Family life

Family is important. Family is the cornerstone of a society. Honour thy family. Whether true or not it is still nice to have a surrogate family in another country. My temporary family consists of a Scot and a Maltese and their 2 children, a 17 year old girl and a 6 year old boy. They accepted me with open arms and spoil me with good food, wine and affection in their nice St Albans home. My back has been especially fond of the bed, which offers a great sleeping experience. Unfortunately, most mornings this experience is cut short by the sound of a Ritalin deficient boy starting his day. In the evening however this hyperactivity helps to ensure sleep comes early. For pictures of life in St. Albans and a bit of the University of Hertfordshire, see my Facebook account.

These pictures are taken with my new toy, pride and joy: a Canon Powershot SX110 IS. I have never been much of a photographer, the last camera I owned was an analog monstrosity, purchased over 12 years ago. If I managed to fill more than 3 rolls with it in all that time I would be surprised. The last few years I leeched on my nerdy friends and travel companions who always hauled along a fortune worth of SLR cameras, lenses and flashes, snapping away to gather thousands of digital memories, enabling me to enjoy the scenery unhindered by a camera. Or, if I wanted, I could walk around with my eyes close and listen to the rhythm of shutters, not having to worry about missing anything because it was all recorded for me.

Now however, I can no longer rely on this, I am responsible for capturing moments of importance and beauty myself, so I had to get my own camera. Being aware that I would probably lose interest quickly if there is no challenge, I decided to not settle for the cheapest point-and-click camera, but opted for one which gives me more control and drive to dive into the art of photography. For now I still rely heavily on the 'Auto' setting, but I feel motivated to learn all about ISOs, shuttertimes, aperture et cetera. So keep an eye on my photo album for the amateuristic but hopefully steadily improving graphical portrayal of life on this side of the North Sea.

The first full week in England is already over, time for a recapitulation.

Last time, I wrote about the Smallford Sofa that has been my home and has made a hopefully temporary impression on my back for the last 8 nights. Today I am happy to be able to announce that it has been replaced by a proper, modern bed. A double bed even! After the second move in just over a week, and certainly not the last one I will endeavor this year, I am now settled in the lovely town of St. Albans, the town of bell towers, camera shops with bad timing, pubs and kebab shops that put cheese on your chips.

Last week I took a day off from running around to have a look in St. Albans, with the ultimate goal of buying myself a digital camera. I had selected the camera I want, found a shop through the internet, took the bus, actually managed to find the shop, asked about the camera, the last one they had was on the counter, ready to be sold to the happy customer! The guy that entered the shop just before me did indeed look quite happy with it..

After that disappointing experience and a nonetheless pleasant stroll through the town center I had to get back to all arrangements waiting for me. Luckily these were not much of a burden. Getting a bank account consisted of a nice chat with Emma about Holland, Hatfield and Hair straighteners. Getting my work place sorted was a bit more of a hustle. After finally gaining entry to the office of my supervisor, who wasn't there until yesterday, it turned out that the expectation to find my computer there was false. A bit more searching located it with the department's technicians, who were kind enough to pre-install it, so I only had to plug it in to be off digging through a big pile of papers relevant to my research.

With all that out of the way I was ready to start some real work the next week, so it was time for a nice weekend to get the energy for it. Friday this meant going into St. Albans to discover the pub, club and kebab scene. Some members of the adaptive systems research group, of which I am a member, arranged a night out with people of the astrophysics group, with which we share a hallway at the Science and Technology Reasearch Institute at the university. It turned out to be a pretty good night, even though I have to get used to English beer, drunk people at 10pm already and having cheese on your chips, I guess I will just have to experience it more often.

The next night was poker night, at the other house shared by members of our research group. The level of the game was about the same as I was used to back in Groningen, so it was good fun and despite a good start I ended up with a 10 pound donation to the local community of German and French poker players. When the new financial balance was determined, there were quite some gorgeous home made chocolate cookies, philosophical and political discussions interupting stories and random gossip about girls and finally a short ride back through the icey cold to the faithful sofa.

Even though it has done it's job well, the job itself was uncomfortable enough that I still looked for another place to sleep. The university supplied me with a list of temporary lodgings that I could try and after a significant drainage of my temporary English phone credit I finally found a place with still a room available. Being in St. Albans it is a bit further away. But there is a bed. After a small bus ride and a walk with all my current belongings trailing behind me in my suitcase I now live with a family consisting of a Scot, Maltese and their daughter and son of 17 and 6 respectively. And a bed. I can stay here until I can move into a room on campus at the 24th, enjoying the nice house and neighborhood, home cooked meals included. And a bed. All I need to get through the intellectually intens first phase of my work. Have I mentioned the bed? It's a double bed!

Now I'm enjoying some British football and a wine with the man of the house, but it won't be long until I start my research on the physical and mental benefits of a bed over a couch, which I have to call a sofa so as not to confuse little British boys with words of some weird foreign language.

The other side of the road

A small walk from the bus stop, attempting to avoid the traffic on the wrong side, the asphalted pavement icy under a clear star speckled night. A quiet home to rest in after a long day, on the couch that has been my bed for the last night and will keep that function for at least one night more. If not for the void of Dutch but on my laptop screen one may not notice the difference with a Dutch student house. However, do not think that the language and it's accents used are a clear indication of the country of residence. Either the US, the UK or Germany could be the conclusion and at the university this is not any different. Only the rough mumbling of the bus and taxi drivers makes it clear you are in England, the London area more specifically and unmistakeably the birth place of Guy Ritchie.

Yesterday evening I made the journey across the Northern Sea. In the afternoon me and my parents left to go to the airport of Eindhoven. Not the nearest port, nor the biggest, but still the cheapest and most convenient, even with the layer of snow covering it. Just after notifying my British contact that all was fine time wise it was announced that the plane would have a delay of almost an hour. Luckily my planning was forgiving enough to still allow me to make it to the last coach from Stansted to Hatfield, where I was happy to see Amiy again, the person who was so hospitable to offer me this imperfect but very welcome place to sleep. And sleep I did well.

Luckily, because good sleep was what I needed to recharge after the journey and prepare for the day of today, themed 'back and forth'. Corridor D has been explored so many times it feels like I have been using it all my life. It started with my official enrollment into the university. I was a bit early, so I had to go to administration twice before they were ready for me. The process consisted of filling out information that I already supplied into a different system, double checking this information, some signing and stamping and it was concluded by taking a picture and supplying me with a shiny student pass, which proves I am now officially a student at the University of Hertfordshire!

But there the bureaucracy does not end. There is for instance the student account for online services and wireless internet that has to be arranged on the other side of campus and, not in the least, the question of housing. This couch will do for now, but I doubt multiple weeks on it will have a good impact on the quality of my sleep. So after some discussion during a couple of visits to the student center I managed to receive one more big bundle of paper which states that I will have a room on campus for half a year. Unfortunately I am not allowed to move in just yet, not even when I ask the current inhabitant nicely. The doors will not open for me until the 24th, so they supplied me with a list of people that offer temporary stay at their place to poor old hobos like me. So there is more arranging to do tomorrow.

Not that I was running out of things. I still need a bank account, for which I need a letter from the university, for which I first need the address of the bank I want to open an account with. Before I start traversing the list of phone numbers I need a British SIM card to prevent high phone bills. And then there is the situation with the computer especially bought for me and conveniently locked into the office of my supervisor, who is away for another week. This last fact makes the trouble of having to do all this stuff before actually being able to do work actually a good thing, because there isn't much research to do without discussing with my supervisor.

So off I go, to the sofa that looks like it is designed in the 70's and has been supporting buttocks continuously since then, but is still more than willing and able to receive my fatigue, to prepare for another day of Britonisation by dreaming of yet other lifes.