To Some Point True and Unproven

Greetings from across the pond! I've been in York now for nearly three weeks. Only three weeks? It feels much longer than that.Even now, thinking back on all the things I've learned, seen and done I wonder if time didn't secretly stretch itself long and lean over the past few weeks just to accommodate all my experiences. Here one day can be so full of new wonders that it feels as if a week has past.

The task of putting three weeks worth of material into one blog post is daunting but after three weeks of settling in I'm up for the challenge. The question is are you? It will be a whirlwind, to be sure. So buckle in, here we go:


1. Flying

I left from Grand Rapids Jan.27 at 12 pm. Aside from a minor missing passport blip within the first 10 minutes of my arrival at GR airport (the consequence of a unusually absent-minded Jenica), the trip went smoothly. Even my bloodsugars managed to behave themselves despite lack of sleep and a six hour time difference. After a five-hour layover in Chicago O'Hare Airport we arrived in Manchester bleary-eyed but smiling.

2. Enter York....

From Manchester airport, the city of York is about a two hour bus ride. I spent that time drifting in and out of sleep, ever coaxed from real sleep by the English countryside. During the trip I made an important life decision: I've decided to marry a British boy in the hopes he'll have a grandfather even half as charming as our bus driver.

After registering for classes and settling in, I spent the next day walking around York. How I love this city already. I have yet to get used to seeing stunning architecture everyday--I hope I never get used to it. What ought to have been a mere 5 minute walk to the Grange took at least 20 minutes thanks to the magnetic attraction between my camera and York's architecture. York Minister is pretty high on my list of sites but the city walls have become a close second. I've also been seduced by the peacock blue doors and bright red gutters that garnish many houses here. I wonder how Mom and Michelle would feel about a blue door......

3. The Yorkshire and Whitby Shambles

In England, the narrow streets of the city center are called the Shambles. They've quickly become my favourite spot to spend my free time. I spent my first Friday and Saturday wandering around York's city centre wandering the Shambles. I love the bookshops here, especially the used ones. They're everything a bookshop should be. Fronted by bay windows the walls are lined with simple wooden book shelves upon which worn copies of books ranging from religion to gardening to literature lie. In one of the shops Melissa and I stumbled upon a 3 pound copy of selected Coleridge poems from 1924. Needless to say, I purchased it.

On Sunday morning York St.John led the International Students to Whitby. The city spills off the sides of two meeting cliffs and nestles on the North Sea. One cliff is crowned with a haunting and ornate ruined Abbey. We arrived in the late morning so the sun cast long shadows through the arches. It was so beautiful. And if that wasn't enough cause for awe, the landscape had such a fine dusting of snow that combined with the white light of the sun, the coastline faded away into a warm white haze.

5. Classes

I'm taking four classes at York St.John University. I'm taking two classes, British Literature and British Culture taught by our Calvin Professor, Dean Ward. So far we've read selections from Wordsworth, and Coleridge--both of whom I love. Currently we're working our way through Wuthering Heights. Professor Ward such a wonderful man and teacher--already I've learned a great deal from him. On the first day of class he challenged us all with a line from one of George Elliot's characters. At the end of the novel one character says to the other, "I am better for having known you." I hope that by the end of this trip I am able to echo those words.

Aside from my Calvin classes, I'm taking a History and English class here with York St. John tutors. My history class, Late Victorian and Edwardian Britain is taught by the quintessential British history professor- inanimate and reserved until the clock strikes nine. Then it's as if a light has been turned on and he sits at his desk eyes aglow lecturing us on the given topic of the day. Though I know much less background about British history than the other York students, my 19th Century Europe class from last semester will prove useful. But my favourite York class so far is Post World War II Literature. I have two tutors for this class who alternate the lectures every week. Immediately following the one hour lecture we have a seminar group--a small portion of the class meets for an hour and a half for group discussion. My seminar tutor looks like a thin, white-haired version of Robin Williams and I love him. Currently we're studying African American writing: James Baldwin, Alice Walker, Toni Morrison, Rita Dove and Yusef Komunyakaa.

Though I've only glossed over the first two weeks I hope that gives you a taste of what I've been experiencing while I'm here. Expect a post regarding some of the excursions to museums and Wales in the next couple days. But before I go, I'd like to close with a poem that has really encapsulated my experience thus far. The poem pinpoints the experience of learning as one that literally opens up the world and leads to understanding.

Geometry
by Rita Dove

I prove a theorem and the house expands:
the windows jerk free to hover near the ceiling,
the ceiling floats away with a sigh.

As the walls clear themselves of everything
but transparency, the scent of carnations
leaves with them. I am out in the open

and above the windows have hinged into butterflies,
sunlight glinting where they've intersected.
They are going to some point true and unproven.