A Throwback...

Hello, old friends! Look at that, a new post on the blog!! That is, if this old thing still loves me...its been a hot minute. Like a year-long minute. As I sat down to compose my New Years Resolutions, I started to think about my writing. I quickly pushed down any thoughts of reviving the blog, knowing full well that despite any positive goals I may set, I don't have the best track record of keeping up with this thing. But then my blog sort of stayed on my brain for a few days, and I decided to look at it, a year later. Lucky for you ducks, I found a draft of an old post I had tucked away, surely with intentions on finishing, editing, and posting. (LOL). This was written last spring when I was close to graduating and still feeling nostalgic for England. I was interesting to here some of my reflections and maybe you will find them interesting too. I have decided to attach it below for your enjoyment!

As for the future of this blog, I'm not making any promises. All I know is that in some of the downtime I had this past Christmas break, I found myself telling friends and families stories from my Fall Quarter and quickly realizing how I wish I could have them written in permanence, and shared with you lovely people. Bottom line, you may see a fresh new piece from me sooner than you think ;)

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May 2016

Is this thing on? Better yet, is anyone actually still reading this? There's grace, right?

The harassment I've been getting from family and friends has gotten to be a bit much, and to be honest, I happen to miss this little blogging world of mine. So let's give this another go and see where we go, shall we? However, be forewarned: I'm 87% positive my life peaked in England. But, as much as I want to say "don't expect any crazy Cami stories that compare to England", you and I both know enough to know that crazy follows me wherever I go.

I will admit, I feel a pain of longing as I sit and write this at my trusty old Ikea desk, as I became so accustomed to writing my past UK blogs in Canterbury coffee shops and English libraries. Boy, do I miss the days where my dairy-free intentions took a sabatacle, I had three cups of tea a day, and "love" or "darling" were common terms of endearment. But you know what I miss even more? The squeaky sound my bedroom door made every time I came home, the crappy grocery stores where the produce was lacking but the biscuits were plenty, and, of course, my wonderful group of trustie goofballs getting me through all of it. England was not even a year ago, but at times I forget it even happened. It seems like such a blip on my timeline, 3 months taken out of context. I look back at pictures and videos and sometimes I don't even recognize myself, like, did I really go to Paris with a 101 degree fever? Did I really travel to Brussels by myself? Did I really arrive in a foreign country with no friends, no plans, no shampoo, and somehow make a home for myself there? Its strange to explain, friends. Because now, going to classes and doing work and making dinner and going to bed--I don't always feel like that girl.

Whoops. I expected that to be a one sentence UK shout out, but you'll have to excuse me as its been a while since I've done some healthy blog therapy ;)

Back to Senior year. 5 weeks left. FIVE. As if wrapping my head around the fact that I traveled through Europe for 3 months wasn't enough to digest, now I have to consider graduating. IN FIVE WEEKS. Not only do I remember preparing for high school graduation so clearly, but I even recall my 8th grade graduation like it was last month. Each life milestone just gets more surreal than the next. Is this what it feels like when you're 80 and thinking, how did I get here?? It has been reassuring to know that soon after I graduate, I have a whole new adventure in front of me. Its going to be a long next year of living off loans, student teaching, taking graduate courses, living with new roommates--but my excitement to get into my own classroom overwhelms all of it! Though I have always loved English, no subject has struck a chord quite as strongly as Education. Its quickly becoming one of my greatest passions, favorite things to talk about and #lifegoals. I never thought I would be the type to continue my education after college, but the field of Education has me dreaming about a future with a PhD and career in research. NERD ALERT RIGHT?

As for this little cow town of mine, it just continues to hog my heart. After suffering through less than ideal professors, schedules, and jam-packed quarters, I vowed as a wee Sophomore to have the easiest last quarter of college possible. Well friends, it has payed off. I'm taking 3 classes this quarter and one is just an internship. [...]

Bye Bye Britain.

OH HOLY NIGHT, Cam's coming home in 6 days! How did we get here? *TTYD quote for the win* But more importantly, is anyone else sincerely impressed that I was able to consistently blog during my time here?! And here we are, my final blog post in the UK...*small, silent tear rolls down my cheek whilst a violinist plays in the corner* Lets not get too sappy, I still have two quarters to wreck havoc back in Davis. After all, I've got to make up for lost time.

I thought I would wrap things up by both acknowledging how much I've loved the UK while also mentioning some things that I've missed about the US. Also, I solemnly swear that I will not start my sentences with "When I lived in Europe..."

What I'll Miss:

- Not having to make any effort in my appearance going to class because I know I won't run into anyone I know.

- Waking up, checking my phone, and feeling like hot stuff with my million texts and notifications that people sent while I was sleeping across the world.

- Being able to walk 5 minutes to our on campus club, demurely named, "The Venue", whenever I feel like dancing. (Don't let this fool you into thinking I'm cool all of a sudden...because maybe I've only been twice. But its NICE TO HAVE THE OPTION OKAY.)

- Being able to justify every coffee purchase/souvenir/meal out with "I'm technically just on an extended vacation, right?"

- Feeling like a celebrity when people find out I'm from California and proceed to essentially bow down to me. Its not a bad feeling.

- Seeing actual movie star men walking around who look legitimately airbrushed. Eye. Candy.

- Getting called "love" and "darling" by said airbrushed men.

- On that same vein, nothing melts me more than hearing a British man use the catch-all phrase "Cheers!" I worked up the nerve to say it to thank the bus driver on my way out the other day...well I chickened out and ended up merging "cheers" and "thanks". Sounded a lot like me saying "Chanks" with my retainers in.

- Getting letters and the occasional package in the mail. How I wish this was still a thing that people regularly did. One of my co-workers/friend and I were pen pals during my time here. #totesvintage

- Using a rainy day as an excuse to lounge around and do nothing but drink tea and biscuits. Except when you realise that its rained every day that week and you've done no work.

- SUNDAY ROAST. I've mentioned this a few times, but its essentially a big roast of meat, cauliflower, Brussel sprouts, carrots, and whatever other vegetables one is in the mood for. Topped with loads of Yorkshire pudding (which is really just a bready pastry), roasted potates, and as much gravy as you can pour on top without it spilling off your plate and onto your lap. (And yes of course, this has happened to me).
- DA TEA, duh. Something is just  not going to be the same when I take that first sip of Earl Grey back in the states. Mainly because its going to be hot weather and who drinks tea in hot weather. I tell ya, I've grown to love the comfort of my thrice-daily cuppa tea (and a dash of milk, duh).

And What I Won't...

- Flipping. Grocery Stores. I have yet to find a store in all of Canterbury that isn't just a large convenient store. They are always mega-crowded, hardly organic, and they freaking. package. everything. Need one avocado? Yeah, that will be in a plastic sleeve covered in tape. And don't even bother trying to open meat packages. I'm definitely a, throw four un-bagged apples rolling around in my cart type of gal, so needless to say, TRADER JOES, MAMA'S COMING HOME.
- While we are on the topic of food, I must say I never thought I would miss In N Out burger. Angels will also sing the moment I take that first bite of burrito/sushi/leftovers--which I was just informed would be my coming home meal. Three months of English trying to do food and miserably failing, and I get leftovers when I come home. A merry little Christmas indeed. (I'm really not stressing because spetzle and weinerschnitzel. I think I'll live).
- Not having to panic approximately every 14 seconds about the whereabouts of your passport. I keep it in the same location day in and day out (in the clear, mesh front pocket of my backpack...J.K.) yet ever since the Great Passport Meltdown of 2015 two days before my departure (another story for another time), I am forever paranoid. AND I CAN'T AFFORD TO MISS CHRISTMAS.
- One word: Bed.
- Two more words: Unscented tampons. (Yeah yeah, I went there. But actually. They only sell feminine products with scents and its kind of the worst)
- Andddd four more words: Stick, NOT SPRAY, deodorant.
-And the real kicker, seeing all of your purty little faces more than through a small box on my iPhone, OBVI.

I could tell you all how important, life-changing, formative, spiritually connecting, healing, and INSANELY FUN this term abroad was, but that could warrant its own post...so lets do that later and keep this one light, eh? ;)

To end, I couldn't resist sharing some of my favorite memes and a funny article about studying abroad. All of the rumors you've heard are true, I'm afraid.

http://www.buzzfeed.com/skarlan/21-ways-you-will-drive-your-friends-crazy-after-st-82j3#.xfqdKb9vK

^This cracked me up, because I can think of a specific person for every one of these...we apologise in advance (and yes, I will continue to write English words that have an s instead of a z because think about it....it makes so much more sense).

SEE YOU SOON.

A Cheeky Thanksgiving.

Hey there, Americans! You peasants.

I'm kidding, but I certainly haven't felt American as of late, what with missing thanksgiving and such. I have let down my forefathers. A tragedy, really. But as promised, my friends and I found a way to commemorate the occasion by going to town to get a "cheeky Nandos". Nandos is a popular chain chicken joint in the UK (think an upscale KFC) and "cheeky" is a word locals affectionately call it. Don't worry, I didn't know what it meant either. I mentioned to an old lady at church that I was off to have a cheeky Nandos, and she let out a little gasp followed by an uncomfortable giggle. Come to find out that "cheeky" is not something you say to an older, English church woman. Urban Dictionary compares the word to "sexy", "sneaky", "naughty", and "kick...butt". So yes ma'am, I'll let myself out.



^Some Thanksgiving memes for your entertainment.

After getting my corn and mash potato fix, it has been essay-writing up the wazoo. Here in the UK, most modules (classes) give you a mark (grade) soley based on one or two essays (papers) throughout the term (semester)...and people said the UK spoke English...pssh. Because of these plethora of 4,000 word essays I have due in January and seeing as though I have about 2 weeks left in this beautiful corner of the Universe, I have been writing like a maniac to get them all done. My goal is to have them all completed by this weekend so I have the rest of my time here to sit back and drink tea and digestives to my hearts content. SEE FAM I'M ACTUALLY 'STUDYING' ABROAD.

A note: digestives are not snacks that are made out of fiber or prunes. They, in fact, do the opposite for your digestion as they are essentially biscuits that come in a number of flavour varieties. They are so scrumptious that I'm trying to figure out what I can justify leaving behind in order to cram some packages into my suitcase...they would be the perfect accompaniment for Christmas cider, hot chocolate and coffee!

Canterbury sure gets into the Christmas spirit around here. They had a massive "tree lighting ceremony"--the tree was smaller than the one my family has in our house. But a cute effort none the less. Plus for the whole month of December they installed little wooden and decorated huts that merchants take over to sell mulled cider, homemade goods, and food! HOW CUTE. Now thats something ya just don't find in Cowtown.

Call it a weak moment of homesickness but missing Thanksgiving was not about to stop me from celebrating excessive consumerism in all of its glory...#cybermonday was a thing and it certainly did me dirty. I made a few, shall we say, cheeky purchases though admittedly, it consisted of a book about "tidying up" and accessories for my planner. Living that grandma life to the fullest. (Not sure if I've mentioned this, but my friends call me the Grandma Cam of the pack. Obviously I am always the first one to want to do anything fun/stupid/spontaneous/silly. No, they gave me this nickname because on a number of occasions they pointed out: I brought a blanket to the movie theatre, I frequently make everyone brownies, I went on a rant about how technology is ruining art, I drink about 3 cups of tea a day, and apparently I've mentioned that I love "coupons", "sweaters", "crosswalks"...so you can see where this nickname might have come from).

I also just attended a vintage fair right on campus where I couldn't resist an old vintage, leather clutch. Just think, someone once was carrying that bag around England who knows how long ago! I mainly got it because all of my things continue to collapse whilst abroad as my boots have officially separated from part of the sole and the strap on my purse is hanging on by a literal thread. 3 months of travelling through rain and wind does a number, so it seems.

Well, wasn't that just the most random assortment of thoughts you've ever read. Some may say, the fruitcake of blog posts; a lil' bit of everything.

I have some Christmas activities lined up as well as a day trip to Dover so I'll be sure to squeeze in a post before you all get to see my face!

Waffles, Trump, and a Spot of rain.

Disclaimer: Truth be told,  I started writing this post about 2 weeks ago and I keep adding to it. Today I figured I should just post the dang thing as my posts seem to be getting increasingly more lengthy. (Something tells me you all don't mind).

Who has 1.5 thumbs and will be returning home in just 3 1/2 weeks? THIS CHAP. That feels both close and far away, but it hasn't stopped me from already loosing sleep over how the heck I'm going to pack up all of my crap that I have acquired here and bring it all home. I suppose I will have to abide by the motto, Leave the gun, take the canoli. (from the Godfather but more importantly, You've Got Mail).

Since you last heard from me I have been in two different countries (I'm using the term country lightly) and have taken two trips to Londontown! Those passport stamps are racking up and every customs man I encounter I feel the urge to ask them to stamp my passport in order, just so it looks pretty. But then I think about being deported and I think, nahh, bettah not. Belgium with the grandparents was just fantastical, as we ate our weight in waffles and Belgian chocolate, and enjoyed some mussels in Brussels. (Dr. Seuss missed a good one never using that as a title for his book). I braved one taxi, three train connections (each way) and two missed trains back, all on my own. I wanted to feel empowered but all it took was getting kicked out of my accidental seat in first class to remind me that I'm just a peasant. I suppose the stuffed animal monkeh hanging out of my backpack may have contributed.

Then a few weeks ago I spent some time in Scotland! We had heard woes from others about how miserable and rainy it would be, so we shopped a bit around Canterbury in search of some rain protection attire. I found the cheapest and most non-repulsive rain boots I could find because, oh yeah, I DIDN'T BRING MY RAIN BOOTS TO ENGLAND. Granted, everyone warned me against how heavy they are, how bulky they fit in a suitcase, how just an umbrella will suffice...yadda yadda. But what they didn't tell me was that eventually, the leather riding boots you bought 6 years ago and have worn every day since you arrived in England would eventually get a hole in the sole. (Another rhyme, for the win.) A hole that loves to fill up with rain water, rocks, woodland creatures and mud. So off I went to purchase some real boots, only to find that the largest shoe size the UK carries is two sizes below me. I was warned there would be culture shock moments like these... And off I went, me with my hole-y boots, and my friend David with a 20 pound poncho that, he realized once we stepped foot off the plane, didn't have arm holes in it. Yes, we were quite the bunch, roaming around the streets of Edinburgh.

We had a flight booked on RyanAir that was, wait for it, 30 pounds round-trip from London to Scotland. I knew RyanAir was legitimate, but I was understandably nervous for a plane ride that cost me that little. Sure, the seats didn't recline and the flight attendants didn't care if you lived or died, but the moment I stepped on the plane and saw the most beautiful male pilot smiling at me...I knew it would all be okay. 

Once there, we participated in a local pub quiz, and attempting to come up with an American name I suggested "Team Trump for President". We got a kick out of it but the Scottish, not so much. When the mc announced our name a loud, "Trump is the devil!!!" erupted from the far corner of the bar...a warm welcome to Scotland. We explored the Edinburgh castle, ate amazing food, hiked up Arthur's Seat (a massive hill with beautiful views), were blessed with yet another hot hostel roommate (this one from South Carolina), toured Camera Obscura, and perhaps my favorite event of the trip; attended a Ceilidh (pronounced "Kay-Lee") style dance night. We had no idea what we were getting ourselves into when someone from our hostel invited us to come. Once we arrived, I quickly discovered it was the Scottish version of line dancing, a pastime that I am just mildly addicted to. And this was even. better. There was a live band playing Scottish jigs the whole night, and an instructor teaching each dance. All you had to do was grab a partner and have a go at it!

As for the two trips to London... lets just say I'm kiiiinda an expert at Tubing--a verb that I have very likely just made up in this moment to act like I'm a cool Brit but don't actually know if they say it. Taking the tube, people. In fact, I just got home from a day trip where I met up with my beloved Eden family, the kids I nannied for many a year. It just so happens they were in London for the week and it felt so nice to see a familiar face! After gaining experience braving the underground a few weekends back with friends, this time around I felt like hot stuff strutting through tunnels and may I add, walking on the left side of the escalator if you know what I mean. (Yet another British reference in attempts to make me appear more cultured than I actually am. I can't even pretend with all of you).

I also celebrated my first UK Holiday, Guy Fawkes Day! (Funny, the way that Brits pronounce it for weeks I thought they were saying an expletive at me). Guy Fawkes was supposedly a man who attempted to blow up parliament and when he failed, was burned at the stake. So, what better way to celebrate than fireworks and bonfires!? God Save the Queen. Cities all over England have firework shows and bonfires on the streets on this particular Thursday in November. My friends and I found a firework show at a local cricket stadium; and while it was no Disneyland, I had quite possibly the best hot dog of my life and that makes any moment magical. Of course, I forgot that British mustard is extremely spicy as I proceeded to drown my sausage in a pool of what I assumed was Heinz. And surprise of the century, it was also raining and while we were worried the fireworks wouldn't happen everyone else didn't seem to care as they stood in the grass field under the downpour. We realized its probably unlikely that events in England ever get rained-out.

Gosh, I'm exhausted, are you exhausted? I think I should quit while I'm ahead with this post. Look forward to hearing what I end up doing for Thanksgiving along with drowning my tears in a cup of tea...I'm kidding, but I will deeply miss the food. Save me some leftovers?

A few bits and bobs.

Hello humans. Here we are, Week 6.5 of my time in England town and its hard to believe that in less than 2 months I'll be rocking around the Christmas tree! Funny how being around actual season-appropriate weather can put you in the holiday mood. I have always abided by my strict no Christmas music until after Thanksgiving rule, but if they don't celebrate Thanksgiving in England then am I exempt from this limitation? ;) *sprints to computer and blasts Harry Connick's Christmas album.

These past few weeks I have been spending trying to intentionally pursue my newest love affair--the city of Canterbury. Oh, how it was love at first sight the second I stepped foot on her cobblestone street. But my love has only grown the more time I spend with her and--yeah, okay, this is getting creepy. What I thought I would do is give you more of the scoop on what daily life is like around these parts because yes, contrary to popular belief, I do go to class.

For the most part, my life looks like a normal Uni student who gets herself into the typical shenanigans that one encounters whilst studying in a different country. My friends and I had our first UK concert experience, buying last minute tickets to a band that was playing on campus. What we learned is that despite the open bar that seems to accompany every student-run event here at Kent (and you would think would elicit some form of loose movement), the Brits don't like to dance. I swear I was the only one who so much as clapped my hands the entire time. Have no fear, in typical Cameron fashion I had gotten a few people to at least stand up near the front and look like they were enjoying themselves by the end of the show. Those Brits. Gotta love that enthusiastic demeanor.

It was lovely to have a break from uni students when my wonderful grandparents came to town! It was quite a surreal feeling to feel like I actually know this city well. So much so that I knew where to direct them and already had ideas in mind of places to eat and things to do. Of course, in true Omi and Grandpa form, though they were visiting my territory they had to make sure I had one, somewhat-odd, random, cultural, "teachable moment" to expose me to. And that is how I found myself in the crypt of the Canterbury cathedral on a Friday night with a bunch of 80+ers, listening to a singing and story telling performance. Their mission to outsmart me in my own city was a successful one. Well played, Grandparents, well played.

Also not unlike Omi and Gramps; as they were dropping me off at the bus station I was telling them about this particular bus driver who is always so mean and my friends, and we do anything we can to avoid her. Well, I get on 2nd level of the bus and am waving them goodbye. Next thing I know I look out the window and Evil Bus Driver has gotten out of the bus and begins to have a friendly, 5-minute conversation with Omi and Gramps. They're laughing and carrying on, all the while everyone in the bus is getting annoyed that the bus still hasn't left. I was in disbelief. Only my Omi and Gramps could charm the bus driver who hates everyone else. As Grandpa later texted me, "She affectionately patted me on the arm, and with a 'toot-toot', there you went into the darkness with that lovely bus driver..."

Omi and Gramps, and said butch bus driver.

This week is reading week, which means everyone travels or goes home and no one actually reads. I had flirted with the idea of taking a few day trips but with my multiple upcoming trips I decided to revert to my over-achieving ways and actually use this time to get ahead in coursework. Well when I got sick of doing that, I did what anyone would do, and accepted an invitation to go on a Zombie Bar Crawl on a Tuesday night.

Never being one to half-ass a costume, my friend and I loaded up on all of the Halloween makeup kits we could find and went to town. Just as I was putting the finishing touches on my dead and decaying face, it was time for the fake blood. And wouldn't you know, with the grace and poise that I always posses, I tried to take the lid off the blood the entire bottle exploded and squirted all over me and...my white walls. There were no shortage of "what'd you do, murder someone?" jokes, but if you saw it you would say the same. A complete murder scene all over my bed sheets and my walls of flake blood. One week later and I can report that no, not even a magic eraser can get it off and yes, I will get charged for maintenance re-painting after I leave. I may need to leave a note to the painters assuring them that is not real blood (or an unfortunate Aunt Flow incident...) before they think they have another Amanda Knox situation on their hands. I swear this stuff only happens to me.

Deciding to put that fiasco on hold for the night, we went on to have a mind-blowing (get it? because brains?) good time. The best part was getting to meet other Brits who will automatically assume the position of your best friend the instant they hear that you're from California. Not America, California. Though I was sad to see Halloween come and go without dressing up for the first time in 21 years, I'm counting this zombie experience as my costume for 2015.

I will end this post with another everyday occurrence in the city of Canterbury, and that is that it is always hosting some sort of festival or fair. Honestly, I'll walk into town on a normal Tuesday afternoon and theres a random Ferris wheel or food truck just hanging out. The other day I noticed an international food fair in the middle of the street. As I walked past, I saw scrumptious baklava, potent curry, danish pastries...it was a dream! Then I got to the United States booth. Behold. An obese, redneck woman (A US stereotype come to life) surrounded by Kit Kats, Sun Chips, and Oreo cookies. In other words, the world only knows us for our junk food. It made me chuckle.

One more note about food; a few weeks back I had my first traditional, English Sunday roast (kinda a big deal in these parts). It was the most magical experience in my existence and I would willingly bathe in a tub filled with dat gravy. Feast yer eyes:

Eiffel in love with Paris.

*Note: This is a bit of a throwback post that I wrote 2 weeks ago. It also very well may be my longest post ever, because I just can't hush up!

Cheerio! Is anyone else baffled that I have been here for almost a month? I can't decide if its felt like that long or not, but thinking about my 1 month Kent-iversary approaching kinda makes me want to cry! While it has been nice settling into a routine and establishing myself as a student, what hasn't been so nice is the sickness that I have, at this point, simply grown accustomed to. I'm not one to complain, and if you know me you know that I hate, hate, hate missing out on anything. Particularly, anything fun. As a result, I have been struggling to find the thin line between thinking "You're only here for 3 months, Cam! Suck it up and go have fun! You can sleep when you're dead!" and doing what my body wants to do, which is sleep. The former mode of thinking is what led me to embark on a 6-hour birthday bar crawl in Paris with a hoarse voice and a fever...

Nope, not the wisest decision I've ever made but who ever made wise decision whilst living in a foreign country?  I was sick and tired of being sick and tired and I wanted to make the most of being in Paris and making memories. And yes, it came back to bite me. In a big way. (For those wondering, I literally--not figuratively, slept for 2 days straight  upon my return. And yes, I am finally feeling better).

But enough dwelling on my never ending health problems, lets recap the adventures I found myself in in PARIS! If you thought Whitstable was a wild ride, then you are in for a treat. This trip really was one to remember and because of that, I'm going to break it down into parts. Part I: Getting There.

Lets talk about this overnight bus situation. Turns out what none of us quite realized is that buses don't go over water. Yes, what we thought was a straight shot to Paris ended up being...

• 11:30pm; The time the bus was scheduled to leave from Canterbury station.
• 12:15pm: The time the bus  actually arrived to pick us up.
• Zero: The number of chairs available on the bus, forcing us to wake up grandmothers, sleeping babies, puppies and veterans from their slumber and ask to take the window seat next to them.
• 3 old women who yelled at me for hitting them with my darn neck pillow as I walked down the aisle.
• 4 sleeping pills taken by each of us, not realizing that the first leg of the journey was only a 45-minute bus ride and we would have to wake-up every 20 minutes to be hustled to the next mode of transportation...
• An "Ellis Island"-esque mob scene as we left the bus and went through customs on the ferry loading dock...at 1:30am.
• 2 hours: The amount of time we had to sit on the bus after being informed that because our driver was late, we missed our ferry and would have to wait for the next one. 
• Infinite: The number of times I wondered if this bus  were chitty chitty bang bang and how the heck it was going to go across water on a ferry.
• 2 chairs that made up a bed once we got on the ferry and realized that all of the couches were taken.
• Endless: the amount of times we each questioned our sanity, health, and whether we were actually going to end up in Paris by the morning.
• 6: Flights of stairs that we ran up and down on the ferry trying to find where our bus had parked once the ferry ride was over (3:30am)
• 1/2cm: the amount of leg/arm/breathing/coughing space I had to sleep on the bus for the second leg of the trip.
• 1 bottle of dry shampoo that fell out of my backpack that fell out at some point during transit, never to be seen again. (Thankfully the only casualty of the trip)
• 2 packages of tissues that I used to blow my nose/cough/essentially spread the plague to those around me.
• 4 hours to arrive in Paris, with each of us taking turns being awake enough to ensure we did not miss our stop.
• 2 creepers who tried to scam us into buying a train pass worth 98 euros.
• 1.80 euros for what we actually paid for our metro ticket. (6:00am)
• 45 minutes on the metro, featuring us with our bags (both in hand and under our eyes) and relief that we actually made it to the city of Paris.
• 3: the number of attempts it took after getting off the metro to figure out which direction was the correct one to our hostel (7:00am)
• 25 minute uphill walk to our hostel.
• Priceless: The utter joy, relief and happiness I felt when my lips touched that first sip of life-giving espresso.

...and then we were in Paris. Told you it was a doozy. Lesson learned: it might be worth it to spend the extra 20 pounds on a 2-hour, direct train from Canterbury to Paris. But I digress.

The rest of the weekend included gazing in wonder at how big the Eiffel tower actually is, being the first one to volunteer to try snails and discovering that they are, in fact, delicious. Breaking out into a complete sweat in the middle of a restaurant the moment my fever finally broke, coming out of the shower and finding that my friends had surprised me with the typical yet oh-so-festive "21st Birthday" sash, crown and light up cup. The infamous bar crawl which ended in a 3am trip to McDonalds after learning that all of the metros had stopped running and we were on the other side of Paris (another story for another time). Coming back to our hostel to find 3 gorgeous, Norwegian men sleeping in the bunks next to us. An 8am wake up call and conveniently finding out the Louvre is free the first Sunday in October! Exploring the Louvre, Luxenberg Gardens, buying overpriced macaroons, and eating the best crepes of my life. Paris sure was a whirlwind, in the best way possible! But go ahead and see for yourself :)

Wayward in Whitstable.

One week later, one post later. I'm on a roll. Dang, I miss sushi rolls.

There were many moments to be had this past week, but an unfortunate case of the "Fresher's Flu" warranted an unexpected few days in bed. Thankfully its nothing more than a bad cold, but it did mean that any new person I met was the recipient of what sounded like a prepubescent boy's voice.

Before the cold struck, I did get myself into what I consider to be a right of passage for anybody studying abroad; getting completely lost in an unknown city. Now, please bear in mind (Nani) that I was with a group of capable young ladies and gents. And I'm safe and sound in my room. I also understand that these stories are often under the "had to be there" category, but allow me to attempt to make this a somewhat-comedic narrative...
*Note, all statements in italics are meant to be read in a sarcastic-sassy Cam voice, and are to be finished with the face that people affectionately call, the Dolphin Face.

11:50am: Five of us brave souls catch the first bus of the day into the seaside coast of Whistable. 11 pounds for an all day pass.

Good morning Canterbury! Ahhh, beautiful view of the Cathedral. How blessed are we?!

12:30pm: Arrive in Whistable. 

Wow! This place is super pretty! Let's take a group pic and show everyone how happy we are to be here!

Goodness, just look at those sweet little sailboats. 

What could make this moment better? A nice cup of coffee. What a perfect way to continue a perfect morning!!

We've got all the time in the world! *FORESHADOW* I need to capture this precious English looking house on Beach Walk!

Would you look at that?! We just happened to stumble across a castle! Just our luck!

Could this town be any cuter? Lets all talk about how we would decorate our own beach bungalo, without  a care in the world!

Ahhh. We lucked out with this spot! What a hidden gem!

By golly, a local told us where to get the best fish n chips in town! Lets relax on this patio and talk about what a great day this has been!

3:30pm:

Whats that? Someone saw another castle on the other side of the cliff? The last bus from Whitstable leaves for Canterbury at 6:30, but it should only take about 3o minutes to walk to the castle. We'll be totally fine to make it back in time!

We can walk at a leisurely pace, right? I have time to take a super artsy pic of my shoes in front of the beach, right? Isn't life just grand?

2 Hours Later...

Crap. That took  longer than expected. What do you mean we are 3 miles outside of Whitstable and its 5:45pm? But I mean, look at this gorgeous old ruin of a church we found. Worth it. 

I'm feeling so great, I may even take a selfie to commemorate the occasion! We'll never make it back in time to catch the bus but at least we're having a nice moment at the top of this cliff, amiright?

Alas! There just happens to be a bus stop at the top of this cliff and it picks up here once a day at 6:07?! Just our luck! We may make it out of here after all!

45 minutes later.

Alright. This bus ain't coming. 

Study abroad, they said. You'll have the time of your life, they said.

5 minutes later.

Whats that I hear? The undeniable sound of gasoline being emitted into the atmosphere? It sounds like a bus coming to our rescue!

Wow, guys. That was a close call! What was your favorite part of the day? Now that we know we are getting home lets just pretend like we didn't just totally misjudge how much time it would take to walk to the castle and reminisce on our great day!

7:30pm:

Alright. This bus has been going for a while. Oh well, scenic route I guess!

7:45pm:

The bus driver kindly informs us that the bus we were on takes a route that is FOUR HOURS back to Canterbury. Instead, he suggests dropping us off at a bus stop in Ramsgate, where the bus will be waiting to take us right to Canterbury.

Perfect! We think to ourselves. Wow, this bus driver was so kind to help us out. Imagine if we were on this bus for 4 hours!

8pm:

Arrive at bus station in Ramsgate. Ask the locals! The bus driver says as he drives away. They always know more than the bus drivers do! 

After asking the locals in our vecinity when the next bus to Canterbury is set to arrive, no one seems to know of such a bus existing. A quick glance at the bus schedule informs us that the last bus to Canterbury left hours ago. At this point we are hungry, freezing cold, all of our phones are dying, and we have absolutely no idea where we are or how to get back to Canterbury. We were just at the point of starting to research local hostels to stay at in the area, having no hope that Kent was in our near future.

Well.

Thank the good Lord for technology. One of us had a spare phone battery where we were able to use Google Maps to map out a route home. Sure, we probably used up 40 dollars of international data fees, and sure, the journey entailed 3 different buses and two hours time. But better than 4 hours on a bus, right? .....Right?

8:15pm:

After loading up on coffee and stale muffins(at the only restaurant that was open near the bus stop which, mind you, was closing in 3 minutes), we hopped onto the bus, praying it was right. The air was thick with tension and the cheerful, italicized spirit that we all once shared had quickly turned.

10:30pm

2 hours and 4 bus stops later...we had arrived in Canterbury.

Whats funny about this whole experience is that it struck us that suddenly, Canterbury was our safe haven. It was a strange feeling to feel like Canterbury was our home base, the place we wanted to get back to more than anything. Because it really is starting to feel familiar and comfortable, this little slice of English heaven of ours!

Hopefully you enjoyed this little peek into a typical day of life in another country...because the 5 of us are headed to Paris this weekend and Lord knows what kind pickles we'll get ourselves into there...