Old favorites in new places

Wanna know what I love? KITCHENS!!!

Good meals. Cooking. Delicious food. Groceries here are a bit more expensive than what I’m used to (oh hello, British currency and Sainsbury’s central and living in a city!)… BUT there is a delightful little market in the city center stocked with all sorts of fruits, veggies, and weird hemp-like creations (take a wild guess).

My hostel mates like to cook too. We often find each other in the kitchen.

Then we host dinner parties and eat ‘n eat with some socializing thrown in.

I’m also loving the different colleges at Cambridge. You can’t really tell in this picture, but there was a whole Asian motif going on along this path. I snapped this shot while walking to a supervision at Wolfson College. Each of Cambridge’s different schools has its own identity (or reputation, if you’d prefer).

What’s St. John’s? Not quite sure yet, but I have heard we throw an awesome May ball.

I’m all for libraries with view.

What else do I love?

What else have I studied for pretty much MY ENTIRE LIFE? As in, lil Nae sitting in a closet writing a story about computers, circa 1990?

Journalism.

This week, I finally had a chance to write a story for the Cambridge student newspaper, Varsity. It’s the first time I’ve done anything journalistic since working for ABODE this summer, and it was amazing. Think riding a bike. Now minus the physical exertion. Add some flowers. Rainbows. Maybe small talk. And questions. And typing.

Got the picture? No? That’s ok. Writing, especially journalistic writing, is a bit like home for me. I love trying to capture the stories of others. I love hearing how they think, or watching the little way they move their head, or how their eyes scrunch here and there with different emotions.

I think writing for Varsity will be good for me. It’ll help me remember one of my truest passions, and not let it get lost beneath academic rigor.

.

Don’t love? Photography. I stink at it. Thank goodness for the magic of guys with cameras WHO AREN’T ME.

I also sorta enjoy spotting this silly cat in random spots around St. John’s. Heading back from reading about revolutions in the library, I walked right past Captain. He sneered disdainfully at me in my tourist-like efforts to take this picture, but no matter, because I succeeded (…against the feline? Nae….)

 

In addition to too many hours spent behind books and lots of time running/shooting/fencing/trying-to-stay-on-horses/wearing stinky gear/other stufff, I’ve been chomp chompin down on these lil guys: TOOTSIE POPS! They have significantly shrunk in number. The people here don’t understand Tootsie rolls. I feel the urge to break out a dance move every time someone asks ‘tootsie wha?’

LET ME SEE YOU TOOTSIE ROLL!

And I’ll conclude with a new Brit Phrase of the day: Instead of ‘how’s it goin?’ or ‘Have a good day,’ folks here say ‘Are you alright?’ The first couple times I was taken aback. Yes. I am alright. Do I look sleepy? Do I have something in my teeth?

But it’s just a way of making small talk! Funny.

There’s a secret in the air…

Davies-Jackson scholars, three years deep!

There has been a donor sighting spotting rumoring.

Hmm. Wait. Let me restart that.

There IS A DONOR!

Which is certainly news for all of no one.

But there IS a donor. It’s part of this Davies-Jackson scholarship. An anonymous donor, a man who some thirty or forty odd years ago came to St. John’s, who now sends one lil American student overseas each year to study and grow… he exists. I might meet him at some point during my two glorious Cambridge years.

Brian, scholar from 2008

Maybe I already have.

Every now and then, folks at Cambridge will allude to his existence. Today I had lunch with some other students at the Master’s Lodge (which is probably one of the prettiest places I’ve been in yet. I figured taking pictures wasn’t quite appropriate). Just before I headed out, the Master said something that made my ears perk up and my curiosity swirl.

“So you are having a good time here?” He asked me after I offered my polite ‘I need to go now.’

“Yes, yes, absolutely.” Of course. Did he even need to ask? It’s Cambridge. It’s amazing. I just finished Montesquieu’s The Spirit of Laws. That’s amazing.

“Good to hear,” and he smiled, his pale eyes scrunching a bit. “It’s a very special scholarship that you’re on. I’m having dinner with the donor next week.”

First instinct: demand he tell me more. Second instinct: ask he tell me more? Instead, I grinned and added, “then please let him know that I am really, truly enjoying myself.”

With that, I grabbed my coat and slipped out.

I understand that there is a donor, and the journalist in me (or, heck, the human in me) is so darn curious as to whom he could be. I want to know. But I also respect that he wishes to remain anonymous; it’s the least I can do to honor his wishes.

Besides, it’s a bit like having a hidden guardian angel. Somewhere on this campus, or in Cambridge, or the world, there is this person who has chosen to fund my studies for two years. He believes in me, just a little bit. It’s a fun secret… a mystery, a good luck charm, and certainly a gift to live up to.

Random street performer. Robot style.

I met up with two previous Davies-Jackson scholars the other day for lunch. We went to a place called Free Press pub, a quaint little hole with a fireplace and a sign that said ‘no cellphones.’ The food was ok, the company was great and the atmosphere charming.

I’ve also been busy reading and reading and reading, which I think is the story of my first semester here. Being the nerd I am, I don’t mind… even when I find myself thinking ‘ok, it’s like a marathon. Just keep going. 100 pages down! That’s 1/7 of the way! Better than 1/8!’ Yes. You learn these mental mind games when training for those slow, long distance races.

Another picture from the library, where I live.

Speaking of races… I’ve been training for short, faster ones. Pentathlon is kicking my tush in all sorts of ways. I went horseback riding yesterday, which was both wonderfully fantastic and quite painful. Needless to say, my derrier and legs are surprisingly sore. Shooting is getting better. Swimming is… heck, still hard, but I enjoy it.

We have our first competition this weekend on Halloween. Novice match against Oxford.

Singin folks, I think.

We’re going to win, of course. We’ve got the FORCE on our side.

New Opportunities

View from Castle Hill

Ok. So maybe there are some benefits to living on Poop Hill.

My friend, the helpful Historian

Like (a) great views, (b) a nearby (yet to be explored) ethnic grocery store, and (c) endless giggles. Apparently, it’s also a place of some historical significance, although I can’t quite remember the details. Maybe I’ll invent some. …

Fall here is just AMAZING

I’ve taken to carrying my camera with me at all times, because I tend to get lost going from point A to ANYWHERE. … Seriously. Even places I’ve been before, I still end up wandering around for thirty minutes in entire bewilderment. I accost pedestrians, students and sometimes tourists wielding maps.

I think this is Trinity College's gate. In which case, DEMON EYES!

Like today, when after turning up the wrong road TWICE, I finally swallowed my wounded pride and marched up to one of the many college gates. An older woman in glasses was proudly wearing a blazing purple college scarf, standing beside a younger, but similarly scarfed student.

“Hi.” That’s me. Trying not to be ashamed. “I have-”

“You’ve forgotten your card?” The woman offered helpfully.

Guess what makes me look not-touristy? Taking pictures, of course

“No, no, I’m looking for the library.”

“Our library?” She responded, at once narrowing her eyes and taking on a defensive tone. Oh no. She thought I was a tourist. Tourists are not allowed inside most of the colleges, because they prance on grass and take lots of pictures.

Just another picture, taken from the second wrong turn.

“No no, the University Library.” And then, feeling the need to prove my non-tourist status, I added, “You’d think I’d be able to find it after so long.”

…which of course was a lie, because I have NO SENSE of direction ever, at any point of any moment, ever, at all. Pop me in a ball and watch me get lost.

SO! Other updates: I GOT A PACKAGE!

JOY In a BOX

Yes. It’s true. It had kettle corn (which I haven’t found here?!), sweet coconut chai tea (YUM!), socks, hat, gloves, suckers, a card, many fall leaves, POPCORN

new socks. Halloweeny.

I’m taking horseback riding lessons Saturday as part of Pentathlon training. So far, this club has taught me to fence, shoot, swim better, run faster, and overall do loads more than I have ever done before. It’s actually the first time I’m part of an athletic team, since running is such an individual sport.

I sort of like it. A lot.

Not chilly at all

OH! And I’m booking a flight to Berlin. Why? Why NOT! A big part of this scholarship is that I should take every opportunity I get to experience, explore, grow… So! A group of people I know are going as part of a 20-year celebration of the fall of the Berlin wall. I’ll be leaving Sunday and coming back Tuesday.

Speaking of, I need to go book my ticket now.

Poop Hill

I live on poop hill.

Hello Class of RIGHT NOW! MY CLASS!

Really. It’s true. I thought I lived on Honey Hill, named so because when it rained in the olden days, it became a crazy madness of mud. Everyone knows mud looks like honey.

…Except the locals call it Poop Hill, because mud looks a whole lot more like poop.

Borrowed from Cambridge website... but that's my class! That's me!

So much for my lovely home atop of lovely Honey Hill. Don’t worry too much, though. I’m not entirely naive. I’ve taken up shooting.

Practicing my shot. In pink.

Surprisingly, I’m not half bad.

Round one!

All of us newbies were pretty excited about Pentathlon shooting.

Repeated comment: OH GOODNESS!

The secret of good aim? An eye patch. I rocked one for a whole two hours, and even wore it when I had to run up and down and up and down the back stretch of the range to get my heart a’pumpin. Then they made me go shoot some more in practice for the competition.

Kat, aka eye patch QUEEN

After all this gun wielding, target-killin practice, I needed some serious girl time. I found myself a big ol’ TESCO, where I hit grocery shopping like nobody’s business (if nobody had only a bike to take the groceries home and also existed on College Budget). Look what I found:

It taste nothing like Root Beer. Think carbonated, sweet ginger in soda format. Now thick ick. … I gave it to my house mate.

After a long day, I chugged down a red bull (because I am 80 and cannot stay up past 9p.m.), tugged on my big girl pants and dressed up like Dobby the House Elf from Harry Potter.

Sign says: Dobby the House Elf

I found glasses, Harry style.

Also froze my tush off. Something about wearing a T-shirt in one of Cambridge’s oldest buildings, which for some reason doesn’t have the best insulation, and has darn bare wooden floors, and my FOOT WAS COLD. … bad life choice.

SO COLD. Sam, my harry potter housemate.

Fortunately, they had butter beer ready to help warm things up. …unfortunately, my tolerance for alcohol is zilch, so I stuck to eating the fruit from the Sangria and chomping on nearby candies.

I then convinced my dearly unsuspecting friends to commit some serious slaughter action on pumpkins. We chopped, diced and scooped out goop, followed by the stuffing and lighting of candles. I was the only one who had ever done pumpkin’ carving before.

Not so scary pumpkins

Now I’m off to bed, because tomorrow is just another Cambridge day, meaning: fencing, reading, librarying, coffeeing, mingling, and absolutely loving every darn second.

Pic someone else took of my matriculation!

Fall at Cambridge!

I have this thing with not being able to sleep in. Come 5:30, and I’m usually up.

I like sleeping past that. This mornin, I made it to 6:20. That’s when I knew today, just like that Black Eyed Peas song(ish), was gonna be a good day.

After piddle-paddling about, reading more Rousseau, eating melon, doing laundry, adding another blanket to my bed, eating more melon, chatting with housemate and yes, some more food, I left my nice warm abode for the cool crisp air of Cambridge.

At least I had a beautiful bike ride.

From my place to the lecture hall, this is what the trails are like

And by beautiful, I mean I’m living in the most stinking gorgeous place on earth. Why yes, those ARE indeed pretty white cows serenely grazing on the fresh grass of a Cambridge college. Don’t you have those?

CASTLE COWS

Apparently, some edict declares that Cambridge can keep all its land as long as it lets the cows graze freely. No cows, no campus.

Two lectures later (Utopian Socialists, and French Revolutionists), I was right back outside, unhitching my bike and saddling up for the journey home. I’m not the only one who rides. They call bikes the ‘silent killers,’ since there are just so many operated by young, wild drivers.

Just a small idea of how many bikes there are. Times this by a jillion.

…By the way, my bike is named Holly.

In preparation for my first Supervision, I found myself in the (considerably smaller, much saner) nice St. John’s Library yet again reading Rousseau. I am bleeding man in the state of nature. Give me a banana and some pity (HAHA! NERD JOKE!)

View from the library.

The clock struck 3:45p.m. My fateful supervision was scheduled for 4. Waving goodbye to Brian, I did the death march o’ doom down the library stairs, across the little stretch of grass, and up many, many more stairs. Never ending stairs. Lots and curving sharply.

Supervisions are pretty unique to this type of academic setting. Basically, I sit down with a professor and for an hour discuss an essay I’ve already turned in. It’s a great chance to (a) have your work torn apart (many a student has left their supervision in tears, so I hear), and (b) have the sort of one-on-one focus you don’t get anywhere else.

BIKE TRAIL! BEAAAUUUTIIFUUULLL

In that one hour today I learned so, so much.

…Like how I can pretty much hold my breath for roughly 59 minutes. Give it a go.

I love campus

Now I’m just winding down and noshing some quick dinner. I’ve got shooting practice (ME! BEHIND A GUN!?) for Pentathlon tomorrow, and a “Fancy Dress” Harry Potter Themed graduate party tomorrow night.

Can you guess what I’m going to be?

Unexpected reading

Tentative Conclusions, declared the book. In blue ink above the title was a scrawled addition: BANALITIES.

Flip back a couple pages, and there’s a conversation in pencil and black. “I don’t understand what he is talking about,” someone had wrote.

“Don’t ask me!” In pencil.

“If you don’t understand it, then you haven’t been reading!”

“Tut tut.” Was the concise conclusion.

I learned an important lesson today: when you are studying at Cambridge, and you brave the massive University Library for the first time, and you finally find your book after literally an hour of wandering lost… when you do these things, you are not alone. You’re one of a hundred, a thousand.

Students had been reading that exact same book since before I was born. 1981, 82, 82, 83, dates stamped on the inner flap of the cover declared the book’s long history. Tucked between the long and sometimes tedious statements of the author were quips, complaints and insights.

And there I was, hidden on the fifth floor of a library that holds a copy of every British book in print (or so rumor has it…) Just reading, writing, taking notes like so many others have done. Some of them have won peace prizes. Another developed the original computer. And the DNA double helix strand? Oh yeah, discovered here. …wow. Humbling? Yes. Terrifying? A bit.

Picture of our great hall, where portraits of all these amazin folks hang on the walls

I imagine this library will dominate a huge part of my life while I’m at school. Contrary to what the ‘no classes!’ would seem to suggest, Cambridge knows how to keep a student buried in academia.

Time to add some notes of my own.

Life’s lil lady

Sometimes, life grabs you by the ankles and whips you around and around and around. At those times, you are life’s biatch.

Guess what I am right now.

So in lieu of writing an actual post, which might require brain power and thus be impossible, I’ve decided to make a list of NEW and EXCITING things I’ve done lately, along with some of the same ol’ same ol’.

• NEW! I ran my second half-marathon EVAH in Birmingham, UK. It was cold and wet and crazy. I got lost for an hour after the race and couldn’t find my way home. There’s nothing like running 13.1 miles to make you desperate for non-movement.

Cold runner, non-sweaty

• NEW: I took up fencing.
• …and riding.
• And shooting
• AND RUNNING! Which is old, since we all know I like to run with folks like this:

Favorite runners. Elvis was awesome too.

• But I guess it’s somewhat new, since these runners I’ll be going with now are fast and mean. They make me work hard, not just plod along slow ‘n stubborn until I get to the darn end (which is exactly how I like to finish, I am a turtle, thank you very much!)
• ANYWAYS! NEW NEW NEW I’m joining Cambridge’s Pentathlon team. Never heard of that? Think woman on a horse trying to fulfill the mission of getting a letter to someone super important. Then throw in dueling, running, swimming, and some shooting. That, my friend, is pentathlon.
• Old: Lots of reading and writing. I am a library hermit.
• Old: Riding a bike
• New: BUYING a bike! It’s green and has lights and will help me get around the city in UNDER ONE MiLLiON MINUTES! I’m trying to think of a clever name. So far I’ve got Green Giant. …then my mind died and I started wondering about vegetables

• Old: Eating vegetables
• New: Eating Quorn, something Brian mentioned to me the other night. I found it in the market next to the two guys wondering out loud about desperate vegetarians (ME! Where’s the tofu?! ME!) Quorn. Sorta tastes like… .. . weird.

That’s all I’ve got, folks. I am too tired to write much more. I just did fencing for two hours and realized I am not good at killing people. Tomorrow they are making me swim, then I have lecture, and then there are MEETINGS for EVERYTHING like yoga, and debates, and wandering around, and… jesus.

The problem with Cambridge is that it has too much amazing stuff going on. It’ll drive someone like me crazy.

I’m darn happy.

Do it again!

The only thing more fun than moving once?

Well of course, moving twice. Because who doesn’t love packing shoes, folding clothes, tucking shampoos safely in plastic wrap, pulling food from the fridge, staring hopelessly at the one lone knife (how to pack that!?), and basically shoving all their possessions into two suitcases and two pillowcases?

…Right. Think we answered that one.

I have moved (again), due to my predicted presence during the holidays. No ‘merican Christmas for me, I’m afraid.

Shot of my new room, with posters from the museum

My new place is quite a lot nicer. It’s a graduate hostel (read: dorm-esque thing hosted by the university) with eight other grad students. So far I’ve met two: one is in the British military and is studying geography; and the other is a charmingly energetic irish girl with six (SIX!) older siblings.

Little bare, but it's a start

I spent most of my day yesterday repacking and re-unpacking my entire life, but now I’m finally settled in and it feels nice. Added bonus? My new place has a full kitchen. I’m already thinking of things to get from the market.

Yesterday I also had Round Two of Induction Dinner. Since I’m a bit of everything (graduate! Undergraduate! Whadda!?), I am invited to a bit of everything. When offered a second chance at a deliciously gourmet meal with wine, port, coffee and truffles, of course I said yes.

My aggressive "St. John's is the BEST!" face. Scared?

I robed up and went out.

The graduate dinner was different in several regards, owing to age (they did not exactly guzzle the wine) and practice (they knew when to stand, sit, and not to speak.)

Sneaking pictures before the Fellows arrive, after which point pictures = NO!

Yet the general format was the same: candles, white tablecloth, delicious food, amazing wine and fantastic company.

No, i am not a vampire. Yes, I am extremely pale/glowing/cover your eyes.

After eating more pumpkin beet risotto and sugared fig with peaches than I care to remember, I retreated with the rest of the graduates into the special SUPER SECRET COCKTAIL ROOM! …which is not the official name. I forgot what it’s really called.

Grads in robes. Their dates in dresses (or suits!)

This room is both the longest candle lit room, and the largest unsupported room, in Europe. I was not allowed to take pictures. Instead, I mingled and sipped my glass of not-quite-wine.

Just look at the entrance into the secret room!

By 11 p.m., I was a pumpkin and found myself retreating towards the door. These late nights are going to kill me!

At least I’ll die a Johnian.

I’d rather be at St. John’s than ANY OTHER COLLEGE

Things I’ve learned since coming to Cambridge:

• St. John’s is the best college
• St. John’s has won the Cambridge rugby match for FIVE YEARS as in FOREVER.
• Trinity College, our next-door neighbor, hates us. They have canons pointed at us. Foh real.
• John’s is one of the richest Cambridge colleges.
• Our primary color is bright red. Blood red. Vicious, all conquering red.
• We have a clock tower but no clock. Trinity stole our clock.
• I want:
  

  The scarf of St. John's and Cambridge. I WANT.

  Ok. Enough college pride for now… I mean, even if I do tease the other schools, it’s all in jest. At the end of the day, we know who our true enemy is. They wear dark blue. They start with O. It’s not Oprah.

Woo. Feels good to get that lovin out of my system. Can’t blame me, though… just look at what I see from the library window:

• 

  Just a lil view from the library window. Oh yeah.

Today was, yet again, busy. After an easy two mile run around the beautiful campus, I popped over to the library for serious book hunting. At Cambridge, you don’t buy books. You borrow them. The only problem is that other students are also borrowing very similar books, resulting in fierce book competition. (Did I just say fierce book competition? My goodness. I’m at the right place.)

Able to find only one of my three books, I wasted enhanced my library time by taking pictures.

Another angle

Photos captured and one book hoarded before other freshers could arrive, I hurried off to lecture. Today was officially the first day of “classes,” although at Cambridge, there really are no classes. Here’s how things work:

• Professors host lectures, open to everyone, on particular topics. These lectures have a general theme but are tailored according to the interest of the professor.
• You have no classes. NONE. EVER. NO CLASSES.
• Students write several essays throughout the year based on these lectures and more so on primary readings from a course reading list. This means a lot of the work is done entirely on your own.
• A couple times a term, students meet individually (or in small groups) with an entirely different professor. Essays are discussed.
• There are NO grades until the very end of the year.
• = no pressure. … . ha
• Seriously.

Rooftops. I LOVE IT HERE.

At the intro-to-the-course lecturish type thing, I was again amazed by the caliber of students and professors. Everyone who is here wants to be here. Everyone who is at St. John’s wants to be at St. John’s.

I ended up next to a second-year student named Gabriel who plopped down, scooted over on the pew-like seat, and chirpily introduced himself to me. “I am from some cambridge college I forgot the name and we’re known for being the most cosmopolitan. We’ve got 70% international students.”

Holy Jesus, I am in Hogwarts. Are you Ravenclaw? And can we share a mug of butter beer because you seem a-ok, my cosmo friend.

LOOK! Tourists! They saw me taking this photo.

Before I knew it, the succint yet inspiring lecture was over and I was wandering lost yet again. Two other political science students kindly pointed me in the direction of the Fitzwilliam Museum, where I heard rumor of free brownies and posters.

Only I could get lost trying to find this.

At the museum, I found many a poster (three) and one delicious chocolate brownie… not to mention Italian art, a fan display, a red room, tour guides leading groups of folks around, tour guides leading me around (SNEAKY!), and other wonders of the world. I imagine this place will soon become a study haunt. It’s entirely free.

Also free? Welfare tea with graduate students. I stopped in the Samuel Butler Room, drank my nescafe with milk and chatted with absolutely fascinating folk. It’s now a moot point to mention how smart these people are.

What I see when I step outside.

I spent the remainder of my evening wandering (aka: yet again entirely LOST why don’t the streets keep the same NAMES?!) around Cambridge looking for my potential new home. As I will be here over the holidays, it makes sense for me to move into graduate housing. That way I wont have to pack my bag every week and shift somewhere new to make way for Cambridge guests who want my room.

Church time!

I finally found my new home, which is both (a) off campus and (b) a bloody lot smaller than my current chamber of secrets. I don’t mind. It has a kitchen. There is an oven and there are pots and pans, and bins for recycling, and did I mention the oven?

Just part of my campus. Oh yeah.

I think I’m moving tomorrow.

For now? I need to go practice some of this self-monitored studying and get going on readings. I am, after all, a Johnian… and we’re nothing if not the best.

Nothin’ tricky about getting Matriculated!

Wearing my Matriculation Robe, in required white shirt, black skirts, black tights

Wisdom comes in unexpected places.

After trailing up a sharply spiraled staircase worn and sagging with age, I found myself waiting outside the office of St. John’s Chaplin. Along with meeting the nurse, us freshers are required to sit down for a one-on-one chat with the Man in Robes. Mine was scheduled for 10:30.

I had been up since 7a.m., when I rose with the intention of running away a poor night’s sleep. Only it was rainy outside, and grey and cold, so the run was postponed. Considering my morning, the chaplin was a welcomed bit of surprising sun. He swung open the door to his book-filled office, smiled and swept his hand forward.

Ten minutes later and I was heading back out. The Chaplin was really quite helpful- proving once again that I really don’t know much of anything. I might actually be moving accommodations soon due to my status as an international student who will be present over the holidays. I should know in a couple days. The chaplin knew exactly with whom I should speak. Handy man.

So many tourists come to Cambridge. We have these all over.

I met up with a couple girls from my subject (hello, ladies, if you’re reading this!) and we shared umbrellas while rushing across Cambridge. Our destination? The Cambridge Societies Fair, in which hundreds of groups shout, prance and wave fliers at throngs of freshers.

Out on the green getting ready for pictures

I signed up for far too many. Wine tasting club? Deal! Fencing? Could be fun! Coffee tasting club? Ok, I like caffeine. Water polo? Sure- I’m going to be soaked anyways! Hound and Hare? I like to run! Winnie the Poo Club? Su-wait. No, no, you keep that piglet away.

With a bag full of loot (read: fliers, pamphlets, and all sorts of discounts at Cambridge’s Top Pubs), I made my way back to campus. There was no time to waste. We had matriculation!

…at which I failed horribly. I didn’t bring a white shirt to Cambridge, so I picked one up yesterday at Oxfam. I also didn’t bring a black skirt, which as a lady is a requirement. Trousers are no good. So I borrowed el skirt. As for my ability to stand on bleachers in heels for over thirty minutes while the photographer waits for the sun to go behind a cloud (“almost there! Just one more time! Again!”)… well, we wont even touch on that. I am not quite balanced. My neighbor suffered.

Demonstrating the weird arms on the graduate robes

Photos were followed by Matriculation Mass. I have found the secret to making church not only entirely interesting, but also breathtaking: boys ‘n men. Plop them in red and white robes, give them some good training, and let their beautiful voices ring.

Poor Porter had to call names. Over and over and over.

After all this rushing and praying, I needed food. I stopped by my tutor’s house with some other students for a glass of delicious white wine. I was then herded into The Hall, aka Harry Potter Room, where portraits of famous St. Johnian’s line the walls and large white candles perch on silver frames along the tables. Assigned seating placed me next to several professors and a new bunch of absolutely amazing students. The caliber of minds here…! Really.

Then we ate. And ate. And ate. The chef prepared a special vegetarian meal for me, complete with chickpeas in fresh salsa, green pepper stuffed with marinated mushrooms and topped with potato medallions, a bowl of fresh fruit in a sweet sugar glaze, endless red wine, and port.

Over lavender chocolate and black coffee, the Senior Tutor spoke to us incoming St. Johnians. “Do not let the previous scholars on the walls intimidate you. Let them inspire you.”

“For over 400 years, 30,000 have sat where you sit today. And they have gone on to change the world.”

“Take advantage of what Cambridge has to offer. Engage in extracurriculars and use them as a compliment to your education. Get to know your peers… and always share the excitement of academia.”

“Because unlike a JCR organized pub crawl, the discovery of knowledge will satisfy you not only while you are in the pursuit of it, but also the morning after,” explained the Tutor. I wish I could remember the rest of what he said. It was perfect.

Warmed with wine and the wonder of where I am (CAMBRIDGE! CAMBRIDGE!MYGOD!), I am now creeping off to bed.

Goodnight, St. John’s. I love it here.