drink

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High tea at Kensington Orangery Casey Mwangi

“H

ere comes the tea, shall I be mother?” said the gentleman from the table across from mine, as my mouth began to water in nostalgia, reminiscent of my tea-time memories, growing up in rural England. High tea at the Kensington Palace’s Orangery exemplifies a centuries old tradition in Great Britain, where families gather around a table in the morning, noon or afternoon, for a cup of tea and the proverbial “crumpets”.

The Orangery was surrounded by beautiful formal gardens in the grounds of Kensington Palace, and offers a relaxed and elegant setting for breakfast or lunch and is the only royal palace in London where you can enjoy a traditional afternoon tea. It was once the setting for Queen Anne’s sophisticated court entertainment, and its soaring ceilings and classical 18th century architecture is a magnificent backdrop for the restaurant’s simple and authentic menu of English savory.

Afternoon tea is usually served between meals because traditionally many upper class folks in England wouldn’t eat their evening meal until around 8pm and therefore afternoon tea served as a small meal or snack before dinner. While Afternoon Tea was largely a social event for their upper class, the working class on the other hand would come home from the farms and factories, and were ready

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for dinner around 6pm. Therefore, tea was served together with dinner at the high table and hence the name High Tea. Afternoon Tea menu served in the UK today is often referred to as High Tea interchangeably and is usually served in three courses; 1st Course

savories are Tea and sandwiches, and 2nd Course is Scones with Jam and Cream, while the 3rd Course is usually sweets and biscuits.

While enjoying my afternoon tea at the Kensington Palace’s Orangery, I was able to observe and list the following rules of etiquette on how to have a Proper “cuppa.” i. “Shall I be Mother “is something you say before you serve tea to someone at the table from the kettle.

ii. Dress code is smart casual, preferably trousers and collared shirts with uncuffed shoes. Sportswear is absolutely not allowed. iii. Milk is preferably poured in first then the tea. iv. To stir your cup, place your spoon in a 6 o’clock position and fold the tea towards the 12 o’clock position whilst making sure not to clink the spoon against the sides of the cup. You must also remember to not leave the spoon in the cup, instead place it on the saucer to the side of the cup. Also, do not lift the saucer unless you are standing. v. Hold the cup with the thumb and fingers with the pinky finger extended out. vi. Never blow on tea to cool it down and never slurp the tea, sip it instead. vii. Do not dunk biscuits into your tea, and to eat your scone, break it up in little pieces or cut it in half and top it off with butter, cream or jam. Eat them individually and please don’t scoff it all in your mouth. viii. Always place the cup down before you start eating again. ix. Always place used cutlery back on your plate & not the table. x. When finished with your meal, place the cutlery @ 4 O’clock with the fork tines facing up & never push your plate forward. xi. Mobile phones are a not allowed at the table. ■

High tea for high-class people Jenny O’Grady

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here is no American equivalent to the elegance and charm that is high tea. Not even a country club brunch could come close. Even in a sensible dress and pumps, I still felt like I wasn’t put together enough.

One woman even had a nice little hat (so British!), while I’m still learning how to rock a baseball cap in the States.

The Ritz Carlton’s Palm Court spared no expense. The walls were ornately covered in a Rococo-esque pink, rich cream, and gold detailing. Giant vases of fresh white flowers contrasted with the green potted foliage. Additionally, mirrors paneled one wall, reflecting my face among others in awe of this unreal place. My reflection, however, did hide my questioning: do these people know I’m not from a prominent, old money family? Do I try to eat this macaroon with a fork?

The Ritz is not for the indecisive, as they offered around ten different kinds of tea with exotic blends dating back to Britain’s imperialistic age.

After you choose one out of the ten teas, the rest falls into order. Plates with finger sandwiches from cucumber to Salmon to peach chutney arrived along with macaroons and fruit tarts and brownies and mousse and an entire plate of scones. Just for good measure they brought out carts with walnut mocha cake and a fancy orange cake. And I felt the need to try everything, which impaired my breathing abilities.

I ordered the Mint Infusion tea and was waited upon by multiple men in tuxes with unknown European accents. No tea bags were present, as the leaves were directly mixed into the water and later poured through the strainer into my cup. I am perhaps ruined for all tea contained in a bag

now. My Tazo tea just hasn’t been as incredible as what England had to offer. I do not know how America’s founding fathers could willing throw such treasure into the Boston Harbor.

London Reviewer Elizabeth and I drank cup after cup as the waiters continued to bring us more and more tea. We stayed for the entirety of our reservation and whispered to one another about our fellow tea-goers and acted as British as can be.

Although the atmosphere is undoubtedly unique from America, the people were even more interesting. A young couple, dressed to the nines, sat a few tables over. An elderly couple across the room, looked wise and exuded wealth. Some women

sat catching up. A pair twenty-somethings were celebrating a birthday.

Right next to us, a sat table with two American college students– who Elizabeth and I thought were doing a far worse job of blending in than us.

I felt extremely high class living in the lap of luxury. Although we had seen the massive wealth in Kensington by the homes and the cars, I felt the most elitist at high tea. I felt like my life was a movie or a TV show and I had the kind of lifestyle to afford high tea casually one or twice a week. Then we asked for the check. I remembered I didn’t have a trust fund or title and shrieked. We left 100 pounds poorer, but we sure felt rich. ■

Food / Drink

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Good eats Sanjay Parashar

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rowing up in an Indian household, I was spoiled when it came to food. My favorite pastime as a kid was bothering my mom about what was for dinner because I looked forward to tasting my mom’s tried and true Indian dishes, or whatever vegetable experiment she had concocted for the night. Being raised on homemade meals for eighteen years of my life led me to be just a little judgmental when it came to quality cuisine, and together with Britain’s infamy about their quality of food, made me more than a little skeptical on the type meals I would get during our trip in London. Boy, was I wrong.

The first mistake I made about food in London was expecting all British food to be bland and boring. While containing nowhere close to the amount of flavor in Indian food, British food, in particular pub food, had its own unique flavors and dishes that made it endearing. Fish and chips with a generous flavoring of vinegar, a pub classic, was a refreshing take on cod and French fries. The vinegar gave the fried food a nice sour kick to counter the fishy and starchy tastes. Similarly, pies were another staple of all pubs I visited, with all sorts of variations of the baked bread dish available. My favorite pie was a mutton and red plum pie found at the Red Lion on Whitehall. The sweetness of the plum made for an interesting combination with the chewy texture of the mutton and was definitely something I would

Mutton Pie at the Red Lion

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Friends humoring me at Abeno Too’s not have expected to try in London. King’s Cross area to try my hand at While I was pleasantly surprised with the Indian food London had to offer, the quality of the British food I expe- and compare to that I had tried back rienced, I was still skeptical of the di- in the US. Traveling on Drummond versity of food London had to offer me.

My second mistake was underestimating the diversity of London. The former capital of a global empire and with a metro population of over thirteen million people, London is one of most diverse cities in Europe, if not the entire world and its A Rava Onion Dosa at Ravi Shankar offering of cuisines reflects that. From panAsia noodles to South Street, I saw endless restaurants ofAfrican chicken dishes fering all sorts of different flavors of with Mozambican and Indian food from traditional South InPortuguese inspirations, dian dining to all vegetarian menus. I London offers almost decided to give Ravi Shankar, a South every conceivable type Indian restaurant, a chance and orof food a person could dered my favorite South Indian dish, desire. With India being a Rava Onion Dosa. Their dosa was a former colony of the the perfect mix of soft enough to tear British Empire, Indian apart without it falling apart, yet crisp food was seemingly ev- enough to give that satisfying crunch erywhere in London. I as you chewed it in your mouth, and decided to travel to the their sambar had the perfect amount

of seasoning to spice up the dosa. The dosa I tried at Ravi Shankar had to be one of the best dosas I have ever had, both in the US and in India. While Indian food’s popularity came as no surprise, I was more shocked at London’s offering of specialty Japanese food, in particular, okoOkonomiyaki cooking on the grill nomiyaki. As someone with a particular interest in Japan and who had befriended finally tried okonomiyaki and was many Japanese exchange students, I even more excited that I had been had always wanted to try the famous able to share that experience with my Kansai dish, but had never found any other friends on the trip.

Eating food in London was an advenrestaurant that offered it in the US. I found my chance after Shakespeare ture all in itself. Whether it was simply in Love, when I stumbled upon Abeno experiencing British cuisine for the first

Lowlander Grand Café Matthew Applequist The Lowlander makes this list above other, older, possibly more deserving establishments for one reason- Delirium Tremens is served fresh, cold, on tap. This Belgian pub has limited seating, resulting in the bar’s crowded, busy character. The persistent energy is a strange, but welcome shift from the hushed, proper ambiance of the surrounding English pubs. For an avid consumer of Belgian beers, the bar menu at the Lowlander proves to be second to none; the excellence of their tap selection is rivaled only by the staggering diversity of their vast bottle list.

McFraud

How the u.k. ruined an american institution

Lunch buffet at Ravi Shankar Too in the Convent Garden area. After convincing some of the rest of the London reviewers to join, I had my first taste of okonomiyaki. Fresh off the hot grill, the dish was very hot, but incredibly delicious as the Japanese mayonnaise and okonomiyaki sauce provided a bitter and sweet flavor while the squid, cabbage, and egg gave it a squishy consistency. Needless to say I was in love with the dish and we ordered two more for all of us to share and try. I was ecstatic to have

time and discovering its reputation is falsely attributed, or trying all the different ethnic food London had to offer, from those very familiar to ones I had only dreamed of trying. London cuisine is a cuisine of its own kind; defying any simple one or two word definition. It is simply the world’s cuisine, and I cannot recommend enough trying as many different and unique foods as you can in London in order to get the true London experience. ■

they don’t even mix the toppings around available toppings: Dairy milk, smarties, crunchies “crunchies taste like cookie flavored pop rocks”

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You can take the girl out of America Elizabeth Erker

M

arch 19 was a big day for this American girl in London. After spending the morning and afternoon immersing myself in British activities, from navigating the brisk chill of the damp streets to sampling warm tea in the height of luxury, I was ready to return to my American roots. I was starving, and only a hamburger would do. Fortunately, I was in luck. Our Kensington accommodations were mere minutes from Byron, a restaurant whose slogan, “Proper Hamburgers” was the answer to my prayers. While I was initially skeptical that any British attempt at a burger could rival those I had grown up eating in Nebraska (the heart of cow country), Byron was there to prove me wrong.

As I crossed the threshold from the dark, sleeting evening, I was greeted by warm lighting, Formica countertops, vinyl-covered booths, and a friendly staff whose t-shirts hailed the virtues of an American staple done right, sporting phrases like “classic,” “pickles,” and the like. I immediately felt at home. This was familiar territory. I knew exactly how to order a burger – medium well with cheese, lettuce, catsup, and mustard. I also knew that a side of fries was necessary, as well as an ice cold Coke. Byron, fortunately, was happy to oblige.

My wish was the waiter’s command, and in a matter of minutes, it was time to pass judgment. It was time to look past the external side of what Byron had to offer, to see beyond the snappy verbiage on the menu, the whimsical graphics and signage, and the cushy seating accommodations. While it APPEARED to be a serious hamburger spot, the jury was out as far its ability to deliver on quality.

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It was the moment of truth. Mind you, this was not an unqualified appraisal. I had spent years in the States preparing for this moment, sampling burgers from coast to coast with a variety of toppings, buns and condiments. I was making an educated assessment; calling on skills I had spent decades honing. I carefully removed the toothpick that held the various components of the masterpiece together. I lifted the bun to ensure it was not providing shelter to any unwelcome onions or tomatoes. So far, so good. As I lifted the burger to my mouth, I closed my eyes to block out the world around me. Getting a good bite was my sole focus.

The verdict: the best British hamburger I’ve ever had. While I must admit it remains the ONLY British

hamburger I’ve ever had, it was an outstanding culinary experience from start to finish. The burger was cooked to perfection, slightly pink and oozing with flavor on a cloud-like, squishy bun. The “extras” were all in good order – lettuce, cheese and the various condiments excelling in their supporting roles. It was a symphony of savory delight, and one that was exactly what I had been searching for that evening in the misty London fog.

Who’s to say if it would stand up to its American competitors on any given day in the States? That is not the point. The point is that when I needed it, Byron and its “Proper Hamburgers” was there, fries and all.

And don’t even get me started on the Oreo milkshake I had for dessert… ■

A pint of order Matthew Applequist

W

hen we began to explore the area around our hotel within the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea, my posse and I naturally gravitated to the first pub we laid eyes on- a small, chainowned pub oddly named The Stanhope Arms. The initial fifteen minutes spent within my first English pub can be described aptly in just one worduncomfortable. It was within these passing minutes that the wheat was separated from the chaff, the men were separated from the boys, and, primarily, the clueless American tourists were separated from the rest of the populace. All confidence I had in my abilities to communicate effectively with another human being vanished the moment I opened the door and set foot inside. After standing awkwardly in the doorway for a seemingly eternal minute, we thought it brilliant to seat ourselves, as no member of the service staff would offer any help beyond brief, painful eye contact.

The atmosphere within the pub was inviting and warm; several groups of people stood or sat around tables enjoying good libations and compelling conversation. Despite the enticing ambience of the establishment, however, I felt unwelcome in an environment that I, as a bartender, practically live in. My thoughts were encumbered with countless questions.

How do I get a beer? What kind of beer do they have? What is a cask beer? Why does this pub have such a strange name? What in the world does it mean? Have I slept at all in the last twenty-four hours? Have I eaten? How do I get a beer? Have I asked that question already? Were the dinosaurs capable of friendship, or was the Land Before Time all a lie?

Naturally, I was a tad exhausted at this point, so not all of my questions were entirely pertinent.

I was captivated by my own anxious shuffling, as well as the nervous shifting of those I was with. One flipped

through a menu with glazed eyes that were obviously not processing any of what he was seeing. Another opted for the time-tested, motherapproved strategy of burying his eyes in his phone, regardless of the fact that he had neither service nor internet. “So… Do we just walk up to the bar? Or… Or are we supposed to wait here?” I posed the chief question that had been plaguing my mind, but it was met with little more than shrugging shoulders and murmurs from the group. Waitresses, waiters, bartenders, and the like filed past our table, yet none offered any encouragement or insight. I don’t know if it was the overwhelming awkwardness or if it was simply my deep-seeded need for a pint, but I even considered pulling out my copy of Watching the English to scan the section on pub culture for the answers we so desperately needed. Just as we were beginning to construct our exit strategy, I miraculously noticed a chalkboard mounted on the bar, “Note your table number and order all food and drinks from the bar.”

Wow; how revolutionarily simple. We were instantly indebted to each of the innumerable groups of oblivious tourists that made such a sign necessary.

The bartender’s expression as I approached the counter spoke more loudly than his words. “What can I get ya, mate?” he asked, while I heard, “You finally figured it out, did you? I’ve seen chimps solve puzzles more difficult. Idiot.” “I’ll take a pint of the London Pride,” I said shakily, simply choosing the first tap handle that I saw, a decision I would almost instantly regret. The rest of the group shuffled up to the bar in a similar, unsure fashion, ordering and paying for our drinks separately. We drank our beers and conversed in hushed tones as the atmosphere around us grew louder and slowly began to open up.

The judgmental glances from fellow patrons were less frequent, the beer was flowing, but we couldn’t seem to

overcome the awkwardness of those first fifteen minutes. Luckily for us, the lessons hard learned in those antsy, opening moments made our experiences at every following pub infinitely less stressful.

Although the Stanhope was an initially fraught endeavor for our group, I’m glad we got the unavoidable uneasiness out of the way early. In retrospect, there was no better teacher than an impromptu crash course in English pub courtesies. When the dreaded moment came and we were within our final pub for the trip, a discerning onlooker might have thought that we were each born in the pub.

All the serious health code violations associated with that metaphor aside, we walked, talked, drank, and cheered like proper English. With a calm, collected coolness, we each would fearlessly strut to the bar, buying round after glorious round of drinks for our crew, never, ever passing an opportunity to offer the bartender, “and one for yourself!” ■

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Pints for days Maria Kingfisher

I

have never liked the taste of beer.

It’s thick, and foamy, and makes my stomach hurt. That being said, I knew, being in London, I wanted to immerse myself in the culture. Going to the pub after work to grab a pint is at the core of London’s social life, and it’s not difficult to see why.

It’s a place where you can chat with friends, flirt with strangers, or sit and people watch. And beer is a key factor in embracing London’s culture.

I am the type of person who strongly believes in trying new things, so I made an effort to taste different beers

and make my own decisions about them. The first beer I drank in London was a cider called Strongbow. I drank it by chance at Jetlag the night of the KU vs. Iowa St game. It was cold, crisp, and absolutely delicious. Kind of a girly choice I suppose, but I didn’t stop there. At every pub I went to, I asked the bartender which beer they recommended and tried many different things. Pale ales, lagers, bitters…

Anything I could try, I did try.

Now, if I’m being completely honest, I wasn’t a huge fan of the beers I tried. But I tried them in an at-

tempt to engage in the new culture.

In America, I have often associated drinking with parties and crazy college kids. In Europe, however, I began to see why beer is such a large part of the culture. Drinking is a daily part of Londoner life, a part of being in London. As I said, I’ve never really liked beer. But I am nothing if not willing to try something new.■

The pub crawl for Perfection Matthew Applequist As my exploration of London continued into its second and third day and beyond, I shied away from the Stanhope and other chain-owned pubs, which were becoming increasingly difficult to detect and avoid. Even if the pub had a unique and absurd name, which they almost all did, there was still a good chance that it had a standardized food and drink menu provided to them by a larger company that they shared with a great number of pubs around the city. A good rule of thumb, I found, was to simply look at the pub’s menu. If it was designed well, laminated, and supplemented with professional photos of food and drinks, the pub was a chain. I wasn’t about to spend all of my time in London eating and drinking at a pub that, in actuality, was comparable to an Applebee’s; I wanted a cultural immersion. I made it my mission to eat the authentic pub food that the English eat, drink the beer that the English drink, and to do both of these inherently English activities within the confines of as many real, aged English pubs as time and my liver would allow. Through this intensive research, I can say without a doubt that the best meals, beer, and conversations exist in indescribable harmony within these ancient pubs. Some of the locations I visited have been in a lengthy, constant pursuit of this perfection, evidenced by the fact that they had already been serving up hot food and good beer for centuries by the time our Founding Fathers drafted the Declaration of Independence.

These few pubs were more than just old buildings; they were alive and breathing, as if each was the beating heart of the neighborhood that housed it. My search for the perfect public house is yet in its infancy; however, I have managed to hammer out my three favorite pub experiences from my time in London.

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London brews Austin O’Grady

T

he East India Company, more properly referred to as the Honourable East India Company, was an English joint-stock company, which accounted for half of the world’s trade at the company’s pinnacle. After receiving a Royal Chart from Queen Elizabeth I in 1600, the megacorporation dominated the world trade of cotton, salt, tea and silk. They are also credited for the creation of the India Pale Ale (IPA) beer.

As ships were transporting goods from England to India, they commonly encountered barrels of beer that were spoiled due to warm temperatures and poor storage techniques.

The solution for this problem was to add strong hops to their brews. These hops had a natural preservative property that allowed ships to successfully transport their beers to India, but they also had the unintended consequence of stronger flavors.

In the last decade, the number of breweries has doubled in the United States, most of which are small, specialized shops aptly called Craft Brew-

eries. Many of these craft breweries aim to produce one type of flagship beer: the IPA. So this had me excited. I was going to the birthplace of the beer that has captivated the taste buds of American beer enthusiasts, young and old. I was hoping that I’d get to taste some of the best brews in the world and delight-

To the bartenders of London Lindsey Fleming Dear bartenders/servers of London, I would greatly appreciate some honesty from you when I ask about certain kinds of wine. When I make a request for “the sweetest kind of wine you have,” I don’t mean something so bitter that I have to chug it down as fast as I can while simultaneously gagging. After having a glass of wine with each meal, and hating each one, I would highly recommend that you look up the meaning of the word “sweet”. Thank you for ruining my chances of looking like a high-class, elegant woman of London.

Hope this helps, Lindsey Fleming fully expand my pallet with every pub I could find. Man, was I wrong.

I stopped into my first pub the day we arrived to grab some food and to see if I could find a delicious local beer to quench my thirst. Located half a block from Westminster Abbey, we settled on a quant little place called Westminster Arms. My first steps in, and my hopes skyrocketed. What I saw was an adult version of a candy store; draught lines running the walls converging at the brassplated bar with as many beers taps as I had ever seen. I excitedly asked for a pint of India Pale Ale, by Faversham Brewery, and watched in glory as the barkeep pumped me a glass.

After wiping the saliva from the corner of my mouth, I grabbed the lukewarm glass and took my first swig. Confused, I sipped again; making sure the nectar hits every taste bud in my mouth. I had intentionally ordered the strongest IPA on draught

expecting to be slapped in the face with hoppy aromas but instead was greeted with a weak – albeit – pleasant, watery taste. This is a trend that would continue at every pub, but one that I learned to really appreciate.

Much like we have done with French fries and pizza, I believe that America has perfected beer. While I may be (very) biased, I don’t mean to say that I didn’t taste some amazing beers, they just were not what I was expecting.

Lower in alcohol content and higher in water; English beers are designed to tailor to the drinking habits of the locals. It was more common than not to come across a group of businessmen on their lunch break having more than a few pints with their meat pies.

The beers are different, and whether better or worse, it is an opinion that I encourage you to explore yourself. My only advice is to go into it with an open mind and not to expect the same styles that you would on our side of the pond. There is a huge selection of brews to choose from, and even if strong tasting beers aren’t your choice, there’s sure to be a bottle of Budweiser chilling nearby. ■

Food / Drink

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Observations

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This trip to London was brought to you

by Coca-Cola Abby Ogden

O

ne of the first things I noticed about London was the strong presence Coca-Cola holds there. In America, a commonly asked question in restaurants is, “Do you have Pepsi or Coke products?” Not in London. After ordering my Diet Coke, as I always do, I was never asked, “Is Diet Pepsi O.K?” Not even once!

When the waiters brought me my drinks, I was always delighted to see them carrying small, glass Coca-Cola bottles, a rare site in the States, along with a glass full of ice, always containing a slice of lime. If you ordered a regular Coke, your glass would come with a lemon slice instead of lime;

these people really knew what they are doing. What captivated me most about the glasses they brought was that they were not ordinary glasses like the ones we get in American restaurants. They were always Coca-Cola brand glasses.

Interestingly enough, the dominance of Coca-Cola in London is not limited to restaurants. The London Eye struck up a new sponsorship with

Coca-Cola just two months before our class visited London. Had we arrived in December, our pictures would have shown the London Eye illuminated in blue instead of Coca-Cola red. This change proved quite controversial among the Londoners who believed that the deal would promote poor health. I find this opinion ironic considering the abundance of Coca-Cola products already present in London. ■

The Dove Matthew Applequist Situated in a dimly lit passageway at the west end of the Furnival Gardens in Hammersmith, the Dove boasts a scenic terrace nestled on the bank of the River Thames.

Adding to its allure, the Dove’s multiple sitting rooms (including Guinness World Record’s smallest bar room in the world), cheeky character, accommodating bar staff, breathtaking views, and worthy tap selections make this a natural choice for the discerning bar-goer

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Speaking English Jesse Burbank

T

hroughout my time in London, one thing that seemed to strike me wherever I went was the fearless use of the English language.

Whether they were sparring in Prime Minister’s Questions or simply riding the Tube, the British seem to freely use words that would be considered too pretentious and complex for nonacademic use in the United States. To paraphrase Mary Klayder, the British

“abscond,” “preternatural,” and “whilst” seemed to flow without a hint of reservaJackson Byam tion in my conA guy in front of me on the train versations with is checking his Instagram.

Londoners.

For the last 5 minutes, This speaks to every photo has been of a sandwich. a broader narrative about British There are two drunk families in the lobby. popular culture – I think they’re Irish. One of the older women that smart is seen is loudly and detailedly explaining the plot as sexy. Writers, of Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events. intellectuals, and orators like Stephen Fry or David use of language. Its flowing elegance, Attenborough occupy prominent placits passionate inflections gives life es on British television. Reasoned deto ideas. Stephen Fry says this wonbate is seen as an integral part of not derfully, stating, “Language is the only politics, but religion, entertainbreath of God. Language is the dew ment, and all other parts of society. on a fresh apple, it’s the soft rain of Actors like Emma Watson and Daniel dust that falls into a shaft of morning Radcliffe attempt to have productive, light as you pluck from an old booksocially impactful careers that broadA Bit of Fry and Laurie shelf a half-forgotten book of erotic en social understandings. These culmemoirs. Language is the creak on a attitude toward language can best tural figures all stand in stark contrast stair, it’s a spluttering match held to a be described as, “Don’t understand a to the likes of Kardashian family or the frosted pane, it’s a half-remembered word? Look it up.” cast of Jersey Shore. childhood birthday party, it’s the For example, when reaching a stop, Beyond creating a culture conwarm, wet, trusting touch of a leaking the Tube will not request that travel- ducive to intellectual thought and nappy, the hulk of a charred Panzer, ers “get off” or “depart.” Such base debate, however, the British use of the underside of a granite boulder, language would be unworthy of the English is aesthetically beautiful. Simthe first downy growth on the upper London Underground. Instead, it ply viewing a few minutes of the claslip of a Mediterranean girl.” Indeed, will tell them to “alight” at their de- sic British comedy show A Bit of Fry the beauty of language and the desired location. Likewise, works like and Laurie gave me a taste for this scriptive powers it holds seems to be ironically beyond words.

The British do not shy away from the penetrating beauty of words, regardless of whether they sound Whitney Ashlock gaudy or complex. Rather, they embrace their language without reserve.

I woke up late on Thursday and drank some tea.

I greatly appreciated this linguistic After walking to the park, I realized I had to pee. atmosphere. Indeed, the acceptance I was on a search to find a toilet, of using sophisticated language reOnly to find out that I would need my wallet. gardless of how accessible it is to the general public is a practice the United I wasn’t happy to find that I had to pay a fee.

States may benefit from. Perhaps an But what was I to do? I had to pee. increased willingness to express oneI pulled out my purse and paid a pound. self in one’s own terms would create Then I walked through the door, my face showing a frown. a more cerebral, expressive national culture. ■

People watching

Pounds to pee

Observations

39

Fitbit through London Logan Meyer

I

’ve never been one to enjoy working out or had the need to count calories, but I decided to buy a Fitbit Flex anyway. A Fitbit Flex is an activity tracker you wear around your wrist that monitors your daily activity, 24 hours a day. You can view your

activity with your phone with the Fitbit app. One of the Fitbit features includes a step counter. I decided to purchase a Fitbit because I thought it would be interesting to see how many steps I took each day while I was in London.

Before arriving, I assumed I would do quite a bit of walking, but the amount of walking I actually did, blew my mind!

My Fitbit is programed with a goal of 10,000 steps. Before leaving, I had never hit that goal in a single day. Everyday I spent in London, I hit my goal and usually doubled it. One day I walked over 24,000 steps and my feet were definitely hurting by the time I was able to lay down for the night.

London broke my shoes Kerry McCullough I kid you not: London broke my shoes!

Alright, so I’m personifying the city a bit; I know it’s my own fault for wearing out my favorite black boots. I wasn’t bargaining on it being as cold as it was during our visit, but seeing that it was overcast nearly everyday and never rose above 60 degrees, wearing my black boots made sense. In the end though, it was the walking that did me in. I’ve told myself I’m not allowed to complain about walking on campus ever again because it really doesn’t compare to the treks we made in London. All those miles took a toll on my poor shoes and now the sole is tearing away from the leather. I liked those shoes!

Man...oh well, I figure if you’re going to break your shoes, you might as well do it in London and have an awesome story to go with it. And just maybe a little super glue will put them in better shape.

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If you are planning a trip to London, take my advice: wear comfortable shoes at all times and avoid wearing heels if you can. Also, consider investing in a Fitbit! If you are anything like me, you might find it rewarding to see how much exercise you are getting while exploring such a wonderful city. ■

Baby’s First Beer

TAKING ADVANTAGE OF THE AGE 18 LEGAL STATUS

The pups of London Whitney Ashlock

I

am an owner of three dogs and anyone who knows me well can confidently say that I can’t keep my distance when I see a dog approaching. I enjoyed watching dogs run around all the parks I walked through in London.

I could easily tell the dog owners of

fordshire Bull Terriers.” I couldn’t help myself every time I saw a dog with its homeless companion. I gave change every chance I could. Dogs win over my heart every time.

I walked through London keeping an eye out for any unique dogs for the remaining time in the trip and actually saw many types familiar of dogs. There were Labrador Retrievers, poodles, corgis, and Terriers of some sort most of the time. Seeing a dog while on a walk with my friends was something I couldn’t help but point out and smile at. I saw first-hand that

London was known for their obsession of dogs. Just after exploring the first park on the trip, I quickly fell in love with the atmosphere of London’s playful pups. ■

I’m not gonna ask Derek Pendergast London took their dogs seriously. Every neighborhood or park I visited had dogs, and sometimes multiple dogs.

From the way they were groomed to the way they walked, these pups were far different from the ones in Kansas.

My favorite encounter with a dog was on Sunday after our tour through London with Angie. A few of us were hungry and frozen, so we began walking through Hyde Park in search for a pub. On our way there was a big, fluffy dog walking around greeting visitors of the park. It was unlike any dog I had ever seen before. He was so beautiful and friendly. I spent so much time petting and taking pictures of him that I got left far behind from my friends. It was worth it.

Another unfortunate, but popular, place I spotted cute pups were on the streets. Many homeless people in London owned a dog. It was kind of strange to me how many of the homeless people not only had a dog, but had the same type of dog. Those dogs were also unlike any dog one would typically see in Kansas. They looked like a chubby mixture of a pit bull and a bulldog. After a few days I finally asked a man on Portobello Road what these interesting dogs were called and he answered, “Staf-

It took me five days to find a dog that would come to me in London.

Straddling the line between creepy dog stalker and sane dog lover is hard work when every dog I encountered acted as proper as a British accent makes someone sound. None of them came charging at me or even acknowledged the love vibes I was putting out in the universe.

All the dogs in Hyde Park would run off leash and I did my best to make eye contact; if I did coaxing them over would be easy. Then I would get the attention I was looking for. Alas, no one would show me any interest.

Maybe a sane person would have asked to pet a dog, but I like to make things difficult. Why shoot at fish in a barrel when you could catch them in the river with your bare hands, am I right?

March 19th Elli and I parted ways (we were visiting Charles Dickens’ house) so she could go to Harry Potter world and I could do whatever it was I was going to do. When I got on the tube I positioned myself next to the sliding doors and two Scottie dogs came prancing in with their owner.

Close space, no escape, on leashes, perfect! The man with the dogs sat a seat away from where I was standing. As people got off at different stops I moved closer to the dogs. I tried to be as mysterious as a secret agent before I asked to pet them.

All I had to do was get one dog’s attention and the other would follow, this was the easy part. I waved my hand a little, pretended I was doing something with my phone and he was putty in my hands. He looked over at me and we exchanged a glance. He knew what I was thinking so he jumped up and his front paws were on my legs, GOTCHA! Of course the owner pulled him away, but this was my cue. At this rate it looked like the dog was interested in me not the other way around so I asked if I could pet them and he said yes.

Woo hoo! After five days of nothing, my trickery finally worked. I stayed sitting on the tube floor for at least six stops petting both of those dogs and it was bliss. They were the first and only dogs I was able to interact with the entire trip. Either way, mission accomplished.

Observations

41

Pick a side: the dilemmas of walking orderly on a sidewalk Caroline VanSlambrouck

W

alking through London’s winding streets, I began to realize there was an underlying pedestrian code of conduct that explains the side and pace at which a native Londoner walks. Interested, I delved into discovering what this code was through trial and error. Here are my finds.

On busy streets, it is chaos. I decided that in the City of London, you walk wherever you want, at whatever pace you want, and try as much as possible to stay out of everyone else’s way.

On the side streets or outer neighborhoods, however, it is a different story. Assuming you and your opponent are in a low-traffic area and are walking singly towards each other, things became slightly clearer. I began by picking a side and then watching my opponent’s feet and face to decode the hidden social norm. If I was walking on the left side of the road, things appeared normal. The oncomer would continue to stay to their left and walk with no visible anxiety. If I started on the same left side, however, and then did one slight cross over to my right, the opposing pedestrian

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would also do a side step to his or her right, and suddenly we would both be in the middle of the sidewalk walking head on and getting no where nearer to passing each other. I would take a side step back to my right as to pass the pedestrian, noticing the anxiety twisted into their British face.

Things got even trickier if I began my journey on the right side of the sidewalk. We would then attempt to communicate through eye movement and head nods to reveal if the other was going to conform to the accepted left side of the road or go against the order, stay on the right, and expose oneself as a tourist, although my Lonely Planet cover that screamed “LONDON” may have exposed myself.

Trying to fit in, a cover up to dissuade pick-pockets, as much as I could I would try to stay left whenever possible.

I quickly adjusted my American instinct and continued on the rest of trip with little trouble walking on the left side of the sidewalk. The most interesting issue arose when I returned to the States. Walking down Massachusetts Street, I subconsciously walked

on the left side of the sidewalk. Unlike London, where if you firmly chose a side the other would move, American pedestrians refused to budge from their right side of the sidewalk, almost to where they would shoulder bump you to get by. I guess that’s the American way. Suddenly I felt my face twist with anxiety and did what the Britons do – a little jig while trying to read the oncomer’s feet. ■

Pedestrian problems Austin O’Grady

E

ver seen a Lamborghini Aventador? Have you ever heard of one?

Considering there are less than 4,000 of these half-million dollar cars cruising the streets around the world, not many people answer yes to either of these questions. As an amateur car enthusiast, I had read about them many times, but had not seen one in person until London. And then I saw three.

To say that the city would appeal to any car aficionado would be an understatement. The amount of MercedesBenz, BMWs, and Audis parked on the street was staggering and, at times, unsettling that such nice cars would be parked just anywhere. Even cars that are considered special-edition, such as a Mercedes C63 AMG or BMW M5, were in abundance driving down the road. It wasn’t just mass produced luxury cars either. Our group stumbled across a new Mclaren P1 in front of Buckingham Palace and an awe-

some ‘90s Ferrari Testarossa in Piccadilly Circus. I was constantly astounded when we saw countless Bentleys and Rolls-Royces, more often than in some car shows that I’ve been to.

This was often a dangerous problem as a pedestrian; hearing the high-performance engines growl from a few blocks away, my head would immediately be searching the streets, sometimes oblivious to cars that didn’t match the criteria of what I imagined.

Combine this with the necessity to look the opposite way when crossing the street and you have a pretty dangerous mixture when traversing the city as a pedestrian. Furthermore, cars don’t yield to you like they do when you’re crossing Sunnyside Avenue in a blatant jaywalk. Quite the opposite in London, you better get out of the way if a driver has a green light.

There are additional reasons why the streets of London are hazardous.

More than once, I watched in horror as the mirror of a bus came within

inches of colliding with a bystander facing the opposite way. The curbs do not add much protection, as in many places they were just a few inches thick.

The great city planners of London do attempt to help the average, clueless pedestrian though. At nearly every cross-walk we came to, the convenient words, “Look Left” or “Look Right” were painted on the ground to encourage someone to check the correct trajectory of traffic before haphazardly prancing across. I think I may speak for everyone when I say, that was a good idea.

If you like cars or tend to find yourself going into autopilot mode strolling down the street, be forewarned, London is not quite as forgiving as our campus is. Stay alert, and not just for the purr of sports cars, or you may be getting a few honks and angry gibberish shouted at you. ■

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How to avoid getting hit by a London driver Logan Meyer Walking the streets of London can be dangerous. Here are a few tips to get you across the street safely.

1. Look right first: You have to remember that Londoners drive on the left side of the road, rather than the right like we do in the United States. Look right so you don’t accidently step into oncoming traffic.

2. Beware of turning vehicles: Quite a few times, you might need to cross the street at a corner and a car could be trying to turn in your direction. They might sneak up on you so always take a look behind you, just to be sure before you step out into the street.

3. Find a pedestrian crossing: Americans would know them as a crosswalk. Not all of the pedestrian crossings are marked with lights, but they all usually have white stripes on the street and a sign nearby indicating pedestrians have the right of way and vehicles should stop so the individuals can cross safely.

4. Use your best judgment: Cars move quickly down the streets of London, if you are trying to cross in an uncontrolled area, do it with caution. If you are in the way when a car comes, it is very likely you will get honked at or worse‌ hit.

If you are planning a trip to London anytime soon, keep these tips in mind. They will hopefully take a little bit of the stress out of crossing the street.

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Wham Jeans Jackson Byam

“Y

ou wearin’ those Wham!

Jeans, Gary.”

I had been in a booth at this dimly lit pub, waiting for my friends for about a half hour, when I heard this from someone in the large group next to me.

“I’m wearin’ what?” Gary responded, coming back from the bar with a pint.

Gary was a man in his mid to late twenties with light brown hair and a dark coat. He was a few inches taller than his accuser, but other than that, he seemed actively unremarkable. I tried to see what all the fuss over his pants was about, but couldn’t get an angle.

“They’re like you’re in Wham!” his accuser said, using pretty circular reasoning.

“Oh, could you quit takin’ the piss for just a minute, David?”

“I’m not takin’ the piss! I’m just speaking my mind,” David retorted.

David was a squat man at least ten years older than Gary. He was short, bald and squinty-eyed. I think it was a group of coworkers as no one seemed entirely comfortable with their present company.

“Why do you keep saying Wham?”

Gary asked.

“Wham?” David said, “Like the group from the ‘80s? Y’know, George Michael and that other lad?”

“They are tight jeans. Like in the ‘80s.” Another member of the group chimed in.

“They’re not that tight, really. I’m going to get another pint.”

At this point, Gary’s pants had become the focal point of the entire group, and everyone studied them intently as he got up. They were normal, slightly tailored jeans.

“Those are absolutely Wham! jeans.”

“Maybe the Whammiest jeans I’ve ever seen.”

“They’re coming back in style those Wham! jeans.”

They were using Wham Jeans like Smurfs used Smurf.

By the time Gary returned to the table, someone had found the Wake Me Up, Before You Go-Go video and was playing on his phone.

“Alright I kind of see it,” Gary admitted.

“So, how was your date with Kate, Wham Jeans?” Another group member asked Gary.

I witnessed the birth of a nickname that day. No matter how tight Gary’s Levi’s are in the future, he will forever be Wham Jeans. ■

Countdown: top 5 tips for staying at the Grange Strathmore Jesse Burbank 5. Activate your room’s power by inserting a key card into the card slot by the door.

Take care not to forget your key in the room or tear the card slot out of the wall in confusion.

4. Love the lobby. This is where much of the group meets at the end of the day to unwind. It’s also the place where you can collapse out of fatigue onto what feels like the most comfortable couch on earth after the eight hour plane ride to London. Chances are you’ll also meet a few amazing London Review alumni here.

3. Bring a UK plug adapter to charge your electronics! These strange, threepronged plugs will prove vital to communication with the outside world. You’d be surprised how isolated you can be without your phone or laptop.

2. Make it to breakfast every day! The Full English Breakfast served by the Grange Strathmore will start your day right and help you feel your best. You can also use this time to coordinate with other members of the London Review to find out what you should do that day. Be sure to only swipe modest quantities of mini jam jars and stay clear of the marmite!

1. Ask the hotel staff for the wifi password immediately upon entering the hotel. Share it with the whole group. Sing songs of its glory. Tattoo it to your forehead. Everyone will love you for bringing the gift of internet to the group.

Observations

45

Pub music Whitney Ashlock

W

hen I first imagined the trip to London, I thought it wouldn’t be much different than America. I especially never thought something as simple as music could differ the two so much. Looking back on this now, I can’t help but laugh at myself. I had been awake for over 15 hours; the bus ride from the airport to the hotel had my eyes popping out of my head in amazement.

London was beautiful. From the houses in the neighborhoods to the landscaping of highways and buildings, I was already in love. Little did I know, the sounds of London would thrill me even more.

The currency, the street signs, the cars, the traffic and the architecture were all completely different and had me asking myself when I would finally see something similar to America. Eating pizza for dinner from Pizza Express offered a small sense of home (and my college diet), but it wasn’t until a few of us ventured to a pub in Leinster Squre that I heard my first trace of American culture. After Casey and I wondered around for what seemed like hours, we finally found my friends in a neat little pub called Sports Bar and Grill. The song “More than a Feeling” by Boston was played. I finally found a piece of home in London watching the KU game and listening to a classic Boston song. I kept listening to the music playing in the pub while I finished my beer in disappointment at the loss Big 12 Championship game and was enjoying every song played.

I thought that since this was a sports bar they obviously would play good music, but as the week went on I noticed other pubs played similar music.

If the pubs I visited had a Pandora station, it would be called, “The Best Music to Happen to America.” Much different than Miley Cyrus like we are all used to in Lawrence bars. I started to notice in every pub we went to through out the week how I actually knew the songs, and enjoyed them as

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well. I began to recognize the music everywhere I went from a Belgium pub to an exotic art club. London and America are different countries with little in common than one might assume. The music was something I truly enjoyed in London. Music was something I enjoyed in London and made me feel at home. ■

Two steps back Justine Culver

Q

ueues for the London Eye are long on Saturday afternoons.

The problem started after someone accidentally got directed to the wrong queue. The first queue transgression was jumping ahead of other patrons by slipping under the think black nylon ribbon divider. As he straightened, he loudly stated he spent too much time in the wrong queue as if this was a justification to jump his way into line.

The English don’t like it when you jump the queue but don’t protest much. I’m not sure how the German knew it, but my American must have been showing as he didn’t try to proceed past me. He did something far worse. Within the first moment of settling in behind me I felt him press against my back. Loud German exploded from directly behind my ear. I took a step forward trying to create distance. He followed my step.

He continued to press against my back. Claustrophobia and annoyance were starting to get the best of me. I wanted to tell him “to take two steps back; or I’m married and he wasn’t my type; or he was being what Americans

call a jerk”. Finally he moved back as we got closer to the end of the line.

His ploy was to step around me and jump to the next available ticket agent before I did. I hope his little victory jumping in front of one person at the end was sweet. The eye roll the ticket agent gave him summed up the whole experience. ■

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47

The weirdness that is Welsh Kerry McCollough

O

ne of my favorite memories I’ve taken from London doesn’t involve a landmark: no museum, no palace, no theater... alright, so it involves the Tower of London. But only because one of the most interesting conversations I had was with the Yeoman Guide who gave us our tour, but it had nothing to do with the Tower. Or even England for the matter.

Before our tour even started, our guide explained that he was from Wales and spoke fluent Welsh. He was

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a feisty fellow and even threatened to start speaking that language should anyone in our huge group annoy him. I was intrigued. Not so much as to actually piss him off enough that he would start speaking in Welsh during the tour, but I made a point to track him down later and ask him about Wales.

We ran into him as we were leaving the Tower and I just had to ask him for a picture. His tour was most entertaining and I wanted to remember the sassy man. After a few snapshots, I asked him if he would indulge me by speaking a little bit in his native tongue.

I honestly have no idea what words fell from his lips, but I could easily tell they weren’t English ones. All I could do was smile.

I am a linguistics major and language fascinates me. Here I was in London, a city overflowing with culture and history, and I’m grinning from ear to ear because a tour guide is reciting something to me that I don’t understand because he is speaking Welsh.

But it gets better.

This man leans over and asks me if he can teach me some of his native language.

Um, yes. You can most definitely do that.

He made me repeat after him and the words rolled over my tongue with a kind of unfamiliarity. I’m sure I

looked ridiculous, but all I was worried about was getting it down and doing right by the guy taking the time to teach me. When I could say his phrase with enough fluency to satisfy him, our Yeoman Guide told me the meaning of what I’d been practicing.

Turns out “Cymru am byth” translates to “Wales forever” or, roughly, “Long live Wales”- an appropriate slogan for a proud Welshman.

But see. You probably have no idea how to pronounce those words. I don’t consider myself an expert phonetician but I can provide you with a rough transcription: [kɔmɾi am bɪθ] or come-ree-am-bith. I certainly wouldn’t have guessed that given the spelling of the phrase.

Welsh is weird. But I am totally mesmerized by it.

I even got to see my fair share of Welsh when I went hiking in Cardiff for a day. That’s a story in and of itself, but let’s just stick to the language angle. I’m lucky I didn’t get lost really.

Everything was written in both Welsh and English, and because the orthography is so similar, it would take me a while to figure out what language I was actually reading. On occasion, I’d get lucky and start reading the English first so I wouldn’t have to backtrack to the top of the adjacent paragraph for the translation I could actually decipher.

It was dizzying and for a cranky hiker,

rather obnoxious at times, but looking back on it, it’s rather fascinating.

It was neat really; seeing the word “Cymru” plastered on the backs of busses and across maps and being able to understand that it simply meant “Wales.” It made me feel a little less lost. Whenever I encountered other people, I would strain to hear if they were speaking English in a British accent or in Welsh that I couldn’t follow at all. Low key eavesdropping. It’s fine.

Cymru am byth. It’s one phrase in a language I flat out don’t understand, but I am fiercely proud of it. Not only was our Yeoman Guide kind enough to be patient with an American tourist, but I discovered, learned, and applied a piece of this new language to my own experience in the UK. I doubt the man even has an inkling of the impact he had on my trip to London, but that small conversation still remains one of my favorite memories. ■

Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese Matthew Applequist

Definitely one of the most interesting atmospheres in all of London, the Cheese’s gloomy, poorly-lit sitting rooms are oddly inviting. Deciding between beers will be the least of the weary pub-crawler’s worries, as he must first choose between the Cheese’s many bars, which each have their own, unique personalities. Almost completely devoid of any substantial natural lighting, the dingy, drab setting has influenced generations of tortured souls and inspired spirits; G. K. Chesterton, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Mark Twain, and Charles Dickens were all known to frequent the Cheese. It has even been fabled that Jack the Ripper was a regular of this near-ancient public house.

Blue plaques Maria Kingfisher London has been a home to many of the greatest writers, artists, and performers of the world.

To commemor a t e these historical figures and the places they’ve called home, blue plaques have been placed on buildings throughout the United Kingdom to serve as historical markers. I was lucky enough to see many of these plaques on my visit to London.

Knowing I was walking the same streets as these incredible individuals gave me a giddy thrill.

There are nearly 900 blue plaques with names of famous individuals, and standing in front of one was like being part of history. I stood where some of the greatest minds had their most astounding ideas.

What a great way to be part of something greater than yourself.

Observations

49

Cockney is the language at East London, otherwise known as the rhyming slang Casey Mwangi

I

n my quest to find an authentic chippy that still served takeaway fish, chips and marshy peas wrapped on butcher’s paper, I was led by trip-advisor to the Golden Fish restaurant in the East London’s borough of Dagenham. The potato council of United Kingdom had voted this restaurant as the best chips house in the UK, beating off competition from 900 other restaurants. As I gobbled the mouth-watering chips drizzled with vinegar and tomato sauce down my gullet, the chatter around the restaurant caught my attention. It was English all right, but words being spoken sounded like lines to a skit that were being recited. I was really puzzled by this form of communication and was curious to find out what was they were saying and why they spoke that way. I did some research and was able to determine that this method of rhyming or phrase construction was the local dialect called cockney, or rhyming slang, which involved replacing a common English word with a rhyming phrase and omitting the ac• Adam and Eve • Apples and Pears • Ascot Races • Baked Bean • Baker’s Dozen • Ball and Chalk • Barney Rubble • Battle Cruiser • Bread and Honey • Bricks and Mortar • Bubble and Squeak • Butcher’s Hook • China Plate • Cock and Hen • Cows and Kisses • Custard and Jelly • Daisy Roots • Dicky Bird • Dicky Dirt

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London Review 2015

Believe Stairs Braces Queen Cousin Walk Trouble Boozer (Bar) Money Daughter Greek Have a look Mate (Friend) Ten Missus (Wife) Telly (TV) Boots Word Shirt

tual word, for example replacing the word “stairs” with the rhyming phrase “apples and pears,” and then dropping the pears, so that the spoken phrase was “I’m going up the apples” meaning I’m going up the stairs.

Cockney slang started out as a way to keep the Bobbies (police) out of the dodgy business carried out by Lon• Dinky Doos • Dog and Bone • Dog’s Meat • Duke of Kent • Elephant’s Trunk • Fireman’s Hose • Frog and Toad • Lady Godiva • Laugh and Joke • Loaf of Bread • North and South • Plates of Meat • Rub-a-Dub • Skin and Blister • Tom and Dick • Tomfoolery • Trouble and Strife • Vera Lynn

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Shoes Phone Feet Rent Drunk Nose Road Fiver (£5) Smoke Head Mouth Feet Pub Sister Sick Jewelry Wife Gin

doners within the “Seven Dials of the Bell.” Seven Dials is a road junction in Covent Garden in the West End of London where seven streets converge at the center of a circular space with the monumental seven-dial pillar that bears six and not seven sundials as the name suggests. Seven Dials had become one of the most notorious slums in London in the late 1600’s, being part of the rookery of St. Giles as was described by Charles Dickens in his in “Sketches by Boz.” Today, Seven dials has become a vibrant west-end theatre district of Shaftesbury Avenue, as well as a fashion and shopping district in and around the nearby Neal’s Yard.

It’s from these slums that the rhyming slang was thought to have originated in the 1840’s and later spread to East London where it was used in the borough markets to allow vendors to talk amongst themselves in collusion, so that customers wouldn’t know what they were saying.

I have compiled a list of common rhyming slang words that you may come across as you canvass the locales of East London and it’s outskirts. ■

London: through the eyes of a Sim

Going in circles Justine Culver

Caroline VanSlambrouck Note: Some references may only be understood if the reader is an experienced player of the infamous computer game, The Sims.

M

any days I decided to travel on my own.1 As a result of this, my expedition was guided mostly by my emotions.

When I felt hungry, I would stop and grab a bite; when I felt my energy

draining, I stopped for high tea; if I needed a toilet2, I would proceed to find one. This trade-off between personal want and immediate fulfillment led me to feel somewhat like a Sim. My next feit dictated by some transparent tyrannical computer player located elsewhere.

In a creepy sort of way, or perhaps it was my childish borderline obsession of playing the game resurfacing from my Id, I felt my “mood bars” regressing from their fully-charged lime green color to yellow and finally

to red. I began to imagine thought bubbles hovering above my head with crudely drawn clip art nixing my emotion with a large red “X.” The more my mind revolved, the more I felt like Sim. I began to walk like them. If you have ever played, you know the walk, hunched shoulders, straight arms, cupped hands, neck pressed out, all moving to synonymously and fluidly to be human. I even adopted their language. This was a result of playing too much as a child. If I took a wrong turn, I thought “ven-neshay” in frustration or “ha-blab-a-tay” if something looked curious.3 Feeling a little crazy, I mentioned this to my new friend, Jenny, and thankfully she agreed. We then proceeded to act out the burglar walk and the comical ‘I can’t get through the door because there is a puddle of water in the way’ gestures. Feeling like a Sim, more commonly known as “Simming,” is apparently a common emotion to experience while traveling. My advise to all other travelers who have felt like this: Continue on. You are not alone. ■

Few roads in London are straight. They curve, change names and even end abruptly.

Some roads have roundabouts. The craziest way to control traffic at an intersection.

Piccadilly Circus is one of the best known in London.

I found what may be the smallest roundabout in London.

1. See “Forget Queen Elizabeth, Christopher Wren is England’s Greatest Monarch” for an explanation as to why.

2. There is still something liberating about calling them toilets.

3. I believe these are the equivalent of “rats” and “huh” respectively.

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A common dialogue among strangers Jenny Warren Characters: JENNY WARREN, sophomore London Review student from Kansas SAVANNAH PINE, sophomore London Review student from Texas KERRY MCCULLOUGH, sophomore London Review student from California YEOMAN I, first Yeoman tour guide who guards the Tower of London YEOMAN II, second Yeoman tour guide who guards the Tower of London Setting: Tower of London, London, England, present time Act I, Scene I Lights up on WARREN, PINE, MCCULLOUGH, YEOMAN I, and YEOMAN II standing outside the Tower of London after WARREN, PINE, and MCCULLOUGH have had a long visit at the attraction.

YEOMAN I So where are you all from? Are you American?

WARREN Yes, we are from Kansas.

MCCULLOUGH Well, we’re not all from Kansas. We go to school in Kansas, at the University of Kansas, but I’m from California.

PINE Yes, and I’m from Texas.

WARREN Oh yeah, sorry guys. I guess I’m the only one who’s actually from Kansas.

YEOMAN II (to WARREN) Oh you’re from Kansas? Then you must be Dorothy.

YEOMAN II begins to sing “We’re Off to See the Wizard” from The Wizard of Oz. WARREN considers disputing the claim and then...

WARREN (reluctantly) Lights down.

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Yes, yes. I’m Dorothy.

The End.

Observations

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People

55

We’re here, London Derek Pendergast and Elli Rao

W

e hopped off the plane at Heathrow, and although we were tired, we were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed like the Americans we are. During our time in London, we proceeded to irritate the entire population of Great Britain and became Public Enemies Nos. 1 and 2.

Below, you will find a list of enemies for when we go missing.

Waitresses and Waiters-Between not always understanding what they were saying and forgetting what we ordered, we could never actually appease them when answering questions. In response, we got a lot of heavy sighs and eye rolls. Some of us, i.e. Elli, just accepted what they gave her because she didn’t understand.

She received an apricot muffin instead of a chocolate one, and it was the biggest disaster of her life.

Children-We happened upon them on almost every avenue we went down. They looked at us with death in their eyes, not waiting for their own but hoping for ours. As we were standing in the White Tower of the Tower of London looking at weapons

and knights’ armor, Derek lifted up his arm and scratched his head, and with no notice, a little child walked past him. As he brought his arm down, his elbow connected with the top of her head. Instantly, he brought his hand away. Her head whipped around quickly, her eyes connected with his and inside she said, “if I wasn’t a fiveyear-old, I would have smacked you.

I hope you die.” He proceeded to run into her throughout the day, and once he saw her picking her nose.

After visiting Charles Dickens’ lovely abode, we encountered a little girl, about five, who was not pleased that we laughed on a public sidewalk.

When she heard us, she turned around and gave us a look that clearly told us to leave the country. We continued to laugh, and as we passed her, we heard her tell her mother, “this is the worst day ever!” We started laughing harder because obviously her toddler life is really stressing her out.

Adults-Unfortunately, it wasn’t only children who found us unamusing. When Elli was purchasing a scone at Hyde Park, we spotted a baby that

↓ A group picture with The Grudge lady behind us

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you would lie to your friends about when asked if it was beautiful. As we laughed, the woman in line in front of us turned around and stared at Elli with hatred in her eyes. She did not like that we were there, just as a man in the Tate Modern elevator wished that we had not visited his country.

Lindsey and Leah joined us at the museum, and Lindsey told us a story about a woman who kept saying only six people were allowed on the elevator. A British man interrupted her story and said, I think she was talking about six Americans. There is a weight limit of 1200 kilos.

In our nemeses’ defense, we were very loud, and it seemed like laughing was outlawed in London in every area. We are truly sorry for having a good time. We will be back to come to the symphony on November 20th, so watch out London. We’re coming back.

Disclaimer: As we sit and write this, there is a guy sitting across from us in Watson Library staring us down. We truly never stop being obnoxious and loud. ■

Forget Queen Elizabeth, Christopher Wren is England’s greatest monarch Caroline VanSlambrouck Caroline VanSlambrouck’s mediation on Wren’s comprehensive influence in London

I

opted to do an obsessive focus on churches during my ten day vacation in London. I found, unsurprisingly, that few of my fellow travelers wished to ignore London’s other glo-

ries (and high-class shopping) as I did, and embark on this daunting quest.

There are fifty-five churches in The City (1 sq. mi x 1 sq. mi) of London in addition to the other fifty churches per neighborhood in greater London, totaling upwards of 1,600 churches.

Some might call this impossible. I might agree. But, undaunted and excited for the challenge, with guidebook in hand, I began my four day expedition to any and all churches within walking distance from a Tube stop. I successfully made it to about forty (forty-one if Stamford Bridge counts as a church). Safe to say, I did not make a dent.

In the first churches I encountered I was awestruck, as many are, by the impeccably stained glass and immense massiveness of the cathedrals.

Enveloped in the musty wood smell evaporating from the pews, I made my way around the mostly stone, though sometimes wood, churches, observing the designated patron saint and the tombs encased within the slightly slimy walls.

By the third day, though, I began to notice a trend.

The opening words in each pamphlet began with some variation of “Built by Christopher Wren in _____” or “This church is the embodiment of Christopher Wren’s ex p e r i m e n t a t i o n with _____.” It was as if everywhere I turned, Christopher Wren was there to personally greet me with his massively mossy stone structures and organ music. Even when we escaped to Oxford for a quiet day trip, who should show up at Christ Church but Christopher Wren! Although in each occasion I was delighted, and I was pleasantly surprised in Oxford, I have to admit, I was a bit sick of him by the end of the trip, but this is not entirely his fault. Being perhaps the greatest architect in British history carries these sort of responsibilities. Plus, the Great Fire in 1666 consumed over two-thirds of London, eating an incredible amount of buildings, homes,

and churches. Thankfully, Wren was in the right place at the right time. Given the opportunity to enhance nearly all of London’s churches, Wren left no tower, crypt, or nave untouched.

Building the tallest contemporary spire at St. Bride’s Church1, an impressive bell-tower at St. Mary-le-Bow2 that is considered his “most ambitious venture after St Paul’s,” and the “Fish Street pillar,” known modernly as The Monument, are among his numerous achievements. His most famous is, obviously, St Paul’s Cathedral, but everyone knows about that so we’ll skip it for now.

Wren held a tight monarch on designing and building structures in the 17th Century, and thankfully so. In retrospect, giving an inept architect the responsibility of reconstructing some fifty churches after The Great Fire could have transformed the internal atoms of London as we modernly know it. Although London is now much more than Christopher Wren, Christopher Wren is still very much London. ■ 1. There is an excellent exposition on the history of St Bride’s Church in the crypt, complete with original walls from the 11th Century.

2. An hidden and delicious restaurant, Café BeLow, resides in the crypt.

People

57

The myth of Winston Churchill Ashley Farris

I

f there was some sort of underlying theme to my entire trip in London, I think it must have been trying to understand what England was like during World War II. This was not by design at all. I stumbled into the group that visited the Imperial War Museum, wound up touring the Churchill War Rooms without any prior intention because I got a bit lost on Saturday, randomly saw a flyer about Churchill’s scientists at the Science Museum, and only decided I was going to Bletchley Park a few days before we left for London. In American history classes, we tend to emphasize our involvement in World War II and paint ourselves as Europe’s savior. There is a kernel of truth to that, but while we were primarily going about our business, England was being slowly starved to death. As an island nation, much of their food needed to be imported during the war. However, the Germans wanted to control supply shipment into Britain, effectively laying siege to an entire country by blowing up ships carrying food and munitions. England was being bombed to the point where Churchill, the famous wartime Prime Minister, moved all of

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his central command underground into the Churchill War Rooms. This area was top secret; many high ranking British officials did not know where it was located for fear of spies.

While Churchill led the war efforts from underground, the Bletchley Park codebreakers provided crucial German information from an estate in the English countryside. Churchill loved the codebreakers and their early computers during the war, but was

so afraid that the plans would fall into enemy hands that he ordered all of the proto-computers at Bletchley and their plans destroyed, forcing their makers into secrecy at the war’s conclusion. One inconsistency does arise after visiting Bletchley though—if the plans were destroyed, how did they rebuild the computers to put them on display at the museum? It turns out that Churchill’s fears were true and the Russians obtained the plans for the machines, which were returned to England after the Cold War. After visiting the Churchill Museum I realized how controversial a figure Churchill was in England, something that I had never really understood during my studies in the United States. He seemed to be quite a difficult man to work for, requiring meticulousness and giving out verbal lashings for anything less. He also opposed India’s freedom from England, saying that losing India would be detrimental to England’s image as an empire. There is no doubt in my mind that Churchill was a great leader, but I am glad that I was able to see beyond the myth and catch a glimpse of a man who made mistakes, loved his family, and did his best to lead England out of a terrible crisis. ■

Are you serious?

Derek Pendergast

I

am ornery. Its something that people just can’t help but acknowledge once they spend time with me. I enjoy making things up and I use my perfectly trained poker face to convince people that what I am telling them is actually true, even if it is beyond absurd. Throughout my journey in London, I made up countless stories, most of which I don’t remember now. Eventually, people I spent a lot of time with would just disregard my ramblings, saying “Derek is being Derek,” and laugh it off.

I don’t know what was going through Rachel’s mind when I went on a day walk with her to go see the Tower Bridge. It might have been, “Dear God, I’ve made a mistake by inviting this crazy person on this trip” or maybe she enjoyed my spastic behavior. Most Londoners probably didn’t. Either way, as we walked, I made up stories for just about everything we saw. There is this building known as The Shard in the financial district which I have dubbed ‘The Mafia Building.’

It is a towering skyscraper and every wall is made out of windows. As I looked up at it when we exited our tube stop, with all my construction know how, I decided it looked unfinished at the top which is perfect for pushing people to their deaths. One thing lead to another and I was telling her a poorly developed story about the crime bosses in London and their love for Taylor Swift. I believe it went a little something like this: “Hey Rachel, do you see that building right there?” She looked up and sighed. Obviously she saw the building I was pointing at. Its impossible to miss. “Whelp, that building is known as the London mob’s den. The unfinished part is where they take the people that haven’t paid their debts. The elevator ride is the worst because they

just sit there going up like 100 stories, knowing they are going to plummet to their death within minutes of reaching the top. Their only saving grace is Taylor Swift.” She just kept walking, acknowledging the things I said with smiles. “Really. The mafia loves Taylor.

That is why she is so popular everywhere. Anyhow, the radio is always on at the peak and is usually playing

The Shard a.k.a. the Mafia building

the current hits of the top forty. When she comes on the radio they have to take a second and dance and have a good time and then the beefy minions proceed to throw their victim out the window. If you look up at the right time you can see the bodies of people who didn’t do right by the boss falling to their deaths.” I called it the Mafia building every time I saw it after that.

Aside from stories, I made up a whole character. His name is Ronald and he debuted at Oxford. He is the more aggressive side of my personality. Do I sound crazy yet? Anyhow, I was walking with Ashley, Elli, Jesse, Alex, Leah and Lindsey and I started to make a ton of jokes. Ashley said something about my jokes and I said it wasn’t Derek, “I’m Ronald.” Once

again, I began to flesh out a whole backstory for the weird things I create in my mind. His whole purpose was to say weird things and get away with it because that is who he is. Lindsey would often fall on his bad side. She would ask for a hug or come close to me and he would say, “Don’t touch me.” Whenever Ronald was around, people would always laugh because he was really douchey, but in a funny, don’t take yourself too serious kind of way.

He pulled out his ‘friends’ from other people as the trip went along. Jesse pinched Leah on St. Patrick’s Day and she started speed smacking him because she was wearing green. Her second person is known as Susan. She is a bit of a firecracker. Ashley is also known as Elsa who is the quiet type. She likes to hang out alone whenever she is over-stimulated. She also has a great sense of humor. Just like Elsa, Bernadette (Bernie) i.e. Elli enjoys a good laugh.

She likes to talk about opening a daycare with children she has abducted from their happy homes, but she is really nice to them so the home she makes for them has potential. I am sure Ronald would have pulled out more personalities if he was able to spend more time with everyone from the trip.

I armed myself with stories, voices and poker faces to try and make the trip a little more enjoyable for the people I went with. I enjoy entertaining people, making people laugh and causing a little bit of mischief along the way. Toward the end of the trip, people made me clarify my stories that were true by me holding up my right hand and declaring “Hand of God.” Even with my declaration of Godly trust, they seemed hesitant to believe me. ■

People

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Street performers: the busker’s art Laura Carlson

F

orget the theaters with their professional actors and London’s numerous museums with all their priceless art. Instead stand in historical Trafalgar Square and watch all the street performers and people dressed in creepy costumes trying to make a living. One of my favorite parts of visiting London was simply standing outside the National Gallery and watching street performers doing crazy acrobatic routines or bikers doing stunts on their trick bikes. It’s the same story on the South Bank of the Thames River near the London Eye. More creepy Yodas, magicians, and musicians try to attract the attention of Londoners passing by and tourists that usually end up stopping and giving out a few coins. I think all these performers are just as much a part of the culture and art of London as the priceless portraits in the National Portrait Gallery.

I’ll never forget my last day in London when I spent an hour and a half sitting on the South Bank of the Thames listening to one musician that captured my attention. After watching a magician’s show, I wandered over to the guy with a guitar and was immediately impressed with his talent. I don’t

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know much about music and he was just doing covers of songs, but this guy sounded pretty good to me. After listening for 10 minutes I got up and gave him two pounds, then found a bench so I could keep listening. Our last day was probably the coldest day, but it was still relaxing to sit after such a long week and listen to him. When he finished his set I picked up one of his business cards. His name is Lewis Fieldhouse and when I finally found some Wi-Fi I followed him on Twitter and tweeted a really spectacular picture I took of him singing with Big Ben in the background. He actually responded on Twitter and said, “It was lovely to sing to you-one of my longest listeners all week.” There was never a huge crowd around him so I could definitely tell he was noticing the kid with her hood up, squirming around on the bench trying to stay warm.

Although, I know he was colder because he said his hands were going numb playing the guitar with the chilly wind coming off the river.

Most of the performers around London seem so happy to be sharing their art. After the magician’s and stunt biker’s shows I gave them some pounds then, of course, I took a selfie with them. Although these people work on the streets and usually don’t even get

a second glance from people passing them by, they are so willing to talk to those that watch their act. They aren’t making big bucks, but they have a positive attitude and inviting personalities that drew me to them and their show. Walking near the Thames or

through Trafalgar Square it was hard for me not to notice all the characters dressed up like Charlie Chaplain, Yoda, Shrek, army figurines, or human statues. After seeing so much “real art” in all the museums it seemed to me like these people trying to make a living were just as much part of the art culture of London. Most of the street performers in London do actually

Baby’s observations about London Baby and (Laura Carlson) 1. Big Ben is super duper tall (316 ft) and probably the most iconic building in all of England. If I still had two arms, I would definitely take a selfie with the magnificent bell tower in the background. Also, the London Eye is like 20,000 times bigger than my tiny eye. (Laura bought Baby his own little Big Ben so that he wouldn’t feel so small.) have to have permission to perform, or busk, in designated areas. These people aren’t begging for money, they are offering something in return for a few coins.

I wish I had more time in London to simply sit down again and listen to

more of the magicians or watch more street performances. I could have stood in Trafalgar Square all day and watched all the activity go on around me. Sometimes you just need to take a break from all the museums and watch something that’s a little different. ■

2. The tube is always so packed, but I can fit my little plastic body in any tight space. If Laura dropped me on the tracks, the tube would instantly amputate my other arm and destroy me.

3. The fish and chips at these English pubs would take me forever to eat.

The mashed peas, on the other hand, were pretty much made for babies!

4. I suggest pubs invest in Baby sized cider bottles!

People

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Profiles in debauchery: David Kirke Matthew Applequist

A

s I sunk slowly into the pillow top after turning in early one (and, admittedly, the only) night, I turned a business card over and over again in my fingers. The flimsy cardboard was remarkably unspectacular; the colors were dull and boring and the title “Dangerous Sports Club” was off-center, written in a font that made my inner-editor cringe. I was immediately skeptical when I had received the card, as it didn’t even list the name of the friendly, unsuspecting gentleman who passed it to me. I had managed to catch the old man’s name, however, and had hastily scrawled it in blue ink across the back of the card.

“David Kirke,” the man responded when I begged his name. He said it with an assuring force that paralleled the way he had been dropping the names of his many friends throughout our discussion- friends who numbered among the past century’s most formidable poets, playwrights, and the like.

Tennessee Williams, Arthur Miller, the man’s feigned reluctance to impress me devolved into pure shamelessness with each name and each sip of wine.

I didn’t even care if he was lying; to say that I was enthralled would be an understatement that I am unwilling to make, yet I cannot think of a word more apt.

The conversation hadn’t begun with outright bragging, however. It began how one might imagine a conversation in an Oxford pub shouldproperly, with the offer to buy a round of drinks preceding even an exchange of names. As I settled into the worn, burgundy leather of a sitting room couch, my pint of Estrella Dam in hand, David Kirke situated himself on a couch opposite my own, closer to the dull roar (glow) of the dying fireplace. His dress was a well-appointed combination of formal and casual; a worn, fitted, tweed blazer matched his pressed, loose fitting trousers, 62

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while a pair of heavily used tennis shoes provided the finishing touch on his truly unique style. I was surprised to discover that he was only 69 years old, because, while it is a formidable number, he looked far older. “I’m shortly to meet my maker,” he chuckled cheekily after divulging his age.

“Regardless, I have but thirty minutes here to chat,” David started, running his fingers from his balding head to his short, white beard. “I hate to put a limit on such things, but I must go to meet the love of my life; she professes at the University, and she should be finishing up here within the hour.”

Our talk swerved seamlessly between topics of school, politics, love, lost love, and life advice. It quickly

became clear that David Kirke was the type of man that could speak, embellish, and amaze entire crowds with his collections of stories that seemed to stretch on with no end in sight. I listened intently as he described the American political system with greater tact than most of my peers in the Political Science department at the University. He did not attempt to hide his amusement at the current state of affairs in our country; the permanent smirk that rested smugly on his face was nearly unchanging, only growing as he continued to highlight problem after problem with both the leadership of our country and its citizenry.

In these moments, it felt as though he wasn’t even talking to me. He

preached his rhetoric as though he was addressing the entirety of the American public, lecturing us like a stern, but understanding parent.

‘If you want an affair to last a great while, you must, must begin it slowly,” Kirke emphasized as he shifted gears to talk about women and love. “I was born from an era with copious amounts of sex, drugs, and rock and roll, although I never was one to do drugs,” he finished, coyly. Following his underhanded playboy comments, Kirke began to detail stories of his past love affairs, some starting slowly, others beginning and ending in almost the same instance.

As all good story tellers tend to do, Kirke saved his best for the finale. “There is actually a book based on my time with this girl, and, I believe, they even thought it a good idea to turn it into a motion picture.” Kirke had stolen the young girl away from another suitor, a move that ended as dramatically and terribly as the human experience will allow. “She was my first, real love,” Kirke paused, gazing out a window at the cobblestone streets, debating within himself whether or not to continue, “but her life was cut short.

She died there, at a mere twenty-one years, with my name on her lips.”

As the conversation continued, I toiled to keep up with his thick, almost unnavigable British accent. I began to develop my own opinions on the significance of this charismatic man that spoke so openly with me. The way I saw it, he was either the greatest fraudulent storyteller or the most interesting person I had ever met.

There could be no middle ground.

For that reason, as I lay awake that night, I was reluctant to submit David Kirke to a Google search. I feared that I might find him to be of no significance, or worse in my mind, that he was simply average. Curiosity always wins in the end, however; I typed his name into the search bar, pressing “enter” with the steadfast feeling of destiny.

Mouth agape, I scrolled through the Google search, unable to believe what I was reading. I found page after page of interviews and articles about

the founder and sole life-long member of The Dangerous Sports Club.

There were published books and well produced movies all highlighting the story and nature of the club that’s title was emblazoned on the business card that now laid upon the pillow next to me. Founded in 1979 by Kirke and three of his fellow Oxford scholars, the Dangerous Sports Club quickly grew, attracting a wide range of individuals throughout England’s upper social classes. A whole generation of college-aged men found their thirst for adventure and social justice

sated through the Dangerous Sports Club’s formation of “gentleman adventurers.” Wikipedia, as well as the Telegraph and Vanity Fair, credit the Club with inventing the world of alternative sports that thrives today.

In fact, Kirke, was the first man in the world to bungee jump, which is an unbelievable story in itself. It was a stunt that, just like the many others performed by the club, had been conceived amidst a late night drinking binge with the club’s founders. After a long night of ridiculous partying (just in case they didn’t survive the jump), Kirke tied himself to a suspension bridge and leapt off, bottle of champagne in hand, followed shortly by two other jumpers. They hadn’t even tested the bungee cords prior to jumping, as they thought it would not be “sporting.”

The stunts and acts only became more ludicrous with time; Kirke and various members of the group ran with the bulls in Spain while on skateboards, they hang glided from the summits of Mount Olympus and Mount Kilimanjaro, they attempted to jump a car across London’s Tower Bridge’s open drawbridge, they even pioneered such insane stunts as hu-

man catapulting and trick skiing.

The group had a certain affinity for mounting interesting objects to skis and running them down the slopes of the Swiss Alps. Over the course of ten years, members sent a grand piano down the mountain, various scooters, a complete table and dining set from the estate of Louis XIV, and had even planned to take a full-sized double decker bus down the mountain.

From firsthand accounts, it seems that the only aspect of their club that was crazier than their stunts was their raving parties. Fueled by pure adrenaline from their almost constant flirtations with death, the Dangerous Sports Club combined death-defying stunts and rampant intoxication into one, beautiful movement, supplemented in an idealistic Oxford fashion- with champagne, top hats and tailcoats, and an anti-authoritarian rhetoric.

The golden age of his Club long past, David Kirke now sits idly, emblazoned on a worn throne of absolutely insane achievements, awaiting the searching ears of the alternating public that wonders in and out of his Oxford pub, in and out of his unfinished story. The first and the last of an idealistic group of partiers, activists, stuntmen, geniuses, and gentlemen, Kirke is an imposing, yet solitary figure. Kirke’s conversation, his rhetoric, his outfit, and his very essence cling to the ideals of a bygone age, his stunts now commonplace in a world flooded with wave after wave of adventurers and thrill seekers.

Hang gliding, bungee jumping, even trick skiing, all of the stunts that were pioneered by Kirke have become a functioning part of the system he yet abhors. “I’ve never understood how people can stand to live such humdrum lives,” I recalled Kirke saying to me as our conversation drew to a close. “Everybody wants to be a doctor or a lawyer,” he lamented. “We are told that these professions might bring us some level of happiness. My advice, however, is to find a woman who treats you honestly, live in a place that excites you, and remember to always end the day with good friends and a glass of whiskey.” ■ People

63

Mind this gap Davi Nicoll

H

e is unrolling a sleeping bag when I slow down, and when I fall behind my classmates, the decision is made before I debate it, but I still do. Every experience I have with living outside swells and with every footfall, the syllables pull vignettes to the surface of my memory.

You- and hospital lobbies, gas stations, hotel parking lots... real- and hungry, always hungry, always sleepy, always awake ly- and the van shaking in strong autumn winds should- and that time a man called you pretty, cursed, and spat at you on your way home from school n’t- and when your mother taught you to start leaving leftovers on top of trash cans, wrapped up, with silverware, with napkins, with what you’ve got, whatever is useful.

“Anywhere along 7th,” she said.

“And anytime you hear that tiny voice in your head says, ‘cmon, do it, you know you want to.”

You are not in Kansas, you are no one’s savior, it’s dark, and you are not allowed to disappear, but...it is well lit, populated, police are present, I’m in Kensington, I’m not far from the hotel, and I know where I am, I’ll just be quick about it, and besides, my hand is already in my pocket, and I’m grasping at...something, anything.

“Drop it in here, love, quickly,” he says, and I do.

“As far as I know, it’s not a crime to give a friend a buck or two.”

I must not have sealed the cracks in my street-stone 64

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face. An eyebrow wrinkle too much, and he steps in to assure me, bends his left knee, drops his shoulder down next to mine, and smoothly opens to a drawing of a small white pup, the one climbing up my shins and teething on the seams in my jeans. He wipes his hand on his chest pocket, and when he shakes my hand, he smiles.

“Mícheal,” he says. “Means Michael in Gaelic. Friends call me Mark” “Davi,” I say. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“What’s that?”

“Davi, like Davey.”

“Well, that’s lovely, I quite like that.”

Mark’s black pit bull has a head the size of my carry-on, and slides it up my lap to lick what’s left of Pizza Express from my palms.

“Sorry, they’re usually calmer. Excitement, though, you know?”

“Ha, yeah, “ I say. No one looks at us, except the neon vests at the corner.

“Thanks for being discreet,” Mark says.

“Oh, not a problem…”

“It’s just that if those cops see me asking for money, they’ll arrest me.”

Mark tells me this is the way it is, that it’s a shame, that he made some mistakes, but it is what it is. He does drawings on commission, sells them for whatever he can, to stay out of jail. Mark is sleeping under this bench tonight, but I know it doesn’t do him any good to see my pity, and I know it isn’t comforting for me to act stunned that he’s out here, that this is how is life is, especially when I’m not. This

isn’t new to me, but it is still potent and raw.

This happens to people all the time, at any time, for any number of reasons. We lived in a three story house with a six figure income, and in the same year, we were sleeping in our van. People must have noticed my mother and I together then, wiping our bodies down with baby wipes in parking lots every morning, drinking from gallon jugs of water extracted from the back seat, and huddling together on vinyl couches in waiting rooms, murmuring about when things got better, not if things would get better. As far as I know, no one ever looked at us and said, “Only give them food, if you give them anything,” which is what I’ve been told by Londoners and Kansans alike.

I doubt that it was a car wreck that sent Mark outside, but it doesn’t really matter to me how he got here. The street is cold whether you’re guilty or not. Hunger pain still hurts, even as a self-inflicted wound. How could I not stop, knowing that any accident, overcorrection, reflex, addiction, or crisis has as much power as fortune’s mood swings to put someone out here.

Each time I meet someone else, who has lived or still lives out here, there’s a familiar tone in their voices, deep, centered, strong, and still somewhat lilting. There are people with stories to tell, and people with time to listen. I consider myself fortunate to live in the liminal space with them, because it’s within those still, intimate silences, when stoicism stops floating us through small talk that two strangers can find themselves stripping off stories, wringing out memories in the gutter, and parting sweetly with a cleansed palette.

When I lived outside, it was only for a few months, the city was smaller than London, the community more familiar, and shelter could be a twenty four

hour diner, a gas station, a public library, a hospital waiting room, or any Wal-Mart parking lot. When I return, my apartment will not have electricity, water, or gas, and I will still consider myself fortunate. I will still have ramen noodles and milk in the fridge, a cat and a roommate waiting at home, a family not too far away, and friends within walking distance. I will still be lucky. I will still sleep inside, soundly, with my cat, on a mattress, wrapped up in blankets, sipping on herbal tea I can make at home with water from South Park, the sun, and enough patience.

Wrinkles have always seemed to me like cosmetic summaries of experience, so when notice that Mark’s laugh lines are deeper than his crow’s feet, I wonder how many years it took to define them, how long it’s been since he last saw them, and exactly how many moments of joy are preserved there, tucked beneath his dimples. He doesn’t mention his sleeping bag, doesn’t tell me how he got here, but does tell me that these are his dogs, that he found them both, and the little one is less than a year old.

Mark is inspecting the bigger dog’s ears, her teeth, her paws, her collar, while the puppy pulls on his sleeve, licks his palm, and sniffs his pockets. He tips his head down to his big black pit, who closes her eyes, licks her snout, and nuzzles into his chest.

She licks his hands when he holds her face, and heaves a shoulder-shaking sigh when he starts cooing in her ear, too quiet to hear under the tube station’s bustle.

“No family like a pack a dogs, eh?” he says. * * * Two nights later, Mark is sleeping under the bench again, curled up and out cold. He snores quietly, wrapping his arm around the black pit, a slow heaving hill of yin, except for her snout twitching beneath Mark’s chin.

Scotch-taped to the sidewalk beside them is a sign, written in black marker on blank printer paper: MISSING, LOST OR STOLEN: WHITE PIT MIX PUPPY, FEMALE. REWARD IF FOUND. ■

Wait, where is that place?

Derek Pendergast All aboard the struggle bus, occupancy twenty-eight. It is safe to say we were all exhausted when we arrived in London on Saturday at six in the morning. Most of us refused to let it get to us and we marched our happy selves around London ogling the sights within a five-mile radius of the hotel. We smiled and laughed at our exhaustion, but it got the better of some of us. I am stubborn and refused to let it get me. I was going to stay awake the entire first day, I was in London!

Fast forward several hours after unsuccessfully trying to study French and read Friday Night Lights, almost being mowed down by crazy London drivers (pedestrians do not have the right of way, who knew?) and talking in the lobby with some of my better rested companions, it was time to head to Pizza Express. I went to check my room and when I got back to the lobby everyone I was going to go with had left.

In my exhausted state I clearly thought I developed bloodhound like senses because although I didn’t know where Pizza Express was I was sure I would be able to find it and the group without incident. I ran out of the hotel hopeful…within minutes I was in Hyde Park and I had gone too far. I ran back to a familiar neighborhood and ran a little further and once again found myself in Hyde Park. My phone clock read 6:45 p.m. and we were supposed to meet at 7. I was thinking a lot of profane things and as sure as I was breathing I thought I was going to miss the first dinner in London.

My last saving grace was the hope that someone from the group was still waiting in the lobby. Six blocks away from the hotel I run as fast as I could, I find the hotel easily, to my surprise, and I sit in the lobby for a second. Casey, Elizabeth, Jenny and Jackson come walking into the lobby.

I was saved!

Thus ends my first solo mission in London. There are a lot of ways it could have been better, but I got some exercise and relied on someone else tell me exactly how to get where I needed to be. Luckily, I got to dinner before I could be considered late and stuffed my face full of calzone.

Thanks for the assist guys!

People

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On ducks and shyness Elli Rao

I

have always had an affinity for ducks. As a child splashing in the creek near my house, I would try to touch every duck’s sleek feathers, wanting to know what they felt like. The pursuit of the ducks greatly amused me, but the ducks were never very amused, squawking and swimming away as soon as my grubby child’s hands approached them. In many respects, these ducks perfectly paralleled my behavior for much of my life: they awkwardly waddled everywhere and seemed to have no idea how to interact. Our similarities have led me to believe that I might have been a duck in a former life or will possibly be one in a future life.

By the time I arrived in London, I had abandoned my duck-chasing days, but after a tryst with one of my bird friends in Hyde Park, I almost reached my dream of touching a duck. On our last day in London, Derek (a London Review buddy) and I took the Tube to Hyde Park, and after I complained about walking, we sat down on the edge of the lake. A brown duck soon swam up to where we were sitting, and unlike the ducks of my childhood, she was not afraid of me, allowing me to snap some pictures. I decided that because we were so close to Kensington Palace, the duck needed a royal name. Thus, I crowned her Victoria, or Vicky for when she wanted to be casual.

After hovering around Derek and me, Vicky paddled away and then came back along with four of her duck friends. I had a mild panic attack as they moved towards us en masse because another London Reviewer, Jesse, had shown me a photo the previous day of a flock of geese attacking a punting boat in Cambridge. I thought Derek and I were about to be those people in the punting boat, but Vicky and her friends were very sociable, waddling out of the water and coming so close to us that I could clearly see the outline of their feathers. I was dy-

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ing a little on the inside—I really felt like I was five years old again, trying to make friends with a duck and finally succeeding at the ripe age of twentytwo years old.

Though socializing with ducks probably does not seem like a good time to most college students, I really loved the feeling of sitting on the edge of the lake and watching Vicky. I felt some kinship with Vicky. I think that she, like the ducks of my childhood, used to be reticent and had recently decided to shuck her shyness. Before our trip began, my biggest fear was that I would be too quiet to actually speak to anyone, which normally defines my life. I’m not sure if I hit my head on the plane or what event shook me, but my shyness evaporated when we were in London. I felt really comfortable around everyone, and I don’t think I’ve opened up so quickly to a group of people since I was in the first grade. I became a Vicky on this trip, and I couldn’t be happier about it. To each and every one of the people I spent time with on this trip: you all are like a bunch of friendly ducks, and I don’t think I can give you any higher praise. ■

Vicky and her buds

Vicky’s regal pose

Some friendly ducks in front of the British Museum

Laura in London Jenny Warren

I

applied and enrolled in the London Review not knowing anyone else in the class. During our short time overseas, I made fast friends who I’m sure will stay close in the future. But one unlikely suspect kind of stuck out.

Her name is Laura Carlson.

Please understand that upon meeting Laura, she is one of the quietest people in the world. I don’t think we spoke more than two sentences to each other before our trip. But that’s what makes this story so much fun.

The first time Laura really came out of her shell was in Oxford. As a fellow student and I were trying to decipher some Latin that was etched into the front of a beautiful old building on campus, we heard the shy Laura speak out, “This spike goes through my shoe!” You can imagine our confusion when we turned to see Laura with her foot stuck between two metal rods and a Cheshire cat grin on her face. This was the start of Laura’s new self in the United Kingdom.

Spike through her shoe at Oxford

That night we visited the Turf, a must-see in Oxford. How to get there is a little tricky. It’s tucked behind a narrow alley between two buildings.

As we approached the Turf sign, some of us wanted to take a picture. As we did, Laura starts climbing the walls.

Literally, she climbed up the alley with a foot and hand on either wall. While some of us freaked out that she was

getting too high, someone else took a picture and laughed, calling her Spiderman. When asked why she felt the urge to climb, Laura simply replied because she could and it looked like fun.

I was still trying to figure this girl out.

Laura and baby

Climbing the walls at the Turf

To add to the confusion, a few of us had the privilege of meeting Baby.

Baby is the tiniest plastic baby doll that accompanies Laura on most of her journeys. Laura informed us that she has many pictures of Baby in places she’s travelled to and it is often called the mascot of her scholarship hall at KU. At first I thought she was joking, but Laura was absolutely serious although she was smiling the whole time she talked about it. I still didn’t understand her, but I decided Laura was pretty interesting.

Toward the end of our trip, I decided to wander on my own for a while so I set off for Hyde Park one morning. The park was peaceful and quiet until all of a sudden I heard “Jeeeennnnnnyyyy!” I turned on impulse, but I didn’t really think they were calling for me.

I mean, I was in a huge city in a huge park and I knew about 30 people in all of London. Nevertheless, here came Laura sprinting out of the trees with that Cheshire cat grin again. How she found me, I don’t know.

We spent that morning together walking through Hyde Park and inside Kensington Palace. At one point, we must have looked like we were somewhat clever because someone asked us where to go to see the Peter Pan statue. That was a big confidence booster for us tourists, and the best part was we knew the answer!

Laura and I also shared an interest in the dogs in Hyde Park, specifically a group of four little white puppies that had a stroller made to carry them. It was odd. But then all the odd things seemed to happen when Laura was around.

Like when she jumped on the tube just before the doors shut without realizing the rest of us weren’t on it with her. The look on her face of utter sadness as she became aware of her sudden aloneness and the tube started to roll while we stood on the platform was unforgettable. We were worried at first, but then we remembered it’s Laura. She’ll be fine.

Everything with her was like an added adventure. It was easy to get caught up in everything London but if you walked a hundred miles an hour to keep up with her and listened carefully, you just might hear one of Laura’s snarky remarks which made the trip so much more enjoyable. Though she seemed stubborn in silence at the beginning, Laura quickly became one of my favorite people in London.

Laura Carlson is a good reminder that if you take the time to talk to someone, you might get to know the weird, fun person they really are. ■

Laura in Oxford

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Realizations across the pond Maria Kingfisher

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eing in another country allows you opportunities to embrace new cultures and experience new things. But it’s not enough just to be present in the city; you have to be as involved as you can. Whether you see the sights, try new foods, or simply sit in a pub with your friends, it’s important to immerse yourself in the culture. I am a talker by nature, and feel the best way to understand something new is to talk to someone with experience where you are. Londoners are always on the move, and they never seem to slow down long enough to talk to. So it took me a few days before I had an actual one on one conversation with anyone.

I had just traveled north to visit a friend who moved to Europe 5 years ago and was coming down from the high of the day. The train ride from

Loughborough to London was roughly two hours long, so I searched for a seat to sink in to. Seating was limited, and I was a bit scared to sit right next to someone. That was until I noticed a young, blonde woman to my right eating carrots and hummus. Her snack of choice immediately drew me in, and I gathered up the courage to ask if the seat beside her was taken. Her name was Emma, and she was bubbly and kind, starting up a conversation as if we hadn’t only just met. We started talking so quickly that we forgot to introduce each other until half way through the conversation, but I don’t think either of us minded.

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Time passed quickly as we talked and laughed and snacked on carrots together. She showed me pictures of her family, her husband, son, and dog, Sir Samson. I was thrilled to have a conversation with a local, and talked her ear off about living in London. She encouraged me to visit many places and even sent me a list of pubs and sights via email.

As she was gushing about her wonderful city, she said something I didn’t quite understand. She looked at me and said, “You live in a place long enough, and you forget how amazing it actually is.”

I laughed and said, “I’m from Kansas, it’s not that special.” She looked at me with a motherly smile, nudged me, and said, “It’s your home. That’s why it’s special.”

There I was, on a train sitting next to a stranger and halfway across the world from anything familiar, and I realized something. I can travel

the world and I can experience new things, but the most amazing place I’ll ever be able to talk about is my home.

That’s how Emma was able to rave about her city, not because she read it in a guidebook, but because she had experienced it all first hand. She loves being a Londoner, and helped me realize just how much I love being a Kansan. ■

An ode to Mary Elizabeth Erker

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o quote the source, Mary Klayder “DOES NOT WRITE THIS BOOK.” She does, however, inspire it. Her influence is present on every page; not, perhaps, in the crafting of the words you see, but in orchestrating the experiences behind them.

For Mary, the London Review is old hat, and yet, even in her 18th year of the program, she continues to exude the excitement and enthusiasm of a first-time traveler (minus the rookie mistakes). Her attitude is contagious, infecting each of us. Though we hail from a varied range of disciplines, we are united by one thing: affection and reverence for our fearless leader.

Even as she does all this, Mary remains a mystery. Besides the various group activities she so thoughtfully sprinkles in throughout the week, she remains ghost-like (though far less creepy than a ghost), cropping up here and there to ensure we are all alive and well, but maintaining enough distance to force our independence from her. She is there to provide suggestions, advice, and anecdotes of past experiences, but her whereabouts are shadowy throughout the duration of the trip. Why? Because it seems Mary’s minor celebrity status knows no geographical bounds; it follows her from KU to Britain. She attracts flocks of former students wherever she goes, amassing a following that translates into a full social calendar for the duration of the trip.

Mary is not nagging or overbearing, nor is she absent or inattentive. She is an enigma: somehow maintaining control of 26 unruly undergraduates without ever raising her voice. It is a small miracle, and yet, if anyone can do it, Mary can (and does).

My experience in London is one that I will not soon forget. Taking part in the London Review was an extraordinary way to spend spring break, not only for me, but for the hundreds who have come before me and the hundreds who will come af-

ter me. For Mary, the trip is routine (though I imagine that even after all these years, it is never ordinary). That said, I am not sure she knows the impact she has on the students with whom she travels the globe. We are forever changed, broadened, and enlightened; likely in ways we have yet to realize.

In summary, Mary’s got London down pat. And she does not write this book. ■

Acceptance to medical school party @ the hotel lobby Casey Mwangi

It was here at the lobby of the Grange Strathmore Hotel in the London Borough of Kensington and Chelsea that Casey received the good news from the Americas, that he had been accepted to the University of Kansas School of Medicine and was henceforth quite the merry-man who went on to seek the company of the above captured would-be-Londoners, for a jolly sing-song and dance, sharing a pint or two of proper bitter from the boozer behind them, and that’s just about all he could remember from that pleasant night...

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Shopping 71

London fashion Nicole Hawkins

W

hen I was told that all the English wear is black, and thus that’s what I should pack, I took that as an opportunity to showcase my personal style. I think that your own personal style says a lot about you, and taking that to a different country would be a really wonderful experience. I quickly

learned that I could not have had it more backwards. There’s a time and place for everything, and that saying came in handy often. When I say that everyone wore black from head to toe, I mean that everyone wore black from head to toe. Whether it be infants, teenagers, couples or the elderly, black was without a doubt their go-to hue.

I also noticed the presence of scarves, and these were worn by both men and women. Coming from someone who owns a ton but never wears them, I couldn’t forgive myself for leaving all of mine back at home! Luckily my roommate was nice enough to lend me hers, and I purchased my own on the last day. I noticed that almost every woman owned a pair of black booties, a black trench coat, and wide brimmed, floppy hats seemed to be

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very popular among the English women. I was also very impressed and paid particular attention to men’s style.

Men in London appeared to be very confident in their styling and weren’t afraid to show off their personal style.

I really admire men that take dressing themselves seriously, because living in a college town for almost four years now, the khakis and Polo shirts can get a little repetitive. I saw a lot of men who wore sport coats and slacks with a nice pair of leather loafers or Oxfords. My first day or so, I thought it was unusual that this many men were dressed so nicely, but as the trip went on, I realized that it must just be the culture. Even children who could barely walk were dressed to the nines! Sometimes, instead of reading every single excerpt of something in a museum, I sat back and people watched. I came across some of the most intricately dressed people that I had ever seen. Whether we were at Nando’s chicken grabbing a quick din-

ner, or shopping in Kensington, style as a whole in London never ceased to amaze me. I could tell that these people just oozed elegance, and really took pride in dressing well as a culture, but more importantly, for themselves. ■

Only the Americans like those Logan Meyer

B

eing in a different country, you can only expect that social norms will differ from what you have grown accustomed to in your home country. Before arriving in London, I knew some things would be different. The types of outlets they use or how they drive on the opposite side of the road for example. But I didn’t expect there to be a gap in the clothes we prefer.

Being a typical tourist, I wanted to come home with a lot of different souvenirs, one of which, being a long sleeve t-shirt that read “London” on

the front. Within the first day of being in the town I started popping into souvenir shops, in search for one.

But each shop I went into, I came out empty handed. Soon, every time I went into a new shop, I would ask the

store clerk if they had any. Each one would tell me “no” then I would walk away. I had no idea that the hunt for a long sleeve t-shirt would turn into an uphill battle that I had no chance of winning.

After going into eight or nine different souvenir shops and asking whether or not they had a long sleeve t-shirt for sale, the answer I was given by one man in particular shocked me.

“We do not sell those here,” he said. “It’s only the Americans who like

those, we get too hot in the summer.”

In America, people can find a long sleeve t-shirt almost anywhere; no matter what season we are in at the time, so I assumed that would be the case in England.

After he told me that, I still continued to look. To my dismay, I still did not find one and I came back to the States with shot glasses, mugs, key chains and scarfs but no long sleeve t-shirts. ■

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Harrods Nicole Hawkins

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or as long as I can remember, I have always had a love and knack for fashion. So when I found out that I was fortunate enough to be traveling to London for Spring Break, my first thought was to hit all the major fashion venues that I could; and if I had to settle for returning back to Harrods five times that week, that would also suffice. My parents had both frequented London for business, and of all the attractions they told me to visit, Harrods was by far the most lavish.

Being from Chicago, I was pre-exposed to many high end fashion labels and stores. I thought Bloomingdale’s, Barney’s and Neiman Marcus were top of the line, but I was blown away when I took my first step into Harrods. I pulled open the doors and there were two security guards standing on either side, and I immediately thought, “is there really someone stupid enough to steal from a place like this?” Anyways, then I made my way through the first floor, and there was everything from Faberge and Monica Vinader jewelry to the most elegant and lustrous of diamonds you have ever laid your eyes on. Most of the necklaces were so heavily studded that I wondered how a woman could even wear them comfortably. I know I

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wouldn’t complain, however, if I had the opportunity (ha). The other levels were filled with the most exquisite ball gowns in all of London, maybe even the world. They had every size, shape, color, material, make and designer that you could imagine. But with that comes a hefty price tag. I found myself looking at some of these and attempting to justify the price, “oh I could wear that to at least a few different special occasions,” maybe 700 pounds (and that was the less expensive of the gowns) isn’t that bad. But then I remembered that we were paying in pounds, and I doubled that and quickly had to talk myself out of anything because I wanted to eat the rest of the trip. There were caviar and champagne bars throughout the store, as well as sushi and cupcake stands. The price tag of one measly piece of sushi you might ask, 5 pounds, and that’s just plain cucumber and rice!

I went to the somewhat affordable section, and was able to canoodle my dad into getting me a dress and

shorts, both black of course. After the woman rang me up, she asked if I would like to have my bag sent down to the first floor and pick it up once I was done shopping. With a giggle I said, “this is all the shopping I’ll be doing here, thank you” and didn’t take advantage of the operation that was meant for people who were going on shopping sprees. After spending more than half of my “budget” the first day, I felt I needed to get out of the store before I found something else I absolutely “needed.” ■

Lessons on the fashion of scarves, inspired by the doyenne of scarves, Mary Klayder Rachel Benefiel 1) 2) 3) 4) 5)

There is never a wrong time to wear a scarf There is a scarf for every season and climate A scarf can tie any outfit together A scarf makes you look at least 50% more sophisticated London is a great place to find scarves

An American girl’s plea Elli Rao I am a major coffee aficionado. My addiction has led me to discover the major difference between Americans and Brits: Americans drink coffee and Brits drink tea. As many on our trip can tell you (by many, I mean Jesse Burbank), British tea is strongly brewed and possibly addictive. British coffee is a poor excuse for coffee; the water to bean ratio is totally off, and to add to this indignity, if you ask for a coffee in a Costa/Nero/ your choice of shop, you receive an Americano! Get it together, UK: I will be back, and I expect a proper cup of java upon my arrival.

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Wherefore art thou Oxford chill pants?

Derek Pendergast

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t was an overcast Tuesday. It was St. Patrick’s Day. It was my first time in Oxford and my first time falling in love. After a long day of sight seeing and what I’m sure was a million selfies, Leah and I decided to go shopping. The first store we went into was cluttered with Oxford memorabilia and a little something for everyone.

Leah, upon walking in, immediately grabbed a gray children’s shirt and said, “I’m gonna buy this for my future baby.” I just laughed and told her she should, as a supportive friend would, I might have also told her to show it to her mom and tell her, “Surprise!” but she decided against it last I knew.

The store was two levels, the first having small tables of knickknacks and the two stairs leading to the lower level had paintings lining the walls

and adult clothes neatly stacked on shelves along the walls. Leah looked at rowing shirts and struggled to decided if she liked one enough to spend forty pounds. As she reasoned with herself, my eyes caught some beautiful blue chill pants with a small Oxford insignia on the left hip, there were gray ones also but I was only interested in the blue. I picked them up, holding them against my body to see where they would fall at my feet. Perfect, that is what I thought to myself.

I need them! But I kept telling myself I had enough chill pants at home and

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I didn’t need these ones. Leah and I left and went to two other stores.

She found a shirt that was twenty pounds cheaper in the store across the street and I was still trying to convince her that she needed to go back and buy the rowing shirt she liked, even though it was more expensive, “You like it more and you haven’t spent that much money yet,” I kept saying.

Secretly, I was trying to convince her to go back and buy something so that I could buy my chill pants, because clearly in order for me to buy something everyone with me had to buy something as well. Before she bought the cheaper shirt across the street we went back and I ogled at the pants once more. I picked them up and put them down multiple times. My indecisiveness got the better of me. Leah decided to leave the rowing shirt and get the cheaper shirt across the street, and I decided to walk away from my true love. The last look we exchanged was that of despair, because though we didn’t know it then it was the last chance we were ever going to have to be together.

We had a meet and greet at five in the Rothermere American Institute, but I couldn’t get the chill pants out of my mind. I was resolved to go back and get them before I left Oxford and we would live happily together. The meeting lasted for about forty-five minutes and I convinced Leah to go back to see if the store was still open.

With hope in my heart and a supportive friend at my side I was going to

snag them while I could. I probably spent a good majority of the ten minute walk talking about why I needed the store to be open and how happy I was going to be to walk in, scoop them in my arms and take them home with me. Alas, when we got to the store the lights were out and the door was locked. The sign said they closed at 5:30. I missed my chance.

After that day I spent the rest of my trip trying to figure out a way to get back to Oxford to be reunited with my pants. It was more difficult than one would think. Everyday someone planned something I wanted to do and obviously I had to tag along. I resolved that I was going to find the chill pants online and order them. I searched the computer in the hotel lobby, but I couldn’t find anything. I wasn’t putting in a ton of effort so I didn’t think much of it. I just assumed I would find them when I got back to America.

Fast forward five days and several conversations about chill pants later.

I was back home at my computer searching for them. Our romance was as star-crossed as a Shakespearian tragedy because I couldn’t find them anywhere. I searched every shopping website I could find and there were chill pants everywhere, but not the ones I had my heart set on.

I don’t know if we are ever going to see each other again, but if I am ever back in Oxford I am going to walk into that store and swoop my chill pants off their shelf and we will live together until the end of my days. ■

Not just a toy store Abby Ogden

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amleys is not just a toy store.

To label it as such would be putting it in the same category as Toys R Us, which would be like comparing Harrods to Walmart. No, Hamleys is more like Wonderland. Walking through the doors is like falling through the rabbit hole into a world you never thought possible. If you don’t believe me, check my receipt. I paid sixty-four pounds for two teddy bears, something I almost still don’t believe.

As an avid shopper, my favorite encounters are finding exactly what I am looking for right away. These occurrences make me feel as though somehow fate is playing a role in my shopping experience, and when they happen I will buy the item just about every time. Needless to say, Hamleys saw me coming. The first thing I saw when I walked through the doors was a table of the Paddington Bears I was so desperate to bring home for my nephews. If only shedding the pounds were as easy in America as in England, am I right?

The atmosphere was something you have to experience to truly understand. Think Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium, the toy store that comes to life. Instead of wearing standard uniforms, the employees wore costumes, some even on stilts.

They were stationed throughout the store playing with toys, which might not seem like an effective way to sell merchandise at first glance. Personally, I planned to treat them like kiosk venders at the mall and ignore them, but they got me. There went another fifteen pounds.

There must have been six floors at least, each a new jaw-dropping sight.

Greeting me as I arrived on the top floor was the royal family made of Legos. After investigating further I also found the Queen of England sitting on her throne, not without her beloved corgi and the British flag waving behind her; all assembled from

Legos. The bottom floor was what I will forever think of as “Nerf Heaven.” There was a full wall of different types of Nerf Guns, not to mention the giant target practice station. Yes, I said it. Hamleys is equipped with a giant Nerf shooting station where you can stay for hours testing out different guns.

What else do you need from life?

Holding Hamleys in my memory is oh so bitter sweet. It is like visiting Europe at twenty years old and being able to order alcohol with dinner, then returning to America only to turn back into a minor. I will forever hold every toy store I enter to the standards of Hamleys, and will forever be disappointed. Now I know how the pumpkin in Cinderalla felt.

Even with the curse I now bear to never enjoy another toy store the same

way, I can easily say Hamleys was one of my favorite experiences in London.

Whether it was the cheerful quality of the store itself, or the miraculous loss of weight in my wallet, there was definitely magic present in Hamleys that day. ■

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Ode to a Hat Justine Culver One hat, two hats, white hat, black hat, The English love a pretty hat.

From a floppy hat with a flower, To a structure much like a tower.

Worn to see one wed And worn to see one dead.

Small hat, large hat, red hat, blue hat.

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London seen through Logan’s iPhone

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The Arts

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Back to the classics Alex Kolomaya

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ast year, I was fortunate enough to travel to London on a school trip. The opportunity was breathtaking and life-changing, but I wasn’t able to do the thing I wanted to most: go to Royal Albert Hall and listen to a great performance of classical music.

Once I heard about the London Review, I immediately began making plans to attend a symphony in this prestigious venue. Although I had already experienced many parts of London, I had yet to experience the beauty of its music.

In my opinion, attending a musical event in Royal Albert Hall should be on the bucket list of every music lover.

It is a unique venue built as a tribute to the arts and sciences, and boasts a history of great performers including Frank Sinatra, The Beatles, Eric Clapton, and Jay Z. I had the pleasure of hearing the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra perform a concert rightfully titled the Classical Spectacular. Anyone who enjoys classical music would fall in love with this concert, and most listeners would even be likely to recognize a piece during its performance.

As I sat down in my seat, the orchestra began to tune. The flawless A natural rang out from the oboe, and subsequently the rest of the orchestra joined in. Royal Albert Hall was instantly filled with a luscious sound that captivated the audience. Wasting no time, the conductor, John Rigby, hurried across stage, raised his baton, and kicked off ‘O Fortuna’ from Carmina Burana with the City of London Choir singing the choral material.

Moving through a repertoire that included infamous pieces such as the Swan Lake Finale, Funiculí Funiculà,

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Nessun Dorma, and 1812 Overture, they featured many composers such as Vedri, Strauss, Tchaikovsky, and Denza. Alongside the choir, the orchestra was accompanied by the Band of the Royal Logistics Corps as well as operatic virtuosos Sarah Redgwick and James Edwards. The orchestra gave a fantastic performance, yet they clearly saved their best work for the finale of the program. 1812 Overture…with cannons! That’s rightthe Royal Philharmonic played Tchaikovky’s masterpiece in the form it was originally scored with cannons (they decided to add fireworks too, just for fun). Just try to imagine the joyous sounds of 1812 Overture shattered by the sudden thundering of a cannon shot exploding from nearby with flames leaping from the banisters.

What stood out to me the most was a particularly odd event that occurred during the concert. The conductor encouraged the audience to wave British flags around during Pomp and Circumstance as well as sing phrases during “Rule, Britannia!” The whole audience joined in, and it was amaz-

ing to observe their interactions with the orchestra. It was one of the most random acts of patriotism I have ever experienced, and it was even more shocking to me that it occurred at an orchestral concert (an event in America where patriotism is often

left at home). In general, throughout the concert the audience seemed to be more involved and invested in the experience in comparison to my past experiences.

I thoroughly loved every second of the concert. The orchestra played wonderfully and generated an exciting atmosphere that any audience could enjoy. I am already scouting out my next concert for my inevitable return to London. ■

TateModern: poetry and dream Maria Kingfisher

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’ve always wished I could paint. I want to be able to pick up a brush and come up with a masterful work of art. Or, at least be able to draw a tree. Truth be told, I’m a terrible artist and envy those who have that natural ability. But I’ve always admired art, how someone can capture an image and add their own flare to it. Because of this, I knew I had to go to Tate Modern before we left London.

Tate Modern is a modern art museum that is known worldwide. It was built in 1899, when collector Henry Tate offered his collection of British art to the nation. As there was no room in the National Gallery to house his collection, it was decided that a site dedicated to British art would be found. Over the years, they have acquired many works from various other collections.

It was freezing the night we decided to visit Tate Modern, and I had conveniently worn a dress for our last dinner. Though my hands and feet were

numb, I was too excited to care. We stepped into Tate Modern and made our way to an exhibit. The theme was Poetry and Dream, and as I stepped through the entry I was immediately in awe.

The idea of the Poetry and Dream collection is to show the relationship between contemporary art and art of the past.

Paintings and projects covered the white walls, leading you from one item to the next. Each room was dedicated to a different style, encompassing realism, surrealism, and more. You could get up close to the art, close enough to see the individual brush strokes and see where emphasis was put, and where a gentler touch was used. The detail was exquisite, down

to the smallest vein in the hand of a young woman.

Ten rooms were dedicated to the Poetry and Dream collection at Tate Modern. Ten rooms that encompassed contemporary, dreamlike art that is heavily influenced by techniques and styles of the past. It’s

strange to see the growth of art up close and personal like I was able to that night at Tate Modern. As we made our way to the exit, I found myself wondering about the other collections in the museum, and promised myself I would return someday for the full Tate Modern experience. ■

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A taste of Picasso @ the Tate Casey Mwangi

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The Tate Modern Visit. ate Modern holds the national collection of British art from 1500 to date. The collection includes nearly 70,000 artworks by over 3,000 artists. During our visit, we were invited to the Picasso exhibit, where we were able to see the following pieces of his work in painting & sculpure.

Weeping Woman.

(Pablo Picasso 1881-1973) This painting was done in 1937. It is an oil painting on canvas. It is an emotional argument that talks about one of the worst atrocities of the Spanish Civil Wars, the bombing of the Basque town of Guernica by the German air force, lending their support to the Nationalist forces of General Franco. Picasso responded to the massacre by painting the vast mural, Guernica, and for moths afterwards he made subsidiary paintings based on one of the figures in the mural; a weeping woman holding her dead child. The woman’s features are based on Picasso’s lover Dora Maar.

Nude Woman with Necklace (Pablo Picasso 1881-1973) This painting was done in 1968. It is an oil painting on canvas.Throughout his life, Picasso reworked the theme of the female nude. In his eighties, he revised the traditional ideal of beauty with particular violence subjecting the body to a repeated assault in paint.

Here, a reclining female figure is presented as a raw sexualised arrange-

Painting of Nude Woman with Necklace

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ment of orifices, breasts and cumbersome limbs. It’s all there,’ Picasso said, “I try to do a nude as it is.” The face is that of his second wife, Jacqueline Roque. Energy pours out of this massive female figure. She’s a landscape, a life force, a human mountain range, with a river gushing from between her legs, a gust of wind erupting from her backside, and an explosion of white spray rising up behind her to join the clouds. Yet she’s many other things as well; She’s an ancient green goddess, whose mask face looks both at and beyond us; she’s an exotic bejewelled

Painting of Nude Woman in Red Arm Chair

age; the right side can also be seen as the face of a lover in profile, kissing her on the lips. Here, the theme again is an emotional appeal for admiration of the body of a woman and its pronounced attributes.

Painting of Weeping Woman

concubine, baring all and toying with her breasts as she lounges flatulently on cushions of red and gold. This painting is one of admiration of the woman and her qualities of supplication and resourcefulness. It may be compared with the plight to champion women’s place in society at the same time period Virginia Woolf wrote he novel, A Room of One’s Own. Nude Woman In A Red Armchair (Pablo Picasso 1881-1973) This is also an oil painting on canvas that was done in 1932. Yet another female nude theme by Picasso, this work belongs to the remarkable sequence of portraits that Picasso made of MarieTherese Walter at his country property at Boisgeloup. Marie-Therese is presented here as in most of her portraits, as a series of sensuous curves; even the scrolling arms of the chair have been heightened and exaggerated to echo the rounded forms of her body. The face is a double or metamorphic im-

Bust of a Woman (Pablo Picasso 1881-1973) This is an oil painting on canvas that was done in 1944. Again this is painting is making a reason vs. emotion argument, when the photographer Dora Maar was painted on May 5th 1944. Her configured features may reflect the complex atmosphere of the final weeks of the Nazi Occupation of Paris. Deprivation and tension remained high in the city. In February, two of Picasso’s closest Jewish friends – the poets Robert Desnos and Max Jacob – had been deported. Yet there were signs of defiance and hope. ■

Painting of Bust of a Woman

Standing room only Elizabeth Erker

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hey line the tube station escalators. They hail from street corners, billboards, and the sides of buses. They are plastered with countless colors, pithy phrases, and the names of well-known celebrities.

They are advertisements encouraging Londoners (and tourists) to visit the theatre.

One such advertisement that stuck out to me early in the trip was for the musical “Once.” I had heard great things about the movie and knew one of its original songs had won an Oscar, but over the years, its status on my “must see” list remained unchanged.

Fast forward to Friday night in London. My roommate Jenny and I are racking our brains and double-checking our list of London attractions to come up with an evening activity that

does not involve a museum, navigating a tricky tube route or even standing up. Enter “Once.” After a few (probably exorbitantly priced) phone calls to the box office, some dogged online research and a brief text exchange with Jenny’s mom, we have left the hotel and are headed to the theatre district to try to get our hands on some last-minute tickets. Fingers crossed.

Regarding “Once,” I know that Ronan Keating is the star, that the show has won eight Tony Awards, and that, according to reviews, it is “emotionally captivating and theatrically breathtaking.” What I cannot tell you, however, is whether or not I agree with the review or if the show really deserved all those Tony Awards. What I can tell you is that the box office at-

tendant dashed all my dreams of a relaxing evening taking in the sights and sounds of a vibrant performance with three words: standing room only.

Who knew that “standing room only” was more than an obscure expression used to illustrate that a church or meeting hall is mildly overflowing? Not I, but apparently the catchphrase is common in the British theatre, and those with heartier backs and stronger feet than I are willing to stick out a few hours of physical discomfort to see a story come to life onstage.

Call me a lazy American, but I look forward to seeing “Once” from a plush seat at Kauffman Center when the show comes to Kansas City this June. ■

A common dialogue among friends Jenny Warren Characters: JENNY WARREN, sophomore London Review student with general history knowledge SAVANNAH PINE, sophomore London Review student with a massive amount of history knowledge Setting: London, England, present time When: every day Act I, Scene I Lights up. Enter WARREN and PINE, walking down a busy London street.

WARREN Savannah, you know a lot of history. So what’s this about? What’s the story behind that?

PINE Well you see…this happened, then this happened…more stuff happened… someone was executed…those royals…(an hour later) then this guy that has absolutely nothing to do with your question did this.

WARREN (hesitantly) Oh, wow, that’s interesting…you didn’t answer my question.

PINE That’s beside the point. I told you what you needed to know. You’re welcome.

WARREN continues to walk, looking very confused. Lights down.

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Shakespeare in Love Jenny Warren

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have always been a movie buff. Seriously, I watch probably too many movies. It all started when I was little; my dad didn’t have a lot of extra money to go out and there is a really cheap movie theatre close to our house. It costs $4 a ticket; unheard of these days. So that’s what we did every weekend. He taught me to love every film genre you could imagine: action, comedy, drama, classics, science fiction, and even some foreign films. And that love carried on past my childhood.

It is no surprise then when I tell you that I audibly shrieked the first time I found out our group would be going to see the first adapted stage version of Shakespeare in Love, a 90’s “romcom” starring Gwyneth Paltrow and Joseph Fiennes along with Judi Dench, Colin Firth, and Geoffrey Rush; all of them reputable actors. I shared the news with every person I saw in the next 24 hours, as I do when I get really enthusiastic about anything.

The problem was when I talked to others in the London Review, I was the only one who seemed remotely excited.

Nobody I talked to understood. Shakespeare in Love is one of my all time favorite stories. It is a somewhat known film, so I couldn’t have been one of the only ones who’d ever seen it, right?

Sign outside theatre

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Wrong. It has been almost 20 years since the film was made, but it did win the title Best Picture at the Oscars that year and gave Gwyneth Paltrow and Judi Dench matching trophies.

Since no one had seen it, I gave it great reviews. I gave a brief outline of the plot on cue and continuously spoke of it as one of the things I looked forward to most in London. Although, as our departure approached, I started to get nervous that the play would be less thrilling than Posing in front of the Noel Coward Theatre I made it sound. All I wanted was for my friends to feel of theatre I prefer. And these actors the pure enjoyment and magic that were exquisite, even better than I’d I did years ago when I saw it for the hoped. Actor Orlando James was the first time with my dad. The stage perfect Will Shakespeare. He someplay needed to do the story justice. how found a way to be cleverly huI wasn’t disappointed. Forget Shake- morous and dramatically romantic speare in love. I was in love. at the same time. His counterpart, It was magical. This is a show that is Viola, was just as lovely to watch. relies solely on the characters; there Played by Eve Ponsonby, Viola gives are no extravagant special effects or the play its name as Will’s love interoverwhelming musical numbers. It est. She is spirited, unruly, and poised was just the actors on stage; the kind all at once. At some points during the

Noel Coward stage door

Theatre stage

did, I’m happy to know it’s something I got to share with them. I encourage anyone who has the chance to go see it, please do. It is well worth your time.

Like I said, I have a passion for film and storytelling. Whether it’s big box office busters like Forrest Gump, Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings and The Breakfast Club or the lesser-known but favorites like Evelyn, Whiplash and Shakespeare in Love, I’m always up for a good, long discussion because I’ve most likely seen it already.

You can find me at the movies. ■

Sign outside theatre

performance, I thought she deserved the Oscar over Gwyneth Paltrow. Together, these two actors convinced me that they were truly in love.

Romance is the essential ingredient to the story, but comedy also found its way into every scene. Characters would place themselves in scenes they weren’t supposed to be in. For instance, one actor came on stage to grab a prop from Will Shakespeare even though he definitely didn’t have a place in Viola’s bedroom with the couple; that would be awkward!

Rules of the theatre were broken, but I didn’t care! It was too funny to even notice.

Shakespeare in Love was altogether spectacular. I don’t think I was unhappy about one part. The ensemble, scenery, costumes, music, and witty lines were all work of an obviously incredible team of actors, crew members, production workers, choreographer, writer and director. Looking back, this will always be one of my fondest memories of London. Even if the others didn’t enjoy it as much as I

Film cover

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow Savannah Pine 2014 to 2018 mark the centennial of World War I. The war was disastrous; the world of the Victorians and the Edwardians was decimated by it. However, the centennial remembrances are not commemorating the end of four empires –Germany, Austria-Hungary, the Ottoman Empire, and Russia. They commemorate the people.

Across from the Tower of London there is the Merchant Navy Memorial for all the civilian sailors who died because German submarines sunk their convoys under the pretense that they were carrying supplies for Britain. The memorial features the names of every sailor who died. There are too many, especially considering that they were not members of the Royal Navy, they were civilians.

As I walked around the memorial, reading every name, I noticed that several had paper poppies taped next to them. How striking is that? Someone made a conscious choice to make a poppy, travel to the memorial, find the name, and tape it next to that name. These people died nearly a hundred years ago, yet they are still remembered by family members.

I felt like a trespasser in that moment. Suddenly, I was not just a curious historian; I was peering in on a family’s remembrance of its loved one. I felt as if the past had slammed forward and merged with the present. I felt as if the past never left. Now, I realize I was ridiculous to think that it had; people continue to study history because it endures, because people keep making the same mistakes. Over the next three years, as the remembrances continue, we will see World War I’s endurance within our world.

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London, Lyceum, and lions Kerry McCullough

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his was not my first rodeo.

I actually saw The Lion King when it came to Sacramento in 2009. I remembered it being big and loud and yellow. At the time, I had memorized all the songs in the show as I was a musical theater nerd who listened to the soundtracks from Wicked and Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat with great earnestness.

I was only about 12 at the time of the performance, but I was old enough to understand that I was witnessing the magic that is the theater. So when TimeOut London announced that The Lion King was playing at the Lyceum Theatre, I jumped at the chance to experience the spectacular Broadway musical again.

And London’s production of The Lion King did not disappoint.

A few weeks prior to our trip to London, a group of us girls opted to buy tickets to see The Lion King at the Lyceum Theatre. Finding good seats that were well-priced and close together was a bit of a hassle, but we made it work and ordered our tickets.

The price was a bit higher than some of us were expecting, but I remained adamant that the show would prove worth it.

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The show wasn’t scheduled until the end of the week so we had plenty of time to get excited about, forget about, and then remember the performance. Tracking down the Lyceum

Theatre was a part of the fun too, and by the time Friday rolled around, we were all rather astute at using the maps and tube routes to figure out the best way to get from point A to point B. And let’s just say, we definitely knew when we found the Lyceum Theatre.

The Doric columns out front glowed yellow; the hues from the giant post-

ers advertising the performance mixed with the light that crept from inside the building out into the darkening street. The theatre looked warm, inviting, and full of energy.

We picked up our tickets from the box office and found our way to our seats: Row L of the Royal Circle. I mean, even the name of the section makes it sound like our seats would be phenomenal!

And they were.

We were in the first balcony made even better by the fact that the people who sat in front of us were not tall enough to block our view of the stage. And oh the stage. Even before the show started, I could tell the floor would shift and turn and rise and fall. It was dizzying. It took a while for me to notice, but I caught on to the fact that there were jungle sounds being played over the general murmuring of the audience; already an indication of the incredible detail these people take into consideration. By this point, we were all anxious for the show to start. Not because we were uncomfortable or bored, but because we wanted to see what would happen.

The curtain lifted. The fog machine rolled. And Rafiki busted out the open-

ing line of “The Circle of Life” from some savanna in Africa. I couldn’t help but smile with glee when the puppets appeared on stage operated with practiced precision by the actors concealed inside the complex contraptions. Giraffes, elephants, antelope,

leopards, lions, birds, a whole manner of fauna found its way onto that stage in London. The music swelled beneath the harmony sung by the characters on stage as they navigated the swirling set that shifted and spun under their feet. There was a simplicity among all the chaotic color, movement, and music that was comforting and familiar. Because at the end of the

day, this is still the story about Simba that we all grew up watching on VHS. I nearly cried when the song ended. Now you have to understand: I don’t cry at things like this. But the sheer magnitude of that performance gave me chills; and that was only the first number!

Because this is my story, I’m going to list my favorite parts of this musical so bear with me: 1) I picked up on a clear linguistic difference between the actors from London and those who must have been recruited from different countries. The best example of this was a dialogue between Timon and Young Simba involving the word zebra. Now you have to understand that in London this word is pronounced [ˈzɛbrə] rather than [ˈzibrə] and that difference becomes painfully obvious when one character says it one way and then another says it the other way in the next sentence. And this is exactly what happened. It was fun to not only catch onto it, but to understand why there was contrast.

2) Going to The Lion King rekindled my love of musicals and reminded me of my own propensity to sing show tunes in public. This would have been dangerous if I had had full use of my voice but having lost it earlier in the week, my fellow companions were spared the embarrassment of hauling the crazy singing girl around with them.

This didn’t stop me from singing under my breath in the tube on our return to the hotel after the show,

but it was late enough and I was quiet enough that it shouldn’t have bothered too many people. In fact, one other member of our group, with her voice intact, fearlessly helped me in trying to recall the lyrics to Newsies.

There is a connection here, hang on: Max Casella, the actor who played Timon in the original Broadway production of The Lion King starred in Newsies as a boy in 1992. There was a logic to our jumping from one musical to the next.

3) Having your breath taken away by something so beautifully and carefully orchestrated is a wonderful experience. I am so lucky to have had that opportunity at the Lyceum Theatre that Friday night. The production was magical and between the incredible sets, complex costumes, layered music, and lovable story, the night was a total success.

Hakuna Matata! ■

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A night of jazz Alex Kolomaya

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ne of my favorite genres of music is jazz. Its style encompasses an entire range of emotions and I believe jazz transformed the world. Plain and simple, it influences music to this day and its effects can be felt throughout the world, like in the Afro-Portuguese styled music played in Nando’s. My love of this music is what led me to research and eventually find Ronnie Scott’s Bar, a jazz club located in Soho.

Founded on October 30th,1959 by English tenor saxophonist Ronnie Scott, the club began to delight audiences with live jazz performances and

today is a widely sought out venue for both performers and audiences.

It attracts full audiences every night with big names such Wynton Marsalis, Cassandra Wilson, and Kurt Elling while still fresh new artists, looking to become the next big hit. I went with a group of London Reviewers and the main show was sold out so we went to the bar upstairs where the house band would play. Entering the dimly lit, tight, but well furnished venue felt stepping back into time to a high-class speakeasy from the 50s. The quartet only supported this as they played tunes in a bepop style primarily from 40s and 50s like musicians Sonny Rollins, Charlie Parker, and Thelonious Monk.

The music itself sounded fantastic.

It washed over me, as I listened I sunk deeper and deeper into the melodies.

The band was comprised of a quartet with Andy Davies on trumpet, Benet McLean on piano, Tim Thornton on bass, and Saleem Raman on drums.

The rhythm section was solid and provided a great foundation. The trumpeter had a full dark tone, comprised of rich overtones furthering his musical capabilities. Individual members took improvisational solos multiple times throughout the set, creating a very personal interpretation of the music. They executed together and created wonderful night of jazz that I thoroughly enjoy and greatly miss.

If the tubes ran all night I probably would have stayed until closing at 3am. ■

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The London Review as told by The Beatles Abby Ogden

Class before London

“All the lonely people, where do they all belong?” –Eleanor Rigby

First day in London

“I’m so tired, I haven’t slept a wink I’m so tired, my mind is on the blink. I wonder should I get up and fix myself a drink. No, no, no. –I’m So Tired

Everything closes at 5:30 pm

“I don’t know why you say goodbye, I say hello.” – Hello, Goodbye

Attempting to navigate the tube

“Help! I need somebody… Won’t you please, please help me” –Help!

In the night clubs

“Well shake it up baby now (Shake it up baby) Twist and shout!

– Twist and Shout

Walking home from the night

“There’s nothing you can do that can’t be done, nothing you can sing that can’t be sung.” – All You Need Is Love

club after missing the tube Attempting to keep friends from getting hit by cars

“I wanna hold your hand. I wanna hold your hand.” – I Wanna Hold Your Hand

Headed back to America

“Sun, sun, sun, here she comes.” – Here Comes The Sun

First day back from London

“Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away. Now it looks as though they’re here to stay. Oh I believe in yesterday.” – Yesterday

Compiling this book

“Oh I get by with a little help from my friends.” – With A Little Help From My Friends

Class after London

“You’ll never leave me and you know it’s true. Cos you like me too much and I like you.” – You Like Me Too Much

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The Magna Carta: celebrating a youthful 800 years Savannah Pine

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he British Library houses two of the four copies of the Magna Carta, all of which were written in 1215, making this year the eight hundredth anniversary of the first peaceful method to limit a monarch’s power. The Roman Empire had a method to limit a monarch’s power, but it required a member of the Praetorian Guard to assassinate the Emperor, which was not very peaceful. However, the Magna Carta is the not the oldest British document the library houses, that honor is held by AEthelstan the AEtheling’s will written in 1014.1 During the reign of John I, a group of barons had enough of the ineffective king. John had the misfortune to be the son of Henry II, who married the heiress to nearly half of the terri-

Me and my buddy, King John I

tories of France,2 and to be the brother of Richard I, who was the hero of the Third Crusade. He didn’t quite measure up to his military successful father and brother. John lost all of his mother’s inheritance in France, except for the port of Calais, and then 94

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he became tyrannical and paranoid.

The barons decided to put an end to the tyranny, but they did not trust his son nor his descendants to be any better, so they made a document that limited the monarchy, that did not limit solely an individual king. The barons forced John to approve and sign the Magna Carta, which is still applicable in British law today.

However, the Magna Carta, over its eight hundred year history, has been modified so much that only a Advertising for the Magna Carta few of its tenants still at the British Library have legal power. The importance of the document is more has a statue of John at the beginning in its influence in the founding docu- of the exhibit that looks like he is ments of former British colonies than wearing Ancient Egyptian charioteer in its influence in British law in 2015. armor, which no one would have In honor of the document’s birth- worn in the Middle Ages. day, the British Library created an Seeing the Magna Carta needs to exhibit that featured the letters writ- be a requirement for all historians ten by the annoyed barons, Thomas and anyone who wants to be a lawJefferson’s own copy of the United yer because it is living, breathing, relStates’ Declaration of Independence, evant history. Lastly, the most astona copy of King John’s tomb effigy, ishing thing about the Magna Carta is John’s Great Seal from 1203, two of that the physical document has lasted John’s teeth, and the ineffectual Pa- nearly intact for eight hundred years. pal Bull that abolished the Magna In contrast, our own Declaration of Carta –obviously, the English listened Independence is already badly faded to it. The exhibit was wonderfully or- and it has only been around for two ganized because it presented all the hundred and thirty nine years. ■ documents from the barons’ letters to the founding documents of for 1. You have to appreciate Anglo-Saxon mer colonies in the twentieth century chronologically, but it saved the two rulers since their names are all derivatives of AEthel. copies of the Magna Carta for the very 2. Brilliant woman in her own right, I sugend because one should always save gest just reading the Wikipedia article on the best for last. However, the library her, her name is Eleanor of Aquitaine.

The time of toys Rachel Benefiel

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ondon is a city of great museums: the Victoria & Albert, the British Museum, the Tate Modern… the list goes on and on. Amidst all of these amazing monuments to history, art, and knowledge, I set out one morning to find a museum off the beaten path.

Not far from the British Museum is Pollock’s Toy Museum. The museum is housed in a modest brick building that, aside from a mural painted in muted tones on the ground floor, does little to distinguish itself from its neighbors. Entering the building, it is possible to think that there must be some mistake; here is a small toy store, not a museum.

The real entrance to the museum is a plain door to the right of the cash register. Once behind the door, toys are everywhere. Toys fill glass cases that stretch from floor to ceiling.

Toys even occupy space on the walls, some sitting in shadow boxes, others framed like photographs.

Walking through the condensed history of playthings from the past three centuries, there is something familiar about all of the toys. Toy trends haven’t changed too much over the years: boys line up tin soldiers and

play with building sets and girls play with dolls and tea sets. Although this part of Pollock’s collection of toys is not so different from those of other museums, there is a special attraction that drew me to Pollock’s.

Past all the eerie doll eyes and a ventriloquist dummy that is the seed of all puppet-related nightmares, is a collection of toy theaters. Constructed from paper, the theaters were a popular toy in the Victorian era. The theaters would be purchased as sets, which were printed with the stage, sets, and characters necessary to put

on the show for the script provided.

The pages would then be cut apart and the various pieces pasted together to create a 3-D theater in which paper players could pace the paper boards.

One of the most famous makers of toy theaters was London toymaker Benjamin Pollock, for whom the museum is named. H.G. Wells and Charlie Chaplin were among some of Pollock’s customers, and Robert Louis Stevenson praised him, writing, “If you love art, folly or the bright eyes of children speed to Pollock’s.”

The toy theaters, like almost everything at Pollock’s Toy Museum, have

a melancholy drollness to them. Like everything at the museum they were once precious and treasured objects but were left behind in the tides of time. The personal nature of toys is what makes Pollock’s a fascinating museum. Locked behind their glass, every toy silently evokes the story of a child that can no longer be told. ■

If you love art, folly or the bright eyes of children speed to Pollock’s —Robert Louis Stevenson Sights

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The secret treasures at the British Library Kerry McCullough

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’ll admit: I’m not a big person.

I’ll even go as far to say I feel small a majority of the time.

But in London, there were times when I was absolutely dwarfed. And not by buildings or palaces or universities or bridges. I mean obviously I would feel small standing next to them, anyone would! I’m talking about the greater scheme of things: being made small by time or genius or the propensity of knowledge to transcend the occasional asininity of the human race.

It’s a humbling experience. It’s scary and thought-provoking and funny and inspiring and unmatchable. And the Treasures of the British Library facilitated one of these experiences for me.

The Treasures exhibit was off the second floor of the library and opened up into a darkened room. It wasn’t flashy or attention-grabbing, and I probably would have walked by it if I hadn’t been looking for it in the first place.

The first table I walked up to was really more of a canoe. I don’t know how else to describe this thing’s appearance. The surface of the table was sunk below its sides so that a glass cover could be placed above the

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artifacts. And these artifacts! The first thing I saw was Shakespeare’s First Folio. Next to it was one of Leonardo da Vinci’s notebooks complete with sketches and handwritten notes.

I couldn’t help but smile. You hear and read about these documents all the time, but it is a completely different thing to see the very artifact firsthand. I hadn’t even made it halfway through the exhibit before I had to

stop and make a list of everything I saw because I was afraid of forgetting something later. I pulled out my journal and jotted down the most prominent artifacts I had seen: a Beowulf manuscript, Jane Austen’s writing desk, handwritten works from Oscar Wilde, Elizabeth Browning, Charlotte Bronte, and Sir Walter Raleigh, letters from Anne Boleyn to Henry VIII, a speech read by Elizabeth I, Thomas

One of my favorite facets of this exhibit was the holy texts. I was blown away by the sheer beauty of these books. Bibles, Torrahs, Qurans, and a myriad of others representing religions from all over the world. Each page seemed to sparkle with gold leaf and vibrant color. A feeling of joy and praise seemed to leap from the books. Texts from hundreds of years ago, made with painstaking care and embellished so elaborately, were on display right in front of me. I marveled at the skill of the men who were able to craft such beauty with only their hands. It’s comparable to churches really- it would have taken years if not decades to create such artistry all for the sake of religion. It’s a powerful thing.

I think it took me nearly two hours to make it through the entire exhibit, practically drooling over every new text I saw. The room appeared dark and dull upon entering, but as a selfproclaimed bibliophile, I felt right at home and was able to fully appreciate the magnitude of the treasures I saw at the British Library. ■ Moore’s interrogation papers, notes regarding the Guy Fawkes conspiracy, and notes from John Locke and Karl Marx.

And while I was frantically writing all this down with ridiculous enthusiasm, I felt like I was trespassing. I didn’t feel worthy enough to scribble in a notebook so close to some of the documents left behind by the world’s most influential people. It’s silly, but this room was sacred. People moved about with such reverence and awe; I, of course, did the same just with a bit more curiosity and excitement. I am still amazed by the strength and tenacity of the written word, made ever more prominent by the documents on display at the British Library.

These scraps of paper, old notebooks, and ancient texts survived so much just to make it to the table I peered into. People poured their souls into some of these documents and I got to stand inches away from the evidence of their values that drove them to write.

Left with a Note Justine Culver When I was younger, our PBS station would show the adventures of the marmalade loving Paddington Bear. He’s the poor little guy left at Paddington Station with the note reading, “Please look after this bear”. I went to Paddington Station, while there was no real bear standing in a blue rain slicker and red hat on any of the platforms, he’s still having adventures after all these years.

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Walking among invisible giants Ashley Farris

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was drawn to Bletchley, just a 50 minute train ride from Euston Station, because of my work with Dr. Perry Alexander’s seminar on the Origins of Computing. In his course, he talks about Alan Turing and his colleagues at Bletchley. These men and women worked non-stop for several years to break German cyphers, including the infamous Engima code, once thought unbreakable by the

al: computational machines, mathematical biology (morphogenesis), and theoretical computation. Turing had one of the most brilliant mathematical minds of the 20th century, only to be forced into chemical castration and eventual suicide because of his homosexuality. Turing became not only one of my heroes but also taught me a lesson on loving people because of their differences; indeed, on the night that

in England. The urgent commotion that must have been common at the estate during World War II was now gone, replaced by bumbling tourists listening to narratives about Bletchley from their audio headsets. An eclectic manor constructed from at least ten different architectural styles, a symbol of the equally eclectic codebreakers who once lived in its shadow, sits across from a peaceful lake where

Bletchley Park Manor House

entire world. The entire world wasn’t completely off mark either; the Enigma truly was unbreakable by human minds, which is why Alan Turing and his coworkers built a machine that could process twenty years of work in twenty minutes. Turing’s work here and after the war created not only one entirely novel field of study, but sever-

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I accepted a marriage proposal from my boyfriend we had seen The Imitation Game together. For these reasons, I made plans to visit Bletchley, hoping to understand Turing and the codebreakers in some small way.

I arrived alone at Bletchley Park, once home to Britain’s most brilliant minds, on the sunniest day we’d seen

ducks, swans, and the occasional pigeon feasts on the tourists’ leavings.

I was completely at peace here when I visited in 2015, a feeling that contrasts with the anxiety that the codebreakers must have felt while trying to break the German radio cyphers in order to ensure that crucial supplies reached the British Isles to relieve

your closest family members would have destroyed me.

I left Bletchley as the sun was setting, in awe of the shadows of the people who once lived there. I started to understand Bletchley during the war, but I left with more questions than I had answers. The holes left behind made more of an impact on me than the museum itself. I took one final look at the mansion, closed my eyes, and tried to imagine the incessant whirring of the Bombe as its makers tried to break an unbreakable Nazi cypher. ■

Reconstruction of a BP office during WWII

Britain’s starving population. I was walking among invisible giants here, invisible because the efforts that the Bletchley men and women made to shorten the war by two years and save 14 million lives were classified until the 1970s.

The manor was surrounded by concrete huts where the codebreakers did their work. I was initially amazed by how few personal artifacts remained of the people who spent years of their young lives here, working for the government in complete secrecy.

It eventually made sense though; these people were told that once they

finished, they must pick up their lives completely, burn all of their work at Bletchley, and try to resume the lives they once had. The men went on to positions in industry and academia and the brilliant women who were crucial to the codebreaking efforts were left to marry. The most important work of their lives was over and it was time to get married and raise families, as the rest of the world expected them to do. I am amazed that the secrecy did not break them; to have helped your country win a devastating war with nothing but your mind and to not be able to tell even

Quote from The Imitation Game

Pigeons Kerry McCullough Ornithophobics would not fare well in London. The sheer number of pigeons in this city was enough to frustrate me and I don’t consider myself irrationally afraid of the creatures, they’re just kind of icky. But these animals were everywhere! Waddling through parks, chilling on sidewalks, crossing bridges, dodging foot traffic, you name it: a pigeon was probably there getting in the way or scavenging through garbage. I would, on occasion, chase a bird or two down the street only to disgruntle the thing and tire myself. They’re obstinate little creatures and try as I may to establish dominance, they know London better than I do.

Alan Turing’s Office

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London Bridge isn’t falling down Laura Carlson

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n Friday after wandering through Borough Market and eating a cookie the size of my head, I continued walking along the Thames until I was closer to Tower Bridge. Tower Bridge is not the London Bridge. I did slip up once on accident during the trip and got the names confused even though I know London Bridge is just a normal, every-

day bridge whereas Tower Bridge is iconic and magnificent. I stared at the bridge from afar for a little while and, since I was alone, I was also observing everyone walking by trying to figure out if I could trust handing over my phone to someone to take my picture

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with the bridge in the background.

You see, I would rather ask a random person than ever use a selfie stick.

Eventually a nice family from Chicago asked me to take their picture. After helping them out I asked the son, who goes to Syracuse and was also studying abroad, if he could take my picture. After making sure I had a picture with the iconic bridge, I continued on along the river until I came to the bridge.

By the time I reached Tower Bridge, the sun was finally coming out for the first time since we had been in London. I walked across the bridge and saw the entrance for the Tower Bridge Exhibition. Since it was sunny, I decided it was worth it to go all the way up in the tower and see the view from the top walkways. At the top after getting off the elevator, there was a short, informative video on the construction of Tower Bridge. Sir Horace Jones designed the bridge, but he died before his design was completed. After the video, I walked across both the top walkways that had new glass floors. The glass floors are 138

feet above the street and pedestrian walkway. There was one old lady that was really fun to watch because she was freaked out about stepping on the glass floor. With the sun out, the

London sweets Laura Carlson views from the top of the bridge were beautiful looking down both sides of the Thames.

The second part of the Tower Bridge Exhibition tour involved going down into the engine rooms. It was really neat to learn how the bridge lifts. The beautiful exterior of Tower Bridge covers all the cogs, wheels, and other mechanical pieces that help keep the bridge fully functional. I had walked across Tower Bridge the first time I was in London and never even knew about all the interesting things happening beneath the surface. It was totally worth a few extra pounds to be

able to explore Tower Bridge from top to very bottom.

The sunny days in London don’t happen often so I was very happy the sun decided to break out from behind the clouds when I went up Tower Bridge. I think that the Tower Bridge experience gave me just as good a view as the London Eye and it cost a lot less. The bridge is one of the most iconic landmarks in London and often gets called by the wrong name, but I have a greater appreciation for Tower Bridge now that I have been able to see some of the parts not many other people stop to explore. ■

Our last night in London, I made some of the greatest purchases of my life. I bought 10 British candy bars from the Tesco Express across from the tube station near our hotel. I didn’t realize until after I bought the candy that there was an amazing deal for 3 candy bars for £1.20. After returning to our hotel, Ashley, one of my fantastic

roommates, inspired me to return to Tesco to get more candy. Since it was the last night and I still had some pounds in my pocket, I figured I might as well stock up. After my second trip to Tesco, I ended up with about 30 different kinds of British candy. Trust me I do not plan to share any of it. Some of my favorite candy purchases include Lion bars, Mars bars, and Milkybar Buttons. Each time I bite into one of my candy bars, I’ll think of London and all the fabulous memories I made on the London Review.

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Kensington Palace Whitney Ashlock

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ur first full day of leisure had already arrived. My roommates and I had the entire day planned out from 8a.m. to midnight. First on the agenda: Kensington Palace. Visiting the household of William and Kathryn was something I couldn’t even imagine until I walked through Kensington Park and saw the gates with strands of gold. Suddenly, something amazing happened. A helicopter slowly glided overhead and my heart began to race. We couldn’t stop wondering, “Is that the Duchess and the Prince?” It soon landed near the palace. My friends and I immediately ran toward the doors and bought our tickets to go inside. We were eager to see what important person landed in the palace.

We made our way through the palace’s history of births, ballrooms, and deaths. What stood out to me the most was a locket displayed with Prince Albert’s actual 150-year-old

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white hair inside. Another interesting feature was the actual bed where James Edward Stuart was born in 1688. I couldn’t grasp the fact that I was standing in the same room as royal’s did 400 plus years ago. As we walked through the royal gowns ex-

hibit, we came across an employee and finally asked who the mystery person in the helicopter was. To our disappointment, she said it could’ve been anyone because there were so many rich people near by. Needless to say, her response was a huge let down. We wanted answers.

Although I didn’t uncover who the helicopter party was, I still loved every second of the experience. I learned about the royal palace’s many ups and downs between sicknesses and deaths. Seeing how people lived, dressed, and played through history of London was truly amazing. The art displayed of the royal families was breath-taking and the interior design made me feel like I was a character in a movie about 1700’s royalty. After visiting the palace, I would give anything to go back in time and see what it was like to live such a different way of life. ■

Londinium to London town to London Savannah Pine

W

hen you arrive at the St. Paul’s tube stop, you must turn your back on the massive Baroque-style cathedral and walk two blocks north to the Museum of London. The museum resides in what used to be the northwestern corner of Roman London. The museum focuses just on the history of London from prehistory to modern times.

The prehistory section describes the ancient Britons’ dwellings, which existed where Heathrow is now. Then the museum introduces you to the Roman London section by showing you a map of the boundaries of Londinium superimposed on a picture of modern London. Londinium stretched east from St. Paul’s to the Tower of London, and north to a street now called London Wall, named after the Roman wall that used to enclose the city. The next section is the Medieval period, which the museum claims lasted from the fall of Rome in 475 CE to the death of Elizabeth II in 1603. This is incorrect because everyone knows that the medieval period ended with the introduction of the Renaissance in England

The only fact you need to know about London history

through the coronation of Henry VIII in 1509. In spite of this historical inaccuracy, the Medieval section features artifacts from the Anglo-Saxon period, a map of London when the Normans invaded in 1066, the royal arms of Edward III who called himself the King of England and France, information about the Black Death, and, finally, it

The Museum of London

discusses the Tudors. The next section explains the reigns of the Stuarts, the English Civil War, and the Georgians, including George III’s loss of the American colony. The second to last section is a recreation of a Victorian street with several shops, such as a tobacconist and a Victorian pub, which was much smaller than its modern version. Finally, the museum has pictures about London in the twentieth century, including the protests against racism and the protests for equal rights during the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s.

Though the museum is designed more for children, I learned more about British history there than at

the British Museum or any other museum in London. A museum teaching me history is extraordinary because I usually spend my time in museums correcting and/or adding to the exhibits. If you don’t believe me, I recommend walking around the World War I exhibit in the Imperial War Museum with me. Or, I recommend walking on the Freedom Trail with me in Boston to get the non-mythical history of the American War of Independence.

Though after visiting this museum, you may be giving me a historical tour of London instead of the other way around. ■

Quick test Justine Culver What do you see on top of the pillars?

A Bridge? Congratulations! Your letter from Hogwarts is on the way.

Nothing? Silly muggle.

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A walk in Virginia Woolf’s shoes Elli Rao

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s every proud literature nerd knows, a visit to London isn’t complete without a pilgrimage to Bloomsbury, past residence of luminaries such as Virginia Woolf, Charles Dickens, and E.M. Forster. To

Gordon Square

fulfill our duties as English majors, early on Thursday morning, Derek and I took the Tube to Russell Square, where we committed the ultimate tourist sin by opening my map on a street corner and then walking in the wrong direction like the Americans we truly are. After realizing that we had completely bypassed our destination, we re-traced our steps and arrived at Gordon Square.

Blue plaques proliferate on the homes surrounding Gordon Square. I first snapped a picture of John Maynard Keynes’ home at 46 Gordon Square, and then at 50 Gordon Square, we came to the former home of Virginia Woolf. The building now functions as a daycare, and I had a mini-freak-out as I realized that I was standing at the doorway on which Woolf had once traipsed. I sincerely hope that 104

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other people have had the same reaction; otherwise those children in the daycare probably have a very negative view of Americans.

Gordon Square is now the location of the University of London, and rushing students filled the sidewalk when we were there. I tried to imagine what it would be like to attend school in the middle of London, and I imagine that it is not what I think it would be. I noticed that Londoners live comfortably in the midst of the history of their city; while spying blue plaques thrills visitors such as myself, residents appear to be modestly proud of their surroundings and then hurry on to get a spot of tea.

Derek and I then took a walk in the actual park of Gordon Square, which was not as neatly manicured as the other parks I’d seen, such as Hyde Park. I appreciated its slightly overgrown state because I could imagine eccentric artists milling about. Also, its disorder fashioned it into an appropriate place to take pictures of Derek’s and my feet, which we thought would make for an artistic picture (Note:

Our version of a love poem

My feet are happy in Gordon Square

sneakers, gravel, and an iPhone camera are not ideal for artistic photos.)

Next, we went to the Charles Dickens Museum. Though the toilet situation at the museum bamboozled us (“Does WC mean women’s closet?”

–Derek Pendergast), we managed to purchase tickets and began our journey through the museum. Located in the home where Dickens wrote Oliver Twist, the museum stages how Dickens’s residence would have looked while he lived there. Most of the rooms contained documents that Dickens had written himself, such as letters or parts of manuscripts.

While we were the there, the museum even had a special exhibit on the love letters Dickens composed to a former lover while he was married to another woman. Most importantly, the exhibit invited attendees to create their own poem, and Derek and I could not pass up this opportunity. Though we did not follow the posted rules, I think everyone will appreciate our poem.

You will probably be able to view it soon at the British Library.

I still can’t get over the fact that my feet were on the same spot on which great authors once stood. My inner English nerd was supremely excited, and I highly recommend a stroll in Bloomsbury for any future London-bound travelers. ■

We are the Chelsea Jenny O’Grady

“We are the Chelsea and we are the best! We are the Chelsea so f*** all the rest!”

grew up spending my weekends playing in soccer tournaments and going to professional games, but nothing compared to the experience of a Chelsea Football Club match. Decked out in royal Chelsea blue, fans downed their beers before entering the famous Stamford Bridge stadium– as alcohol is no longer allowed inside to avoid rowdy conflicts. As we walked into the bleachers, I swore I got chills. I had honestly never seen a pitch so beautiful, so historic. The grass, mowed in light green and dark green checkers, sparkled with the light mist that was falling down. The iconic gray sky only added to the character of English soccer. The crowd waved giant Chelsea flags and created a cacophony of five different chants occurring at different sections of the 41,000-seat stadium.

In an upper corner section, a slew of Southampton fans stood surrounded by security guards lining both sides.

Fights must have happened in the past.

I loved the intensity of the game, of the atmosphere.

I

I’d waited my whole life to experience a game like this. What sealed the deal on my decision to participate in the London Review was the fact I could finally see a soccer match played in England. I was not let down.

To my delighted surprise, our tickets were in second row.

Nothing blocked our view of the field and we were so close to the action you could hear the players call out for the ball and see the sweat on their faces. It was shocking, the pace of their game. I always resented people saying that soccer in the United States is not a big deal, but after watching in person these English Premiere League boys play, it was clear there is a difference.

Every pass was beautiful. Every tackle flawless. Every cross. Every header. Every move off the ball. The chemistry of this team was incredible. Equally as united were the fans of Chelsea– the “only team of London”. Every call by the referee would be questioned with

cursing from the crowd. Just as every shot on goal would be rewarded with more chanting, clapping, and screaming. The crowd was mostly men; however, there were some women fans as well. I was excited to see them in particular. I’m tired of hearing football is a man’s sport.

Even while being mesmerized by the style of play, I caught onto the chants and became a part of that crowd I enjoyed so much. I felt like one of the regulars and we were all bound by the desire to see Chelsea win. After Chelsea scored, we all went wild. We were right there, only 40 feet away.

We hugged and high fived and chanted even more. If I could bring this atmosphere to America, I would. I don’t think Americans realize how much soccer unites the world. The World Cup includes nations from all over the world, while the World Series includes only teams from the United States and one Canadian city. Soccer connects people and cultures and continents. I love the dedication to soccer I witnessed– became a part of– in London. Because in England, soccer is more than just a game. It’s a way of spending your life, it’s a religion and a staple. Footballers are heroes and time pauses when a match is being played. For ninety minutes nothing else matters. And I was finally in a place that felt the same way I do. ■

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When I almost missed the Harry Potter studio tour Lindsey Fleming

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efore going to London, I made the standard list of everything I wanted to do. Of course the Tate Modern, the London Eye, and Big Ben made it onto the list. However, the Harry Potter Studio Tour was the main attraction I really wanted to see.

I purchased my ticket for the 3:00 tour a week before we left, after finding out that others from the group had purchased theirs for the 3:30 tour (which was all sold out by the time I bought mine). So basically I was already having a little bit of anxiety towards the situation thinking that I would have to go on the tour alone.

The day of the tour had finally arrived. After eating lunch it was time to find Euston station, which would take us to the tour. Walking to Euston Station was the first time I was by

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myself in London, and it definitely was not easy finding the place, especially when there were usually others around me from the group who took over navigating the map. After asking multiple people I finally arrived at the station and waited for the others.

By this time it was 2:00, and everyone had finally shown up and got their tickets for the train. We left on the 2:15 train, and I was feeling great.

The website had said it would take only 15 minutes to get to Watford and then another 10 minutes on the bus

We finally arrived at the studio and ran to the ticket line, still nervous thinking that we would get turned away. The girl got our information, handed us our tickets, smiled, and said, “Have a wonderful time!” She didn’t even look twice at the tickets.

to the studio. However, after being on the train for 20 minutes and having stopped at every single station along the way, we realized we didn’t take the express train like we should have.

By the time we finally got to Watford, it was 3:15 and I was freaking out.

All kinds of thoughts were running through my head. Was I not going to be able to see the tour? Would they give me my money back? Elli, a fearless London Reviewer, tried calming me down by saying she would “cause a scene” if she had to.

The bus took longer than expected, and we wouldn’t be arriving at the studio until around 3:40. Now the others were starting to worry. We were all coming up with different scenarios that would happen if they wouldn’t let us in, and what we would say if that did happen. The four of us were trash talking the studio complaining about how much they were insensitive jerks, and everything was their fault. No one was happy.

We all breathed a sigh of relief and laughed about how stupid we had been thinking the worst scenario would happen. The group of us got through the doors and had a wonderful time exploring the world of Harry Potter. ■

10 things Leah Sitz 10 things the U.S. can learn from London: 1. Tax included in the advertised price.

2. The tube is a wonderful form of transportation. I’d petition for the Lawrence tube.

3. Rentable bikes.

4. Street maps posted outside every tube station.

5. Pret A Manger style cafés on every corner.

6. Nando’s Peri-Peri Chicken Pitta with Lemon & Herb sauce. Delicious.

7. Gothic style architecture.

8. The Borough Market and Portobello Road Market.

9. The drinking age is 18.

10. Polite warnings to always mind the gap.

10 things London can learn from the U.S: 1. It isn’t rude to bring me my check when I’m done eating. I don’t want to stay here all day.

2. Free water.

3. Same prices for dine-in and to-go (take away) food.

4. Virtually everywhere can take credit or debit cards.

5. Walking down streets on the same side that you drive down roads on.

6. Staying open during night hours.

7. Better Wi-Fi availability.

8. You don’t have to hunt for Pepsi products.

9. Clearly visible street signs.

10. Online streaming with Netflix and Pandora.

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We’re off to see Hogwarts Elli Rao

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fter our train debacle, we had arrived at my personal Mecca, the Harry Potter Studio Tour.

We queued for a few minutes, geeking out over the sheer excitement of being there and snapping pictures of Harry’s cupboard under the stairs from the first film.

Next, an employee ushered us into a darkened room. Posters of the movies in different languages lined the walls, and after watching a short video of how the books came to the silver screen, we moved into another darkened room. (WB really likes cramming large groups of confused tourists into dark spaces.) We were shown another video of the making of the movies, and Lindsey and I were practically peeing in our pants from excitement.

The doors of the movie theater opened into the Great Hall, which was a lot smaller than I thought it would be. The same goes for the Hogwarts costumes placed beside the long tables—celebrities are very tiny. After the Great Hall, we moved into the selfguided portion of the tour. Armed with Harry Potter “passports” (booklets in which you can stamp seals at different stations), the four of us made our way into a cavernous room that held a ridiculous amount of HP. One of my favorites was the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory, which was incredibly detailed. For

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Pictures in the Mirror of Erised

example, though you can’t see it in the films, each boy had his own toiletry kit laid out on the nightstand.

Luckily, our tour was on the first day that the Hogwarts Express was open to tourists. Jenny and I could not get over how cool it was that we were among some of the first non-film people to ever walk through the Hogwarts Express, and it was so neat to see the inside of the comfy compartments and think that

Daniel Radcliffe’s butt was once on those seats.

We all purchased butterbeer in the café, which is possibly addictive. The sweet liquid was perfection in a cup, and the whipped cream on top was better than ice cream. (Considering I ate a whole pint of ice cream in the lobby one night, this is a very high compliment). We all agreed that we would purchase gallons of butterbeer if it was possible, but alas, it is not available.

We rushed fairly quickly through the outdoor portion of the tour, which housed the Knight Bus and Privet Drive, because it was freezing outside. Jenny and I did stop to take a few pictures in the Flying Car, and once again, I was very excited by the

possibility that Rupert Grint’s butt was once on the very same seat.

The final portion of the tour featured the work of the art department and visual effects. The detail of these films was so apparent in their work.

The art department hand-drew every single book or letter that you see in the film and created gorgeous paint-

ings of each set to show the vision of the shot. The last room in the tour contained a complete, miniature version of Hogwarts, which the filmmakers used for shots of the building. All I could think about at this point was how jealous my sister was going to be, so I bought her a copy of the Philosopher’s Stone in the gift shop. But don’t tell—I’m so obsessed with this book and with this whole tour experience that I might just keep it for myself. ■

Hufflepuffs are the best

A brief note to Prêt à Manger Elli Rao To the Ruler of the Prêt à Mangers: Your name is very difficult for me to pronounce. My first-grade standby of “sounding it out” did not work out very well for me, as it lead to me to say ‘manger’ like the ‘manger’ where the Nativity took place. If even a Jewish girl assumes that ‘manger’ is pronounced like that, then I think you need to rethink this whole ‘manger’ as ‘man-jay’ thing.

XOXO, Elli P.S. Please add more seating to your location near the Tower of London. We had to eat outside, and it was essentially a tragedy of great proportions. We were very cold.

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Which way to the bay Justine Culver

E

very quest has a beginning. This one started at a crowded Paddington Station in London. As with all quests obstacles arose. All I wanted to do was see the Doctor.

After circling the waiting area twice I finally found the ticket office. Ticket purchased I watched the big black and orange boards for my departure time.

The boards refreshed faster than I could read them. Cardiff Bay never appeared as a listing. Growing con-

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cerned I asked the information desk and was informed that any train to Cardiff would get me to the bay. I’d simply transfer at Cardiff Central. He motioned toward a platform and simply said, “That one.”

The train left Paddington Station behind and I watched the scenery change. The platform gave way to the backs of row houses of faded brick mixed with industrial buildings. Then came modern office buildings and newer row houses on curving streets. Then suburbia popped up. A giant Toys R Us, strip malls, and American style homes dotted the landscape. Finally the view changed to country homes and green fields.

Finally came Cardiff Central and the end of the line for this train.

I exited with the few passengers and followed the signs. The sign for Cardiff Bay appeared to indicate out to a collection of waiting buses. Searching in vain I asked someone where I was supposed to be. Through his thick Welsh accent and hand gesture toward the train station I went back in and got correct directions to the Cardiff Bay train.

I was in a hurry, I had an appointment with The Doctor.

Oxford Dictionary defines a Whovian as “A fan of the British science fiction television series Dr. Who.” We are a bit more than just fans. Some Whovians are obsessed with anything related to The Doctor. Others can rattle off trivia about each Doctor. It’s no surprise that Whovians in Cardiff Bay are common these days. Sitting on the edge of the water is The Doctor Who Experience. A multimedia display of all things Dr. Who. There are two parts to the experience. The first part is interactive. The group is recruited to be the Doctor’s companions on a mission to save the TARDIS from space octopi. I’ll just leave the storyline there. Just be prepared to not blink and possibly be exterminated. That’s all, I’m not saying any more.

The second part doesn’t involve any space octopi. The TARDIS is safe.

All of the Doctor’s nemesis have been powered down or neutralized. Wandering through the displays you can place yourself on an early incarnation of the TARDIS interior. Verify any Dr. Who cosplay costume is accurate by studying the costumes on display. See an Ood or K-9. Study the evolution of the Cyberman into the metal menace it is today.

March 26th, 2015 marked the 10th anniversary of the Dr. Who reboot.

The highly successful regeneration has created a new kind of Whovian that started their fandom with the 9th Doctor. The one thing Whovians young and old have in common is 99% of them will have a favorite Doctor.

Mine’s the 10th. ■

Number 12 Justine Culver

London equals walking and that equals sore feet, at least it did for me. Friday night while resting my toes, I thought some telly might take my mind off my feet. I changed the channel to BBC One out of curiosity. It was that music.

There was the blue police box. My first time seeing Number 12 was on BBC One in London. That was my best Facebook status ever.

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Only seen through the London Eye Logan Meyer

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egretfully, before experiencing London for myself, I knew very little about the amazing landmarks that can be found there.

As we were preparing for our trip, I stumbled upon a wonderful attraction online called the London Eye. More modern than some of the other attractions that can be found all over London, The Eye is an observation wheel that allows individuals (who aren’t leery of heights) to venture up

into the sky, and take London in from a bird’s eye view.

The first time I saw the London Eye in person was from afar. I had just gotten off the Westminster tube stop with the rest of my class, and the magnificent wheel was sitting there in the distance. I knew at that moment that I had to experience what the London Eye had to offer before I came home.

Four days later, I finally had my chance. My friends, Abby and Whitney, and I decided to take in the experience together. As we approached the wheel, the magnitude of it amazed us. Standing 443ft. tall, we had to tilt our heads back as far as they would go, just to attempt to see the top.

Minutes later we were walking into

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the capsule that would show us views only birds and low flying planes could have the pleasure of seeing.

Dusk was beginning to fall as we began our 30-minute ride. We could see for miles and historic landmarks, like Big Ben, the House of Parliament, St. Paul’s Cathedral and Buckingham Palace, were flooding our vision. As we approached the top, the sky grew

darker and all of the sites beneath us illuminated with beautiful lights.

All too soon, we were back on the ground, but by the time my feet hit the pavement, I already knew that I had experienced a once in a lifetime moment and the views I saw while at the top of the London Eye would stay embedded in my memory forever. ■

Beer guide Austin O’Grady If you like:

Then try:

Blue Moon

Delirium Tremens

Boulevard Wheat

Spitfire Premium Ale

Budweiser

Fullers London Pride

Great Lakes Christmas Ale

Shepherd Neame Christmas Ale

Guinness

Baddington Ale

Michelob Ultra

Kent’s Best Invicta Ale

Shiner Bock

Master Brew Kentish Ale

Sierra Nevada IPA

Samuel Smith’s India Ale

Tip: Instead of tipping your bartender, you should ask to buy them a pint of beer. Most times, they will gladly accept.

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Adventures

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The view from Waterloo Rachel Benefiel

B

eing separated from your group on only your second day in a foreign city is an inauspicious way to begin a trip. This is exactly what happened to me, but with the added bonus of being left behind at a public toilet, a place well known to be one of the most dignified in the world. Now, before I continue, I’ll note that there is no fault to be placed on any individual; it’s everyone’s fault.

(I’m joking. Maybe.)

Trying to find a group of people in the crowds that gather around Buckingham Palace to watch the changing of the guards is a challenge. Perhaps if we had all decided to wear matching neon t-shirts there might have been a chance of rejoining the group. As the crowds began to disperse and I saw the chance of finding anyone slipping away, I took off in an arbitrary direction only with the goal of finding a tube station.

Having successfully navigated my way from Buckingham Palace back to our hotel in Kensington, I felt pretty proud of myself. Navigating London wasn’t so scary, I realized. Sitting in the lobby and studying the map, I decided to head over to the Imperial War Museum, which I would have been visiting with some of the others had I not been separated.

In World War II (the exhibit), I ran into Jesse. It was reassuring to learn that there were others at the museum; not only had I managed to navigate myself across the city, but had also accidentally found my way back to the group. Told that they would be heading out around four, but wanting to spend more time at the museum, I opted not to regroup and now let myself be left behind.

When my own time at the museum was over, I sat outside studying my map, trying to discern which Underground station was closest. Looking at the map, a nearby name jumped out at me: WATERLOO BRIDGE. There’s a film (actually two) by that name

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in which the titular bridge is the site where star-crossed lovers Roy and Myra meet and are ultimately separated forever. The decision to walk across Waterloo Bridge was based solely on its name recognition, but with nowhere I needed to be and nothing to do, I found no reason not to do it.

As soon as I stepped onto Waterloo Bridge, I knew I had not made a good

decision. No, definitely not a good choice; it was a great one. I could see the London Eye, Big Ben (I know that’s the name of the bell, not the tower, but it’s still known as Big Ben colloquially) to the south; looking north, I saw the Shard for the first time. A few more steps across the bridge and the cupola of St. Paul’s Cathedral appeared. Then came the Gherkin.

Whether I looked left or right, I could

follow the Thames as it wound its way towards some of the most iconic structures in the city.

I was wide-eyed with excitement and tempted to take passersby by the shoulders, shake them, and ask if they realized what an amazing view they were walking past. Leaning against the balustrade, watching the muddy Thames flow, I felt like I was really seeing London for the first time. It wasn’t the abundance of famous sights that made me feel this way, but how I was able to finally place them all together within the physical context of the city.

My journey across Waterloo Bridge, which began ignobly back in the toilets in St. James’s Park, set the agenda for much of my time in London. Seeing as much of London as possible became the only real plans I had for the trip (two weeks of midterms preceding our departure meant that I had spent little time thinking about London and what I wanted to do once I got there). After seeing the hyper-

modern skyscrapers of the financial district, I studied my map the next morning to create a route that would let me walk through it. Each night when I got back to the hotel, I looked at the neighborhoods I hadn’t yet vis-

ited, looked at what lines I hadn’t yet ridden and planned for tomorrow accordingly. Waterloo may have been a disappointment for Napoleon, but for me it was the beginning of every London adventure. ■

Tips for drinking beers in London: Caroline VanSlambrouck 1. Order beer in metric units.

2. Take beer from bartender, and sit down.

3. Smell beer.

4. Bring beer to lips.

5. Enjoy the live culture fermenting in your mouth.

6. Avoid burping loudly.

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An unplanned adventure to Cambridge

Sometimes the most unexpected trips turn into the most memorable experiences Lindsey Fleming

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here were two thoughts I had when I first heard someone mention taking a trip to Cambridge. First thought: What the heck is Cambridge, exactly? Is it a town?

An attraction? An alternate universe?

Second thought: Why would anyone want to go there while we have so much of London to see in such a short amount of time? I typically plan out every single part of my day. So when

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I learned that this was a completely unplanned trip I didn’t really have any desire to go at all. However, I started listening in on the conversation about what Cambridge was and how far it was from London (only an hour train ride), and decided that it would be really good for me to do something that didn’t require any lists or agendas.

My fellow London Reviewers, Alex, Jesse, Ashley, and I, started our trip by taking the tube to King’s Cross Station, which also happened to be where the attraction Platform 9¾ from Harry Potter was. Unfortunately we didn’t have time for pictures.

However, the four of us got a great discount on train tickets due to having four in our group, which my debit card appreciated greatly, and then we were off to Cambridge. The hour on the train consisted of Jesse, Alex, and Ashley doing most of the talking, and me internally freaking out because I had no map or schedule in front of me. I think I played it cool and collected on the outside though.

We hopped off the train and started walking towards what I hoped was the college. I noticed that Cambridge

had more of a laid-back feel, even though it was just as busy as London.

There were so many amazing buildings and churches along the way, and I couldn’t help but stare in awe of how beautiful everything was. Finally we made it to Downing College, one of the colleges of Cambridge. It was very open and had a lot of grass and other forms of greenery, but many signs everywhere saying not to step on the grass. Of course Jesse and Alex had to

be “rebellious Americans” and take a few steps onto it. Luckily we weren’t kicked out. We left Downing and continued wandering around aimlessly.

Our group came across a bridge over a river where there were people in punts (basically gondolas). A swan in the river did not seem particularly fond of them and put up the best fight it could by pecking at them with as much force as it could muster. It was arguably the most hilarious part of my trip.

After more walking, we met up with a friend of Ashley’s, named Adam, who became our tour guide and showed us around. He attempted to get us into the colleges for free because he was a student, but the porters wouldn’t budge. He also revealed to us some things that a paid tour guide would not have shared – a few were definitely some inappropriate things. The five of us walked around Cambridge for a bit longer before having to rush back to the train station in order to make it to Shakespeare In Love with the rest of the group.

At the end of the day I was happy that I tagged along. Yes, it was an extremely unplanned trip, but I think it was one of the best days I had while in England. I realized that sometimes you have to step out of your comfort zone to experience life’s most wonderful adventures. ■

University life is different at Oxford Ashley Farris 1. There are 38 colleges at Oxford and each of them operates as a separate entity, because it wasn’t always particularly safe or easy to leave the college and wander about. When the college was young, students would arrive in their carriages and stay in their college for the entirety of the term. The older colleges have their own libraries, kitchens, and bars so that students really don’t need to leave their own college. Newer colleges don’t have all of the amenities of the older colleges because it’s rather safe in Oxford now.

2. The exam schedule is quite different from American universities in that there are no exams during the regular term. Some courses have exams at the very end of the term, some courses only give exams in the students’ third year, and some never give any exams at all.

3. Another difference is that students choose their area of study as soon as they get in to Oxford and there are no general education requirements to obtain a degree. Often, students decide their specialty in their final year of high school and this can determine their next course of study if they decide to continue on to a university.

How to get “The Wine Shot” Ashley Farris Description: As iconic as #maryselfieing, the wine shot is a classic staple of the London Review. It involves capturing a picture with St. Paul’s Cathedral along with its reflection in a glass of white wine from the top of the Tate Modern. Note, this feat is not for beginners.

Step 1: Go to the top floor of the Tate Modern.

Step 2: Order an entirely too expensive glass of wine.

Step 3: Very carefully bring it over to a premium seat right in front of St. Paul’s. Resist temptation to take a big, unclassy slurp before sitting down.

Step 4: Position. Take some practice shots. Reposition.

Step 5: Decide whether you want the reflection or the cathedral to be blurry.

Step 6: Take the elusive shot. And again. And again. Post to Facebook.

Step 7: Reward yourself with another entirely too expensive glass of wine.

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London in the moonlight Ashley Farris

“W

ould you like to go on an adventure tonight?”

Normally, risk averse and jetlagged Ashley would have declined, but there was something about spending a whole pile of money to travel to London that made me say otherwise.

Qi Chen, a former KU student, asked me this question on my first night in England. I was tired, cranky, and really needed to use the restroom, but I decided to suck it up and see what London had in store.

We hopped on the tube from Kensington and got off at Westminster.

We emerged from the underground, blinking like mole people at London’s famous clock tower, which is illuminated quite beautifully at night. The view I had when I popped out of this

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particular tube station was one of my favorites in all of London. You open your eyes and there’s Parliament! You turn around and there’s the London Eye! You walk a bit further and you run into Westminster Abbey! A bit farther is Trafalgar Square! Then the Tower of London and Tower Bridge!

All of these historic monuments within walking distance of one another. All lit up as if Christmas came to London in the middle of March.

This became the first of a series of Night Walks, my favorite microadventures of the trip. For a successful night walk, you must assemble a very small group (my recommendation is a maximum of four kindred spirits).

They must all be willing to be in some state of awe at how quiet London becomes at night. You must find a pub

together if one member of your party suddenly needs to use the restroom.

You must stop and appreciate street performers if they’re playing Pink Floyd for you. You must make jokes about Anne Boleyn’s ghost if you walk past the Tower of London. You must also try to turn rubbish into Modern Art. You must toss a few pence (hopefully not a few pounds) into one of the fountains at Trafalgar Square to have your wish come true. You must make it home before the tube closes. You must threaten to push either Derek or Alex into the Thames (if not both).

You must get a bit cold. You must get a bit lost. Most importantly, you must revel in the fact that you get to live in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, even if only for nine days or, more importantly, eight nights. ■

Tube tact Davi Nicoll

keep up, 3, 4 keep calm, 3, 4 keep a cadence, 3, 4 keep your distance, 3, 4 and keep your spine straight.

Underground, you tiptoe, 2, 3, waltz, 2, 3, glide, 2, 3, step- ball- change. fox- trot 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8. keep up, 3, 4 keep a cadence, 3, 4 keep up, keep your distance, keep your distance, keep up, and keep your spine straight, chin down, eyes up, fingers- feathered, deep breath rest, rest.

“Kneeeeeees- -together” “Nice hat,” he says.

“Thank you,” you say.

Thang-que. they hear.

That’s right, Dorothy: mindful tact, Dorothy, watch your act, Dorothy.

Mind your gap, Dorothy,

and your pretty little drawl too. * *

*

keep up, 3, 4 keep a cadence, 3, 4 keep up, keep a cadence, “Sorry, I don’t have any paper right now…” tip toe, keep calm, This is a Northern Line service keep up keep your distance keep a cadence, keep your distance “...didn’t know I would be meeting a beautiful girl from Kansas...” keep up keep your distance “...meeting a beautiful girl from Kansas….” keep quiet, -next station“...doubt I’ll meet another like you, love.”

-Camden Town- keep up. tip-toe, 3,4. keep up, step steady left foot first, now

waltz, 2, 3,

tip- toe, tip toe, 2, 3,

step- ball- change.

glide, 2, 3,

step- ball- change.

keep a cadence “I guess that’s the problem...”

keep your distance step- ball- change. “...with beautiful girls from Kansas.” step- ball- change. waltz, 2, 3, quiet feet, 2, 3, fairy leap, 2, 3, shuffle North, 2, 3, shoulders back, 2, 3, spine straight, 2, 3, steady steps, 2, 3, poise and grace, 2, 3. keep calm, 2, 3, foxtrot 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8. ■ Adventures

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Sorry we left you in Oxford Elli Rao and Derek Pendergast Tuesday, March 17, 2015 Dear Diary, Mood: Apathetic

T

oday was a day unlike any other.

We woke up with hope in our hearts that the day was going to offer new surprises and pleasures.

For the most part, it did. We decided to hitch our wagon with Alex, Lindsey, Jesse, Ashley, and Leah. Kelsey, a former London Reviewer and one of our tour guides, took us to her college and showed us the common room, where the female half of this writing duo (just to clarify, that’s Elli) proceeded to place her hands in the tampon machine because hand driers are hard to figure out at Oxford.

Leah and the male half of this writing duo (just to clarify, that’s Derek) decided to go shopping, and at that moment, Derek fell in love for the first time with a beautiful set of Oxford chill pants. (See “Wherefore Art Thou Oxford Chill Pants?”)

We decided to go to Beefeater’s for dinner, where we realized heaven on Earth in the form of sundaes. Elli ordered garlic bread and a Rocky Road Sundae, and Derek ordered a main dish, but it paled in comparison to the luscious, caramel-filled sundae.

Eventually, we won over our waitress, who initially hated us, because Ashley picked up her fried mushrooms by hand from the bowl, put them on her plate, and stabbed them with a fork. The waitress found this very comical.

As we struggled to find the bus stop, we high-fived drunk Irish men and froze to death waiting for our bus to save us.

Lindsey and Jesse decided to go back

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to the Turf, where some of our group had eaten dinner, and they thought they would be back in time for the bus to come. However, the bus came within five minutes of them leaving.

As neurotic as we are, we decided that it was imperative to alight on this bus, and once we sat on the coach, we crafted factually inaccurate stories to tell them if they were angry with us.

We started with the most absurd and worked our way to the least absurd.

We would like to point out that Ashley and Leah encouraged us to get on the bus, but they didn’t care enough to take part in our shenanigans. Ashley’s exact words were “well, I’m leaving.

Let’s go.” (This statement might not be factually accurate.)

To appease our neuroses, we decided to begin with the idea of emotional distress. Derek had previously seen a man walking around the city with jingle bells on his body, and we thought we could tell them that he was in Oxford, coming after us, and we were afraid for our lives, so we had to get on the bus. For a more elaborate excuse, our story was that we were mugged and beaten up, and to ensure believability, we were going to go to Boot’s, buy dark make-up, and apply it to our

faces. Our next fabrication was someone was shouting obscenities near us and we were frightened so we got on the bus. Charles Darwin says that only the strongest survive (according to Derek), and we are not strong. We are frail and had to go back to London.

It took roughly an hour and fortyfive minutes to get back to London, and within that time frame, we spent more than half of it talking about how we could make it up to them. The last thing we were going to do was say sorry and buy them ice cream.

When we got back to the hotel, we decided to sit in the lobby and wait, although Ashley and Leah did not join us. They had to take showers and get Wi-Fi. Everyone else was there except Jesse and Lindsey. After thirty minutes, Lindsey and Jesse showed up with Mary Klayder, and we were set free from our sins. They had a delightful time talking politics on the bus, and luckily, we never had to spend a pence.

Mood: A little better Until next time, XOXO, Elli and Derek P.S.: After reading this, if you are angry with us now, WE ARE SORRY! ■

Sanjay had no part of this

Maiden voyage Davi Nicoll left my mandala and stepped into arcana, a stone-faced virgin bride carried on, carried along, carrying on, you broad abroad, this is not a mother’s rampage. tsa inspects me, strips my jewelry, and then I am primped, packaged, shipped, then deposited and chain-smoking smuggled cigarettes on the stoop, when London opens her front door in a smoking jacket. the crones at home can tell when a woman’s been deflowered, and so they know I’ve hitched up my roots with my prairie-skirt, done gone gallivantin’ and gotten myself pricked, pampered, and plucked over yonder, been off binging, boozing, and blushing in Trafalgar, nearly empty at night, and become incensed, inflamed, engorged with Camden at sunset “Well, you’re a wild flower now, aren’t you sweet heart?” fooled around in oklahoma, fine flirted with colorado, sure, but never strayed so far, so long, or fared so well. liminal in London, casual as Kansan, 8 straight nights in another country’s bed.

Will you have me back, Kansas? i’m on my way, home-stead-fast ■

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Exmouth Market Justine Culver

A

short walk north from the Farrington Road tube station is Exmouth Market. The lunchtime food vendors fill the air with the smell of curry, roast lamb, and other al fresco offerings. It’s Wednesday afternoon and the food vendors are doing a brisk business in their spots next to Farrington Road. The brick pedestrian

thoroughfare lined with multicolored store fronts offer a variety of goods.

One of the more unique proprietors on Exmouth Market is found in number 58. A black store front declares you have found The Family Business specializing in electric tattooing. Greeting you is a gentleman in a three piece dark suit with perfectly coifed hair and shined shoes. This is not your run of the mill tattoo shop.

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I do get a chance to people watch sitting in the waiting area of the shop. Hipsters and oldsters pass by the window. My original sketch is being reworked and turned into a stencil as I wait.

Tiny dogs try to braid their leashes into a trip hazard for their walker. A few bicyclists ride by avoiding the pedestrians.

A man comes into the shop with a design he wants tattooed. It’s a dark illustration of a tiger hiding in grass and only about three and a half inches square. Mo, the shop owner, looks at his picture and asks where he’ll put it. The man has a small space on his bicep to fill. Mo shakes his head and tells him to get another design or find a bigger spot to put it on. Mo looks at me apologetically as the door shuts behind the man.

I give a small shrug. It’s better your artist is honest than tattoo you with a design that morphs into a blob few years after getting it done. Well, it’s my turn to go behind the big gold and red screens. The pre and post tattoo procedures are the same. The tattoo gun looks and sounds the same.

Each artist’s station has a collection of

sketches on velum waiting to be tattooed on someone, just like home.

The new tattoo has completed the healing process. So, from a research prospective, there is no difference between getting tattooed in either country. It still hurts no matter where you are. ■

Biking in Hyde Park Laura Carlson

O

ne place where a bike really comes in handy in London is Hyde Park. Hyde Park is huge (625 acres) and there are so many different paths to explore so the easiest way to see more of the park is to jump on a bike and roll wherever you want to go. All around London I’d seen the bike rental posts and I knew at some point during the week I wanted to rent

a bike. Biking is my favorite way to get around and I use a bike a lot on most of the trips I take with my family, or biking around Lawrence. After figuring out how to rent the bike with my credit card and getting a code to unlock a bike, I tried getting the bike out of the rack. The first time I tried I couldn’t get it out so I tried again and finally got everything to work and successfully had the bike off the docking system. After hopping on the bike, I was off and on my own Tour de London.

The first thing I wanted to try on the bike was actually riding in the street with cars because I enjoy flirting with danger. It took me a couple seconds to remember to get on the correct side

of the street. After that it was mostly easy, except being totally on edge with the crazy cars going everywhere.

After experiencing the real streets, I rode back into Hyde Park and did a loop around the whole park. Most of the paths crossing through the actual park aren’t open to bicyclists because they’re pedestrian only. Halfway through the second lap I noticed the sound of drums and instruments. Off to the side of the bike path, in a field, there was a large group of soldierlooking people on horses. It looked like a marching band practicing or doing drills. It reminded me of the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace but bigger with more people.

After about two hours of biking around Hyde Park, I was returning the bike when I noticed Jenny Warren, a fellow London Reviewer, looking at the map and decided to surprise her. I guess I’m pretty good at randomly finding people in London. So after yelling “Jeeeennnnnyyyy” for all to hear, I wanted to hunt for the Peter Pan statue so I could get a picture for a good friend back in Kansas. I was fascinated with all the ducks, swans, and other birds around the water, but I was most interested in green parrot looking birds that a man was feeding. Apparently ring-necked parakeets can actually survive in Hyde Park and can be found in other parts of the UK, even though they look like tropical birds that would rather live in a warm environment, which England certainly isn’t! I also thought the dogs

running around without leashes were quite funny. Jenny and I even saw a woman pushing a stroller made for dogs for her four little fluffy, white dogs that were following along behind her.

On the other end of Hyde Park are the Kensington Gardens and Kensing-

ton Palace. Hyde Park and the Gardens flow together pretty seamlessly.

Both areas are absolutely gorgeous and are a nice break from the chaotic city. Biking around the park was also a nice break from walking around the crowded sidewalks and taking the tube. So for just two pounds I rented a bike and covered all of Hyde Park in a short amount of time. A bike makes any vacation better and that certainly held true in London. ■

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Going off by yourself Savannah Pine

A

s brilliant as London is, there is too much to do and very little time. Though it is perfectly acceptable to spend the first two days exploring London in groups, there is no possible way for everyone in the group to see everything they each want to see. The only way to make your time in London your trip and not someone else’s is to explore the city alone. I know this is the opposite of what the Study Abroad Office wants you to do because they not only want you to be the zebra wearing tennis shoes, they want you to be part of the herd of zebras wearing tennis shoes.

But going off by yourself is completely safe if you’re smart.

Step One. Eat a satisfying and filling breakfast because the best way to not spend too much money is to not eat lunch. Next, pack your purse, man purse, satchel, or whatever bag floats your boat with your wallet, a map of

the tube, and a map of London. I recommend knowing where you want to go first, but then play the rest of the day by ear.

Step Two. Leave the hotel. Leave anyone who may want to join you. Run away. Or, if you’re nicer than me, just tell your friends that you’re going to explore the city alone, and then leave.

Step Three. Go to your first destination.

For me, my first destination on my first day alone was the National Gallery. I spent three hours there and saw every painting, grantMe at the Victoria Tower Gardens ed I did barely look at the Medieval paintings, but I ly, I went to the National Portrait Galstill saw all the paint- lery before heading back to the hotel to eat at a nearby Indian restaurant. ings.

Step Five. Repeat the next day, and Step Four. Ask yourself what you want to the day after, and the day after that.

The benefits of going off by yourdo next. That same day, I walked down by self are numerous. For one, you will Parliament and found be much happier because you will the Victoria Tower get to explore London on your own Gardens, which have a terms, not anyone else’s. Secondly, monument commem- you will learn how to navigate a major orating the abolish- city that was not designed on a grid ment of slavery. After system like an American major city. that, I walked to the Thirdly, you can walk however fast Imperial War Museum or slow you want, unless of course and saw all of it, and you end up behind some Continenthen I decided to go tal tour group. Lastly, you will come to the British Library back home more confident and selfbecause I knew I could assured because you were allowed to not live with myself as be an adult for one of the few times in a historian if I left Lon- your college career. ■ don without seeing Charles I statue, Horatio Nelson statue, and the National the Magna Carta. LastGallery at Trafalgar Square

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London Superlatives

Justine Culver most likely to be a Whovian

Alex Kolomaya most likely to find live music

Logan Meyer most likely to overpack

Derek Pendergast most likely to make up stories

Ashley Farris most like to win something

Abby Ogden most likely to be singing

Lindsey Fleming most likely to dislike the drink she ordered

Elizabeth Erker most likely to get you to your destination, safely

Jenny O’Grady most likely to photo bomb your picture

Leah Rachelle most likely to fall asleep in a museum

Sanjay Parashar most likely to take a picture of his food

Jackson Byam most likely to make you laugh (class clown)

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Casey Rosso most like to save the day

Davi Nicoll most likely to mind the gap

Rachel Benefiel most likely to go solo

Savannah Pine most likely to give you a history lesson you didn’t want

Austin O’Grady most likely to join you at the Pub

Matthew Applequist most likely to strike up a conversation over a pint

Laura Carlson most likely to climb the wall

Whitney Ashlock most likely to be taking a selfie

Elli Rao most likely to attend Hogwarts

Jenny Warren most likely to get emotional over the theater

Nicole Hawkins most likely to be found shopping at Harrod’s

Jesse Burbank most likely to interpret modern art

Maria Kingfisher most likely to be your friend

Caroline VanSlambrouck most likely to pull out her guide book

Kerry McCullough most likely to (freak out) Superlatives

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Dear Mary Dear Mary,

Dear Mary,

You have made this class one of my all time favorites, and I will always treasure the memories I made with you and other classmates while in London. I am so happy that I was accepted into the London Review program.

I have never met a professor more dedicated to her students, not only in teaching them, but also in helping them become better individuals in everything that they do. You’re the best!

First off, I’d like to thank you for this opportunity to be apart of the London Review and to get to know the amazing person you are. A lot of people told me I was very lucky to have the chance to go to London with the fabulous Mary Klayder, and now I know why. You are such a kind-hearted woman that truly has a passion for teaching and all your students. Your fondness of scarves is something that we share; so I am very grateful that you introduced me to Portobello Road. I liked the scarves I found there so well that I ended up buying three. I had some amazing experiences in London, and I owe a lot of that to you. Thank you for everything that you do.

Sincerely, Lindsey Fleming

Mary,

Cheers, Logan

Travel changes us. We talked at length about the inevitable, immense, and unique personal growth we each experience through our journeys abroad, even when we have but ten short days. If travel truly is life’s greatest teacher, then I consider myself lucky to both explore with and learn from one whom travel has taught so much. I can never thank you enough, but I will continue to try.

Dear Mary,

Thank you, thank you, thank you, Matthew Dear Mary, You are like no one I have ever known in my entire life.

You make everyone feel so comfortable, welcome, and as if there’s not a care in the world. I appreciate your generosity throughout the trip and I greatly admired how you trusted everyone enough to let us explore on our own. You truly lived up to everything that the previous program attendees had to say about you (not that I didn’t think you would). You exude confidence, grace and elegance with everything that you do. And your outfits were just the cutest! A huge thank you to pulling this off for the 17th (and best) year in a row.

Thank you for accepting me into your London Review program and showing me a wonderful trip I will never forget. I’ve heard positive comments about this class and most definitely about how amazing of a teacher you are. I am so happy to say that I can now pass those comments around to my classmates. Our class is very thankful for your guidance around London. With out you we would’ve missed out on some fun occasions!

Visiting with you at the end of the trip at the Swan was the perfect ending to the perfect trip. Thank you for everything you do!

Your student, Whitney Ashlock

Dear Mary,

Thanks for always knowing when to tell me that everything will be okay.

I walked in to your office a little terrified to sit in the infamous whicker chair before the great Mary Klayder, but it was probably the best decision I’ve made. You made London feel like home and I already want to go back (ohhhhh shucks). You serve as an inspiration to see the world and all it has to offer. Thank you so much for a fantastic experience!

Cheers, Alex

Ashley

P.S. It brings me joy that you’re a Pink Floyd fan.

Cheers, Nicole Hawkins Dear Mary,

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Dear Mary,

Dear Mary,

I am forever grateful for your enthusiasm in connecting with me over the visual aspects of life.

You get me, Mary Klayder.

But I also realize that you also encourage and inspire a multitude of students–not just me– and I wonder how you do it all.

Undeniably, I have learned a lot in your classes, but I have learned so much from you apart from the syllabus. Thank you for leading by example, for greeting everyone with a smile, for being both selfless and unfaltering, and for being the type of person everyone wants to be around. Lastly, thank you for allowing me to be a part of the London Review.

Before our trip, I considered myself a proud member of the Mary Klayder Fan Club, and after traversing London with you, I can safely say that I am a full-dues-paying, life-long, card-carrying constituent. Your passion for teaching and excitement for introducing your students to new experiences comes through in everything you do. I grew more on the ten days of this trip than I could have anticipated, and I have you to thank for that.

Always, Jenny O’Grady

Dear Mary, Despite having heard from friends and previous alum of the London Review about how wonderful you and the trip were, I don’t think I was quite prepared for the experiences I would have this spring break. Thank you so much for showing me one of the most beautiful and diverse cities in the entire world. Thank you so much for introducing me to some of the most intelligent and inspiring people I have ever met. Thank you for feeding my desire for a taste of the world (seriously though, those food recommendations were on point). But most of all, thank you for all the words of encouragement and support you gave me throughout the trip. Some of my fondest memories of the trip are the friendly chats we had at Oxford, the Globe, the hotel lobby, and on the ridiculously long flights. Thank you so much for allowing me the opportunity to break from the doldrums of chemistry labs and biology lectures and thank you for extending a hand of friendship to just another kid from Arkansas.

Sincerely, Sanjay Parashar

Cheers, Elli Dear Mary, I have you to thank for my trip to London. If I hadn’t stopped into your office freshman year, I would never even know the London Review existed. You are such a selfless person and I always leave your office happier than when I entered. Thank you for taking genuine interest in me. I know you do the same for many other students, but it never takes away from the help you provide me. I wish there were more teachers like you.

Cheers, Leah Sitz Dear Mary, Whenever I tell people I went on the London Review, the first thing they ask is, “Did you get to go with Mary Klayder!?” And then we delve into a discussion about how wonderful you are! I find it amazing that you have touched the lives of so many people and I am honored to be among their ranks now. One of my favorite memories was getting you to laugh on our way back from The Swan when I told my Westminster-theft story. Even though it may have seemed trivial at the time, I felt accepted and worthy of your presence- which is huge because you’re MARY KLAYDER! Thanks for taking a chance on the girl not enrolled in Honors. London was amazing and getting to relive it every week in your class was just as much so.

Cheers, Kerry McCullough Keep-Calm-Mary is in Charge.

Mary, I would like to thank you for the fantastic job you have done over the 18 years that this program has been running. Having participated in other study abroad programs, I must say that the “London Review“ is definitely on top of the pile as a flawless well-oiled machine with a kick-ass driver. So let’s all have a toss at it and say it like the Brits, “Well in Mary, Top Job!”

Dear Mary

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Dear Mary,

Dear Mary,

“I am not the Piccadilly line” is a quote of yours that I have not forgotten nor will I. When you said it, you were speaking of your twisty-turny path through life. I suppose that you think that I am the Piccadilly line, but you’ve only known me in college. If you, like all the other poor unfortunate souls, had known me in high school, you would think of me more as the District line, except I would be stopping the train continuously on a whim.

Stopping and starting and stopping and starting the train because it would amuse me. Eventually, I would allow it to arrive at Tower Hill, but it would have been rocky and, most likely, my only reason for stopping the train would have been stubbornness. So, no, I am not the Piccadilly line, but neither are you, and both of us are extremely successful, so take that Piccadilly liners.

Everyone in England loves their Queen Elizabeth and everyone you teach, mentor, or meet at KU, loves you just as much. Your London Review trip finally allowed me to travel without my family and make new friends. Every time I sit down in your famous wicker chair, I suddenly know the answer to my own questions or feel at ease about my class schedule or what I’m doing at KU. So, I just want to say thank you for everything, from the guidance to the amazing time I’ll never forget in London.

Sincerely, Savannah Pine

Dear Mary,

P.S. Whenever you want to hit up your Mafia contacts about me and Oxford, I’ll be grateful.

Dear Mary, The first time I walking into you office I didn’t really know much about you or the program. I had read about it in a pamphlet in the Study Abroad office and they told me to, talk to Mary Klayder if you have further questions.

The application was due October 1st and as usual I was putting it off. I came to your office a few days before the due date and as you described while in London, I was a wrapped up ball of neurotic and I was beyond frantic (you said it more eloquently, I just made your statement my own). Suffice it to say I my not have made the best first impression, regardless you accepted me into the program anyhow. I couldn’t be more grateful.

The experience was like nothing I have ever had before and I had such a great time getting to know you and all the other London Reviewers (past and present). Thank you for bringing me along neuroses and all. I wouldn’t change it for the world.

To many more amazing adventures, Derek Pendergast

Sincerely, Laura Carlson

We’d never met before the London Review and we still don’t know each other extremely well since we’ve just been hurrying to get everything together for the book this semester. However, I know you well enough to say that you are a treasure. I want to thank you for giving me this incredible opportunity. As someone who had never ventured outside the States before, I was mesmerized by a new world of life, culture, and history unlike any I’ve experienced. I consider myself to be an empathetic person (I was voted most likely to get emotional at the theatre after all) and I often think about how much I wanted to travel and see new places and how I wish we didn’t have to leave so soon, but I also realize how lucky we are, how lucky I am. I live in a beautiful country where we can speak our truths without fear, I’m getting my degree without protest as a woman in engineering at a wonderful university, and now I have been able to see beauty on the other side of the world. How many people can say that? London is somewhere that I felt so small and insignificant, but at the same time powerful.

Thank you for that.

Best, Jenny Warren

Dear Mary,

Thank you for organizing one of the best weeks of my life. As well as introducing us to the surprising number of KU-affiliated hotshots in and around London. I’ve never been prouder to be a part of the KU or English Department community. I thought this letter would have been funnier too.

You’re often told of you exceptional warmth and your ability to inspire students to new heights. But I’m not sure these praises go far enough. You have a unique gift for connecting with students. Regardless of who they are, they can come to you for a sympathetic ear, for wise council, or for simple friendship. Thank you so much for being who you are. You have had an immensely positive impact on countless lives, including my own.

Thank you, Jackson

Cheers, Jesse

To Mary,

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Dear Mary,

It was your English class freshman year that inspired me to become an English major. With your guidance, I have come to love the art of teaching, and I strive to create meaningful relationships in the same way you have with your students: through kindness and good humor you have helped me develop into the student I am today.

You have showed me the significance of a good advisor; although this became glaringly apparent after a few bad advisors and always made me feel special in your worn wicker chair. There is something calming about a chair so overtly carved from other student’s behinds continuously sitting in it; while sitting, I suddenly believe the simple Mary Phrase, “it’ll be fine.” On top of all the good advise, I really must say thank you for making each student feel as though their individual attributes, whatever they may be, are uniquely special. You genuinely care about the success, development, and achievement of that student. Never have I had a teacher so welcoming upon first meeting and open to my newest “I’m gonna change the world” plan.

Thank you Mary, for your kindness and friendship.

Caroline VanSlambrouck

To MK (Mary Klayder), As a high school junior, I sat in your office and listened as you raved about the London Review. And two years later, I completely understand why. I can’t believe how lucky I am to have been able to go on this trip and meet such amazing people, especially you. I think I speak for everyone who has been part of the London Review when I say this program is all that it is because of you, Mary. You are one incredible lady, doing the work of twenty without ever complaining. In fact, I can see that you usually enjoy it. So thank you, Mary, for everything that you have done and will continue to do.

Mary, I was originally drawn to your program from the advice of my brother, who described the London Review as the best class at KU. To me, his advice spoke volumes about more than just the class; it was a brief insight into the incredible experience you would provide for us. Your flexibility in allowing others to join the trip last minute or discussing a trip to another country was more than could ever be hoped for. I had an incredible time this semester and the days I spent in London with you and our group are ones that I will not soon forget.

Thank you, Austin

Dear Mary, Thank you for letting me tag along to London. London and Wales were as amazing as I hoped they would be. I never thought I’d be wandering through Piccadilly Circus and shopping along Oxford Street on my own. I remember you addressing my initial concerns with a hand wave and “don’t worry about it, you’ll be fine”. I’m glad I took that advice.

Cheers, Justine Culver

Always, MK (Maria Kingfisher)

Dear Mary

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