$tockholm - economics of a city

Stockholm is where tall, beautiful Swedes will tell you, sorry, no, you can't pay for that 15 Krone cinnamon bun with Swedish Krone. You will look on, aghast, wondering if their famously impeccable English language skills are all a lie. No, they're not. 

Sweden is moving on much quicker than the UK when it comes to the technology in the financial sector. They are swiftly moving away from hard cash and into the realm of cards-only paying. Granted, being an unsuspecting tourist, this did work to our advantage in some ways. We tried to get on a bus only to be told the no cash rule. We muttered about international card charges and got a free bus ride. That cinnamon bun debacle? The nice shop man paid for our cakes himself, in return for us giving him a handful of cash shrapnel.

Fair enough, you think. Cash is overrated, and card is seemingly much safer. A survey from last April revealed that cash comprises only £18.33 of every £100 spent in the UK.* But surely there are some downfalls to a card-only economy? Tourists struggle and face large credit card charges. The homeless face even more of a challenge, as there is less spare change around - and less places to spend that spare change. When we paid by cash for our train tickets in a local Pressbyrån, they were more expensive than if we had purchased from the card-only ticket machine. It almost seemed that, in the Swedes seeming financial progression, they had actually digressed to a financial situation that discriminates against those who need the discrimination the least.

Views at the Royal Palace - no money issues here

*http://www.cityam.com/213547/death-cash-brits-pay-card-and-mobile-instead

How We Live Now

About a year ago, I wrote a post detailing my angst for post-graduation life and specifying that as long as I was writing and surrounded by friends, I would be alright.

One semester into my MSc in English Literature at Edinburgh, I managed to wangle my situation into almost fitting those specifications. I am writing a lot (and reading even more), and am surrounded by a fair majority of my friends (although those who left Edinburgh last year, I'm still awaiting your swift return).

A TICKET!

What I have most notably salvaged from fourth year, is that worrying about the future does nothing. Neither does comparing yourself to other people and the amount of work experience they have (this is my new hobby; it's actually quite stressful). Neither does doing something because you think you should be doing it. This is the most pertinent lesson I can take from my final year of undergrad. Last year, I applied for an awful lot of things that I wouldn't actually have enjoyed, because I thought it's what you do when you're in final year. It took up a lot of brain space and also real time.

So actually, I wouldn't like to say I predicted the future, but I kindof did. There's lots of people (let's call them nay-sayers, for the sake of this post), who, whatever you life decision is, will scowl upon it. My message is this: follow your heart. After you've stopped cringing, I recommend you go to a workshop like the one I grumbled about last year (or recreate it at home - I mean, all you need to do is draw a spider diagram and think about yourself), and work out what you like. Work out your priorities, and follow others' advice with a pinch of salt. Post-graduation life will be alright, in the end.

Doctors Strike – And Here’s Why It’s Not Surprising

Today, the BMA (British Medical Association) announced that junior doctors will be striking on three dates across January and February. Negotiations with the Department of Health ended this evening; the government having failed to resolve what BMA sources term “absolute areas of disagreement”.

The first strike for 40 years will take place from 8am 12^th January to 8am 13^th January, with only emergency care provided. Under this model, junior doctors will only provide cover that they did on Christmas Day, with consultants having to step in to cover any unfilled positions. A second emergency care strike will occur from 8am 26^th January to 8am 28^th January, and for the first time in history, a full withdrawal of labour will take place between 8am and 5pm on 10 February.

The BMA emphasise that they cannot agree to changes which will have a negative impact on patient care and junior doctors’ working conditions. Johann Malawana, leader of the BMA’s junior doctor’s committee (JDC), said this afternoon that he was “sorry we have not been able to find a way forward and get the government to see the genuine concerns that junior doctors have and our continuing desire to have a safe and fair contract”.

Although Jeremy Hunt said it was “extremely disappointing” that doctors are striking, he also said they were unable to solve problems concerning weekend pay and has asked Acas to reconvene negotiations.

On 30^th November last year, the BMA called off strikes after Hunt agreed to re-enter negotiations with the BMA at the 11^th hour.

In an update to junior doctors this weekend, Malawana emphasised that they would not agree to a contract harmful to the NHS: “We hope that the government is able to come back with a greater understanding of how important junior doctors feel about the future of the NHS they work in.”

One fourth-year student doctor said: “Doctors do not want to strike, they want to do their jobs and look after patients. They have been forced into this position by the current secretary of health Jeremy Hunt who is threatening to impose a contract which is unfair and unsafe without negotiation. It leaves doctors with no other option and this is unequivocally demonstrated by a 98% approval for industrial action when BMA members were balloted”.

Although the contract will only affect England at the moment, trainee doctors are worried there will be a ripple effect on other parts of the UK. One student doctor studying in Edinburgh voiced concerns: “Scotland isn't devolved enough to resist the movement of the English NHS. If this is indeed a move towards privatisation - which I suspect it is - then if England goes, so does Scotland. So effectively it does impact Scottish healthcare just as much down the line”.

Should Hunt’s proposed contract be successful, junior doctors will be paid less for working the same amount of hours. Under the current contract, doctors are paid a basic rate for any hours worked between 7am-7pm Monday-Friday, with an additional supplement to recognise the unsocial nature of any hours worked outside of this framework. Planned contract changes will add in 27 extra hours of “standard time”, extending these hours to 10pm every weekday evening and to incorporate Saturday 7am-7pm.

Additionally, junior doctors currently receive an annual pay progression to recognise the increasing responsibility and competence they gain year-on-year. However, this is to be replaced with just a handful of increments. This has led to a myriad of concerns including claims that this will have a detrimental impact to those who wish to take time out to undertake research, or for those wishing to take maternity leave.

Whilst the government say that only the doctors working outside of legal limits would see their pay actively cut and 75% receiving a pay rise, a student doctor stated: “This is simply government spin. In order to prevent doctors suffering a pay cut, there has been the introduction of ‘pay protection’, based on the salary earnt in October 2015. This is only to last until 2019 and would not apply to newly qualified doctors. If salaries weren’t being cut there would be no need for this payment, and it is simply an attempt to get current doctors to sell their future colleagues down the river.” 

The second main issue with the contract is the removal of safeguards that prevent doctors working for dangerously long periods of time. The current contract financially penalises any hospital trust for over-working their junior doctors. However, these penalties would be removed. This has led to fears that despite the legal number of hours that can be worked weekly being reduced from 91 to 72, the lack of penalties would result in this frequently being broken.

Under the agreement made on 30^th November, if the government did not alter the contract in line with the JDC’s concerns, it was clear industrial action would be re-instated. During these talks, the government has failed to address these problems  - leaving doctors with no other available course of action.

Kindness in Kenya

Once the transformation from day to night passes, we normally stay inside the hostel, eating western food and perusing the view of Lake Victoria from the rooftop.  Tonight though, we throw caution to the wind, and venture out into the streets of Kisumu to a recommended restaurant. It takes ages to find, and I become panicky as we snake through streets, empty save for the security guards, who stand outside the shops the whole night long, shotguns upright.

Kisumu is Kenya’s third-largest city and certainly the most up-and-coming. In the daytime, students tumble out of university buildings, while cars and school buses are driven into Lake Victoria for a wash. As night falls, however, the markets are packed away and shutters are pulled down on the previously bustling main road.

Sunset over Lake Victoria

Eventually, our Italian-style eatery is found, and we settle into wicker chairs, surrounded by leafy ferns and paintings of safari in the Masai Mara. I drink something deliciously non-alcoholic, called ‘Fresh and Cool’, and my angst about the streets dissipates.

But we soon have to set off back to our lodgings. As we approach the first roundabout on our way home, a flock of street-children spies us, those rich tourists from a foreign land. Expectant of sweets or money, I think, as they rush up to us.  We are alone on the street against the group. I bolt. But the moment of successful bolting is delayed as my ankle gives way, and I end up on my knees in the road. My vision is fuzzy and pain courses all the way up my ankle. Concerned about the encroaching mob, I attempt to get back to my feet. But the world is still a lot fuzzier than it ought to be, my ankle unable to withstand my weight. ‘I’m going to faint’, I say.

Just a giraffe in the lake

My travelling partner likes to think he is an experienced medic: ‘Lie down! Lie back down if you are going to faint’. Vulnerable in front of the watching children, who have now gathered in a circle around us, I reluctantly return to my position in the middle of the highway. But instead of pouncing on my money belt, which is haphazardly slung around my stomach, one of the older children offers some condolence.

‘Sorry for falling’, he says, and then looks at my white t-shirt. ‘You are now dirty’.

He bends down and tries to rub away the mud from my shoulder. The children behind him take his cue, as if he knows the correct protocol for fallen-down tourists, and then they all join him in the bending down and the patting, trying to brush the dirt off my top in different places. One of the children runs for a tuk-tuk. I lie there in the middle of the tarmac, surrounded by twenty street children who are all concerned about my clothes, until our transport is flagged down to take us to the hospital, and we are whisked away from our assailants – and our rescuers. 

No NHS Abroad: Part II

We've gone to Nepal, so let's take a step back and sojourn to Jaipur, India, and my very first experience of illness in Asia.

Jaipur before the ordeal. 

It was June 2013, and we were about one week into our travels. Having escaped the chaos and filth of Mumbai, we had unintentionally found ourselves on a 24-hour bus journey with only a packet of crisps for sustenance. We had taken the road less travelled with a detour to Ellora caves (I recommend highly, by the way, but that's a tale for another day), and were now righting our way back to the official Land of Tourists: Rajasthan. Rajasthan is famous for its palaces and forts, and queen of all palaces and forts is the city of Jaipur and the most prestigious castle of all: The Amber Fort.

Not knowing how to prioritise, we made a list of all the things we wanted to do in Jaipur. And then we started from the bottom. Let me tell you now that you should never save the best to last in India. There will be obstacles. There is such a thing as Indian Time, and this will contribute avidly to your obstacles. But in our case, there was illness.

It came on quite suddenly. I woke up, and my travelling pal was no longer there. Immediate panic. When I found him throwing up, I was a little relieved. At least he was where I could see him.

But when the morning came, it seemed that a clean-up operation was in order. There was lots of sick, particularly on our shared mosquito net. Jolly good, I thought, this will be excellent training if I ever want to become a midwife, as I rinsed the net in the shower (at one point I did want to be a midwife, so please refrain from calling this irrelevant). My second tip for India, and any travels really, is that if you have a sickness bug, go immediately to the doctors. In a foreign country, it won't 'clear up' like it might in the UK. Oh no. I fall for the 'it will just heal itself' trick every time, and this has resulted in many infected blisters and more unfortunately, the acceptance of Rennies as treatment for diarrhoea. No, my friends, your foreign illness will not go away by itself.

Anyway, we thought it would, so asked for a room change and some tea to settle my pal's tum. I went down for breakfast. When I came back up to our new room, however, the innocent boy who had been sent to deliver tea was standing intrepidly in the door way, as my friend lay on the cold hotel floor, stark-naked, and quietly moaning. I ushered terrified boy away. When my companion asked for more tea later on in the day, I reminded him of the no-towel incident.

Jaipur, after the incident, at the Amber Fort.
Just before this picture, an elephant had sneezed on us.

It was this incident that sent us to breaking point. We should go to the doctors, we decided. On arrival, however, the doctor was not there. We were disappointed. We had felt so brave in making a decision. Anyway, Indian Time came and went, and the doctor finally arrived. He nodded knowingly. He had seen this before. Sticking a drip in the arm, a needle in the bum and some colourful tablets down the throat, he wrote out a payment slip and told us to call him in a week to confirm we were still alive. Fortunately for all involved, we were.

LOTF

We all know Lord of the Flies, our first encounters being in a haze of hot secondary school classrooms and the 'naughty boys' saying how boring it is. But after my initial misgivings, Golding's text turned out to be one of the most formative texts of my school years. Looking through the 60th anniversary ebook, it looks like it was for a lot of other people, too.

Find my contribution on page 31, here.

What happens when you get ill and the NHS is nowhere in sight

Part 1: Nepal

After summers of travelling and a year spent in Germany, my friends and I have given the health services in other countries a bit of a try-out. For Sam and I, our experiences in Nepal were the most exciting by far, so I thought I would start with the land of Mountains and of dahl before heading on to less turbulent territories.

Post-illness storms

The route of both our illnesses was in India. Feeling flu-ey for days, I put it down to over-exhaustion and hid away in my room in the holy city of Varanasi, sending Sam out to find Western food (he failed). In Kathmandu I felt even worse, and Sam secretly googled the symptoms of malaria, despite us regularly taking our tablets. Throughout these days, he was doing an excellent job of being my fake doctor, providing me with sick bags on a six-hour ride through the Himalayas in search of a cleaner town than Kathmandu to aid my recovery, and buying polos for the journey in which we ran over a dog in our rickety minibus. Which is why, when Sam sat up in bed, exclaiming 'I need to go to the hospital', late one night, I was rather surprised. How dare he try to reprehend me of my mantel of illness. It was mine. 

But our hotel owner duly drove us to 'the best hospital in town', where I was hurried off to buy things like needles and sheets of paper with medical terms on. The pharmacist explained, mostly with hand gestures, that, before they could begin treatment, I had to buy everything. This took place in a little counter outside of the hospital. It happened several times during the long night, where I was directed off to purchase more antibiotics or drips or pee pots. Although this was a strange system, it seemed to make sense, under the premise that you can only receive treatment if you can afford it. We were fortunate enough that we could, but it led me to think of the thousands living in Nepal who couldn't - or the millions that could only just afford treatment, if it meant their family sacrificing food and other life essentials.

The night was a long one. An elderly man was visited by his family before having an ECG scan under the bedsheets, right in front of us. He was white and frail, and looking at him made my heart hurt.

We slept in a room which might have been the reception if the hospital wasn't so full. Sam was hooked up to various drips and was decorated with cannulas, diagnosed with dysentry. I felt bad that I hadn't believed him before, as he narrowed his eyes and told me he could have been dead in a week, describing how the disease could make its merry way up to the brain. In an attempt to apologise, I accompanied him to the bathrooms and tried to be helpful by holding his drip. The bathrooms were by far the worst thing about our visit. There were drains in the floor, and there were buckets. Neither of these were especially effective for the poorly people in the hospital.

I tried further to be helpful, but on buying ice-cold water from the hospital shop, I was reprimanded by the hotel owner who had come to check on us the next morning. 'Warm water only', he scowled, before feeding Sam boiled potatoes and suggesting I return to the hotel with him on his motorbike. On moving over to be closer to the patient, I tripped over his cannula tube  - and pulled it out. He winced, the nurse came over to tell me off, I cried. It was all okay though - the nurse gave it a quick wipe and popped it back in: perfectly clean.

Touching strangers

This week, my school friend Ashton was making a business trip (swanky) up to Edinburgh and extended his adventure by staying with me for one night. My friendship with Ashton goes right back to lower sixth, when we cavorted off to Cambridge (lol), on an open day (double lol), and spent most of our time making outfits out of balloons and bin bags, and wondering if our teachers were drunk (they were). Since then, we have made cakes of different anatomical shapes and sizes, screamed at each other on New Year's Eve (my fault), and lost pieces of my charm bracelets, only to find them in Ashton's pants.

To start Ashton's Edinburgh experience off, then, we began by embarking on a ghost tour. We giggled at the guide's swishy black cape, and duly followed her down into the vaults. We pretended not to be scared, but halfway through we were clutching each other's arms and trying to forget that our phones DIDN'T HAVE SIGNAL DOWN THERE. I won't spoil the ghost story experience for you prospective punters, but, right at the end, she was holding a candle to her face and regaling us with more horrors. With the climax of the story, the guide screamed. Ashton screamed. I screamed, and, already having a firm hold of Ashton's arms, reached for someone more comforting - the girl in front. Suddenly being accosted by a stranger in a dark underground room, the girl in front screamed. The guide looked at us disapprovingly and I hastily apologised. I had noticed the girl at the beginning. She had come on the tour on her own, and I remember thinking how brave it was. Apologies accepted, the guide carried on with her tales. The girl asked the guide to 'please not scream again'. At the end, she finished by blowing out her candle and plunging us all into darkness. -  I shrieked even louder and grabbed the poor girl's shoulders again. My string of apologies was drowned out by Ashton's giggles.

Now, as the end of undergrad life quickly approaches and all ideas with what to do with my life quickly disappear, I have been hastily applying to things. All of these things need references, and, for my poor tutor who thought he had escaped from all university duties on research sabbatical, this meant more work. I had plagued him with emails a few times, before being told to wait patiently by the people at the college reception. I had loitered outside his office a few times, before halting my ready-to-knock hand and going back downstairs dejectedly. So when he replied, joy of joys, I was overwhelmingly relieved! (This is the tutor at uni who supervised my dissertation-like essay AND taught me for a semester. Like, he knows me well.).

We had  a photoshoot at the beach

Anyway, on taking Ashton back to the station, we stopped off at Sainsburys on the way for some train-time snacks. Sausage roll and pasta in hand, Ash sauntered off to the queue, and to me, it looked like he had pushed in. 'ASHTON, did you PUSH IN?' I half-announced, half-questioned. Ashton turned round to face the patient queuer he had offended. I turned round, and saw the man who held all the abilities to both grant and dilapidate my dreams. There was my tutor who had finally agreed to write a recommendation. I gave awkward pledgings of thanks and shuffled Ashton out of the door.

No One Ever Has Plans For NYE

Every year, my friends and I go through the same anguish. It starts in October, when the first festive rolls of wrapping paper arrive in Tesco, and oddly-flavoured lattes appear in all of the
coffee shops. 'What are you doing for New Year?' is whispered around flats, on campus, and whatsapp groups up and down the country.

Something needs to be done about this situation. No one ever knows what they are doing on New Year's Eve. Sometimes, even after it's over, no one knows what actually happened.

I've had new year's in a club, new year's at house parties, new year's in the village Scout Hut, new year's at home watching the London fireworks on television, and, for the past two years, new year's actually watching the fireworks amongst a shivering, and rather bolshy crowd. Each of these NYEs were great in their own little ways, but none of them validated my three months of questions.

That much-coveted view of Big Ben

Which brings me to this new year. After a dinner finishing at 11pm, we had 1 hour to navigate the crowds of the capital. And crowds there were. Trafalgar Square was already packed, but Sam decided that etiquette wasn't important in the last 60 minutes of 2014, propelling us through people who had been standing there for hours to get the view of Big Ben. We were verbally abused, and someone spilt a pungent alcoholic liquid over our bottles of Prosecco. Once through, Sam decided now was the time to attempt a crossing of the river. We got stuck on the mall. He admitted defeat. Some Germans began to talk about us, and I immediately jumped in to top up my oral skills for the end of the year. A common stereotype is that Germans are not polite. On the contrary, Germans have excellent social skills. I only had to murmur a handful of incorrectly-conjugated verbs before in came the compliments.

Fast forward to the early hours of 2015, and we had returned to Trafalgar Square and the excellent view of the  Big Ben. Sam was in deep discussion with a policeman who didn't really know how we would ever cross the river before January, 2. A Spanish man saw room for interruption, charging up to us and bringing the discussion to silence.
'Excuse me', his politeness was almost on a par to that of the Germans -  'Where is Big Ben?' - unfortunately his navigational skills were not.

Mit Herz, Ohne Tasche

8 things I learnt on my year abroad

This article first appeared in Edinburgh's DELC newsletter in April 2014.

Hilary Bell has just completed a 6-month language assistantship with the British Council. Teaching English in Bad Kötzting and Roding, two small towns in Bavaria, here she reveals her most enlightening experiences.

1.     Everyone is your friend

Everyone did not want to be my friend, of course. I quickly realised that if I was going to make any friends, I would have to find them myself. One Friday evening, I braved choir practice, where I was immediately enveloped in the conversation of cheery German mothers. Not the age range I was used to, but this led to a flurry of invitations to other social gatherings: a family trip to Passau to visit grandparents, volleyball training, the sports club ball. During an interview for the town newspaper on my departure, my mentor teacher remarked that it was unbelievable how many people I managed to meet. Despite this, I still had a constant fear of pestering people too much at the beginning – I learnt that you can never be too annoying!

Farewell gifts from Bad Kötzting secondary school.

2.     The world is your oyster

Apart from an excellent opportunity to travel Europe, these six months have given me so many friends from different countries. It makes you realise just how small the world is. The people I met made me see how easy it is to travel this earth, as my friendship circle included another language assistant from Italy, an American, and a girl from Brazil who had married a German and settled in Bad Kötzting. I started to think that if something so complex such as navigating the entire planet could be so easy, then surely my everyday problems could be solved this easily, too. It really put things into perspective.

3.       Prejudices are interesting

A common prejudice against Germans is that they can be rude or unaccommodating. On the contrary – some people just seemed to enjoy helping the garbling English girl! Housed in a holiday flat with no washing machine, someone quickly volunteered to cater for my laundry needs while my landlord seemed to be always phoning various banks/ television companies/ bike shops for me. As soon as people realised I needed help, it was astonishing how quickly they offered.

4.       Maybe I speak too much

Ask your average Bavarian how the meal is that you cooked for them, and most will reply with, ‘It will do.’ So many German school children said they do not understand why the British need to use so many words. Indeed, on my recent return to England, I experienced this too, struggling for the first time with the constant small talk of British life. I just wanted to get to the point of things!

5.       Culture shock is a real thing

The German day is upside-down. Get up ridiculously early, come home from school at 1pm to a gigantic lunch, and then spend the afternoon napping (other activities are available). I attempted to flaunt these unwritten German life rules, but it only left me very tired and very full from my 6pm dinner, especially during evenings of  hard-core volleyball training.

6.      Everyone has to go to a German sauna at least once

My attempt to sneak in fully-clothed was foiled, and even a swimming costume was shunned. Unfortunately, I was alone, and so my typically reserved self had no one with whom to giggle. However, once I threw away the Great British prude inside me, the naked sauna experience was quite liberating - I just had to make sure I avoided eye contact with the other teacher from my school who was loitering on a nearby sun lounger.

7.       The Germans aren’t afraid to talk about the Third Reich

For me, this was surprising and refreshing in a world that is so concerned with being politically correct. I was involved in many interesting conversations discussing the time of the Nazis and the best way to remember these events, all of which were started by other people.

8.       Disaster may strike

Mit Herz, ohne Tasche  - With a heart, without a bag. (As quoted from a newspaper report in Germany on my time in the town.)

There have been plenty of setbacks in the past six months: my bag and passport were stolen in Munich; yobs punctured both of my bike tyres (my only mode of transport in the Bavarian Forest); I was first given a flat which was so remote it had neither internet nor phone signal; the schools did not really expect me to come; the schools did not really expect me to stay; German bureaucracy once got the better of me and rendered me weeping in the staff room. Nevertheless, it was an even bigger achievement when all of these issues were solved, especially in a different language. After everything, I began to stop feeling surprised when the words to come out of my mouth were automatically German – such a feeling of achievement!

The Crow, The Collapse, and the Cleaning Man

     I have quite a few friends in my German classes. We drink beer together and find German people to steal and cook Schnitzel for us and sometimes all dress up in German clothes to visit pubs on weekday nights. English literature, however, is an entirely different story. I have a few friends from English who I am very proud of, but our friendship was built upon other things, like Berlin, or drinking tea together at work, or...actually, no, just two.

     Anyway, at risk of digression, one of said English Lit friends turned to me today, and proclaimed, 'Hilary, you are the only person I know who manages to get herself in so many socially awkward situations quite so often'. I took this as a compliment, but it could have been her bidding me adieu in order to find cooler English Lit friends.

A poem, by my mum, October 2014

     The tale of the cleaning man comes after a particularly long weekend involving muffins, wine and very little movement. Safely in the swanky new toilets of our swanky new department building, I was inspecting my new-found stomach in the swanky new full-length mirrors. I admit, I might have even poked aforementioned flab. In comes cleaning man, to be greeted by a lot of skin and a lot of bra. We both laughed it off. 

     The crow was a little less entertained by my new gain of weight. The crow tried to carry me away. I was walking home from a 10 o'clock lecture, having a great time and envisioning tea and biscuits and the Made in Chelsea catchup on 4od. Then, there was a crow on my head. It was heavy and had grabby claws. I shrieked and shrieked and shrieked, and all the people in the meadows turned round to see me, the girl, flapping around, with a crow having the time of its life in my hair. 

     The collapse should be taken very seriously. I fell up the library stairs. Now, the library is not a place to stop and be embarrassed and look around at your audience, all the while laughing nervously at the accidental fall. No. The library is a place of no eye contact. The library is a place of silence, even if you might be dying. So up I hopped, sprinting up the rest of the stairs to safety. It soon transpired that I was not in the right shape for sprinting, as the world began to get darker and fuzzier, and the pain in my knee was far greater than that time I forgot to get off a t-bar ski lift and ended up ploughing into a snow-covered rock. I found a nearby table (a tall awkward one, like you get in costa or airports), and lay on it. It was there that two girls found me, shaking me and asking if I needed assistance. 'Because we're medical students', one said proudly. 'Well, medical sciences', said the other. (Even I could work out in my near-death state that this meant they were not actually doctors.) 'I'M FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINE' I moaned, throwing myself further across the awkward too-tall table.They wheeled an office chair across from the other side of the floor, which I flopped into, and they left.

     All these stories are much better told in person with hand gestures and real life screams, but they are also told in a shorter form on my twitter.

The Bluffer's Guide to Berlin (part 1, all things Berlin)

A lot has changed from my first whirlwind of a day here, exactly three weeks ago. I have just read back on my last post and I adore my amazement at all things Berlin, especially that people listened to my German. Here is just a tiny post on how things are different now from my first besotted impressions. 

I now have a hat. My ever-complimentary friend Blythe says it is very Breaking Bad-esque, which offends me, because I am not a man. Anyway, when I'm walking/ jogging home after night out, falafel in hand, I like to think it makes me invincible to all possible night-time predators.

The U-bahn; I was so amazed with the u-bahn! I swore I would never need a bike, or set foot on a bus, or even think about another mode of transport. I have very quickly fallen out of love with the underground. It's very cramped, and sometimes, I could walk faster than it takes me to get to some areas of Berlin. Sometimes there are dogs. Once, when Lauren came to stay last week, a cat was in a box, and it pooed in said box. The owner had to run off with the cat wrapped around his neck like a snake. In the week, trains stop at around 12am, resulting in mad dashes searching for those infamous blue 'U' signs, or long journeys home involving the tram. Nevertheless, I do love it when there are buskers on the train (it should be a full time job).

Currywurst at Mauerpark

MY GERMAN (this deserves capitals because it is so non-existent). I feel like this Guardian article here. Even in class, all conversations are initiated in English, which is very much my fault. Now that I am out of the Bavarian Forest, and surrounded by people who can understand my jokes, I seem to gravitate towards English-speaking people, even when they are actually Austrian!

On a more positive note, I am living in a bustling Bezirk*, as they say auf Deutsch, with amazing, amazing food. I ate bread in Bavaria and got fat. Here I am going to eat from all the countries in the world, and attend yoga on Thursday mornings. Also, I am going through a bit of a burger phase, so here is my current top two favourite burger offerings:

The hat

Burgermeister! A renovated public toilets lounging underneath Schlesisches Tor U-Bahn, it offers top value burgers and cheapy cheap chips. We sat on old beer bottle containers which resulted in a zig-zag imprint on my bum, but it was still worth it. Some would even say edgy.

Hasir Burger: They own 6 restaurants in Berlin, and several in the Kottbusser Tor side of Kreuzberg, but they're not all selling burgers (some are turkish food I think, but I am yet to try). However, their burger restaurant is fab, with picnic tables outside and AMAZING wedges and chips. They cook on an actual barbecue too, which is the ultimate taste of summer.

*your area, 'in my Bezirk'; your endz etc etc.

What happened in Bavaria?! Part II

     'We didn't think you would come.'

I must have done something right at one point

     On my first day at school, I was greeted by this compliment. What she was trying to say about British reliability I am not sure, but I took it as something positive; that the worst was over, now I was here and we could go on as if the doubting never happened.

     The doubting did not stop happening. About 6 weeks into term, I asked if I could set up an after-school club for English. 'My own lessons!' I thought, 'Now I can do what I came here to do!'

     Oh no. It was never going to be that simple. 

     On the week before, I designed a beautiful poster, specifying the time and date I had been given. I found some fancy pictures of the Union Jack off Google images. I printed the posters not only on white paper, but also on yellow card. Lesson plans were made, fun 'ice-breakers' researched. I was ready to go.

     The day of after-school class came, and, dressed in my most authoritative get-up (jeans and a jumper or else the Germans get confused at the output of effort into outfit selections), I strolled along to class H.13. H.13 was harder to find than H.12 and H.14. It began to seem to me that H.13 was a ploy to make me shut up about after-school English.

     Eventually, though, I found H.13. 'I'm sure I have been in this room before', I thought as I opened the door. Oh yes. Oh yes, I had. A row of sinks greeted me. And some mirrors. And some toilet cubicles. No one was there waiting for after-school English. I began to realise that I had advertised to the whole school that class was going to take place in the toilets. 

     Confronting my mentor about the situation was yet another humiliation. 'I must have got confused', she chuckled, and went back to her lunch. 

     And that was the end of after-school English class. 

The Difficulty of Now

At the risk of being misunderstood, this is a post about the struggles of right now. Don't get me wrong; I love being back in the UK. I love fourth year. I love my flat, and my part-time job, and the fact a very large percentage of my friends are all in the same city as me (after living in the Forest, this is a novelty I will never again take for granted). I appreciate that the workload is demanding, but the motivation this provides me with is the most motivation I have had for at least 3 years (thanks 'A' Levels, you were mean). But what I really hate about now is the not-now: The future. 

'The future is in your hands' (I feel like people say this a lot. Or maybe just my dad).
My future is literally in my hands. If I ain't typing applications, all I have in front of me, literally and metaphorically, is a white blank page (see Mumford and Sons for some good mood music). I am a particularly worry-able person. For the first time in my life, I have no idea where I will be in a year, or even where I should be in a year.

Last week, I visited a careers workshop for my school, the school of  Languages, Literatures and Cultures. I expected to be bombarded with places to go to find a job, and useful application strategies. Instead, I drew a spider diagram of what I enjoy and who I admire. I'm not being scathing; I see how this can help people to maybe see where they want to go. For me, it just said the obvious: I like writing, and I like being around people I like. This I knew already. I desired a more narrowed-down answer of where I can go in order to achieve this. And what is yet more frustrating, is that right now, I am expected to be doing a lot of writing, and I have enough time to spend with people I like. I like the now, so why should I be spending it thinking about the next? 

The answer? The next terrifies me, and in order to make the future a little less terrifying, I should think about the next. I'm applying for graduate schemes. I am scouring the internet for internships. I become confused about salaries and start dates and deadlines on a daily basis. But I have a feeling that if my new future does not comprise either writing or friends, this time next year, I will still be complaining about the now; only with less time to change it.

The now: beer, sausages and friends

The Top 5 Places to visit in Western Turkey

Given 4 weeks, you can see a lot of Turkey (of course not enough). Here is a short and snappy countdown of my favourite places to head to.

1) Cappadocia
Always wanted to see the grand canyon but not sure you can make it to the USA just yet? Cappaodocia is the next best thing. With scenery comprising yellow and orangey rocks everywhere, deep crevices and towering 'fairy chimneys', a castle and several astonishingly enormous underground cities, this area is a playground. The 5 am hot air balloon was pricey (around 100 euros with some haggling and pitiful pleas of, 'but we are students') but worth it for the beautiful sunrise. Staying in a cheap but excellent hostel in a cave is mandatory, as is devouring Gözleme, turkish pancakes and a speciality of the region, on a daily basis. Hire an inexpensive scooter and feel like the ultimate racer boy amongst the coach-riding tourists. 

2) Kaş
It's small, and cute, but a little bit expensive (we had to resort to staying in an old man's guest room). Used as our scuba-diving base, this quaint town was ideal, with its purposefully-sunk lifeboat and aeroplane lying at the bottom of the sea, and we had 6 excellent dives in the relatively still waters. Afternoons were spent eating ice cream and jumping off rocks from one of the many seaside cafes. There are fancy restaurants, but we also found somewhere that sells giant jacket potatoes for very little. 

3)Pammukale
Is it snow? Is it sugar? No it's salt! (cringe soz). Just a mountain covered in salt, with tiny salty pools on the way up to sit inside. There are some 'ancient baths' at the top but I would either avoid or sneak in free, as it reduces the breath-taking scenery to a Disney-esque mess.

Sunset : tourist-free and beautiful

4) Istanbul
A vibrant, exciting city to which even a week could not do justice. Read more on how the city enchanted me here. 

5)Ankara
Go, because it is relatively non-touristy. The new capital of Turkey comprises limited hostels, restaurants with non-english menus and no direct flights to the UK. A giant mausoleum dedicated to Ataturk, the first president of Turkey, and a tiny but adorable old town, mesh ancient with modern. It was the only place in Turkey that I felt on edge, mainly because I was female. I received a lot of scathing and inquisitive looks from both the men and women of Ankara as I traversed the streets in exactly the same clothes I had been wearing around the rest of the country. It's sprawling and ugly, but the beauty in the old town only benefits from this dichotomy. 

Ataturk's Mausoleum 

What we can learn from the Turkish

Having been firmly planted back into normality for almost 2 months, it seems now is the perfect time for my belated thoughts on our travels in Turkey. Was it what I expected? No. Would I go back in a heartbeat? YES. 

Reluctant as I am to make comparisons with my travels in India, I am going to push forward and do it anyway. Thus, India was most definitely the country of the train. If you've ever fancied yourself as a bit of a James Bond, the sight of hundreds of Indians running towards a moving train and clambering on-board will make those previous expectations of oneself pale in comparison. Anywhere is a seat in India, the roof of a train included. When unwilling to pay much, they are hot and smelly and crowded, but if a little extra dollah is outlayed, a 20-hour night train is almost unpleasant. Two loos in each carriage to choose from (depending on if sitting down or standing up when pooping is preferred), a service including  the ordering of hot meals to be delivered at the next station, and provided clean sheets and blankets for those long overnight journeys, all contribute to a rather fancy railway system. 

Encouraged by this, we set out into Turkey with the train as our preferred mode of transport. Then we looked on the map. There were very few railways detailed. There were sighs and a sauntering off to the nearest pharmacy to stock up on travel sickness tablets. 

However, Turkey proved the old saying that 'you don't need something if there's something else much better'. Buses were cheap, far-reaching and at generally amicable times. There was always a lunch-stop, even if the bus had only been going for an hour. They were almost always on time, apart from when the bus broke down and waited on a country road for a man to deliver the parts by motorbike. Snacks and water from the bus-waiter were free, including tubs and tubs and tubs of ice cream (at the beginning of the journey since the buses do not have fridges). On the back of every seat was a television which came with headphones and somewhere to charge electronics. Buses were never full, apart from when we took a 'dolmus' -  tiny, rickety minivans which stop regularly to pick up roadside wayfarers. We weren't sure if this was actually a legal service offered by the bus companies, but the bus-waiter seemed happy collecting ticket money from these guys. 

And with the mention of tickets, I come to number 2 of 'What we can learn from the Turkish' (and also Indians). Every tourist destination we arrived at proffered long, complicated price lists. There were museum cards and Istanbul Cards and just normal prices, too. But the stand-out thing was that if you were Turkish, entry into Pamukkale salt fields or Topkapi Palace in Istanbul or for a hot air balloon ride in Capadocia was much, much cheaper. It was the same in India, too, with the Taj Mahal becoming invitingly cheap if Indian nationality was held. This led us to a rather heated debate in relation to the question of: if this was done in the UK, would more people be interested in visiting National Trust houses or top tourist attractions? Although it is excellent that our museums and art galleries are always free, there are a lot of extremely expensive cultural attractions which are unaffordable for many. 

We got on a coach, it got on a bus 

So, what can we learn from the Turkish? Back in the UK, I am now open to taking the coach for long-distance journeys, having spent 10+ hours with ample leg room and without the worry of someone having stolen my bag (I experience this every time I set foot on a train). For me to rely only on coaches, though, I would need the UK's bus companies to step up their game and improve their service and vehicles. Discounted tickets for non-tourists, however, would make attractions much more accessible. 

Can I have another year abroad - in Istanbul please?

Istanbul: a mix of Europe and Asia; the exotic and familiar; doner and kebab.

We arrived here on Sunday, having been tipped out of the plane into 30 degree heat. After 5 days of exploration, I am fully besotted with this city of marvels. But what makes it so special?

1) the fishermen on the main pedestrian/ tourist bridge. Walking along, you have to be careful not to trip over the lines of fishing rods and buckets of tiny sea creatures. I don't know who buys their smelly offerings but the view is enchanting.

2) the cats! Oh, the cats. Just like India was overrun by ownerless dogs, in Istanbul the cats are in charge. They guard shop fronts, staring in longingly at the coffee shops after hours. And at nighttime, all they do is fight and cry. Silly teenage cats. 

3) the FOOD. I hated the food last summer in Asia. All I wanted was peanut butter on toast. In Istanbul however, the streets are my oyster. Roasted chestnut stands fill the squares with the smell of autumn, there are burger places aplenty, and traditional Turkish dishes (even things which aren't doner!) constituting an evening meal for under £3. The bread is the softest, bounciest I have ever had. 

4)the buildings, and the seasidey location. It's beautiful. Fairytale minarets, mosques that used to be cathedrals (they just painted over the Jesus mosaics) and secretive side streets. 

Sunset overlooking the main road and river 

Uni Sport in Germany

Everyone knows how much fun sport at university in the UK is. From trips away to socials to competitions to balls, it can be the foundation for firm friends. We have belly-dancing clubs and non-serious volleyball and sports which are so weather-dependent that most of the year is spent talking about the sport and dressing up for nights out. Anyway, I needed friends in Berlin, so I duly signed up to not one but three sports clubs, ready for the onslaught of new pals.

1) Bauch - Beine - Po (Bums tums legs to you)
It started out promisingly - I struck up conversation with a fellow class-taker in the changing rooms and thought she was the one: the key to German friends and endless conversations auf deutsch. Then, she disappeared, and the next time I saw her was three months later when I was preparing to leave.

Take 2) Yoga
Yoga was supposed to be me turning over a new leaf and becoming a lover of the mornings. The class started at 8AM, which meant, with a commuting time of an hour, embracing the dawn and getting up at 6.30. I lasted two weeks. This was a shame because I met a lovely German girl who could also have been the one, except my early morning conversations skills were exceedingly poor.

Take 3) Indoor Climbing
I had the highest hopes for climbing. (Unintentional pun but nonetheless very proud). You have to get into pairs and talk about ropes and knots and things - the obvious path to lifelong friendships. Except that in my first climbing class, half comprised foreign students, which was really great, apart from they lacked the language skills I so desperately wanted in a friend. Due to class timings, I moved to a different day. The class was smaller and 5 thousand percent keener than my previous one. I was very, very bad compared to the others, getting cramp in my leg all the time and forgetting how to tie the important knots. On our penultimate meeting, the trainer asked who would like to take the climbing award test. All shot up their hands -and then looked pointedly at me (arms firmly by my side). Embarrassing. The next moment of awkwardness came the afternoon after my parents had left. I was already quite emotional, and struck with further terror when the instructor announced today was the day for purposefully falling off the wall 'to see how it felt'. I managed it the first time, and it felt TERRIFYING. However, my climbing partner was a very adamant German who insisted I try it again. After a small break in the toilets giving myself a tiny pep talk, I strode out, and she wrestled me into my harness. At the top I remembered what an insane idea the falling was and asked to come down. There were laughs from below. Eventually I did it, filling the small climbing hall with squeals. Afterwards, I bid everyone a swift goodbye. 'Mach gut' they said, which I think means have a good rest of your life.

The Olympic Stadium in Berlin - somewhere I will never be due to my sporting weaknesses.

Culture Shock

We had lots of year abroad meetings before we were sent out on our merry ways to different countries. One was dedicated to logistics, detailing that one person had actually died on the year abroad. Grimaces were pulled and the slideshow went on to insurance matters. The next comprised lots of sheets of paper and strict instructions on the number of credits and year abroad essays to write. Another offered leaflets and explained how to deal with that thing called 'culture shock'.

Truthfully though, I don't feel like culture shock was a big thing on my year away. Yes, getting up at 6am every morning for school was definitely shocking. The rude Berlin attitude was also a bit unpleasant. The bureaucracy was a nightmare, but at least it gave a sort of framework for arrival and departing. I never found that I felt totally lost because of the different culture.

The last selfie of my year abroad

Que my return to the UK, and I was suddenly at a loss of how things were done normally. I halted at a red man to be pulled along by my companion: 'Hurry up!' he said, appalled that I was obeying the high way code. One day I was walking home and really wanted a chocolate croissant, but there was no friendly neighbourhood bakery to be found. It was odd being surrounded by voices I could automatically understand - to the point that I heard German near the university and paused, astounded by the language that had suddenly turned into a rarity. My wardrobe had acclimatized itself to German standards and now it has to spruce itself back up again and look nice. Not needing to make myself understandable for foreign friends and flatmates, I have reacquired my usual fast-paced speech and my Sheffield(ish) accent. In conversations I sometimes just want to say the German word (who needs 'airport' when you can say 'Flughafen'?). Nevertheless, there are surprising effects of culture shock: lots of things are so much easier. The Germans never got used to 'How are you?' at the beginning of every conversation, and I can now make small talk knowing what I am saying is grammatically correct. Every road sign I see makes sense to me (well - not that much sense for me to have passed my driving test), which used to be baffling in Berlin, when trying to navigate the city by bike. One of the things I miss most is the excuses. There's no excuse to look silly any more because I'm 'that english girl'. I can't walk into chemists holding up wikipedia on my phone and demand medication which may or may not be correct. I can't barge into the busiest library in the city and sit where I'm not supposed to. I can most definitely not cycle around Sheffield in the daytime with my flashing helmet and lights and fluorescent workman's jacket just because the roads scare me. It's strange being expected to know how to do everything again.

Arriving at a new place was so simultaneously scary and exciting that these feelings acted as a buffer. But now, trying to dissect my year and its events, I going through the shock of not knowing which culture I am supposed to be in.
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6 Girls 1 Hauptstadt

There is simply too much fun to be put into words for this visit, so this post is a simplified version of 4 excellent days.

It began with a thunderstorm. The rain had seiged my boots minutes after leaving the flat, and the lightening was so flashy that I had qualms about taking the underground (my part of the underground is actually overground, high up on metal poles). Anyway, I ventured outside, without putting my umbrella up, as that was also cause for angst (metal pole, high in the sky). 

1)What we Ate (or rather, what DIDN'T we eat)

A cafe between Potsdamer Platz and Tiergarten, with massive cakes, massive sausages and a snappy waitress.

Dinner at Vapiano in Potsdamer Platz: yummy italian made in front of you

All of the cakes from the Turkish bakery on Oranienstrasse, including bread made of clouds (Kudos to Anna for this metaphor, secret English student).

2)What we Saw

Thanks to Jenny for this one

The Reichstag, where we queued to get our allocated time slot for 10 minutes. (This was amazing, as when I tried later in the week, the queue was 2 HOURS).

The Brandenburg Tor (there were lots of gates like this but then they were all destroyed, leaving this one as a symbol of Berlin. When Napoleon was victorious he rode through the gate like HEY I'VE GOT YOU NOW, and in the DDR-Time the East German government took down the little statue dude on the top, but now a new one is in its place). 

The Berlin Music Video Awards, which included a song about well, periods, while backing dancers waved red ribbons around. Hosted in giant shipping containers and serving fab cocktails all night. 

Jewish Museum: Conveniently, I had a class excursion there, so while the others ran around waving at me/ embarrassing me in front of ALL my friends, I had a dreary tour in German. The tour was so bad that our lecturer yelled at the tour guide. 

Photo credit to Anna

3)What we didn't do

Get into KitKat club: the long queue led to cheap champage, which led to injuries, which led to my forehead spending a lot of time with a bag of frozen vegetables. 

Sunbathe: I promised swimming in a pool in the river (Badeschiff); my promises were rewarded with more rain. 

4) Navigating Berlin

In the rain.

Chasing Night Buses.

The girls shared a 5 person day card, which, with so many people, was way cheaper than buying a Welcome Card each.

The best things about having visitors (apart from appearing knowledgeable about corresponding city) is feeling like you are on holiday too, and being able to chill with people you already know and love.