A REALITY Girl in London: A lesson in unfamiliarity

By Courtney Miller

Near the beginning of March, two words jumped out from my calendar: SPRING BREAK!  For the first time, I was jetting off to a beach for the weeklong college vacation.

Kind of.

While many of our classmates headed to Italy and unforeseen frigid temperatures, my friend Amanda and I had sporadically chosen Morocco as our destination weeks before.  Italy would have been easier, but we were excited at the prospect of Africa.

One 4:30am bus, a layover in the strangest airport in Madrid, and an accidental first class train later, we were at our hostel in Casablanca.  Did we go because of the movie?  It was a name to start with, but Amanda hadn’t even seen the 1942 film until after we came back.  Morocco came up in a shout-out brainstorm of what to match with Barcelona, and we just went with it.

Best choice ever.  Morocco is a giant clash of tradition, modernity, garbage, constantly honking horns and cafes.  In Casablanca, there are exactly two tourist attractions: the Hassan II mosque and Rick’s American Café.  The latter was built by an American woman a few years back as an exact replica of the one Humphrey Bogart runs in the movie, and we never even ended up wandering over.  I didn’t really know what to expect, but what we got certainly wasn’t Casablanca.  We’d read and been told that Casablanca was worth no more than a day in any itinerary, and we left the city agreeing.  It’s a city for commerce, not tourism.  We maneuvered it without a map, without ever taking a taxi, and armed only with thick skin and the sad leftovers of my high school French.

In seven days, we hit Casablanca, Fes and Rabat—three cities chosen because of their close triangular position on a map, some online advice and a connection with a friend.  Fes holds the largest piece of medieval Morocco in its sprawling 1200 year-old medina with over 9,000 car-less streets.  We were transported back in time by a place that’s resisted change and passed down its history family by family.

We caught hugely different slices of Moroccan life everywhere we went within this small piece of the country, from dirty rude streets to polished white houses gated in.   Palm trees ran in boulevards against rundown building fronts.  We rode parallel to the stunning Atlas Mountains in the distance while kids ran alongside train tracks piled high with trash. And then there were the towering five-star hotels with security at the doors, holding the visitors who wouldn’t see the Morocco Amanda and I discovered.

I needed this trip.  Seduced by adventure and travel, I’ve set myself on a path filled with the new, the faraway and the unfamiliar.  Yes, I hated the bargaining culture.  I wouldn’t survive in it for more than a few days.  I couldn’t stand the car horns that punched the air (London seemed quiet upon our return).  The train tracks flooded with the rain and people begged, bothered and conned when all I wanted was to get out of the station.  We expected, as women traveling alone in Morocco, to get verbally harassed and we were—in four different languages. I felt inept, confused and frustrated much of the time, and I am a person who thrives on control.  But it may have been the best decision of my spring.  I went to Morocco with a pile of budget traveler tickets, a backpack and a roll of toilet paper (best advice given to me), and I gained an experience of a lifetime and a much needed lesson: I can survive the unknown.

A man we met on the train to Fes graciously invited us into his home for a real meal and to meet his family.  It was luck, trust and respect that led to the best night of our trip.  Three strangers meet…it sounds like a Hollywood construction.   And there were times when I felt like I’d been dropped in a scene from Romancing the Stone, one of my favorite 80s movies (but not an action scene).  Wrong continent, but it matches the strange mood of feeling entangled in a culture so foreign and—to me—raw.  A curious test of endurance and fellowship.

Amanda, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

(Courtney is studying at the Ithaca College London Centre this semester.  She’s living in Earls Court and plans to see as much of London on foot as she can.)

A REALITY Girl in London: Awards show experience

by Courtney Miller

There’s the “behind the scenes” of the award season.  Celebrities, nominees and random invitees walk the red carpets after hours of hair and makeup.  Sometimes they’re even sewn into their dresses.  They’ll post photos to Twitter and tweet about their preparation.  But there’s another level of behind the scenes: the trenches.

The jam-packed together, uncomfortable, unforgiving crowd of fans herded into the constructed alleys on either side of the freshly rolled out carpet.  THAT is support for you.  Those that camp out all night in the cold London rain to be first in line when they hand out bracelets?  THAT is true fandom.

I decided to give the 2010 Baftas a whirl (no, I did not camp out).  Held at Covent Garden’s Royal Opera House in February, the British Academy of Film and Television Awards united the best of Brit screen culture, with a bunch of Americans tossed in for good measure.  Actors, presenters, royalty…I was in love.  But all the photographs/autographs/handshaking aside, the 8 hours leading up to the event was half the fun.  I went solo and met the best, most random people, all of us united by our love for Kate Winslet/Vanessa Redgrave/George Clooney.

“Hold it still, I need to look my best for George,” Chris stressed lightheartedly as someone held a compact mirror for her.  We were back in waiting mode for the second time that day, now lined up to be let into the pens in vague numerical order by wristband.  The Brits actually had a good system for keeping order, though I don’t have the experience to compare it to L.A.

For the three hours before waiting in that line, I’d wandered around the relatively small Covent Garden market area with two new friends.  We ate these giant crepes folded into styrofoam cups with forks while contemplating a) why they were in a cup and b) how we were supposed to use a fork!  We watched street performers and hunted for a cheap notebook.  It was the art of stalling, but we were amateurs compared to the many who never budged from their spots.

For the three hours after we were let in, we stood our ground one row back from the red carpet…anticipation climbing…excitement mounting…feet hurting.  All that waiting and patience by the people who love the people who make the movies is what makes the event interesting.  We created the atmosphere of the Baftas.  Same goes for the Oscars, the Golden Globes, the Emmys.  What audience wants to watch a telecast without the buzz of fans in the background?  Wouldn’t celebrities be bored by a red carpet where the only noise is the clicks of the camera flashes?

Sadly, George didn’t show that night.  But even his absence couldn’t put a damper on our afternoon in the trenches.  The whole day was an odd twist of hard work paying off!

(Courtney is studying at the Ithaca College London Centre this semester.  She’s living in Earls Court and plans to see as much of London on foot as she can.)

A REALITY Girl in London: Two pounds, a red bus and a student meet

By Courtney Miller

Right now, I am looking out the window at a row of 6-story brick houses packed together in a continuous line down Harrington Gardens.  I myself am sitting in number 35, a late Victorian building in South Kensington, London.  That puts me about 3,290 miles away from home and an ocean apart from anything I’d ever experienced.

As a junior in college, I am spending the spring semester at the Ithaca College London Centre.  I’ve been set in an explorer’s mindset for the past year (researching, planning, etc) but I was not a traveller.  Although I’m an expert at spending 7 hours in a car and criss-crossing New York state, getting off the plane at Heathrow was the first time I set foot outside the USA.  It’s insanely thrilling to be living in another country, especially one as rich in hundreds of years of history as England.

So I started with the history.  On my first day not filled with orientation, I went to the British Library.  Before I could get there though, a very special moment occurred: Courtney, meet British transportation.  Red double-decker bus, meet Courtney.

Many say Europe has practically perfected public transportation.  Since I have very limited experience with the T in Boston and a terrifying, untimely bussing system at school called the TCAT, I didn’t really understand how subways and buses work, especially when transfers are involved.  Many will laugh at that, but I grew up in suburbs and rural areas.  I drive everywhere.  Yet one look at the first bus stop’s map at Kensington High Street and I was surprised at the ease, relaxed and excited.  The tube and busses open so many possibilities across the city, from tourist spots to my work placement to stations with trains to whisk me up north.

There are bus stops EVERYWHERE.  And everything from stops to street names is clearly signed.  Handily, I got off right at the British Library.  The Library holds Great Britain’s literary treasures, including the original “Alice in Wonderland” manuscript illustrated by Lewis Carroll, an early copy of “Romeo and Juliet,” Beatles notes and two copies of the Magna Carta.  When I walked into the Sir John Ritblat Gallery (also called Treasures of the British Library), I was in awe.

There is something stunning about being in a single room surrounded by documents that had such impact on the world we know today.  Thomas Jefferson was greatly influenced by the Magna Carta when he wrote the Declaration of Independence.  The Gutenberg Bible gave hope for mass publishing.  Handel’s “Messiah” and the Beatles are two of the greatest contributions to the world of music.  In the pit of my stomach was the strange “wow” in the presence of physical history.

For me, this is the semester of living textbooks.  There’s no need to flip to page three-hundred-and-something when I can hope a bus.  The chance to investigate an incredible real world.  For me, that’s London.  You?

(Courtney is studying at the Ithaca College London Centre this semester.  She’s living in Earl’s Court and plans to see as much of London on foot as she can.)