My First Two Weeks in Bristol

Well, it was a long time coming, but I finally got Internet access in my house, meaning that now you all can have the inestimable privilege of reading my backlogged journal from the last two weeks. It's a bit long, but I've thrown in a few pictures I've taken to liven things up. Enjoy!

30 September & 1 October, 2005

I’ve always made fun of my dad for arriving at the airport at least two hours in advance of his flight: my tendency has always been to show up later, and usually I still have to wait at the gate much longer than I’d care to. After my flight out of Sea-Tac, though, I have to admit that there may be a method to his madness. More by chance than design, I was fairly early to catch my plane to Chicago, which turns out to have been a very good thing. Not thinking twice about it, I had packed some tools and nail clippers in one of my carry-on bags. Not surprisingly, the man at the security gate told me I had to either send these things separately, check my bag (I had already checked two, so this looked to be an expensive option), or just throw them out (I should point out that, while I was not allowed to bring my dull and only mildly serrated table knives on board, they were only too happy to let me keep my fork, which could probably do a lot more damage in the right hands, though I imagine either would be pretty harmless in mine; they also seriously considered confiscating my garlic press). Since I had so much time, I was able to try the shipping place, which said they couldn’t ship to the U.K., and then go back to the check-in stand with Bambi eyes to see if I could stow one more bag. My hat goes off to American Airlines: not only did they let me, they didn’t charge me for it! It was a very inauspicious start, but I did get to my gate on time and the flights turned out to be fairly uneventful. I got into Chicago early enough to spend an hour or so in a bar watching what figures to be my last baseball game for some time, the Yankees/Red Sox game (I was, of course, rooting for Boston, but I want to go on the record here predicting the Chicago White Sox will go all the way). The flight to Heathrow was equally uneventful. It was more boring than anything else (the only in-flight movie worth watching was Seabiscuit which, mercifully, was fairly long, my own DVDs being useless as my computer had run through its battery far faster than expected during the first flight and no power points being available either at O’Hare or at my seat in the airplane). The last hour or so of the flight offered some good aerial sightseeing, at least, as we flew over southern Ireland and wound up in a holding pattern over central London, where we were low enough to clearly see most of the major landmarks (The Tower Bridge, Buckingham Palace, Albert Hall, Hyde Park, and the Natural History Museum stood out particularly prominently).
The real adventure began after landing. My plan had been to catch a 1:10 bus direct to Bristol, and while I cleared customs remarkably quickly, I was slowed down by late-arriving baggage, difficulties maneuvering my luggage cart, a long line just for the lift up to the bus station, and my own inability to find the ticket window in ample time. As a result, I just missed my bus. This left me with a bit of a conundrum: wait for the next bus, at three, or take the train? The “official” Heathrow to Bristol route involved making two transfers, and it was becoming increasingly plain that with my many and fully loaded bags that would not be fun experience. So, I bit the bullet and paid extra for the express train to Paddington Station, from where I had only to move two tracks over to catch the Bristol train. It turned out to be a worthwhile expenditure in the end, as lugging my bags even that short distance was an awkward and exhausting chore (my trying to fit through the entry gates for the platform must have provided a hilarious spectacle for the other passengers, to say nothing of my difficulties in the narrow and twisting ticket queue). On a more positive side, Paddington is a magnificent example of Victorian architecture, the point of departure for many Sherlock Holmes stories, and of course the site where my favorite stuffed animal as a child was supposedly found, making it a fitting gateway to England. On top of that, the train ride itself was excellent, speeding through the countryside at upwards of 100 mph (for whatever reason, the train’s informational magazine preferred those units to kilometers). After leaving Reading, the aforementioned countryside became quintessentially English: old stone buildings and bridges, cows and sheep grazing on rolling hills, church spires punctuating the skyline, hedgerows lining the roads, and swans paddling along meandering streams. Above all else, it was extremely green, even in early October. When you think about it, you realize that there are few literary descriptions of Britain that do not, in one way or another, describe it as green. Coming from one of the greenest places in the world as I do, I was always a little skeptical of this claim, but even that short train ride impressed upon me the truth of the statement: England is very green, and its pastoral scenery is incomparably gorgeous because of it (check back with me on that once all the leaves have fallen, though).
The train got me into Bristol at just a bit past four. Like Paddington, Bristol Temple Meads Station is a fantastic bit of Victorian architecture, with vaulted glass ceiling and the like. It also is a huge pain to get around in while trailing four very heavy bags, and it was a relief to finally get to the taxi stand. The cab ride was quick and inexpensive, but unfortunately didn’t take the scenic route (I mostly saw busy streets and the backs of warehouses). I took an immediate liking to my house. It’s in an old (old for the U.S., that is, probably dating to sometime in the 18th or 19th Century, which would make it very young for England) stone building that is as quirky as they come; a real rabbit warren of a place. The rooms are situated around a courtyard behind an accounting office, meaning that street noise is virtually nil. My own room is small, as expected, but it does have its own bathroom and it opens up directly onto the courtyard, which is a nice touch.
After settling in, my first order of business was to walk the few blocks to Cabot Tower to get my first real view of Bristol while there was still ample light. Cabot Tower was built to commemorate the 400th Anniversary of John Cabot’s voyage to Newfoundland, and its position on top of Brandon Hill gives it a commanding view of the city. To the north is the University, dominated by the Wills Memorial Building, a Neo-Gothic tower that just so happens to be where I will take most of my classes. To the west is Clifton, a beautiful old residential neighborhood, with its eponymous suspension bridge in the background. The Harbour is to the south, not far beyond which the city just ends – no miles of suburbs or anything like that: you just go straight from city to pastured hills. The bulk of the city lies to the east, and as I was admiring the view of the Cathedral and its surrounds, a rainbow appeared over the city, which I took to be an excellent gesture of welcome on England’s behalf.
I bought dinner at a kebab restaurant (the pub I’d been planning on going to was full, it being Saturday night) and ate it in the house common area, where I got to make the acquaintance of some of my housemates. There are only 14 rooms in the house, not all of which are currently occupied, and all its residents are international postgraduates. A large percentage are Chinese, but I have so far also met students from Japan, Germany, Ireland, and Trinidad, and there are several others I have yet to meet representing still more countries. I’m sure I’ll meet them all soon enough, but after a long flight and an eventful train ride, my primary concern this evening is to get a good night’s sleep.

2 October 2005

Those of you who have traveled with me before know all too well how much sightseeing I can cram into a small amount of time. Well, thanks to jet lag and a bit of a cold, I think I’ve set a new personal record. My plan had been to have a leisurely morning and then stroll around Bristol. I’d prefer not to admit what time I actually woke up: suffice it to say, I’d managed to cut my planned touring time effectively in half. I took what must have been the quickest shower of my life and practically ran out the door to see what I could see.
My first destination was the Centre by way of Brandon Hill Park. I’d gone through the park yesterday, but hadn’t taken time to appreciate much beyond the tower. It’s actually small nature reserve within the city; it’s even supposed to have badgers and foxes living in it. I’ll have to keep on eye out for wildlife on calmer days, but in this case I was in a rush to get to the Cathedral at the base of the hill. It may come as a surprise to some people, but I have a great appreciation for European churches, some of the best examples of monumental architecture still extant. I was unable to go inside the church, as it was Sunday and services were underway that I had little interest in disturbing. That’s a pity, because I imagine I would have liked it much better if I’d been able to see the interior, which I understand is very nice. As it is, I have to admit that its exterior was not the most inspiring I’ve seen, neither particularly large nor particularly ornate. Beyond the Cathedral, I had little concept of where precisely I wanted to head next, so I made my way gradually towards the spire of St. Mary Redcliffe, the second biggest church in town. As with any European city, though, heading anywhere directly can be hard, and I found myself ambling through the streets of the Centre and along the waterways of the port. The historic core of central Bristol is quite a sight, and even after all the damage incurred during World War II, it is easy to see that the city has been an important and well-to-do port for a very long time. I was wondering about all the buildings around me when I had the brilliant idea of pulling out my Blue Guide to England (for those of you not familiar with Blue Guides, they are books that focus almost exclusively on art, architecture, and history, and do an excellent job of it). If not for that book, I might never have been able to find the Llandoger Trow, the pub where Daniel Defoe allegedly met the man who served as the model for Robinson Crusoe. That’s not to say that I couldn’t have found any pub: the city is pretty much littered with them, and down by the port there are several per block. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a country as fixated on their drinking places as England, but really, I can’t say that I’m at all inclined to complain.
I finally stumbled my way over to St. Mary Redcliffe, and it turned out to be well worth the walk. Redcliffe was once the neighborhood in which Bristol’s wealthy merchants lived, and they didn’t skimp when it came to their church. Again, I was only able to see the outside, but that was more than enough to make quite an impression. It’s by no means very large, but I’m not sure I’ve ever seen so much decoration squeezed into a small space. If you like Gothic architecture, it’s all there, right down to the flying buttresses. There’s no way I can do it adequate justice here, but believe me, it really is quite a sight. I’m told there’s a whale jaw brought back from Newfoundland by John Cabot, giving me yet another reason to come back.
After the church I found my way across to the river near the train station, where my city map told me that I’d be able to catch a water taxi back to the Centre. I was fortunate, as the last one for an hour showed up just a few minutes after I got there. It cost me £1 (pretty steep, I know) but it would have been well worth it if it had cost several times that price. I‘ve always believed that the very best way to see any port city is from the water, and Bristol is no exception. I’d seen it in all the guidebooks, and I’ve even mentioned it on this very blog once or twice, but even so I don’t think I’d fully appreciated the importance of the maritime economy to Bristol. The River Avon and several manmade tributaries wind their way through the city, and the whole way the water is alive with boats (granted, this was a sunny Sunday afternoon, but I get the impression that this is the rule rather than the exception). The most common boats are low, long cargo barges, often colorfully painted (and more or less the same kind of boat my family took on a canal trip through Shropshire and Wales 15 years ago, for what it’s worth). It’s not just the boats, either. Old warehouses and shipping yards are built right down to the water, turning the river into something of an artificial canyon in places. The city is intensely proud of their port, too: the city seal has a ship on it, and local mariners such as Cabot and Samuel Plimsoll (Of the Plimsoll Line? Anybody?) are civic heroes. That seafaring ethos above all else makes me feel as though I will really like it here (though having hills, greenery, decent weather, and a good palaeo program help, of course). I got to see more evidence of this love affair with ships along the docks outside the Industrial Museum and the Maritime Heritage Centre, where the S.S. Great Britain (an early steam ocean liner) and a replica of the Matthew (Cabot’s caravel) are docked, though both were closed. I caught another ferry across the river to a dock just below my house, and I suppose most people would have called it a day at this point. I, in my wisdom, decided to spend the late afternoon bumming around Clifton, the highest area in town and as such traditionally the wealthiest neighborhood. I had been favorably impressed with the rest of Bristol, but Clifton absolutely took the cake. I’m not sure I saw a single ugly building there. The core is made up of pricey shops that I stayed well away from, but most of the neighborhood consists of old Georgian houses, and combined with the rambling streets and parks, it is just unspeakably, gorgeously English. The high point –quite literally – of Clifton is the suspension bridge over the Avon Gorge at the west end of the city. The gorge is a sight in and of itself, and the bridge is an engineering marvel, but what struck me again was how when one crossed the bridge, one was all of a sudden in the country (in Leigh Woods, to be exact, a National Trust property and probably the closest thing to wilderness left in this part of Britain – I will have to make time to get over there some time while the weather is still nice). It may take me some time to get used to the absence of any significant suburbia; it’s certainly one of the biggest differences I’ve come across so far (though getting used to looking right-left-right when I’m crossing the street is going to take a long while, and I may very likely get run over before I get completely used to it).

3 October 2005

Today was the day I finally became an official part of the University of Bristol. Kind of. Apparently I still don’t warrant access to the University computer network (I’ll get to that below), but at least I’m on my way. I finalized my paperwork and got my student card this morning, and now have only the Earth Sciences Department registration (which takes three days, somehow) ahead of me.
The first thing I did after getting my card was, of course, to go try the computers in the Earth Sciences Library. No luck. I couldn’t log on, and was assuming I hadn’t done something right until I noticed that pretty much everybody else was having the same problem, so I shrugged my shoulders and decided to try again later. I at least had the opportunity to see the building where I would be taking most of my classes, the Wills Memorial Building. It’s a Neo-Gothic building built around a huge tower, as I mentioned in an earlier post, and it turns out to be quite a structure. I’ve always been a fan of monumental architecture in places of learning. One of the few things I really loved about the University of Chicago were the huge stone buildings that both dwarfed you and impressed you with their complexity; somehow that sort of thing seems to foster a good learning environment. Whoever designed the Wills Building had a knack for both the grandiose and the ornate. Everything about it, from the soaring entry hall to cloistered library is exactly as it should be in a university. I look forward to studying in it (as much as I ever look forward to studying anywhere, that is).
I spent the rest of the afternoon engaged in a hodgepodge of activities. I first went to the Bristol City Museum, because it was next door and free. It’s a very nice museum with what I’m told is a good collection of work by the Old Masters. I’m afraid pre-19th Century art is largely lost on me, but the museum, did have a number of things more in my line of interest. My personal favorite was their collection of ichthyosaurs, highlighted by a giant (9 or 10 meters, depending on which sign you read) Leptopterygius. They also had a nice collection of fossils, a Megaloceras (Irish Elk) skeleton, a cast of Plateosaurus (my favorite dinosaur!), and Iguanodon fossils from the collection of Gideon Mantell (that may not mean much to most of you, but he was one of the original paleontologists, making any fossils from his collection objects of historical interest to those of us who care about such things).
I had a nice lunch in the museum café, and then set about an afternoon that proved to be disappointment upon failure upon disappointment.

1) I tried to get a bank account at Lloyd’s (because, really, it doesn’t get much more English than that) only to find that they make you jump through far too many hoops for my taste.
2) I tried to register with the Bristol International Students’ Advisory Service only to find that I’d gone to the Bristol International Student’s Centre. Now how on Earth could I have confused those two?
3) I walked a fairly healthy distance to the Student Health Services building only to have them tell me I had to wait until at least Tuesday to turn in my health registration form.
4) The Faculty of Science Induction turned out not to be the explanation of course structure that I had expected and anticipated. Instead it turned out to be a parade of departmental higher-ups patting themselves and us on the back. There was, at least, one memorable speech: that of a local constable who warned us to be on the lookout for “villains” and that “cannabis is still illegal” and that if we were caught in possession of it we would “be arrested in the nicest possible manner.”
5) I went to the correct international student office only to find that I didn’t have to register with them at all. Somehow I’d picked up that idea my first day in and had never thought to second-guess myself.
6) I tried to find a mattress pad for my exceedingly uncomfortable bed, thinking that for sure that in a neighborhood of students living in poorly furnished flats there would be a great demand for such things. Apparently the English don’t get uncomfortable, though, as not a single one could be found, no matter how many of the shops along the long (and uphill, I might add) Whiteladies Road I tried.
7) In a moment of weakness, I went to a Mexican restaurant. It was a noble effort on their part, but it is sadly true what they say about Mexican food in Britain.
8) I never did get my computer account to work, and judging by the librarian’s response to my questions, I may have to wait a while.

Pretty awesome day, huh? At least I got to see those ichthyosaurs…

4 October 2005

What had originally been slated for a relaxing Tuesday about town turned into an Odyssey, a quest in which I sought a comfortable mattress pad. The cashiers in one of the stores I’d tried yesterday had directed me to Broadmead, the shopping district, implying that there would be mattress pads aplenty down there. It’s no secret that I loathe malls and feel utterly out of place in them, but I was willing to do anything for a good night’s sleep, so I walked across town and gave it a go. I figured that at least I’d be able to find a few other things I’d been looking for. I must have looked for a good three or four hours, and I never did find that mattress pad, often getting puzzled looks when I asked (only later on in the day did I figure out that in England they’re known as ‘toppers’). The only high point of the first half of the day was my trip to Woolworth’s, which not only allowed me to cross off most of the other items on my list, but allowed me to talk to one of the cashiers while my Visa transaction went through, a very nice middle-aged woman who asked me what I was studying at the University. When I told her I was in the palaeontology program, I just got a blank stare. “Dinosaurs,” I clarified, at which the woman became very excited. When one of her coworkers walked by she proudly asked, “Do you know what pale-tology is? I do!”
The afternoon took a decided turn for the better. I walked back towards campus by way of the park on the site of the old castle. There’s not much left of the castle – the site of Bristol’s only scene in Shakespeare – but I did find out that on the far side of the park is a hot air balloon that you can ride for £10. As I was broke from buying things for my room, I opted out, but I’ll have to keep it in mind. I also got a chance to see the inside of the Cathedral, hoping it would bolster my opinion of it. It’s still not the best I’ve seen, but as it’s a “hall church,” meaning the entire ceiling is built to the same height, it gives an uncanny impression of being much larger inside than outside, which I appreciated. Back on campus, a check of the library showed me that my computer account was still AWOL, but I did get very good news on returning home. I ran into Mary, our Senior Resident from Ireland. I mentioned my problems with the mattress and she almost instantly came up with an old, very thick duvet that she said I was welcome to for a mattress pad. It didn’t even wind up costing me anything (quite a relief after a check of my receipts from the morning). God bless the Irish!

5 October 2005

Wednesday, and I finally got to meet both my professors and my classmates in the Palaeobiology MSc Program. I had only a very vague idea of what to expect going in, but I’d hoped at the very least that it would be an interesting group. Based on my first impression, they are not just interesting, but one of the most outstanding groups of people I’ve had the pleasure of being associated with. It may seem a bit early to jump to such conclusions, but I very much doubt that my opinion on this matter will change (I mean, really, do I ever change any of my opinions?). Our day was spent shuttling between rooms in the basement of Wills, the lair of the Earth Sciences Department. The talks to which we listened were well planned – brief and with plenty of time in between for all of us to get to know one another. The very first person we heard from was Dr. Michael Benton, the head of the department and the main reason that I am in Bristol – he was pretty much my only contact during the application process, and his work on Triassic reptiles parallels my own interests as closely as could be hoped. We then got to meet Dr. Simon Braddy, an arthropod expert and the head of the MSc Program. Somehow I had expected an intimidating older gentleman. Instead, he was neither intimidating nor old, though I won’t say he wasn’t a gentleman. As for classmates, I’m still sorting out who’s who, so I won’t go into too much detail for a day or two yet. All in all, though, everyone was both extremely friendly and genuinely interesting, as was made especially clear at the pub at the end of the day where we got to mingle with other grad students and the palaeontology staff. It may not have been the greatest pub in town, by everyone’s admission, and they were all out of sausage when I tried to order Bangers and Mash, but we all enjoyed ourselves nonetheless.
Two other things happened today that are worth mentioning in passing. I checked with a second bank, National Westminster, who not only makes you clear far fewer hurdles than Lloyd’s, but also throws in a savings account and a credit card along with a checking account. I assume there’s got to be a catch, but so far it seems like an excellent option which I hope to have all sorted out by the weekend. Second, I finally got my computer password! Simon (as Dr. Braddy insists we call him) announced to us that pretty much everyone in the program had been issued a faulty password, and told us how to get a new one, which I of course did that evening. Now if only I could get online at home…

6 October 2005

This morning found me at the repulsive Student Union Building to get my health care registration taken care of, which had been a thorn in my side since Monday. I also had the marvelous experience of getting a meningitis shot from a very nice nun. My arm has been sore ever since, but it’s a small price to pay to be protected against at least one strain of a disease that has frankly terrified me for some time. My mood was made better by the weather, which was familiarly gray and rainy, and by the news I was able to get about the baseball playoffs: what did I say about Chicago going all the way? Go Sox!
The palaeontology cohort met up this morning to listen to talks about career development and use of the analytical facilities and again this afternoon to take a tour of the library (which, thanks to my countless unsuccessful trips there to try and get online, I was already fairly well familiar with). In between I tried to get my bank account settled, but found that tracking down the requisite people during the lunch hour was an exercise in futility. I wound up just accepting that there was nothing to be done about that, so I settled in to my own lunch in the café in the City Museum, of which I’m becoming quite fond.
After the library tour, I followed the herd to the “Fresher’s Fair,” basically an opportunity for all the student groups to advertise themselves. I originally had no intention of going, planning to fill what little spare time I may have with travel, but the others seemed very enthusiastic, so I thought I’d give it a try. By ‘the others’ I mean a group of four students with which I’ve been spending much of my time between talks: Phil and Emma from England, Ben from Austria, and Sarah from Ireland. Together we learned that not only is the Student Union Building ugly, it is supremely stupidly designed. The north and south sides of the top three floors are completely isolated form one another, meaning that to get from south to north or vice versa, you must go down at least one floor of unnecessarily narrow stairs, cross, and then climb back up the other side. As such, it took us a while to find anything interesting. I briefly considered both the Ultimate Frisbee Club and the Hiking Club, but I looked to be nowhere near good enough for the former and far too cheap for the latter (£10 to join and then £7.50 for each trip on top of that – we’re starving students, for crying out loud!). Fortunately, the others were much more successful at finding good clubs, and they may yet talk me into signing up for hiking.

7 October 2005

Today was a day of minor milestones. My first accomplishment this morning was opening an account at National Westminster Bank, which should be finalized by the middle of next week. Secondly, I now have all my classes nailed down. I start out with Current Controversies in Palaeobiology, Scientific Communication, Research Methods in Palaeobiology, and Global Change, moving on to Taphonomy & Palaeoecology, Micropalaeontology, and Dinosaurs, and finishing up with Sedimentology and Systematic Methods. Absolutely thrilling, I know, but those are the classes that interested me most, so I’m happy. In between registration sessions, I went and bought myself a cell phone (or a “mobile” as they say over here). It’s the absolute bottom of the line model, but it gets great rates to the US so, again, I’m happy. After that, I moved on towards finalizing my research project topic. It’s still not completely certain, but it looks as though I should be able to use a system developed by one of the PhD students here to assess the severity of the Norian Extinction, a relatively minor even towards the end of the Triassic Period that may have been key in the diversification of many important groups, including dinosaurs and mammals. Again, I can understand if most of you find this less than thrilling, but it is exactly in line with what I want to study in the long term, so I’m not just happy in this case: I’m thrilled! After all these accomplishments, I spent the evening unwinding with the rest of the palaeontology crowd at the nearby pub, which just served to drive home just how exemplary this group of people really is. As I imagine I’ll be referring to them quite a lot in future posts, I thought this might be an opportune time to delineate just who these people are, so without further ado:

The University of Bristol Palaeontology Program
Cast of Characters

Professors

Dr. Mike Benton – Chair of the Earth Sciences and palaeontologist par excellence
Dr. Simon Braddy – Head of the MSc Program and pub aficionado

PhD Students

Graeme – Liverpudlian and exemplar of the classic dry British wit
Minobu – Graeme’s sidekick (or is it vice versa?); also unwillingly goes by Mongo
Sarda – Macroevolutionist and my probable project overseer, with a hilarious Irish
husband

MSc Students

Ben – Our resident Austrian and aspiring student of environment/organism interactions, as affable as he is brilliant
Carry – She’s Welsh, so her name is probably much longer than my rendition of it; taught me that I’d been mispronouncing ‘Cymru’ all these years
Emma – A fellow vertebrate palaeontologist hailing from Buckinghamshire, a county that sounds far better when an English person pronounces it than when I do
Koen – Our resident Belgian; when you want someone to sympathize with you about some of the less charming cultural idiosyncrasies of the English, he’s the one you want to talk to
Laura – The only other North American in the group, a member of the abnormally
large Canadian population in the department
Liz – Either Scottish or from the Channel Islands, or both; wants to do the same MSc project as me, and in the unlikely event we can’t get approval to both work on it, there may be some unpleasantness
Phil – An all-around standup kind of guy with whom I share an interest in large-scale faunal changes
Phil H. – Probably the most gung-ho person in the class, said he’d learn everyone’s
name within a week, an impossible dream for the rest of us
Sarah – A native of Ireland, she burst my genealogical bubble by telling me that I
probably have no relation to the Donovans of Castle Donovan; apparently everyone in County Cork has that last name

There are several other people who I have yet to get to know very well, but the above people have been the main players so far. I’ll probably be testing you all on this at some point, so make sure to take notes.

8 October 2005

While in Chicago, I would spend some weekend days going to Lincoln Park or the Field Museum on a whim. In Seattle, I might range as far afield as Deception Pass or Hurricane Ridge for a day trip. Today, on a similar fancy, I went to London. At some point the novelty of being able to catch a high-speed train for a few-hour excursion to the greatest city on the face of the Earth may wear off, but I still find it hard to believe. It brings home two facts: that the British rail system is light years ahead of ours, and that the U.K. is a tiny country (the entire nation – including Northern Ireland – is still a bit smaller than Oregon, a state which many of us have probably driven across in a day or two). Thanks to these facts, not only was I able to get to London quickly, but I didn’t even have to get up too horribly early. I just missed a train at 9:30, which turned out to be just as well. I had more time that way to buy my student rail pass, which turns out to be the best deal going; I made back most of what I spent after buying just this one ticket! I also ran into a Bristol PhD student, whose name I have sadly forgotten. He’s from Scotland and was going to London for the remainder of the year to study trilobites at the Natural History Museum with Richard Fortey, one of the world’s top authorities (he’s the trilobite guy that even us vertebrate people have heard of). Not only were we able to keep ourselves entertained conversation-wise during the trip, we happened to wind up in the car that was serving as a test for a new in-journey entertainment system, so we got to watch Mr. Bean and (Bristol’s own!) Wallace & Grommit, as well as play solitaire. The screen also showed news headlines, one of which was about a fairly major train crash elsewhere in the country. I may have unwittingly added to other passengers’ already jangled nerves by referring to watching Mr. Bean as “like watching a train wreck.” Oops.
My foot-in-mouth notwithstanding, we made it to Paddington Station unscathed. Paddington is one of many stations in London, and is in the northwestern part of the city, about a mile or so north of the Natural History Museum, where I intended to spend my afternoon. I could have saved time and energy by hopping on the Underground, but as I was almost without cash and wanted to see more of the city, I decided to walk it. One of the first things you notice about London is that not only does it go on for miles and miles, each and every one of those miles in packed with people like sardines in a can. Buildings that might have been just a few stories high in Bristol just kept going up in London (though not to the extent of U.S. skyscrapers, I should add; with the exception of a few monstrosities in the Financial District, London has managed to maintain the lower-profile buildings that help give it its charm). A major exception to this omnipresent density is Hyde Park, just a few blocks south of Paddington. Imagine a classical English garden on a vast scale, and you’ve got a pretty good idea of Hyde Park. It’s no nature park like Brandon Hill in Bristol; rather, it’s acres and acres of well-manicured lawns and tree-lined promenades with a healthy scattering of monuments (one to Peter Pan, which I thought was a nice idea). At the south end of the park one starts getting into the really extravagant monuments, the biggest and gaudiest of which is the one to Victoria’s husband, Prince Albert. It has absolutely no sense to it, melding who-knows-how-many styles into one gilded mess, but if nothing else it serves its purpose of being eye-popping and impressive. Across the street is Royal Albert Hall, the concert hall to end all concert halls, which frankly is a far better memorial to the man than his official monument. The bit in my teeth now, I found my way past Imperial College and the Victoria & Albert Museum to the Natural History Museum. The whole South Kensington area is littered with fabulous Victorian buildings, but I have to say the Natural History Museum takes the cake. I’m not sure what you’d call the style precisely, but every doorframe and windowsill has some sort of gargoyle on it, representing animals both living and extinct (the roof, for example, is lined with snarling Smilodon and Macrauchenia, and the internal columns are all decorated with fish). I have a soft spot in my heart for the NHM, because that’s where I saw my first fossil, the Diplodocus in the middle of the Great Hall. It’s still there, as are all the other fossils, which I won’t bore you with here. Suffice it to say that there are many of them: the museum is essentially one enormous fossil exhibit, or more precisely a temple to prehistory (as was the goal of its creator, Sir Richard Owen). I’m sure that you all can imagine the excellent time I had.
After the museum, I made a mad-dash tour of the obligatory sights in Central London. I walked through Kensington and Knightsbridge absolutely surrounded by people. I would say that my tendency to bear towards the right side of the sidewalk was an impediment to moving through a crowd of left-bearing Britons, but that would be wrong on two counts. First, a great many of the people you see aren’t British at all. Like any city, it’s a cultural mélange, except even more so in London. Second, as I’ve also noticed in Bristol, there is very little etiquette when it comes to walking: it’s every man for himself, and it really doesn’t matter what side you keep to. Add to this the enormous crowds, and I found that making my way across London was an exhausting experience. Thankfully, things calmed down a bit as I approached St. James Park and Whitehall. I walked by Buckingham Palace (somehow not nearly as impressive as I’d expected) and finally down to Parliament Square just in time to hear Big Ben strike the three-quarter-hour. I had intended to go to Westminster Abbey to see Darwin’s grave, but apparently it closes early on Saturdays, so I contented myself to look around Parliament Square. The square is lined with statues of former Prime Ministers, which I wanted to see, so I tried finding a crosswalk. None. As far as I could tell, there was not a single legal way to cross to the square. Well, I wasn’t about to let propriety and rush hour traffic stop me, and after a harrowing minute or two of median hopping, I found my way across. The best statue, to my mind, is of Winston Churchill, who gets pride of place directly across from Big Ben. While all the others look very regal, with serious expressions and long robes, Sir Winston is hunched over his cane looking cantankerous. I imagine he would have liked that; I certainly did. I battled my way back across the street and walked up Whitehall, the governmental centre of Britain. There is no other word to describe the area than pompous (not in the overly negative sense, mind you, but as in ‘full of pomp and ceremony’). At this point, I was frankly worn out, and all the massive buildings and equestrian statues failed to make as much of an impression as they probably should have. I was a little disappointed to notice that there were far fewer pigeons in Trafalgar Square than last time I was there in 1990; oddly, being able to part the pigeons like Moses and the Red Sea was my strongest memory of the place. I caught the Tube at Trafalgar Square (which leads me to remark quickly that in a happy coincidence for me, the next few months see the 400th Anniversary of the Gunpowder Plot and the 200th of Trafalgar, pretty much the two biggest dates in British history after 1066 and 1215). The main highlight of the ride back to Paddington (besides the really nice seats on the train) was going through Baker Street Station, which has big silhouettes of Sherlock Holmes on the wall. I sadly didn’t get the entertainment system car on the way back to Bristol, so I had to rely on a book the old-fashioned way.
I’m sure I will make it back to London several times in the coming year. I still maintain that it is the greatest city on Earth (though to be fair, I’ve never seen Paris). After today, though, I’m more convinced than ever that “greatest” is not synonymous with “best.” London is much cleaner and much more attractive than any other major city I have spent time in. On top of that, the people are much more affable than your average New Yorker or Chicagoan. Still, given how worn out I was after just a day there, I am very thankful that I’m going to school outside of the Great Metropolis – I appreciate being in the Real World.

English History Trivia: What did happen in 1066 and 1215?

9 October 2005

I had a realization today that made me feel less alone in the world. Americans are always chided for not adopting the metric system and as such making ourselves a backwater in the great River of Weights and Measures. Now, I’m as big a fan of the metric system as the next man, but I do get a little tired of people damning the U.S. for not using it (I mean, there are so many major things about the U.S. to complain about, why pick something that minor?) “Why, even the English have given up the English system,” they’ll say. Don’t believe it for a moment. To be sure, all the official measurements are in metric. A road sign will say that something is x number of kilometers away, when in fact if you ask pretty much anyone for directions, they will tell you that it is in fact x/1.6 miles away. I hadn’t really noticed this at first, as I’m so used to hearing English units used. I was back in Broadmead buying a few more necessaries and conveniences for myself today when it hit home. I was in a department store, of all places, and realized that all the waist sizes were measured in inches, even for U.K. brands. I then thought back to the computer store I’d just come from, which priced Ethernet cable based on its length in feet, and to directions I’d gotten telling me distances in miles. I should have known the English would never give up any old system like that without a fight, enamored as they are of tradition. Aside from that realization, today was a pretty dull day in which I mostly got things in order in advance of classes starting tomorrow. There was a moment of excitement when it looked like the Internet might finally be hooked up in the house, but that turned out to be a false alarm. Any day now, I’m sure…

10 October 2005

For the first time in almost two and a half years, I attended a class this morning. I don’t want to get too poetic, but it’s been a long time coming and it’s an excellent feeling to be back in academia. Trying to get into grad school was a demoralizing and draining experience, and there were times when I doubted whether or not I would ever make it in palaeontology. Having a chance to prove myself again is a relief. Being back in a university, working in labs, even being lectured to: it’s all invigorating in an odd way. Plus, the U.K. is big on having student discounts (e.g. my train pass, which I’m still waxing ecstatic over), which really sweetens the deal.
I got started on three of my four classes today. The first was “Current Controversies in Palaeontology & Macroevolution,” where we learned about the debates surrounding trace fossils and I was reminded that here it’s pronounced con-TRAH-ver-sy. The second was “Scientific Communication,” which promises to be an excellent course. Mike lectured us on some of the basic elements of scientific writing (basically a condensation of “Little Red Schoolhouse,” for all you U of C-ers out there) and then conducted a practical session on writing in the afternoon. I was impressed by Mike’s professorial skills; I had my share of bad professors at Chicago (as well as a few that were really excellent, I should add), and it was great to see someone in action that clearly enjoys teaching. We finished up with “Research Methods in Palaeontology,” which was a lecture on laboratory techniques. Lab work was the one facet of the science that I was really able to devote time to in Chicago, so for once I actually felt a little ahead of the game.
Speaking of rare occurrences, something happened today that was, as far as I can remember, a first for me. In our writing practical, our main assignment was to read a short article and write a concise, complete abstract. Our group was assigned a fairly obscure article about Carbon isotopes and agave fossils from Ice Age packrat middens in the Grand Canyon (as the sole American, it was left to me to teach the rest of the group how to say ‘agave’ correctly, as well as define precisely what a packrat was and what state the Grand Canyon was in). We wrote what we all agreed was a good, simple abstract, and I was chosen to read it to the whole class; apparently, the novelty of my accent hasn’t worn off yet. I did so, and not only were we met with approval from the class, but Mike told me that “you read that very well.” Now, it’s no secret that my public speaking skills are not the most finely honed in the world, and that even in the best of circumstances I tend to mumble more than is advisable. Needless to say, being complimented in my diction was a new experience, and one that left me feeling upbeat the rest of the day. Here’s hoping for more good things tomorrow!

11 October 2005

As hoped, Day 2 of classes managed to top Day 1. The morning was all Mike Benton, all the time: I had three straight lectures with him. He told us about submitting papers to journals, macroevolutionary models, and the history of geology and palaeontology. Some of it was a bit heavy on the review side (I knew that that Ecology & Evolution BA would pay off someday!) but Mike is an excellent professor and I don’t think any of us much minded.
The real highlight of the day came after lunch (though lunch itself was actually pretty excellent) when we got the tour of the lab facilities. To be honest, I hadn’t been looking forward to it all that much, as I figured it was going to be mostly a rehash of things I’d done in the lab in Chicago. It was, by and large, but the tour was done in a very hands-on way by an interesting group of people, and we all had an excellent time. Much of the work in the lab these days centers on the so-called, “Bristol Dinosaur,” Thecodontosaurus. The animal was, in fact, found within the city limits of Bristol (in Clifton Down, a mile or two north of the University, to be exact). It has a fascinating history, which I’ll only bore you with the high points of here. Thecodontosaurus was one of the first dinosaurs ever discovered – in the 1830s, I believe – and also turns out to be one of the oldest geologically, living in the Late Triassic (my favorite time period!). It was studied by any number of famous palaeontologists, including T.H. Huxley (my favorite palaeontologist!). Much of the original material was destroyed in an air raid in World War II – yet another good reason to be a pacifist – but fortunately more bones have come to light recently, and the University has set up an educational program around it, the Bristol Dinosaur Project. Our tour of the proceedings started off with Ross, a Scottish grad student just finishing up a project on the function of pterosaur head crests. He briefly showed us how to make moulds and casts of fossil bones, the high point of which was me getting to make a plaster cast of a Thecodontosaurus ulna. As if that wasn’t enough, at the next stop Simon showed us how to make invertebrate casts, and I got my very own plaster trilobite as well. If nothing else, I have two conversation pieces for my room. Finally, we moved on to the prep lab to meet Remmert, the University’s preparator and, like pretty much all prep people, quite a character (meant in the best possible sense of the word, of course).
There was an impromptu trip to the Berkeley afterwards, but many of the master’s students live in Chantry Court, which had just been flooded out and evacuated due to a burst pipe, so attendance was low as they all scrambled to move into temporary digs. Remmert was there, at least, trying to recruit people to help out with a Bristol Dinosaur Project event at the local science center over the weekend, for which I happily signed up. I also learned that he is a member (he would say captain) of a softball team right here in Bristol. I can’t imagine they do much this time of year, and how they find anyone to play is beyond me, but I of course let him know in no uncertain terms that I wanted in on that as well. The food and drink at the Berkeley were up to their usual standards: cheap, but nothing to write home about (never mind that I am effectively writing home about it now). I mentioned this to some of the PhD students that were there, adding that I had yet to go to a good, authentic British pub since I’d arrived. After a brief discussion about which places were best, they agreed that we should head out to the Bunch of Grapes at the bottom of the hill. This turned out to be a sage decision as it was not only a much smaller and better pub, but it happened to be Blues Night. Hearing – and seeing – Blues performed by a bunch of middle-aged Englishmen is a strange experience, made even more so by the arrival of a crowd on its way to see the Rock Horror Picture Show at the theatre across the street. Any doubts we might have had about the band’s skill, though, were cast aside after the finale, for which they played Johnny-B-Goode by Chuck Berry. Besides it being an anthem for anyone with my name, I think we can all agree that it is one of the best songs ever written, and this was an excellent rendition of it (it put me in mind of Marty McFly in Back to the Future, except that this band sounded far better than Michael J. Fox ever could). We all – myself, Minobu, and another PhD student named Carlos were the only people left at this point – trundled off into the night very happy that we’d stayed until the end.

12 October 2005

I had grandiose plans yesterday of catching the train to Oxford this morning. I thought better of it before drifting off to sleep, realizing that I could save a great deal of money by buying in advance for next Wednesday or the week after. Instead, I had a nice leisurely morning, ran some errands, and decided to walk up to the zoo. The Bristol Zoo just so happens to lie on the northern edge of Clifton, not far from where the quarry where the original Thecodontosaurus bones were found, so I decided to make a little detour now. The area is completely built over now, of course, so there’s not a whole lot to see geology-wise. The quarries did at least leave big pits behind, making for some unusual (and no doubt infuriating for drivers) topography in the neighborhood and the nearby park. Beyond a street named “Quarry Steps,” though, there’s not a whole lot to suggest that anything of palaeontological interest ever happened there. The zoo was very nice. They specialize in small animals, especially Primates (they just had a baby aye-aye, which I scanned the enclosure for many times but never did find). While I was in the Reptile House, the sky, which had been gray all day, just opened up. I tried dashing from indoor exhibit to indoor exhibit, but eventually I just had to give up and resigned myself to getting drenched. Still, I enjoyed the zoo, as well as my circuitous walk back home through some of the nicer areas of Clifton. I arrived back here to find that the Internet, despite promises, was still not working. They’ve made another promise, this time to have it up and running by tomorrow noon, but I’m skeptical, as usual.
With the Internet out, I had to run up to the library to get my e-mail and stay in some sort of touch with the outside world. I spent a little while reading up for my research project as well, and when I left it was fairly dark. Directly across from the Wills Building, above the main road to the Centre, the civic powers that be had already set up Christmas lights. They were very nice, set up on arches over the roads and strung along tree branches, but I’m not sure I’ve ever seen decorations set up that early before. I had long assumed that the U.S. was the worst in this regard, but believe me when I say that England jumps the gun far, far earlier than we do. As Ben pointed out while we were buying lunch the other day, there’s no Thanksgiving here to distract people from Christmas. I’m not sure if there’s more to it to that or not; maybe they just really, really love Christmas here (it is the country of A Christmas Carol and Handel’s Messiah, after all). I’ll certainly keep my ear to the ground about this matter in the coming weeks, and I can’t wait to see how extravagant things get when we actually get into December.