Meanwhile in Europe

I admit to stealing this pic from Google.

I feel like a whole lot has happened since my last post… but at the same time, I feel like I have nothing to write about. So I’ll try to make this interesting; just bear with me. As you know or don’t know, we’ve been getting a butt ton of snow here. Maybe it’s not a butt ton to them, but for this girl it is. By Friday of last week it had finally slowed down a lot and the snow was melted on the sidewalks and almost melted everywhere else. So, I googled “touristy stuff to do in Leeds” on Friday and discovered Hyde Park Picture House, a movie theatre within walking distance that I had actually read about a while ago. (Everything is “walking distance” here. As far as I’m concerned, none of it is actually “walking distance.”) So we moseyed on over there to see Django Unchained and it was lovely. Really old school and fancy on the inside. I pouted about going to see that movie because I pretty much hate anything that isn’t scary or funny or romantic or that I think will be hard to follow, but turns out it was really good. Well, when we came out (it was a 3 hour movie), it had snowed/snown? several inches and was still coming down blizzard-style. This turned out to be a blessing because I would have been scared of being mugged had it not been a winter wonderland outside. If I’m not paranoid about one thing, I’m paranoid about another. Roll with it, folks. So that was that. And it was the last of the snow we’ve seen. So here are some visuals for ya:

Selfie. It was cold and we were alone. And I didn't want a
mugger to steal my iPhone. Ya know, that's common,

I really made this snow angel.
Seriously. Layed down. On
the ground. And did this. Art. 

I just thought this looked super hipster.
Snow balls on a graffitied wall. 

Strangers lookin' hot and freezing on their
 way to partay partay.

Making a vow to try not to post the same picture on more
than 2 social media outlets at a time. So here, you haven't
seen this picture yet. Steppin' on PENNY LANE!

Then on Saturday at the crack of dawn, we boarded a bus with some of our friends (4 busloads full of ‘em, to be exact) and headed to Liverpool for a little mini vacay. We pre-booked a Beatles bus tour and with the help of Rick Steves (look him up—he’s awesome) we perused through the town. We visited the homes of the Beatles, Penny Lane, Strawberry field (they added the “s” to “field” for the song’s sake-- It’s really just field), their high school and elementary schools and lots of other places having to do with them that obviously weren’t that important to me because I don’t remember what they were. Also, the world's largest Anglican cathedral that was ridic. I really liked the Beatles tour; with or without the water that was leaking from the bus ceiling onto my head. Then we came back and went out to some bar and celebrated Australia day; affectionately known as “Straya Day” by the Aussies. We had to honor their special day since it was part of the bargain—even though they don’t know what ‘Straya day is even honoring. “Something about the first fleet or something. We don’t know.”

Here is the only picture I got in front of the WORLD'S
largest Anglican Cathedral. 100% not posed.
Thanks, Chase.

Kayla, Emily, Tyler, Chase, Steph, myself <-- I've never
labeled a picture like that before. Felt it necessary. Meet my frandz.

This is a Beatles' house... I'm not remembering
which one, but I'm pretty sure it's George Harrison's.
Awkward Tyler.

On Sunday, I found a good church. So, yay for that. Not pointing any fingers, especially not at the guy sitting in front of me, but someone smelled really stinky in there. Like, really really stinky. And whoever it was, maybe or maybe not the guy in front of me, had me super paranoid and sniffing myself the whole time thinking it was me. Bottom line: I always smell delicious. Jesus loves everyone. Even the stinkys.

Here I am after a long walk today in the wind
and rain. The wind was super strong. My petite
100 lb. frame was being all thrown around. Gah.
Zoom in on that beauty.

Since then, I’ve been going to class (not my idea of a European extended vacation) and feeding my young brain with all kinds of valuable bits of information. On Mondays and Wednesdays I have one class from 9:30-3 (have I mentioned that?). Dramatic, I know, but that is a LONG time to sit in one room. I feel like I’m in elementary school again. Except this time with a whole bunch of British nursing students who ask me questions about American health care just to hear me say things like “y’all” and “over pronounce the r sound.” I’ve also been learning to appreciate the little things in America like free ketchup, my once naturally moisturized and now super dry face, and my own washing machine (I still haven’t done laundry—really learning what my clothes limiters are…) Also, I’ve gotten two pieces of mail so far. One from my great grandmother that was literally the cutest thing ever. And one from my mom-ster. What’s better than getting a card in the mail from mom? A card in the mail from mom with a credit card included. Boom! Youda, youda best, Tam!

That was lengthy. Sorry. Working on getting some loving postcards sent out to some of you folks back in America. Which I guess is technically all of you. So hang tight and wait for it! I’m sorta broke… post cards ain’t no cheap investment, y'all.

Just dossin' around

Cute, ain't it? 'Tis where my heart will always lie. 

I know I’ve started every blahg entry until this one with “The one…,” but it’s getting to be a little awk—especially while I’m here and I’m imagining most titles will be stupid similar and confusing. So, RIP, “the one.”

BEST BOOTS I'VE EVER OWNED. I lit'rally
don't feel any coldness through them when I
plow through the snow. They're 9% (?) off at
L.L. Bean right now. GETCHU SOME.

Ahhh, so I’ve been here for five snowy, snowy days now and it is just INCREDIBLE. Y’all. It’s lovely. (Everything is “lovely” here. Oh, my hair? Yes, it’s lovely. You like my backpack? It’s lovely isn’t it? That bitter cold? Yes, it too, is quite lovely, love.” Oh, Brits. Back to my dramatic description of the painful cold. It is just that. PAINFUL. My insides start convulsing at just the thought of an open door. But thankfully, the heater in my bedroom is super bad. Bad, as in good. Like, bad to the bone or whatever.

Here she is. Britney, that is. Also pictured are
our friends Beca (she's from Wales... so she's
Wale-ish, right?) and Emma. They don't
know this blahg exists yet. Hey Y'ALL!

Me and my directional guide have done some serious exploring of this town and have made our own as well as mutual friends. One includes the coolest Aussie ever who is Britney Spears in another life. She recognized us as foreigners one night at a pub (IN THE STUDENT UNION. More info to come on the coolest student union ever.) when she was looking to meet up with some other exchange student strangers she had talked to online, then sat down with us instead, and shabam! The rest is history. I’ve gotten to know some Canadians (the French kind), Singaporians (if that’s a thing), lots of UK kids (obvi), tons of Aussies, a Malaysian studying Dentistry, a couple other Americans, and yeah… Other people, too, but none are my friends. Yet. We like to just doss around (Brit slang for hanging out) wherever the wind may blow us. And the wind is pretty serious up in hurr.

This is our fight song... catchy, ain't it?

The student union has three bars, a grocery store (that sells alcohol…), a charity store (which I haven’t been to yet, but I think it’s like Goodwill—gotta hit that up), Starbucks, a café, classrooms, etc. It’s ridiculous. So when people get all hot and spicy at night… it’s likely they’re going to the union. Isn’t that crazy? Imagine if Ole Miss’s union was like that. O.M.G. The hipsters would be having a hay day. And so would everyone else. Tonight, there was a tea party in the union. You better believe I was there. 

Buddies with new £6 mobiles (pronounced with
a long "i") to chat with our UK posse. Impossible
to text on, but cheap and fabulous.

Skype is the best invention since sliced bread. Or since the bread slicer, rather. I’ve been able to chat with all kinds of folks back home fo FREE. Hellur. We are living in the future. Also, class started today. I seem to have forgotten I was here to go to school… sorta. The one "module" I had was taught by the cutest and most fun little British speaking Indian and it went from 9:30 a.m. until 3 p.m. with an hour lunch break in the middle. Me and this girl from Canada was called out along with me by the teacher as being the “exchange students.” Then we had to introduce ourselves. We became best friends by association. Good news is that I only have to go to it twice a week, and I get done with it in early March… right before our four-week-long Spring break! HEYO! More classes to come for the rest of the week, with the exception of Wednesday when I have none. And on Saturday, I’m going to LIVERPOOL! Here comes the sun… doo doo doo doo.

Also, does anyone know the correct protocol for the situation in which you're the new foreign kid who just used the last of the community bathroom toilet paper on your floor? **tiptoes back to bedroom*

The world's best engineer designed this sink. If you're one of
those people who likes to wash your face in WARM water,
this is not the sink for you. 

Here's me straight off the plane in my
coordinated bedroom courtesy of some
Englishman who came before me.

The one from 30,000 feet

I’m blahgging from my bed. In my new room. In Leeds, England. WAH! It’s on the mildy crazy side that I’m actually here. And that I made it alive— in one piece. With my sanity and all my luggage. I took notes during each flight (to make for the most accurate first England post) and man, am I glad I did. It’s all such a blur now.

New Orleans --> Atlanta (1 hour)

World’s shortest flight ev. Imagine strategically packing the world’s best carry on luggage bag and then having the guy in front of you on your first of three flights get the very last spot on the plane for overhead luggage. I yelled at the bad-news-bearing chick who I’m pretty sure didn’t speak English. Doesn’t she realize there’s literally nothing in that bag I can go 17 hours without? Obviously not. She already had it tagged and thrown out to the orange vest guys to be checked before I even got to my punch line. Grr. I managed to grab my warm coat and ear plugs and that’s IT. So when I’m stinky and freezing with a dead cell phone when my flight lands in Manchester, I’ll probably throw another temper tantrum while picturing me pulling out the hair of the man who got to bring his carry on all bundled and cozy and fresh.

Atlanta --> Amsterdam (8 hours)

Such a hellish experience of a flight mostly due to the discomfort of trying to sleep sitting up. I wrote in my notes, “Blahgging from 30,000 ft above the center of the Atlantic ocean. Normal.” It was moderately turbulent much like the insides of my stomach due to the stinky Indian sitting next to me. Bless his heart. He was stinky, but he was also my only friend. Our first conversation:

Me: “Here sir, this is where the headphones go.”

Him: “Hahahahaha.”

Me: “Haha? No, right here. And here’s the volume.”

Him: “Ahhhh, jer ablah.”

Me: **Awkward smile and nod.**

It was then I realized that our friendship would go no further than the strict language barrier between us would allow. But sometimes we did graze knees or touch shoulders when we’d fall asleep. Isn’t that sweet?

Amsterdam --> Manchester (1 hour)

How was this flight? I have no clue. I literally slept from the moment the flight chick told me how to put on my life vest until the time the plane re-hit earth. The best hour and five minutes of the journey.

Manchester --> Leeds (via train; 1 hour)

This was cozy. The only cruddy part was that now I had claimed all of my baggage and was hauling around three suitcases and a brick of a purse up and down escalators and trains and cobblestone. I have a blister on my hand as a battle wound. Took a pic to post, but it looks way less serious than it feels, so just create a really graphic mental image.

Finally to Leeds!

Walked off the train to snow hitting us in the face. Got in a taxi (opposite side of the road, opposite side of the car… SO freaky) and was dropped off at the front porch of my cottage within 10 minutes where a man greeted me at the door saying, “You must be Gabrielle. I’ve been expecting you.” It is so stinkin’ precious here. I have lots of pictures of my favorite peeps around my room and my closet is ridiculously overflowing. My hips are as wide as the opening of the shower, which is great, and there’s a grand piano in the foyer. To give y’all (I have already gotten made fun of for this word) a visual, it’s like many OLD townhouses connected. There are 18 girls who live in my “house”, five of which are on my floor, and the rest in the other houses along with guys in other connecting houses.

Shout out to Jena, Carli, Aunt Lori and my man Ricky for the journal. I’m obsessed with it and I look like such a regular airport girl. Sophisticated as hail. Also, I’m flattered at the number of “likes” I got on my Facebook post. I don’t even feel lame saying it, because everyone knows that’s the ultimate means of feeling popular. Thank ya, thank ya. Also-- y'all text me. Shoot. I have WIFI. I can swing that stuff.

And an extra special THANK YOU to every one who helped to get me here. I know I am in for the greatest five months.