It's only been a week? (February 6, 2010)

Hello all,
First of all, some contact information, for anyone who's interested.

Skype username: john.morton520

Mailing address:
John Morton
2 Cruse House
The Grange
Ramsay Close
Huntington Road
York, YO31 8ST

Some additional details: Greenwich Mean Time runs five hours ahead of Eastern Standard Time, and the weather resembles conditions of early spring in the Midwest. My thermometer currently reads 41 degrees fahrenheit. The coldest temperature reading I've observed was in the upper teens, and the warmest was in the lower forties. There is no snow in York, and so far we've enjoyed a decent dosage of sunshine, although it grows dark shortly past 5:00 every day.
I know my last message was quite lengthy; I expect they will all be relatively long, but I'll do my best to keep them succinct and interesting.
Most of Sunday was spent on a group excursion to the coastal town of Whitby. Although I was reluctant to leave bed, I met all the other international students on campus at 9:15, where we loaded up a pair of chartered buses and got underway. The drive to Whitby was roughly an hour of picturesque, rolling countryside, marked by little foliage except hedgerows--the proverbial British moors, if I'm not mistaken. As we approached the coast, a dusting of snow appeared on the ground.
Whitby is a fishing/touristy town situated on two sides of a small valley at the mouth of the River Esk, which flows in from the North Sea. The buses dropped us off atop the east side of the valley at the ruins of Whitby Abbey. The first abbey on this site was built in the 500s and stood until a Viking attack in 867. The current abbey was refounded in 1078 and remained until it was destroyed in 1540 as a result of Henry VIII's dissolution of the monasteries; in the intervening time, it has been torn apart for building material and remained at the mercy of the elements. It's still a stunning sight, though; anyone who knows me well can tell you that I fall in love with every old church or cathedral I set eyes on, and I snapped lots of pictures of the ruins.
After seeing our fill of the ruins, some other Calvin students and I descended a staircase of 199 rough stone steps to the meandering streets of Whitby. Our first order of business was to get lunch--in this case, the stereotypical fish and chips at a small cafe. Having been advised that Yorkshire--and Whitby in particular--is the place to get fish and chips, this was one experience I couldn't resist. The verdict: I think fish and chips are probably about the same no matter where you order them--these were everything fish and chips should be, and nothing that fish and chips couldn't be.
Following lunch, we walked through the town, over a bridge, and up the west side of the inlet, passing all manner of gimmicky, tacky tourist shops on the way. A flight of stairs set in the hillside led to a splendid lookout over the North Sea and a statue of Captain James Cook, who grew up and had his apprenticeship in Whitby before achieving fame as an explorer. We also saw an arch comprised of two massive whale bones, perhaps twenty feet high at its zenith, a testament to Whitby's heritage as a whaling town. Descending the hill once more, two other students and I made our way to a small stretch of beach, getting a close look at the ferocious breakers that raged near the shore and along the wesmost of the two piers that project from the inlet out into the sea. Then we spent the next two or so hours wandering the streets, ducking into some small shops, and enjoying the brisk air. I caught sight of a sailing ship anchored in the inlet, so I quickly dashed over and took some pictures (since old ships are the only things I love more than old churches). This ship turned out to be the Grand Turk, a replica of the frigate HMS Blandford. She was beautiful, with a stunning blue, yellow, and black color scheme. At this point it was time to return to the rendezvous point back up by the abbey; I headed that way, making a quick stop to purchase a stick of rhubarb-flavored "Whitby rock", a type of hard candy that kind of dissolves once you moisten it in your mouth.
On my ascent back up the 199 steps, I overtook a young boy who was counting off each step very deliberately as he climbed it; I think he had miscounted somewhere on his journey. Back on the east hill, I had a few minutes to spare, which I spent looking over an old church and cemetery that adjoined the abbey plot. Then it was back in the bus and headed back to York. Our trip home followed a different route than our outbound trip that morning, taking us through the coastal town of Scarborough, which was the epitome of a tourist trap. As the sun set over the moors, I eavesdropped on a discussion some other American students were having with a native of Britian, basically talking about traveling and America and different countries; although I didn't contribute to this discourse, it really drove home the fact that I am away from home and amongst people who regard the United States from a viewpoint other than my own.
Not a whole lot has happened throughout the week; I've still been getting settled in to a new environment and a new lifestyle of independence. I've purchased more supplies and wandered around the city center some more, which adds up to quite a bit of walking. There are lots of details that need attention, so I'm just addressing them as they come to mind. I located a post office and sent out a couple postcards; I also exchanged some currency, receiving £23.28 in exchange for $40.00. I've begun to sample some of the local fare: I had a tea cake, which was light, tasty roll with currants and some sort of nuts; a sausage roll, which is a distant relative of a pig in a blanket; some cookies from a local bakery, which were quite good; and a couple of the well-known Cornish pasties. In spite of my purchase of a comprehensive street map of the city, I found myself wandering in circles in a misting rain for two hours on Tuesday afternoon; as if the narrow, twisting routes of the streets weren't difficult enough, the street names frequently change within a couple of blocks, and street signs appear in the form of colorless plaques affixed to buildings, which prove elusive to the eyes of one used to bright green signage, situated clearly in the midst of intersections themselves. It was frustrating, and by the time I plodded back to my flat, groceries in hand, I was ready to put the cold, soggy afternoon behind me with a hot mug of tea.
It seems that the academic system here is quite different than what I'm accustomed to at an American institution, much less an institution like Calvin College. Since York St. John's is a more career-oriented school than Calvin, with less emphasis on the liberal arts, the typical undergraduate program runs a mere three years. Including the two classes taught by Professor Ward, my schedule shows that I should be spending twelve hours in class every week. This seems like nothing compared to the 16 hours I took the two previous semesters at Calvin, and I wonder whether I'll have enough to do to keep me busy. Although I believe the enrollment at YSJ is about the same as Calvin's (about 4,000), the campus is much smaller and more compact. The predominant philosophy seems to be that the university supports the academic dimension of student life and makes little effort to support other activites; there are programs and student organizations in place, but they seem to be much more low-key than I have found them to be at Calvin. At an orientation session for student activites, nearly every event listed seemed to be little more than an occasion to drink, and the big attraction in the student union is the bar, which offers heavily-advertised £1 pints on Mondays and Saturdays. I may have to look around quite deliberately for any sort of involvement around here, but it's still the first week of the semester, and my initial impressions of the university are, of course, subject to change.
The two Calvin courses that I am taking are a British Literature course and a British Culture/History course. We started off the literature side of things with readings from William Wordsworth and Samuel Taylor Coleridge, trying to get a flavor of the Romantic movement in the arts. Of the two, Coleridge appeals to me more; Wordsworth is pleasant enough, but Coleridge is more gripping and less pastoral. I'm looking forward to "Rime of the Ancient Mariner", which I have somehow managed to neglect thus far in the course of my education. Our British culture course has had us do some reading from a history text, which has proved much more intersting than I expected...I guess that proves that you really can't judge a book by it's cover. Going along with the Romantic poets in the literature course, we're starting out the culture course by focusing on the nineteenth century, with glimpses at the times immediately preceding and following that century to put everything in more context. The text appeals to me because the author realizes that history is nothing more than a story, rife with strange twists, bizarre characters, and delightful anecdotes. This is the way it should be taught.
The two courses I'm taking through York St. John's are a history course focused on the Roman and British empires (something of an odd combination) and an introductory grammar course. The Empires course is taught by a composed, soft-spoken sexagenarian, and I expect it to be interesting. However, for the first class meeting, all the tutor did was essentially read straight from a printed outline he had distributed to the class; I hope he doesn't follow this format every week, because if I just wanted to read an outline, I could do so without going to class. The Grammar course appears that it should be pretty easy as well; although I haven't taken grammar at all since high school, and I welcome the opportunity to refresh on all the rules, my first impression is that I won't be learning anything new. Hopefully I can take more away from the class than just that.
Today (Saturday) was more active than usual, and it came as a welcome diversion after a pretty unevent day of rain, laundry, and washing dirty dishes yesterday. I began the day by obtaining a York resident's card from a local library, a task which was made more difficult than necessary due to confusion over which credentials were necessary to receive the card. I had lunch in the city center, bought some supplies from a model shop (I hope to start work assembling a kit of some sort before long), and then rendezvoused with the rest of the Calvin students for a group outing to the York Castle Museum. This musem winds through an old prison complex that stands on the site of the original castle, which was built by William the Conqueror shortly after the Norman conquest in order to reinforce Norman authority over the local population. The castle appeared in a couple different permutations over the years, serving as the center of government for the surrounding area, a base for campaigns against Scottish uprisings, and the intermittent dwelling places of several kings. All that remains of it today are portions of the keep and a gutted watchtower nearby. The museum houses exhibits tracing the history of York from the British Civil War to the 1960s, with displays of medieval weapons, domestic life in the 1800s, a reconstructed Victorian street, an exhibit on the structure's past as a prison, an exhibit on agriculture in the area, and an exhibit on toys, as well as many others. Of particular interest to me was a self-effacing plaque about a man who reputedly lived to the age of 169, a report which seems just as difficult to contest as it it to prove. Following the excursion, I hashed out plans with several of the other students for a short trip to Wales this coming weekend, after which we had dinner at a pub; my meal was steak and ale pie, which wasn't very fancy but quite filling.
That pretty much wraps up my week. I hope this note finds everyone well back on your side of the ocean. You can expect another email around the same time next week, when I will have just returned from Wales. In the meantime, those of you with Facebook profiles can check out some photographs that I just posted, if you so desire.
Take care!
-John Morton