Finding somewhere to drink in London is about as difficult as finding a cactus in Arizona. In fact, why even leave campus when the Student Union bar has the cheapest drinks in town? There, you can shoot pool or shoot vodka. You can have a cigarette or have lunch.
And you thought ASU was a party school? London natives make us look like a bunch of freshmen. For the English, drinking a pint or two after work, is like our morning cup of joe. As soon as the work day ends, the pubs fill with suits and ties, while the taps are flowing foamy. Heck, you can even take your beer down the street and drink on your way to the pubs. There's no open container law in this country.
However, a strange paradox does exist. Pubs are forbidden to stay open past 11, but bars may court the masses well into the night. I'm still trying to figure that one out. But [of course] I'm not here to drink, I'm here to study. Really, I am.
A good day is when I arrive to class dry and alive. My university is a sparse collection of buildings scattered throughout the busiest part of London. Cars and people, trying as desperately as myself to reach their destinations, don't seem to mind at all if I'm in their way. They'll knock me over or cut me off, without mumbling any apologies.
Such chaos, combined with the task of remembering which way to look while crossing the street, makes getting to school feel a little like trekking through the Congo. Okay, it's not that bad, but my American friend Nora frequently likens crossing the street in London to "flirting with death".
Less dangerous, but equally annoying, is the constant dampness looming in the air. London may have the reputation of a very rainy city, but it's not monsoon- like storms that furiously attack then retreat, as in Arizona. It's more like a constant gentle mist that's overstayed its welcome. Here, the rain doesn't fall through the air, it lives in the air. And when the sun decides to make an occasional cameo, it's only enough to tease us into venturing out in short sleeves, only to be mocked by the clouds who've returned from their lunch break.
However, once I make it to school, my lectures are captivating. Why is it so much more interesting to hear the history of England taught with an English accent? In fact, everything is more interesting with an English accent. If only it were Hugh Grant talking, instead of my professor and I was in a movie instead of class.
Classes themselves seem very easy at face value: only once a week, always ending early, having only one test and one essay. But when it comes down to the work, it takes discipline and time management to teach yourself enough in the semester to pass your final exam at the end. We all groan about weekly quizzes, homework assignments, and frequent tests at ASU, but try figuring out a way to learn your whole course without such checkpoints to gauge your learning.
In talking with the international students on my floor, I've realized that most other countries teach college in much the same way as America. The instructors teach you and learn you. I don't mean to be grammatically incorrect, but at ASU we are not only taught material, but taught how to learn the material as well. We're given timetables by which to complete our work and we're checked to make sure that we are on track.
For some reason England leaves the task of teaching to the teacher and of learning to the student. There is no spoon-feeding, no handholding, and not even any office hours. Such methods allow English students to come away with an education that was not shoved down their throats, but merely placed in front of them to be consumed with apathy or devoured ambitiously. And since I've already devoured my education for the day, I'm off to do more consuming. I'm off to the pub. Cheers!
Katie McDevitt is an ASU journalism student spending a semester in London. Reach the reporter at Katherine.McDevitt@asu.edu.
