Surroundings

There is a lot that I have to look forward to when returning to Chicago. Seeing my family, going on vacation, presenting at Comic-Con, seeing Erika and my other friends, and so on: these intangible things are certainly something to look forward to. I am also looking forward to the comforts of the familiar. Seeing the places that I have come to know as my own: eating Papa's Pizza, driving down Nassau Ave., walking around the streets of Chicago, looking out at Lake Michigan. These familiar places will bring a flood of happy memories, and it will feel, for a time, less alien than where I live know.

But one thing, for sure, I will miss is the natural surroundings. Northern Illinois, like most of Illinois, is not particularly hilly. There is a beauty to rolling fields of corn and soy, dotted by the occasional small town, with all of it's quaint small town feel, but the beauty is not as awe inspiring as the steep cut hills the run into the ocean surrounding Aberystwyth.

The sea-side village, like most sea-side villages in Western Wales, is build between the shoulders of two hills: Constitution Hill and Pen Dinas. The town then spreads up a third hill at the back end: Pen Glais. The campus is built near the top of Pen Glais, and the town is built at the foot of the hill. This, as my pictures on Facebook will attest to, provide me with a hell of a view. From my room, I can see the ocean spread out below me, and a good chunk of the Western parts of town, which turn to twinkling stars at night. Pen Dinas stands imposingly to the South, and Constitution Hill hides behind the forest that is visible to the North.

In town, there is not a lot of greenery, as the town was built before cars were really popular, and a lot of the streets reflect that. British housing does not place a premium on a front yard, so must of the houses' front doors empty onto the sidewalk, which tends to be a paved area that stretches the short distance between the house and the street. Most of the natural life can only be found in the back gardens of people's houses. Because some of these houses are terraced, and built into the side of a hill, this provides from some really interesting, multilayered gardens, with stairs and cut terraces. When I can see into the back yards of people's houses, I am always amazed at the ingenuity and beauty of these small urban gardens.

Though the town proper lacks greenery, the surrounding landscape is nothing but. Unlike the manicured naturescapes of the city (see Grant Park or Central Park), the wilderness around Aberystwyth is just that: wilderness. The county seems to have taken an effort to ensure that there is natural beauty available to the towns people, provided by way of the Penglais Nature Park, Constitution Hill and the Coastal Path.

I can cut through the Penglais Nature Park to get into town, and if it hasn't rained, I often do. When I got here in the winter, it was a quiet place, with low dense shrubs and tall barren trees. The trees here look old, gnarled and twisted towards the sun with few low branches. Since the spring has come, I was surprised to see how many of these trees flowered. Many of the smaller trees grew enormous pink flowers that stayed on the trees for a solid month. These bloomed in late February, well before the trees started to bud, heralding the coming of Spring. Then, once the trees had sprouted leaves, and the flowering trees presented their flowers, the floor of the forest was covered in bluebells. This was not something I had ever seen before: acres of blue bells carpeting the ground between the trees, providing a lovely fragrance to the forest. According to Wikipedia (the world's knowledge), a dense covering of bluebells is an indication of an ancient forest, and that 70% of the common bluebells are found here in England. This makes my experience particularly unique. If anyone happens to be coming over to Wales for any reason, I would suggest doing so in May, as the bluebells of Penglais Nature Park are really something to see.

Constitution Hill, which can be accessed through footpaths from Penglais Nature Park, is probably the most popular natural attraction in Aberystwyth, and for good reason. Sitting at the North end of town, the hill is tall, but not overly imposing (though, if you read my early blog posts, it was quite imposing for a plainsmen like myself when I first arrived). There are two ways up: taking the footpath that zig-zags up the mountain, keeping to a moderately easy incline, or the ancient train car that is dragged up the hill via an enormous engine mounted at the top. The views from the top are unrivaled by any in Aberystwyth, including Pen Dinas. The entire city is laid out before you. There is a nice little restaurant at the top from which you can sit and look out onto the town below. The hill itself offers every type of terrain Aberystwyth has to offer, with a slate cliff face to the west, and rolling grassy fields to the North and East. The South end of the hill is covered by the thorny shrubs common to the rocky hills; these shrubs grow to about six feet tall and border the footpath down, giving it a bit of a claustrophobic feel. If one were wanted to experience the natural beauty of Western Wales, one could do worse than Constitution Hill.

The Coastal Path is just that: a path that stretches along the coast of the Cardigan Bay, or at least the part of Cardigan Bay within Ceredigion County (pronounced: care-a-DIG-ee-on). The Northernmost town is Ynyslas (pronounced, I believe: in-IS-las), and the Southernmost is Cardigan. Some sections are closed due to legal proceedings, but essentially, but essentially there is 62.1 mile path that walks along the water. This is no easy path, like the zig-zaggy path up Constitution Hill. At the beginning of the Southern arm from Aberystwyth, the path shoots straight up the side of a hill. The path is dented with footprints that double as stairs for the climbers making their way to the top.

This path, though, if the walker is up to it, will offer some of the most incredible views available. The path is dotted by hills that run straight into the ocean. This hills usually have sheer, or near-sheer slate cliff faces. On the inland side of the path, the walker is shown the rolling hills of Wales, dotted and pockmarked by farms and sheep. The fields have been divided by privet hedges, turning the hills into a green mosiac that stretches off as far as the eye can see. There are streams and rivers that run through the hills, and a few waterfalls (though, none that are really super impressive on the scale of, say, Niagara). I've taken the path North as far as Clarach Bay Holiday Village, and as far South as the Holiday Village to the South parallel to Conrah. I hope, in the next few days, to take it as far as the sandy beaches of Borth, but that's a five mile walk, and requires more planning and time than I have had.

The path is, for the most part, clearly marked. It does cut through several fields owned by local farmers. Because of this, the path is broken up by staggered benches built into a fence that allow the walker to scale the fence safely. Often times, then, these fields will be in use. On my walk South, I was surrounded by sheep and cows, literally. At one point, a small herd of cows followed me sniffing out food until I had to scale a fence to continue on my way. Because the land ownership rules in Wales are much different than in the States, this was an unusual experience, and sort of thrilling. At one point, as I was cutting through a sheep field (sheep, by the way, are far to skittish to come around intruders; cows, though, are far more curious, and will pack up around you), I spotted a farmer on an ATV in an adjacent field. Nevermore was I aware of being surrounded by someone's property than right then. He spotted me, too, but just kept to his business, used to seeing people use his Western fields for conveyance.

All in all, one thing I was not expecting when I journeyed here was the proximity to breathtaking natural beauty. I knew about the forest and Constitution Hill from the brochure, but the rest of this has been, simply, amazing.

Soccer as Real Life

I watched a soccer game here between two teams I can't remember, but I think came from other countries in Europe. My Irish housemate was explaining to me that the last ten minutes were going to be pretty boring (by his standards) because the two teams were tied. Both teams benefited from the tie, so neither was necessarily going to make a move to break that, risking the loss. It seemed that the tie would award both teams the points needed to advance to something else. I really wasn't paying too much attention due to the mind-numbing boredom that watching a bunch of shorted men run around idly kicking a ball back and forth will bring about.

This was interesting: neither team wanted to take the risks necessary for a win, and both seemed complacent enough to settle for a tie. Most American sports cannot end in a tie (there are rare moments in football when the game, much to Donovan McNabb's surprise, can end in a tie, and hockey can often end in a tie). When the baseball All-Star game ended in a tie, fans went berserk, and a new rule was instituted so that the winning division gets home field advantage for the World Series to prevent such an atrocity from happening again (which lead to a really exciting game where both the American and National leagues had run out of pitchers and were thinking about trotting J.D. Drew and David Wright out for a few innings apiece). Essentially, America wants to see a winner. A tie is just as bad as losing, because no one can be crowned and hailed as the winner. This has led to some amazing sports moments: triple-over time basketball games, 21 inning baseball games, grueling sudden death overtime football games, shoot outs in non-tying hockey games, etc. America loves the heroes that come from these rare moments of athleticism where the man or woman reaches down deep to some undiscovered reserve of ability to pull the game out for his or her team.

The same is not true of soccer, and I found out, British people in general.

This past Sunday, I wandered down to Scholars for the Sunday night quiz, and Tyler's Freedom Dragons, smaller than usual, put up a good fight. We were about in the middle of the pack going into the Wipeout Round, the last round of the quiz. Here, a team needs to answer all questions correct to earn an extra five bonus points; consequently, any wrong answers took all the points away for that round. With 15 extra points, we could have made a stab at winning the game. This is highly unlikely, as most of the questions in this round are REALLY esoteric, but not beyond the realm of possibility. My attitude was to answer as many as we could justifiably guess at, and hope for the best; Jamie, one of the two British people looked instead to score as many points as he knew we could, and aim for the middle of the pack, rather than risk losing all our points and end up near the bottom.

This seemed insane to me. Some of the questions we had whittled it down to two or three possible answers. In these situations, there is an obvious course of action: go for the win. Attack the jugular, take no prisoners, shoot first and ask questions later, and so on. I saw an risky opportunity to move up into the top three, with the potential to win the game with some calculated risks; Jamie wanted to walk away in the middle of the pack, knowing that at least we didn't lose. But, I wanted to argue, we didn't win either.

It seemed to be a question of dignity. Jamie wanted to say that he finished above last place. That he wasn't the worst team in the bar, which I can certainly understand as no one wants to lose anything. My argument was that there were no prizes for second place, that no one wins without trying, that we don't necessarily lose with the worst score, but we still lose. Certainly, there is some dignity maintained by tying for the middle team, but as far as I was concerned, there was lost dignity for not having the balls to take the risk and try to win.

It's interesting to me how these attitude pervade everything we do: the British never want to lose, and will settle for a tie as then they don't have to lose; Americans want to win and settling for a tie is conceding to a lack of winner. Whether it's a Premiere League soccer match or a local pub quiz, if I don't at least try to win, I feel like I let myself, my team, and, depending on the stage, my country down. It would be interesting to see if these same attitudes can be seen elsewhere: politics, education, foreign relations and so on.

For Abi

I went to visit of friend of mine in London this week while I was doing some research at the British National Library. Alex works for Secondlife.com, which is cool; but his wife, Sarah, works for the State Department, interviewing applicants who want a visa to enter the US. This is not a job I could do. She has to review applicants all afternoon, approving or rejecting based on a set of criteria that she needs to nearly instantly assess. I would grow very bored of this very quickly, and start giving the applicants more interesting reasons for rejection.
"Sorry, the US is full up on Nepalese. Have you tried Iran? I hear Iran needs Nepalese people."
"America does not recognize your existence, or the existence of anyone named Augustus. I'm sorry, sir. That name has too many negative connotations for Americans."
"You want to get into the US wearing that shirt? Come on, man! This is the land of reality television superstars and strip-malls. There is no way you fit in in these clothes."
And so on. I would find it funny, but I doubt the American government would agree.

Despite having the ability to do so, Sarah never once flagrantly broke the law claiming diplomatic immunity. Not even for something small, like jaywalking, or stealing a Twix bar, but things I would have done.
"Excuse me...American needs this Wispa Bar. Diplomatic immunity."
I guess in larger countries, like England and Japan, there are scads of diplomats that don't do much more than interview potential visa applicants. In her last post, Bulgaria, she had more responsibility and the jobs were far more interesting: working with people to develop laws and what not. The only drawback: she lived in Bulgaria. Sofia, Bulgaria; not the most forward thinking of places, or uncorrupt places to live. Simple things like getting the internet up and running is very complicated.

One thing that Sarah and Alex did bring back from Bulgaria was their cat, Pavel (or Havel...I never got a good listen to the name). She was a street cat, found as a kitten, begging for food. Having since moved in with Alex and Sarah, she has adopted a rather prissy attitude, and was not exactly sure what to think of me. We had a tenuous relationship.

The first night, she spent several minutes sniffing me, thoroughly learning the nuances of my odors. When she was finished with that, she would make sure to keep an eye on me as Alex and I talked. Alex noted that, if I left my door open, the cat would likely curl up in the room and sleep with me. I am always a fan of cuddly animals. My dog was incredibly snuggly, and feeling a warm little body pressed against you is really comforting.

When I went to bed, I wasn't particularly tired. I left the door cracked open and read for awhile. After some time, I felt like something was staring at me. I looked around, and there was the cat, about an arms length away, sitting in the middle of the floor fixated on me. I moved over, leaving some space for it to jump up on the bed if it decided, and continued reading. A chapter or two later, I looked over and the cat was still sitting there, unblinking. Just watching. By this point, I started to worry that the cat was not watching me, but waiting for me to make a mistake that she could pounce on. I reached my hand out to let her sniff it and she slowly trotted out of the room.

I turned the light off and settled in for sleep, a long day of research ahead of me at the National Library. Not long after the lights went out, I heard the strangest noise coming from the hall, like someone had the cat by the tail, and was dangling said cat into a deep, resonant bowl. It was a mournful, throaty whine. I turned the lights on and the cat jogged back into the room. I held my hand out for it to sniff. Pavel took a sniff, and then, eyes locked on mine, took a swing at my hand. Dogs like to fight, and have a distinct stance that the dog will take when it wants to play fight or actually kill you. Cats seem to lack this posture. I looked for something to dangle and the cat pounced on it. We played for a little bit, and then I decided I needed to sleep. The cat was left the room once the lights were out, and I slept the rest of the night undisturbed.

The next day, I guess the cat decided I was only for playing with. I went to pet the cat several times, and each time I reached my hand out it took a swing at me. Unlike most cats I have known in my life, Pavel was not declawed, and thus left lots of little scratches on my hands and arms. Getting cut up by a cat becomes less fun quickly, so I didn't spend to much time "playing" with her. The rest of the day was spent with Sarah and Alex, and the cat was far more interested in them than me.

The last day, I woke while Alex was in the shower, and the cat was curled up on a blanket. I sat near her and went to pet her, again, allowing her to sniff me first. Again, she took a swing at my hand, looking her cat eyes on mine. I was really not interested in this sort of game, so I pulled my hand away. Then, feeling slighted, the cat slicked her ears to her head and hissed loudly at me. That was the end of our brief relationship. I know it pains it to know, but I decided with that hostile gesture that this cat and I were never going to be friends. From there on out, I spent the rest of the trip ignoring her. Take that cat.

I have never been much of a fan of cats. I don't understand why you would invite an animal into your house that makes it known with every fiber of its being that it doesn't like you (and it thinks itself better than you). Cats are like really annoying roommates that crap on the floor and openly hate you. Pavel has done little to dissuade me of this opinion.

Service Industry

In America, people expect good service. At restaurants, you expect to get your food quickly. At the store, you expect the cashier to be pleasant and courteous. The only workers that are historically known to be problematic are government workers. For some reason, Americans will undergo significantly poorer service at the DMV than at TGIFridays.

I have worked in the service industry in a variety of ways, most recently as a cashier at Borders Books and Music. As a cashier, I had to stand behind the counter, promptly greet the customer, smile, make small talk, answer questions and concerns and so forth. From time to time I was graded on this by secret shoppers who looked to see if I close the sale using the customer's first name (if he or she used a credit card), if I smiled and welcomed them to the store, how pleasant I was and so on. These grades would then be posted in the store for all the other employees to see, and were used as a determining factor for raises and promotions.

Other stats about me were tracked as well: how many customers I pressured to signing up for Borders Rewards, how many people I convinced to donate books to charity, and so on. I was good at my job, and nearly set the record for donations during the Christmas season. I also was more than compliant with the Borders Rewards, often exceeding the percentage of new sign-ups I was to hit in each shift.

In Wales, things are much different. Much different. And this is something that I have not quite gotten used to.

Today, for instance, I wanted to get a train ticket to London. The first time I went to do this, getting tickets for Erika and I to go to and from London her trip out her in March, I must have gotten the best employee there. I told her the trip I was looking to make, and she helped me get the cheapest tickets available. The man that was working today was less than helpful. In fact, he was almost indignantly unhelpful.

I approached the counter and the ticket agent was standing on the other side of the glass window with his back to me. The person he was talking to gestured that I was standing there, but he felt it was necessary to finish his conversation before he addressed my concerns. After a few moments, he turned, and said, "Yes, please;" the typical British greeting at the point of sale.
"Hi, I need a ticket for the 11th or 12th, which ever is cheaper. To go to London."
He stared at me for a minute. Then, he said, "Well, which day?"
"The 11th or the 12th," I replied.
"But which day do you want to go out on?"
I was confused. It seemed that I was being clear: I wanted the cheapest ticket for either day.
"Either day. I just want the cheapest ticket possible."
"Well, you have to pick a day. We have to start with a day."
At this point, I would have pulled up the 11th, and started looking for train tickets. In fact, by this point, he could have answered my question had he done exactly that.
"Fine," I said, "Let's look at the 11th first."
"Okay. Which train?"
Really? I thought. Did I not make it clear that I wanted the cheapest fare to London on that day.
"Which ever train is cheap."
"We have seven trains. And you need to tell me which one."
I was getting really annoyed at this point. It seemed to me that he was being willfully unhelpful. Had I been at a train station in the States, I would have asked to speak to a manager, and demanded something be done about this. But, I took a deep breath and continued to try and deal with this man.
"I don't know. The afternoon."
"What time? We have seven trains that leave at all times through out the day."
I couldn't believe the tone this guy was taking with me. It was as if he was talking to a seven year trying to explain to them why they couldn't fly. I understand the way the train system works: trains leave at one time and arrive at another. That isn't my concern. My concern was that I wanted a cheap ticket.
"Listen," I said, trying to remain calm and not seem like a boorish American, "I don't know what time the trains leave. I just need a cheap ticket on this day for London."
He looked at me and audibly sighed, as if I was inconveniencing him, keeping him from whatever conversation I interrupted a few minutes prior to that. "Half one or half three..."
"The first one," I said, cutting him off.
"Rail card?"
"No."
"Just the single?"
"No, I need a return ticket." Buying a return ticket is sometimes the best thing to do as you can get a discount for buying together.
He looked at me, exasperated. "Well, do you know what time you need that for? I have to know that before I can ring this ticket up."
At this point, I just left. I was growing more and more frustrated and was about to explode: LISTEN TO ME YOU ANGRY LITTLE MAN! I need a ticket! Read me the times and the prices and I will tell you which one I want! Speak like this to me again, and I will end your miserable life!

I can see why Americans have the reputations they have. Because we have perfected the art of the service industry, we have come to expect a certain kind of experience when exchanging money for goods and services. In a recent conversation with one of my roommates, he said that the consumer culture is dying in Britain, and the more and more people are buying things on-line. I can see why, if this is the type of treatment people get when they try to buy things at a store, or a shop, as they say here.