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I know, I know, I've been away for like a month. Whoever's reading this. Anyways.
So I got accepted to the London Fall Study Abroad at my school, and it plays out like this:
Land in Paris, spend a deliriously delicious week and a half. Take another week and travel through the Loire Valley, Normandy, etc., etc. See Mt. St. Michel, which of course is fabulous. Spend a day hitting up Brussels, and then a weekend in Amsterdam. Go back down to la cité la plus belle dans le monde, take the Chunnel across to London. Live in flats by Hyde Park for two months, traverse around and fall in love with London, and visit amazing places like Ireland on the weekend, Bath, Dover, Stonehenge, The Lake District, etc., on day trips, Edinburgh one week. And then a weekish in London and Paris again with my best friend, who's flying over from Memphis to paaarty.
Oh, also classes, etc., but...they are heartily groovy.
When I found out, I stammered like a stuck record "Grammagrammagrammagrammagrammagrammagrreegrammagrammagrammagrammejeggrammagrammagramma"...and so forth, you get the idea I hope, my little chumettes. And then bounced - fairly literally - around the house, looking for said gramma, and then finally found her in the driveway, and invented, on the spot, a sort of shimmy dance that entailed shimmying, jumping, and a little dose of "HOOOOOORN!" a la Georgia Nicolson. (And this is reason #4734384 that I am glad we don't really have neighbors.)
After said fffffreak-out, my first thought was:
Now what in the name of God's green earth am I going to wear?
I am not, per say, a light packer. At all. And for this, I must absolutely be. As our groovy Australian program director said, "Pack the absolute essentials. Leave half of those behind and bring twice as much money."
The money I can do...the packing bit? Well, I'll try.
The next six months will consist of me figuring out the ten most stylish pieces in my closet, looking up loads of stuff about where we're visiting (I know a lot, yet there's only a ton more to learn, it's cool, whatever), working to have lots of money to blow on macaroons, cool stationery, clothes, and Christmas pressies; and having nightmares about either a) missing my plane, etc. (Check!) or b) Looking like a fool in front of chic Parisians and Londoners and Scots and Amsterdam...ians, and Belgians, and...
And of course, mes amies, I will keep you updated on everything as best I can. I will be too busy living la vie fantastique to write every day but weekly, I can handle.
I think the hardest part for me will be to not constantly be behind my camera, because as my prof pointed out, "so many tourists experience things only through the lens of their camera." Which is a shame.
But no worries. I will immerse myself and hit the pubs like the best of them.
(And have ginger ale, mais oui. This is BYU we're talking about!)
xxx and all that jazz,
Tabby
So I got accepted to the London Fall Study Abroad at my school, and it plays out like this:
Land in Paris, spend a deliriously delicious week and a half. Take another week and travel through the Loire Valley, Normandy, etc., etc. See Mt. St. Michel, which of course is fabulous. Spend a day hitting up Brussels, and then a weekend in Amsterdam. Go back down to la cité la plus belle dans le monde, take the Chunnel across to London. Live in flats by Hyde Park for two months, traverse around and fall in love with London, and visit amazing places like Ireland on the weekend, Bath, Dover, Stonehenge, The Lake District, etc., on day trips, Edinburgh one week. And then a weekish in London and Paris again with my best friend, who's flying over from Memphis to paaarty.
Oh, also classes, etc., but...they are heartily groovy.
When I found out, I stammered like a stuck record "Grammagrammagrammagrammagrammagrammagrreegrammagrammagrammagrammejeggrammagrammagramma"...and so forth, you get the idea I hope, my little chumettes. And then bounced - fairly literally - around the house, looking for said gramma, and then finally found her in the driveway, and invented, on the spot, a sort of shimmy dance that entailed shimmying, jumping, and a little dose of "HOOOOOORN!" a la Georgia Nicolson. (And this is reason #4734384 that I am glad we don't really have neighbors.)
After said fffffreak-out, my first thought was:
Now what in the name of God's green earth am I going to wear?
I am not, per say, a light packer. At all. And for this, I must absolutely be. As our groovy Australian program director said, "Pack the absolute essentials. Leave half of those behind and bring twice as much money."
The money I can do...the packing bit? Well, I'll try.
The next six months will consist of me figuring out the ten most stylish pieces in my closet, looking up loads of stuff about where we're visiting (I know a lot, yet there's only a ton more to learn, it's cool, whatever), working to have lots of money to blow on macaroons, cool stationery, clothes, and Christmas pressies; and having nightmares about either a) missing my plane, etc. (Check!) or b) Looking like a fool in front of chic Parisians and Londoners and Scots and Amsterdam...ians, and Belgians, and...
And of course, mes amies, I will keep you updated on everything as best I can. I will be too busy living la vie fantastique to write every day but weekly, I can handle.
I think the hardest part for me will be to not constantly be behind my camera, because as my prof pointed out, "so many tourists experience things only through the lens of their camera." Which is a shame.
But no worries. I will immerse myself and hit the pubs like the best of them.
(And have ginger ale, mais oui. This is BYU we're talking about!)
xxx and all that jazz,
Tabby
And in really random news, I didn't realize I'd never listened to all of 21 until yesterday, when I had to borrow my mum's car and I popped in her Adele CD.
There is possibly nothing groovier than Adele covering The Cure. (Lovesong, mes petits nincompoops. But I love you. Even if you'd heard that song but didn't know it was The Cure.)
There is possibly nothing groovier than Adele covering The Cure. (Lovesong, mes petits nincompoops. But I love you. Even if you'd heard that song but didn't know it was The Cure.)
