January 8

Kristi's gone back home to Texas. It's definitely weird to think that right now I may be the only Texan in Canterbury, England. Yesterday, I met an English girl who's a student at CCCU (and girlfriend of one of my roommates)- the university that I'll be attending, starting Monday- who didn't know the location of the Great State of Texas. She asked me if it was in America. That was a first. I mean, I thought Americans were the ones who were supposed to be bad at geography. I think the English girl knows where Mexico is, at least. I was trying to explain the location of Texas in terms of North America with crazy hand gestures in lieu of a map.

I spent my first night in my dorm (I don't think they call them "dorms" here because I keep getting strange looks when I say dorm) last night. I didn't think the CCCU International Office was serious when they sent me an e-mail about a month ago outlining my expenses- I seriously have to pay 65 pounds for a "bed roll" and some dishes? I wasn't even given towels. The "bed roll" includes thin sheets that look like someone ate too many bananas and drank too much orange juice, danced a whole bunch and then proceeded to throw up on my bed. The patterns supposed to resemble peach "marble." The mattress is about as comfortable as the one in San Marcos Hall. I miss the hostel. I have to go back and give them Kristi's room keys. Maybe I'll steal a comforter, put it under my shirt: Hey, it's an immaculate conception.

It really does take about 30 minutes to walk to the North Holmes campus, where all my classes will be, from my dorm on Parham Road. It takes about 15 minutes to walk from my dorm into town. I should have legs of steel by the time I get back home in June.

My flatmates (roommates) are really nice, strangely enough. I was expecting the worst. Not only are they English, but they're male. It's still going to take some getting used to, living with people of the male persuasion. But their rooms and bathroom are on the first floor- I live on the second. There will be four people downstairs and four upstairs. I've only met two of my flatmates. There's supposed to be one other American living in the dorm, a girl. Some of the Americans are supposed to arrive tomorrow, the rest on Sunday. That's not long to get settled, seeing how Monday we have to be at some building on the North Holmes campus by 8:45 a.m. for "orientation" that lasts until 6 p.m. Geez, Louise.

I'm glad I get my own room, but the walls are really thin. That won't stop me from singing, by golly. I just hope none of my roommates like to sing or bring home their lady friends. I can hear everything downstairs, even with my door completely shut.

Wednesday evening, around 8:30, Kristi and I took the "coach" aka charter bus into London. It cost us 17 pounds each. Cheaper than a train ticket, but I have a BritRail Pass I've already paid $439 for, so I can ride the train for two months (I'm hoping I can somehow use it after it's expired).

There were no trains going from Canterbury to London Victoria because of the weather, so I had to take the train into Faversham and switch to Canterbury East. Then, once I arrived in Canterbury, I had to walk about 15 minutes to my dorm. I was pretty exhausted, since Kristi and I spent over eight hours sitting against a pillar at her terminal in the London Heathrow Airport. We maybe had 20 minutes of sleep. My bag did not make a comfortable pillow. I had Kristi's pink Snuggie over me (those things really aren't that warm) to block out the light. In the morning, as I was waiting for Kristi to check-in her carry-on bag, there were these two guys, one with an American passport, the other with a UK passport- who kept reminding the American passport holder that he owed him "30 kilos" upon his return. Both men appeared to be of Middle-Eastern descent, but the one with the UK passport had a Middle-Eastern accent. I tried to hide the front of my sweatshirt, which read: Shalom From New York. You can never be too cautious.

Kristi said she saw some cops with a drug dog roaming through the airport as she was waiting in line to check in her bag. Instead of German Shepherds, they use English Cocker Spaniels as drug dogs. I'd be mighty terrified if a freakin' Cocker Spaniel was on my ass lookin' for drugs. Wouldn't you?

January 4

I don't know if I trust British toothpaste. Maybe it's their toothbrushes. Maybe it's all the crappy American/Canadian music that's been rotting their teeth out. I had no idea that Nickelback was this popular in England. At least, in Canterbury they have a devoted following (I wonder if Nickelback knows? They should totally milk that). The All-American Rejects and Kings of Leon, too.

It snowed again last night. I knew that at some point today I'd slip and fall. I had what some would call a premonition. Low and behold, as I was stepping out of the train onto the Dover Priory platform I slipped and landed smack on my ass. It's quite hilarious in hindsight. They need to throw some salt on that damn platform. I should start carrying some with me. I'll be like the Morton Salt girl.

Today, Kristi and I went on the hunt for the elusive Sun Bear, sometimes known as the Honey Bear (thanks Wikipedia). It's even harder to find than an attractive British guy. We heard they were endangered, but that there some just chillin' in Sandwich. No, not attractive British guys, Sun Bears. There's this nature conservatory about an hour away by train in Sandwich, England. Kristi and I have been going on and on about these damn Sun Bears for days. We were all excited to see them today, Kristi was even speed-walking to the station. So, we hop on a train to Dover Priory, then waited around for over an hour- I got some disgusting coffee that cost me 80 pence (I'm still a little bitter about that one), then we hopped back on the train headed to Sandwich.

Of course, we didn't know where the conservatory was once we arrived in Sandwich. Kristi did have the pamphlet. The train station was closed and deserted, so we couldn't ask someone. Kristi called the conservatory, no one answered, but there was a voice recording saying it's only open on Saturdays and Sundays during the winter. Jumpin' Jahosafish, are you kidding me? The conservatory Web site says nothing about it being open only on Saturdays and Sundays during the frickin' winter. It actually says their open daily from 10:30 a.m. until 4:30 p.m. So, not only were we waiting another 20 minutes in the freezing cold for the train back to Dover Priory, Kristi spent over six pounds on the damn train ticket- that no attendant checked. The things I do for endangered species. Like talk to the people from Greenpeace.

Tomorrow's our last night at the hostel. We were lucky, last night we had the eight bed mixed dorm all to ourselves, tonight it looks to be the same. Now I just jinxed it. Saturday night some dude kept snoring, loud. And this French couple checked in after 11 p.m. and came into the room like they owned it our something. Good thing everyone was outta there by the time we woke up. I've been feeling like going into hibernation, the bears have the right idea. With the sun setting at 3:54 p.m. everyday and the doggone radiator not heatin' up properly, the cold just makes you kind of tired... and hungry. I do have to give props to my super badass boots from the L.L. Bean web site, though. They are so warm. Don't have much traction, but they're warm.