Transition Shock

It’s my second full day here in Bath, and so far it’s mostly been orientation. This morning we got a lecture about culture shock, or as Andy, one of the ASE staff members likes to call it “Transition Shock.” He said, “When you go back you may have a friend who went to China (he seriously used China as the example) and everyone will crowd around them saying, ‘Oooo China! How was that? It’s so different! Eh, you just went to England, whatever, ooo China!’” Then he went on to explain that Britain was different from America, and that our culture shock, when it sets in, will probably be far more traumatic because we aren’t expecting England to be very different, whereas those in China are more prepared for difference. This made some sense, but I still think that I’d rather have someone misunderstand me for three minutes when I say “water” instead of “wahta” than not be able to understand anyone at all EVER.

Still, he’s right in a lot of ways. For example, the flat I live in is transition shock. It’s also pretty crappy, comparatively speaking, with the other flats. It’s on the fourth floor and up a shit-ton of stairs (which I’m planning on counting later today, so I’ll let you know exactly how many) and it’s got low ceilings and an “attic garrett” feel, whereas the other flats have high ceilings, soaring windows, and dining rooms. The whole house gets along well, though, so we are going to use the boys in flat 4’s dining room and the girl’s in flat 3’s dining room whenever we cook big meals. Also for studying. But more than that, the flat has quirks that are apparently just English. For example, the kitchen sink has one faucet with two holes and hot water comes out of one hole and cold out of the other and they don’t mix so you have one extremely hot stream of water that burns and one that freezes. The same in the bathroom, but there are two faucets so there’s no chance of mixing at all. The microwaves and cooking directions on microwavable food are very different, too. Everything goes by watts here.

The bedroom that Shea and I live in.

View from our kitchen window.

View of our flat from the door.

There are other differences, too. The food, for one. Yes, we can get Pizza Hut and KFC, but in the grocery stores there is frozen Indian food instead of frozen enchiladas, and you can buy packets of naan bread in a thousand different brands but only one kind of tortilla chip—grocery store brand. They sell hard liquor in the grocery store—aisles full of rum, whiskey (there was some Glenlivit 12, Mike!), and vodka. They also sell different vodka brands that I’ve never heard of, Russian and Polish stuff. They don’t have 1% milk or 2% milk, but whole milk, skimmed milk, and something called “semi-skimmed milk” which we aren’t quite sure what the hell percentage it is. Furthermore, they don’t have pizza mixes or huge packs of sodas, but just six packs and two litres (notice the spelling). They don’t sell gallons of ice cream or milk, but litres and half litres. Plus, you can buy bigger bottles of hard cider than soda. And there are these great little oatmeal cookies called McVities HobNobs that I’ve become addicted to. Oh, and you have to pay for a shopping cart, so we all carried around baskets instead. I’m sure I’ll find more differences as I continue to go to the grocery store looking for more food.

Frozen Indian Food, grocery store brand.

The nighttime culture is entirely different, too, though I’ve yet to experience much of that. It seems, however, that students go out on Mondays and Thursdays. Our ASE staff—including our student liason, Mark, a British grad student at Bath Uni—says that Mondays and Thursdays are the best nights to go clubbing. Also, last night my flatmates and I, and the boys from the flat downstairs, went out to a pub to watch a football match (soccer game) and the pub food serving hours were 12:00 pm-8:00 p.m Fridays-Sundays and 12:00 p.m-9:00 p.m Mondays-Thursdays. ANNNNND on Thursday nights at this pub called The Huntsman there’s karaoke!

The oddest thing, especially for me, is how lax they are with schedules. Other than getting to class on time, nothing seems to run on a tight schedule within the programme. Things just happen on their accord. I don’t even feel strange without having a watch or cell phone with me at all times to check the time. Well, a little strange, because I’m somewhat obsessed with knowing what time it is, but none of that seems very important here. Andy told us that we would be even more shocked in France at their lack of punctuality. Andy, by the way, looks so British in a typical Monty Python way and sometimes sounds like Eddie Izzard; watching his presentation on culture today was somewhat like watching a stand-up comedian.

The worst thing today is that we have to write two diagnostic papers so our professors will be able to evaluate us before the class starts. We have to write another tomorrow. So far I’ve only written the Tudors and Stuarts one… I think it went ok. Seriously, though, papers before class? And they are timed and have to be handwritten in Nelson House (the programme’s main building).

Alright, time to finish eating lunch and then back over to the Nelson House for paper number two of the day—Irish Literature! I'm in England!