Hello,
I thought I ought to update before leaving Oxford, and I may get quite drunk tonight, so it seemed sensible to write something now and avoid a slurred entry at midnight running vaguely along the lines of:
"I'm in Oxfrod and its' reeeeeeeeeally cold and everywhhere iss far away and my feeeeeet hurt but it's sooooooo nice to see everyone againn but my feet hurt and I love you all thanks forr reading...."
So, yes, I have been to Blackwells to buy books because I found a section on the course website entitled 'Recommended pre-course reading' and I'm now wondering what to wear to formal, which is kind of like I imagine my life will be for the next few years. I feel like I haven't been away.
Make it one for my baby
and one more for the road
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
I am adapting slowly to the harsh northern climes. I've been back about a week and it seems slightly less weird than it did last time I wrote. I spent a few days in Oxford cowering under a duvet, until my parents arrived with a big woolly jumper, which helped me face the outside world slightly better than I had previously been doing. (I got rather overwhelmed and had to be pacified with pizza.) Then we went to my grandparents' and I was fed lots of sparkling wine, and then we came home and I henna-ed my hair and made a lasagne. My life seemed so interesting last week. Yesterday we went to the Lake District to see the other grandparents, and there was more wine, and today I went to Morpeth and bought some cuticle sticks. My life seemed so interesting last week.
Still, I'm off back to Oxford tomorrow (there may be yet more wine) to see friends and then heading to Paris on Sunday, assuming I can find a means of transport from Oxford to Luton Airport. There are photos of where I'll be living here, and it's nice to have the prospect of a welcome meal and social thing to introduce me to the country, rather than spending my first night alone in a brothel and being woken by chickens at 4a.m. ...
Nothing unusual, nothing strange
Close to nothing at all
The same old scenario, the same old rain
And there's no explosions here
Still, I'm off back to Oxford tomorrow (there may be yet more wine) to see friends and then heading to Paris on Sunday, assuming I can find a means of transport from Oxford to Luton Airport. There are photos of where I'll be living here, and it's nice to have the prospect of a welcome meal and social thing to introduce me to the country, rather than spending my first night alone in a brothel and being woken by chickens at 4a.m. ...
Nothing unusual, nothing strange
Close to nothing at all
The same old scenario, the same old rain
And there's no explosions here
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Three days ago I had heat rash.
I wrote a post last night in which I complained about how the evil computer in Accra ate my last entry, but then I found the other entry, so given as bitching was no longer justified, and I mostly repeated myself (and as dinner was ready) I abandoned it, and now can't remember anything I said, except that I am slightly disorientated and very cold. Yes, I arrived in Oxford yesterday. Yes, I know, I apologise, and I promise to never do anything so nauseating again.
This country is weird. You get off the plane and walk into the coach park, and instead of being mobbed by touts who take your luggage and guide you towards the next bus, you have to manoeuvre your trolley to the board that tells you where your coach goes from, then find the stand yourself... Though you do get an entire seat to yourself. Oxford is full of glamorous-looking people in scarves. I'd forgotten about the scarves. I have a scarf too, a Tuareg scarf, but according to the advert in Milan airport a Tuareg is actually a kind of car, not a nomadic people who live in the Sahara.
I almost asked the taxi driver how much the fare would be, and then remembered that bargaining was not the done thing, for there are wee meter thingies that set the price at £2.50 before you've even gone anywhere.
So I have been mostly sheltering under a duvet.
I don't think I'm a student any more, cos I did the washing up before I checked my email.
I wrote a post last night in which I complained about how the evil computer in Accra ate my last entry, but then I found the other entry, so given as bitching was no longer justified, and I mostly repeated myself (and as dinner was ready) I abandoned it, and now can't remember anything I said, except that I am slightly disorientated and very cold. Yes, I arrived in Oxford yesterday. Yes, I know, I apologise, and I promise to never do anything so nauseating again.
This country is weird. You get off the plane and walk into the coach park, and instead of being mobbed by touts who take your luggage and guide you towards the next bus, you have to manoeuvre your trolley to the board that tells you where your coach goes from, then find the stand yourself... Though you do get an entire seat to yourself. Oxford is full of glamorous-looking people in scarves. I'd forgotten about the scarves. I have a scarf too, a Tuareg scarf, but according to the advert in Milan airport a Tuareg is actually a kind of car, not a nomadic people who live in the Sahara.
I almost asked the taxi driver how much the fare would be, and then remembered that bargaining was not the done thing, for there are wee meter thingies that set the price at £2.50 before you've even gone anywhere.
So I have been mostly sheltering under a duvet.
I don't think I'm a student any more, cos I did the washing up before I checked my email.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
"Every time you get off the plane it's like a slap in the face. It's the same when you come back."
Those were the words of the Swiss guy who took me to get take-away food on the back of his motorbike last night. How long is it going to be before I get to write another sentence like that? It turns out the Kokomlemle Guest House is actually about 5 minutes away from a really good restaurant, which makes me laugh, because when the boy was here we spent many evenings wandering around this area trying to find somewhere to eat. Still, the ridiculously spicey kebabs were probably more economical, though thanks to my appetite going AWOL when I got back to my room, I have the rest of my beef and fried rice for lunch.
Yes, I know, I know. That mings.
Well, it's been a while since I last updated. "I'm also ill and not feeling like getting buses" was rather prophetic. Immediately after the internet cafe that day I went back to Julia and Benoit's and started running a temperature of 39C and simultaneously shivering, which turned out to be malaria, so I spent most of last week lying in an extremely green room with a quinine drip in my arm, reading all my books and using up my last walkman batteries. However I have now had another blood test and I am all clean - hurrah!
So, on Friday, I left to find the nuns. They weren't expecting me. I think they were slightly baffled, but they were very nice to me, and gave me toast and marmalade for breakfast, and the parents will be happy. Their church has links with the church in Bolgatanga so I was sent as a sort of ambassador with strict instructions not to make snide comments about 'charity with strings attached' or 'the opium of the poor' and suchlike. I was very well-behaved, and they were all lovely and though I couldn't see much (weekends are not good times to visit schools) I still had a lovely day touring the region getting sunburnt on the back of a moped and saw lots of photos of people doing worthwhile things. Incidentally, one worthwhile thing was distributing lots of old Central High uniforms to local kids when we changed from brown to purple, so I saw all these pictures of people wearing my old gym kit - so surreal. Also, I stayed with some Canadian students, who were from the same town in Ontario where we went on a Pongos tour in 99. The world feels very small. The Canadians were also lovely, and told me that as alcohol was an antiseptic, 50% proof vodka would actually help to get rid of the parasites that were in my liver. I'm not convinced this was a good idea. I felt very sick.
Yesterday I came back to Accra. The driver was the only person in Ghana with a sense of urgency, and I was SCARED! Everyone I met at the hotel said, "You came from Bolga today?" with varying degrees of incredulity. I ended up paying loads more for my room cos the single room I reserved in December had been given to someone else. Turning up as a woman on your own at 9.30 at night is a sure way of getting a room, but does not put you in a good position to argue a cheap deal. And the restaurant was closed, so I had to go off with the Swiss guy. The room is cavernous though. I am currently sorting through my stuff. Even binning all the clothes and shower gel, I have too much.
Will save this and post it tomorrow when I am in Oxford. Weird thought.
I don't want to go home. Please don't make me go home. I want to stay here.
Those were the words of the Swiss guy who took me to get take-away food on the back of his motorbike last night. How long is it going to be before I get to write another sentence like that? It turns out the Kokomlemle Guest House is actually about 5 minutes away from a really good restaurant, which makes me laugh, because when the boy was here we spent many evenings wandering around this area trying to find somewhere to eat. Still, the ridiculously spicey kebabs were probably more economical, though thanks to my appetite going AWOL when I got back to my room, I have the rest of my beef and fried rice for lunch.
Yes, I know, I know. That mings.
Well, it's been a while since I last updated. "I'm also ill and not feeling like getting buses" was rather prophetic. Immediately after the internet cafe that day I went back to Julia and Benoit's and started running a temperature of 39C and simultaneously shivering, which turned out to be malaria, so I spent most of last week lying in an extremely green room with a quinine drip in my arm, reading all my books and using up my last walkman batteries. However I have now had another blood test and I am all clean - hurrah!
So, on Friday, I left to find the nuns. They weren't expecting me. I think they were slightly baffled, but they were very nice to me, and gave me toast and marmalade for breakfast, and the parents will be happy. Their church has links with the church in Bolgatanga so I was sent as a sort of ambassador with strict instructions not to make snide comments about 'charity with strings attached' or 'the opium of the poor' and suchlike. I was very well-behaved, and they were all lovely and though I couldn't see much (weekends are not good times to visit schools) I still had a lovely day touring the region getting sunburnt on the back of a moped and saw lots of photos of people doing worthwhile things. Incidentally, one worthwhile thing was distributing lots of old Central High uniforms to local kids when we changed from brown to purple, so I saw all these pictures of people wearing my old gym kit - so surreal. Also, I stayed with some Canadian students, who were from the same town in Ontario where we went on a Pongos tour in 99. The world feels very small. The Canadians were also lovely, and told me that as alcohol was an antiseptic, 50% proof vodka would actually help to get rid of the parasites that were in my liver. I'm not convinced this was a good idea. I felt very sick.
Yesterday I came back to Accra. The driver was the only person in Ghana with a sense of urgency, and I was SCARED! Everyone I met at the hotel said, "You came from Bolga today?" with varying degrees of incredulity. I ended up paying loads more for my room cos the single room I reserved in December had been given to someone else. Turning up as a woman on your own at 9.30 at night is a sure way of getting a room, but does not put you in a good position to argue a cheap deal. And the restaurant was closed, so I had to go off with the Swiss guy. The room is cavernous though. I am currently sorting through my stuff. Even binning all the clothes and shower gel, I have too much.
Will save this and post it tomorrow when I am in Oxford. Weird thought.
I don't want to go home. Please don't make me go home. I want to stay here.
Monday, February 06, 2006
"So I said 'it'll go to penalties' and he said, 'if it goes to penalties I'll give you a guinea fowl', and now he won't give me my guinea fowl cos he says it wasn't a real bet cos I didn't stake anything on it."
Men, honestly.
I got fed up with being harrassed by people wanting to sell me souvenirs and I ran out of money, so I took an infinite number of dodgy buses and came to sponge off my friends for a few days. My father's nuns have not got in touch with me so this may be indefinite. I'm also ill and not feeling like getting buses. And having people to talk to makes the books last longer.
It's fun. They live in a funky little town and have loads of lovely friends, and I have spent rather more time than I'd like watching football (and rugby, but I mind that less) but there is lots of cheap beer and it's all good. Anyway, seeing as I'm supposed to be rejoining the real world in a few weeks (fat chance) I'd better go and ask the BBC what's going on in it.
Hannah
Men, honestly.
I got fed up with being harrassed by people wanting to sell me souvenirs and I ran out of money, so I took an infinite number of dodgy buses and came to sponge off my friends for a few days. My father's nuns have not got in touch with me so this may be indefinite. I'm also ill and not feeling like getting buses. And having people to talk to makes the books last longer.
It's fun. They live in a funky little town and have loads of lovely friends, and I have spent rather more time than I'd like watching football (and rugby, but I mind that less) but there is lots of cheap beer and it's all good. Anyway, seeing as I'm supposed to be rejoining the real world in a few weeks (fat chance) I'd better go and ask the BBC what's going on in it.
Hannah
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