Woking, Windsor, and some weally weird breakfast spread

The last few days have been a bit of a blur: we’ve been to the pub several nights (but with pints at 3.50£ each, we more just play snooker [Britain’s version of billiards] and nurse our one drink the whole night.) I really love the atmosphere of going-out in Britain because it’s generally more laid-back; pub patrons drink, certainly, but don’t seem to share the American college goal of drinking solely to get trashed. Instead, they play snooker, shoot darts, and watch football. (The other day when we went into a pub down the street from our hotel, the first thing I heard was a Brit’s reaction to a poor pass in a game he was watching in TV. “Fucking wankers!” So quaint.) Also, the expectations of what to wear when going out are rather different. In America, girls often put on tight/short/somewhat slutty outfits before going out for the night; here, ladies just wear cardigans and T-shirts (to the pubs, at least; the dress code is certainly different for clubs, which are obviously also popular in London and which I haven’t been to yet.)

On Friday, we checked out of our hotel and headed to Woking for a weekend homestay in order to experience a “real British home.” We’d been informed earlier this week whose home we’d been assigned to, and I (as well as two girls in my program, Lisa and Kim) was assigned to stay with a woman named Jenny Smith. The biography form said that Jenny had several grown children and one cat, and that she worked as a hairdresser. We imagined her as a cool, hip, late forty-something woman with a penchant for torn jeans and chunky highlights. (I’d been planning to nonchalantly mention how grown-out my bangs were in hopes of a free trim.) But when we arrived at the bus station in Woking (a town about an hour and a half outside London,) there was no one resembling our imagined Jenny. The real, sixty-something Jenny is quite short and rather rotund, with gray hair and a thick London accent. To me, she looks a bit like Winston Churchill in a wig, but then again, many older Brits remind me of Churchill. Jenny is quite friendly, and is quick to tell about her vast travel experiences, including trips to Singapore, Iceland, Hong Kong, New Zealand, Australia, and Canada.

On Saturday, we headed for Windsor Castle, the residence where Her Majesty the Queen lives for about a month out of the year. Windsor is absolutely beautiful: the castle itself rests on the top of a hill, and the town sits around the hill and is full of quaint shops. We began by taking the tour of the grounds as our guide Colin (a good old Englishman) told us about the castle.

Windsor Castle was one of 11 (if I recall correctly) fortresses that William the Conqueror erected to defend against the English after he defeated them in 1066’s Battle of Hastings. Of the castles William the Conqueror built, only two remain: Windsor,and the Tower of London. The view from the castle is astonishing, since the rest of the surrounding landscape is flat. You can see for miles and miles; within view is Eton College(the high school that Princes William and Harry and PM David Cameron attended) and the River Thames. It was really amazing to be standing in the same room that Henry VIII, Edward the Black Prince of Wales, and countless other royals once stood.

After the castle tour, we went into the village to eat and look at shops. Soon enough, we were headed back to Woking for the night…which leads me to a sidecomment.

English food gets a bad wrap, but while I would never assert that it’s the tastiest thing I’ve eaten, it isn’t so awful. Jenny Smith cooked several meals for us, and meat (sausages a couple times) and potatoes (both regular and sweet) were staples. Breakfast was mostly tea, cereal and toast. But along with the usual toast toppings of jam and peanut butter, the English also often eat their toast with marmite, a thick, dark spread that’s made from yeast extract (and is, according to Wikipedia, a by-product of beer brewing.) Some Americans I met made the unfortunate mistake of spreading the marmite on their toast like they would jam; marmite is very intensely salty and tastes kind of like congealed soy sauce, so it should be only minimally dotted onto toast. I liked it, but according to Jenny, it’s something people either love or they hate.

Anyway, today we headed back to London, and I am now settled and sitting in my room. I’ve met and befriended my flatmates; they’re all British—yahoo! Christina is coming in tomorrow to see the town, and Westminster orientation is also this week. As part of our orientation, we are going on a boat ride on Thursday down the Thames. (!!!!!) Until then, cheers!