Hannah Dawe • England
I love the National Theatre in London.
The National Theatre is a government-funded theater in London. It gets about a third of its funding from Parliament, which provides for an enormous budget, and subsequently some amazing resources. The National has three theaters, can produce 20 productions a year, about 3 productions on the same stage at any given time, hires hundreds of actors, musicians, crew members and administrators (we’re talking thousands of employees), and even free outdoor shows during the summer. It’s all pretty amazing and kind of unbelievable, coming from a nation where a theatre company can struggle to put on a no-set, 3-actor production.
The National is always changing; it reminds me of my 8th grade U.S. history class when I learned that the Constitution of America is a “living document,” because it is always changing and growing. That’s what the National feels like; it is never static. Not only because multiple shows are in its repertory at any given time, but it seems to push itself to grow and explore new work all the time. The last two shows I saw at the National kind of exemplify this.
One was a brand new play, Earthquakes in London, written by Mike Bartlett. It is all kinds of contemporary. The stage is a curving cat-walk, there are media projections everywhere, loud rock and techno music, and scenes that go up to the year 2525. But the show was beautiful and complex and touching. It considered how we take care of the earth and how we take care of each other. The writing and acting were suburb, and I give a lot of credit to the National for taking a bold risk with this play.
The next night, I saw Terrance Rattigan’s After the Dance. It was written in 1939, and though it was highly acclaimed, it was not the right play for the time. As the Depression wound down, and another world war was around the corner for England, it addressed the issues that people feared and therefore couldn’t confront. So the National recovered this play that hadn’t been done since Rattigan’s time. The play was classically British: one set, regular scene structure, characters who don’t allow their true emotions to show, and absolutely moving.
I remember thinking how the National feels unique in this way – it can revive classics, and put on brand-new, innovative and risky works. And all under one roof. In the U.S., I don’t know if we could do that. Would the same audience members come to both productions? If our government ever decided that the arts were important enough to fund, would they dare put on a production with (gasp!) the F-word? Or would the edgiest, off-Broadway, bohemian slash punk rock theater dare to revive a play from the 30’s? What a non-discriminatory attitude the National seems to exhibit. On both ends.
I love how the National can be all these things; new and old, bold and comforting, big and small. I love how it can transform a stage into a cat-walk, and build the most beautiful, upper-East-side apartment that I can only drool over. I love how there are free shows outside that anyone can attend, whether or not they will attend the theater later that night. And that these jugglers and acrobats are employed performers, just like any other actor. I love that it is practically mandatory to enjoy ice cream during the “interval.”
I am very jealous of England, a nation that has deemed all these things important enough to be supported by the government. And I hope that maybe, just maybe, America will catch up one day. That we will see the arts as a national priority, explore all kinds of work, make jobs for artists and writers and directors and designers, and be an interested and open-minded audience.
Or at least start serving interval ice cream.
Wednesday, I saw a double feature of plays; one that I absolutely loved and one that really troubled me. One was entitled Enron, the avant-garde telling of America’s corporate scandal that has run successfully in London for over a year and bombed in New York after a week. This one I loved. The other was Sister Act, the musical based on the movie of the same title, with singing nuns and a whole lotta sequins. This one troubled me. (Sister Act, controversial? Who knew?) Both plays made me consider what it means to represent America, and how the rest of the world views America through the lens of theatre.
Enron was written by British playwright, Lucy Prebble, about the financial scandal at Enron at the turn of millennium, and the accompanying events leading up to Enron’s destruction – the Clinton administration, the 2000 election, September 11th – essentially, American history. It used media clips, satirical musical numbers, and animal masks to help set the American world as it existed during this time. Or at least as this author interprets America.
It did not show America favorably. The leaders of Enron appear as selfish, greedy men, out of touch with reality and with little sense of responsibility to be truthful and honest. Our national anthem becomes a sort of “blah, blah” song and our corporate world is infested with raptors, who eat money and, to some extent, the souls of ruthless businessmen. It makes perfect sense that a Broadway audience was offended by this piece of work.
But to me, it didn’t come off that way. To me, it was fascinating to see how America will be viewed in history. Because I believe this play was a critique of America and the corporate world and all the conspiracies that can occur. But it is a part of our history, same as the Slave Trade or Japanese internment camps. And while it doesn’t represent every American, it is something that we have to own; it happened here. Somewhere along the line, this was allowed to happen. We allowed our sacred capitalism to go too far, and as a result, many people suffered. And beyond that, this play was important to me because it helped me understand the outside perspective. If American is going to be “the most powerful country in the world,” (whatever that really means, anyway), then we have to be able to stand examination and scrutiny. That is the price. For me, that is not a scary thing. It’s essential. I don’t try to perfect a scene in a play without feedback from a director. So why should a nation, or a world, try to survive without getting an outside perspective?
And then there was Sister Act. It was bawdy, glitzy, and full of tricks. And the same way I could see people being offended by Enron, I could see how people would enjoy Sister Act – it was pure entertainment. But it made me cringe in my seat. Because, in a city with arguably the best theater in the world, I was watching what seemed to me to be the American sell-out. A story that I thought was uplifting, about a convent of nuns learning to find joy in their devotion through music, was suddenly all about putting nuns in sequined habits. The set never stopped moving, almost bragging about how advanced the technology was. Everything felt so indulgent. And I wondered, is THIS how America is viewed, too? Over the top, and sacrificing content for cheap laughs and flashy costumes? In fact, flashy things in general. Materialism. Too scared to have a more serious show, where you can’t necessarily see your money in objects, but have to put it into ideas or talent. It scared me. Because I’d much rather see a play about America that confronts our issues head-on and acknowledges our faults and mistakes so we can discuss and work through them, than a play that demonstrates Americans and our stories as shallow, disguised with flamboyance.
I probably sound very anti-American. But I feel a lot of loyalty and respect and love for America – in fact, being here in Europe has helped me recognize a lot of things that I never appreciated about being an American. (Example: we have water fountains everywhere in the U.S. I am far more hydrated in America!) But I never want to be so in love with a place, my own home or a country I visit, that I can’t see both the assets and the flaws. And having an understanding of how other nations view America has helped me gain an appreciation for who we are as a nation. Because a nation, like a person, is not just how it perceives itself but also how it functions in the thoughts of others. And, from my Wednesday double feature, I am starting to put together a picture of America, the whole America, that I both admire and question.
Water, trees, bikes and blondes. They’re everywhere. I’ve never felt so surrounded by water, trees, bikes and blondes than I did these past 4 days in Copenhagen. (Side note: I’ve also never felt so short and so non-blonde.) My time in Copenhagen was just what I needed at this point in my time abroad. It felt different from London, giving me just enough culture shock to revive my spirits about learning about new countries, and finding a new appreciation for my current home, London.
The moment I stepped out of Nørreport Station, I felt the cleanliness of Copenhagen. It felt uncongested – there wasn’t pollution or too many people. The buildings weren’t huge and overbearing, but colorful and charming. The city felt accessible, welcoming, and manageable. Even the Rosenborg castle or Tivoli amusement park felt small enough that I could know it within a few short hours, but big enough to hold my interest. The city is surrounded by water – how could it not feel peaceful? The sky is clear because bikes outnumber cars – how could it not feel pure? And every corner I turned gave access to a new hot chocolate and Danish pastry – how could it not feel perfect?
But just as I started to feel I had found the “perfect” city, I found myself questioning the pedestal I was creating for Copenhagen. I began to notice two sides to the city.
On one hand, it is a beautiful, clean and open place. When I went to the gorgeous Louisiana modern art museum, I saw something that now seems to epitomize the Copenhagen openness. As I walked through the museum, I came upon a black-and-white photograph of a nude woman, standing face on to the camera, with a man kneeling beside her and looking straight into her crotch. For the record, I did not giggle – I am far too worldly and mature for that sort of thing – though my pride in not giggling should be some kind of indication of my real maturity…. As I was looking at it, a little girl, probably about five years old, went in front of me and stood right next to the photo. I had seen her in other exhibits with her mother, looking at other works of art, sometimes with focus and sometimes with the attention span of a goldfish. But here she was, staring at this photo. Her mother saw her looking, and proceeded into the next room, letting her daughter continue to look at this nearly pornographic image. But it wasn’t porn. It was a man, curious about the female body. And here was a little girl, also curious about the body, so she looked at it. A photo like this would never have seemed appropriate for a child to look at in the States. Or, at least, not common (progressive, liberal parents, I think you are the minority.) Or even if it weren’t deemed “inappropriate” it just wouldn’t be the kind of thing a parent would see their child observing and walk away without a second glance. And here, a mother let her young child indulge her curiosity. It was so strange and so beautiful, and certainly felt in keeping with a Copenhagen spirit.
On the other hand, however, there is some clouded, messiness in Copenhagen. My second night in Copenhagen, my friend and I decided to explore the nightlife and found ourselves at a trendy, brand new bar. We stood there, in our jeans and sensible walking shoes, and could not have been more out of place amidst the blonde amazons in tight black dresses and the kind of make-up I would put on if I were cast in Chicago. Everyone was stylish, uniformly chic. Some guy took pity on the out-of-place, short, brown haired girls and began to talk to us. There was much said, but what stuck out the most was when he told us why he would prefer to work in America instead of Denmark. In America, he said, when you do good work, you are acknowledged for it and everyone knows you have done well. In Denmark, people try to hide their successes. No one is supposed to be better than anyone else, so if you do well, it isn’t celebrated but silenced. I guess that kind of equality, no-one-is-better-ideal in some ways is attractive and comforting…but at the same time, it is a little scary. It threatens individuality and practically punishes people for doing well. During a different conversation, I talked with an older woman at a blues bar and asked her about the politics in Denmark. She anticipated, though I am not supposed to hold her to this, that the current conservative party will lose the next election to the liberals. When I asked her why, she proceeded to tell me that a lot of Denmark’s issues had been pushed aside for a long time now, specifically racism and issues for the non-wealthy, working class. She felt the time was coming to acknowledge these problems. But currently, there are a lot of problems that the government and the Danish prefer not to confront.
For a nation that seems so relaxed, so easy going that pot was sold in little kiosks on the streets of Christiana, there are a lot of things that are tangled and don’t seem to be working. Even something seemingly insignificant, like the ultra-stylish girls, comes at a price. Everyone was dressed fashionably – everyone, in the same way. There wasn’t much difference in clothing. They were all the same, just like the workers are supposed to be. In exchange for a laid-back attitude, do the Danish sacrifice their individuality? Or integrity? The little town of Christiana, which was once a government experiment, a hippie town that should’ve feel alive and powerful, now felt like an insecure adult trying to recapture their youth. It was a novelty to visit, but past its prime. Which made me question – is everything so quaint in Copenhagen because it feels like it is part of some past world? And hasn’t changed because no one pushes or challenges to change it? It’s part of the magic that time has stopped and left a city in the 1960s, or 1760s, but that can’t be healthy. Maybe it’s all an escape. So I wonder: what do we escape and what do we confront? According to one woman, confrontation is around the corner. And already, certain topics like sexuality are approachable, because a little girl can be curious about it as easily as an adult. But other aspects remain unspeakable or unchangeable. I don’t think this is specific to Copenhagen. I think every country, every person, has things they approach and thrive upon, and things they avoid and hide from. But it was here in Denmark, where I enjoyed life-changing hot chocolate and biking along the Nyhavn canal, but also felt sad about some washed up hippie graffiti, that I saw just how much a country can feel so comforting, and also so hazardous to its own health. And it was all still kind of beautiful, in its own imperfect way.
Something has been very familiar these past few days in London. I rehearsed scenes with classmates. I went to a yoga class. I sat in a café with a chai tea and tried not to eavesdrop on neighboring conversations in favor of finishing a paper. I came home my bed and turned on a Friends DVD to fall asleep to. All too familiar…
I didn’t go to one museum or cultural landmark. And I feel really guilty about it. But there were assignments to be finished, emails to be written and research to be done. It felt like I was living my life, as I would back home. Which is kind of awesome and kind of pathetic. Am I settling in or just not taking full advantage of my surroundings?
I am actively deciding not to feel guilty. And I feel I can do this because, within a seemingly ordinary week, I did make a few discoveries.
My yoga class on Sunday night was in a neighborhood called Primrose Hill. Let’s talk about obsessed…as my good friend and role model Liz Lemon would say: I want to go to there. It was quaint and calm. It was filled with pubs, with friends having a Sunday night Strongbow, shops with designers I’ve never heard of, and a small bookstore where the owner knew every last book in the store the way a kindergarten teacher knows her students. I fell in love with this neighborhood and the peaceful, welcoming, unpretentious but still exciting ambiance. Discovery: There are still towns that have mom-and-pop stores and aren’t from Pleasantville. But maybe are kind of like Cheers….
Then there was the chai tea. I sat in Caffè Nero, the coffee shop that exists on every corner just like Starbucks, with my Mac and a spiral notebook, writing a paper for class. Ew. I am such an American. I went to a chain store with my hoity-toity expensive computer. What a waste, right? Absolutely not. Because, ladies and gentlemen, I have discovered the most amazing chai tea latte in the world. So amazing that I’ve told every kid on my program about it. And now have a Caffè Nero punch card. It’s better than any chai I’ve had in a Starbucks or some independent coffee shop. It’s frothier, lighter, and cinnamon-ier. It’s nuttier and richer, but not too filling. I kind of can’t stop thinking about it. Discovery: A chai tea latte can be conducive to culture shock.
And the pub. It’s my favorite pub, Calthorpe Arms, fifteen steps away from my dorm and usually filled with men upwards of fifty years old. A few friends and I sat there on Tuesday night, had cider and struck up a conversation with a nice older chap about some plays we’ve seen. All pretty typical…until someone handed him his guitar. In the pub. And he pulled out a binder of guitar tabs, and began to sing. And suddenly, the tune of Hotel California began to strum and we couldn’t contain ourselves. Here, in this old pub where a small mouse had just scurried by, with a small tub sitting out to catch water from a leaky ceiling, an impromptu sing-along began. Discovery: The British will start a sing-along, and everyone will sing.
I’m determined not to make daily, ordinary things seem ordinary, because it seems wasteful. So maybe I’m stretching my experiences and trying to make something out of nothing. But I think, and I hope, that really I’m just getting to the obscurities. I don’t think I want to admit how insignificant these discoveries probably are. Maybe because I can’t prove them – I didn’t take that many pictures this week, so I feel like I don’t have much to show. But also, why shouldn’t they be big discoveries? Why shouldn’t sitting in Green Park, sunbathing and reading my new book from Primrose Hill, be absolutely, 100%, quintessential London? If I have friends going to London, I’m going to send them to Calthorpe Arms for a sing-along, and Primrose Hill Book Shop for a Doris Lessing novel, and Caffè Nero for a chai.. It may be unglamorous, but it makes for some good living. Or at least it has for me.
This morning, as I walked home from the Russell Square tube station, I saw a woman, upwards of 40 years old, stop two young boys to ask for directions. And when I say young, I mean no older than 10 years old. It was so funny to me – a full-grown woman stopped these little kids to ask for directions. And not only that, the kids were fully capable and directed the woman completely unfazed. It seemed so strange. Since when to adults ask 4th graders for help?
As I thought about it more, I realized that the concept of age seems very different here in England (or Europe) than it is in the U.S. I’ve noticed it in various places. First, it’s evident whenever I peek into a pub. When I watched the World Cup last Sunday, I sat among people aged sixteen to sixty. Whether at happy hour at 5pm or the closing-call bell rings late on a Saturday night, it’s pretty consistent: there is a mix of ages in the London social scene.
I’ve noticed it in the theatrical productions I’ve seen, too. London theatre seems equally committed to young, new talent as it does to older, established actors. When I saw Tennessee Williams’ Spring Storm on Thursday night, the leading actor was performing in his first role out of college. That seems unbelievable to me, when in New York it probably takes at least five years to get a speaking role. But at the same time, London theatre isn’t seem youth-obsessed. Most of the productions I’ve seen so far have used wonderful older actors, with a long list of credentials. London doesn’t kick actors to the curb once they hit 35. With the exception of Jonas brother #3 (what’s his name again??) starring in Les Miserables, London isn’t selling out for young, hot stars who bring in a teeny-bopper audience. They take a chance on the new talent, and hold on to the veterans. (Side note: I’ve heard the Jo-Bro has chops!) It seems to me that London takes care of people, no matter their age or status.
It’s even evident in the park I pass every day, Coram’s Field. This park is not only designated for children, but exclusively for children. The London community values their children so much that an adult can’t even get in without a child. I like to think of it as the most exclusive club ever – everyone lines up, praying for a chance to get in, when the 2-year-old wearing a jean diaper waltzes in, parent on each arm… “They’re with me.”
It’s not a culture where you have to be young and hot, or featured in People Magazine to get attention. And everyone seems to be just fine with it; the British respect every age and don’t leave anyone out. Unless, of course, you’re trying to get into Coram’s Field. In which case, bring your closest 4-year-old friend and a pound fifty for a “99 Flake” ice cream, and you should fit in just fine.
Last night, I went to see Beyond the Horizon at the National Theatre, by Eugene O’Neil, the famous and esteemed American playwright. It was a beautiful production, and with the exception of a few slip-ups, most of the British actors had their early-20th-century small-farm-town accents down pretty well. Despite strong performances and directing, however, it did feel a little strange to be watching this American play in a London theater, and a tragedy that feels so wholly American; a story of love, yearning to explore and the sadness of not being free. Professor Clum told us the other day in class that the British tend to be very respectful of American playwrights. Our American playwrights are revered more in the U.K. than in the U.S. I didn’t challenge this statement….I hadn’t heard of the O’Neil play before I came, because it’s never really performed in America.
Before the play began, my friend and follow 195 blogger, Allie Brodsky and I enjoyed some dessert in the lobby of the National Theatre. Because pre-show dining and drinking is a popular part of theater-going in London, there were no open tables, so we asked to share a table with two men. It turned out they were Irish, but living in London for the past several years. After some small-talk, chit-chatting, I decided to ask a question that could’ve erupted into political controversy (but thankfully it didn’t). I asked these men what they knew about Democracy Village. They gave each other small smiles and asked why.
Two days ago, when I went to take some customary Big Ben and Parliament pictures with my friend Brittany, we saw outside of Parliament a bunch of tents pitched. We walked closer and saw signs that said, “Welcome to your Democracy Village,” “Be the change you wish to see,” and “the rich are doing the crime while the poorman gets the blame…Beware of the new world order.” Needless to say, it struck me. I picked up a pamphlet and read:
“Who Are We? On May 1st 2010 Parliament Square Gardens was transformed by Peace Campaigners and other activist groups into Democracy Village, a protest camp and peace garden. We’ve evolved into a functioning all-inclusive community including ex-soldiers, long-term homeless, political refugees and other marginalised people.”
“Why Are We Here? To express our opposition to the ongoing illegal war in Afghanistan, and represent the majority of the British public who are overwhelmingly in favor of PEACE.”
“The Law And You. We are also here to protect YOUR fundamental rights of public assembly, protest and free speech….”
One of the Irish guys gave me his opinion; they’ve been there for a while but it isn’t getting much media attention, because the government is trying to keep it under wraps as much as possible. And maybe some of the protesters were truly invested in the cause, but more so, it seems like a cool, hippie-wannabe culture.
This all seemed pretty familiar to me. A protest against war and other social issues, that the government is trying to quiet, and that the public feels somewhat indifferent towards. Or at least familiar from my Vietnam Wars class last quarter…
In fact, I realized that I couldn’t think of any protests in America against the current war. Maybe a few when the war first started, or when the war first started being hated, but nothing strong enough to jog my memory. And my new Irish friend informed me, when the war in Afghanistan started, it was the Brits who came out strong in protest, far stronger than Americans.
I’ve always thought of protest and freedom of speech as American, with a capital A. Not just something we include in our culture, but rather something we established, embodied and passed on to other cultures. It was one of our founding principles. And yet, back home, no one has set up a democracy village. Democracy and America are supposed to be synonymous. The Brits are beating us at our own game.
Same with my experience at the theater…I watched an American play that the British are doing better. We have ignored our playwright, and the British are celebrating him and this work with so proficiently. The British are doing “American things” better than Americans.
Things that have come from my home country, parts of our past and our culture, should be things that are very familiar to me. However, it seems like I needed to travel abroad to see it and experience it. Ironic that so much of our American pride is based on the right to protest, when it was a principle developed as we broke ties with England…the country that is actually practicing protest. And then when I start to look at the similarities of public protest and theater – both shows, productions, meant to force audiences to open their eyes to a point of view – it seems significant that here in England, I am learning so much about my own country. Are we too shy in America? Not bold enough to take a stand, force our potentially socially uncomfortable opinions upon the public eye? Perform a play that might be too heavy for an entertainment-seeking patron? I am getting exposed to the theories of America that we can boast on paper, because here in England, they are living out these supposed American ideas.
I don’t mean to say we are failing in America. Or maybe I do. Years ago, Americans protested wars and social injustices on the streets, on buses, in front of the Lincoln Memorial. And years ago, the nude scene in Hair wasn’t delicately done in the dark, but in full lights and with full vigor. Maybe Americans have gotten more careful, more scared…and maybe I needed to travel across an ocean to see “America” as I thought it existed.
It’s almost unfair the amount of shows I’ve seen, the caliber of theatre, and the people I’ve met. Almost….
I’ve been here for five days now, just finishing a first week of classes, and I can’t believe what I’ve been doing. I’ve already seen five shows; War Horse, The White Guard, Love the Sinner, Henry VIII and Hair. Each one has blown me away in a totally different way. For those who are less inclined to hear the details of each set-change and casting choice, I’ll sum it up like this: there is a different feeling about London theatre, and I can’t say for sure, but I think it has a lot to do with the audiences. The shows, especially at the National Theatre, were packed, on a Monday and Tuesday night. With the exception of Hair (an American show, and actually with the American cast from Broadway), the shows are not easy to watch. They are heartbreaking, complicated, frustrating, and sometimes just hot (sitting on the wooden seats of the Globe on a hot summer day equals a challenge within itself). All of the shows are so intricate and exhausting, either emotionally or just watching the actors and the amazing work they are doing. But more later on the nitty-gritty details of the shows for those interested….
One of the most amazing things for me has been talking to two actors; Jonathan Cullen, one of Britain’s greatest actors, who I saw in Love the Sinner, and Gavin Creel, an American musical theatre star, whose work I’ve gawked at on YouTube, and the star of Hair. In many ways, they are totally different: British verses American, straight acting verses musical theatre, straight verses gay (my heart sinks). And when we had the opportunity to talk with each of them, they had different things to say. But both resonated strongly with me.
Jonathan Cullen came in before we saw him on Tuesday night, to teach us about how an actor can approach Shakespeare text. While many of the tips and methods he taught were familiar to me (but incredibly helpful to be reminded and practice), the thing that stuck most was how he started the workshop: defining Shakespeare’s world and acknowledging the massive differences between then and now. It was a literal world, an oral world, a temporal world. It was a public world and a present tense world. What was said was meant and remembered. Shakespeare never wanted his plays published; they were meant to be seen and heard. It was action and active.
The next night, we spoke with Gavin Creel after seeing him perform. Unlike with Jonathan, we did not get into technical tips. Gavin talked a lot about how he uses songwriting to keep artistically active, especially when not working on a show. When he talked about how he stays emotionally healthy in a potentially toxic business, he said to surround yourself with people who are better than you, and therefore bring you up. He talked about getting involved in life outside of theatre, as he has become incredibly active in the marriage rights campaign. And when he briefly talked about a technical skill he’s worked on, opening up to the audience (physically positioning oneself in such a way that doesn’t cut off your body from the audience), it was clear to me that this was a man who has learned how to open himself emotionally to the audience and world, and make himself vulnerable so that he can take in more, and thus give more.
Seemingly very different conversations. But they both stuck with me, struck me, struck my heart. So what was it about these conversations, these men? Their work and their minds that I admire?
After some reflection, walking along Gray’s Inn Road, maybe eating an English Almond Macaroon, I have a couple of ideas. Jonathan and Gavin both talked about environment; for Jonathan, it was more directly to inform our work onstage, whereas Gavin focused on environment offstage, that then translates to the best possible work onstage. The environment I must give myself, after listening to these men, has to serve being an intelligent and healthy performer. And it’s so much more active than I would’ve thought: just like Jonathan said, what you say is what you are. So when Gavin says he opens himself up to the audience, he truly opens himself, heart and mind, to a shared experience. And when he talks about getting involved in a political movement, it is because he is taking action. To say is to do; to do is to be.
Quite a lengthy entry (shorter next time!), and one without much conclusion (less trying to be philosophical next time). Maybe not even tangible yet. But being here in London, listening to these amazing performers, I feel like I am gaining some sort of knowledge, some insider-scoop that can help me become a stronger, more powerful performer and person. Because when I truly let myself get lost down Portpool Street, it means that I am an explorer – I’m not just saying it.
After seeing Hair, I have confirmed I want to be a hippie. And yes, a lot of that is because I really like colors and electrifying music. But it also seems to me that that movement was about action, and being what you said, just like it was for Shakespeare’s characters.
Let the sun shine.
This morning in the airport, I saw a tween-age girl in a t-shirt that said in sequins “I Love Parties”. She couldn’t possibly be of driving age yet, so I wondered how she was getting to these parties. And then I thought, “That’s so American”. I don’t know why I thought that, or what that even means – why did I associate something I considered inappropriate or uncouth with being American? Is it because I had just been reading about St. Paul’s Cathedral, and the Royal Ascot? And now, I have this image of England being the pinnacle of elegance and culture, like Michael Caine in Miss Congeniality, whereas America is the crude, young and not-yet-wise Sandra Bullock? A little unfair of me (though Sandra – aka America – is totally charming and finds her inner beauty….sigh….)
As I’ve been getting ready to go, I’ve been struggling with the idea of what I really want to learn and discover, other than immersing myself in the obvious cultural and historical offerings of England. With friends in Africa, Asia and South America, I started to worry that I wasn’t pushing myself. Don’t get me wrong – I’m more than excited. But what can I learn in a country that is so similar to the U.S? That is so related, that we speak the same language? Where is my challenge? What am I going to truly discover that I couldn’t have learned from book? Thus the desperate Miss Congeniality analogy, trying to prove to myself that I AM going somewhere that will feel different.
But as I sit on the plane, I am reconsidering. Acknowledgment: I am not going to an impoverished nation, or a place with cultural barriers for women, or an underdeveloped government, or even a different language. But I’m not flying overseas to experience New York City amidst British accents (again….sigh…). The cultural differences might not pop out the second I step foot into Heathrow airport. So I get to dig. I have to get lost in a Notting Hill market, and make friends with the owner of a hole-in-the-wall pub (who I would like to refer to as a “pubtender”). I have to see what makes the British so crazy about football. There’s a deep culture that I get to discover, and if it appears similar to America, then it’s up to me to find the differences. Goal: I want to discover a stereotype I didn’t know I had. Related: I want to discover a stereotype about Americans that I didn’t know. So there is a lot to learn outside of the museums (which I am also itching to visit). And the internal push to discover what isn’t laid out for me by Fodor’s is where I will grow.
And as for a language barrier, my London guide has given me some translations to know: trainers = sneakers, jumpers = sweaters, knickers = ladies’ underwear. So if I start doubting again, I can take myself to Harrods or the vintage shops of Soho – immersion never felt so sweet.
My calendar (affectionately known as iCallie) has 9 categories. Each has its own color, that relates to its respective category. While my friends make fun of my relationship with iCallie, I am fairly attached to these color coordinated boxes. My purple and orange boxes designate school commitments and assignments; I fill my days with history and theater classes. Then there’s a “health” category; this includes naps with my lovable Blankie and super-soft jersey sheets, as well as trying to squeeze in some yoga, as guided by a hodge-podge of YouTube video instructions. My acapella group is a sunny yellow, theater rehearsals and productions are forest green, and sorority events are red (preferably Bordeaux, but iCallie has her limits). Then the miscellaneous category known as: work/seminars/activities…. Sometimes I have trouble being decisive… My favorite category is bright pink, and entitled Friends and Fun! I plan very carefully my excursions to snack on some frozen yogurt, go explore Chicago thrift stores, or watch my favorite guilty pleasure, Glee. The show-choir geek inside me lives on.
While I tend to relish in my scheduling, I am looking forward to a summer spent without planning every moment. Trying to live spontaneously and blend categories together, so I can truly soak up my surroundings.
