The Identity Crisis

When Shannon met me off the train at Bath last weekend, one of the first things she told me was, "Bath is having an identity crisis." I trust her intuition, but I had to wonder what she meant; she told me, "You'll see. Just wait."

Bath is a beautiful provincial city. It was the first of many "Cathedral Towns" I have visited in England this semester, though last summer I went to Winchester for a day. To leave the city for a weekend without traveling far was really refreshing. As cheap as travel is in Europe, it consumes a lot of energy to get to the airport, then onto the plane, then from landing to the destination; and on top of all that, to have the energy to explore as much as you possibly can in a weekend! So the trip to Bath was comparatively easy, when I think about the trip I took to Amsterdam. Along the train ride, I watched pastoral scenes ramble and roll past me.

After arriving in Bath, Shannon showed me the house where she is living for the semester, which really feels more like a home. Her program is very academically oriented, which I envy a bit. As great as it is to have a lot of free time in London, it does make me wish from time to time that I could engage more with my coursework this semester.

We strolled around the Royal Crescent, and then through the city's botanical gardens where lilacs and crocuses were already in bloom. When we came closer to the city center, we went by Bath Abbey and the Roman Baths, the two most major attractions in the city, though we did not tour either-I'll go another time.

To experience--even just for the weekend--a more intimate study abroad program was really fascinating. That, and the Burlington-like feel of Bath made me nostalgic for Saint Michael's. Even though my friends and I at SMC talk enthusiastically about our classwork and share our ideas all the time, I was startled to see that kind of lifestyle reenacted by Shannon's program. I am glad I have made myself try something completely different--a huge university program in a huge city--but, of course, to be reminded of my old ways magnified my sense of longing. I wondered, momentarily, if I was the one having an identity crisis!

(This has been alleviated by some contact with my home institution through the literary publication I work on, The Onion River Review. We have been selecting submissions for publication this week, so I have been able to keep in touch with the other editors on FB messenger and Facetime, which has been really terrific. Look for the annual publication in April!)

That night the whole group of us--Shannon's housemates and their friends in the program--went to a local pub they frequent. (I am including what follows for the consideration of anyone preparing to travel from the US to live elsewhere for an extended period of time.) At the pub, Shannon and I were accosted by a drunk local woman who began to go on a rant about America's stereotypes. It wasn't a violent interaction, though it became more and more offensive, for example, when she asked us five or six times if we were Amish, if we were from the Jersey Shore, if we were really Americans because we aren't obese, if we think we're alcoholics after having just one drink, ad nauseum.

What struck me as particularly ironic was the extent to which she was criticizing the culture she evidently consumes herself. But, of course, she couldn't be reasoned with. I was more disturbed by this than my mother, whom I told about it on the phone a few nights later. Mom was rational about it, reminding me she was drunk and wanted to argue and American students are an easy target for criticism. All true.

And we did the right thing--moved our drinks and talked to other people we were with, or to put it another way, retreated and barricaded ourselves from her. When I saw she was talking to other people we were with in a similarly unpleasant way, I told the barkeep and he said he would do something about it; but before he could, her boyfriend arrived and took her away.

This kind of scenario can take place anywhere, really--especially when there's a big group of American students in the same space. I was frustrated because I have been trying my best to not impose anything stereotypical about America. But, as Shannon and my mom suggested, I moved on.

We went from there to a local club, where a sudden breach of Americana beset us in the form of a thrity-member bridal party dressed as the Pink Ladies. Later, one of Shannon's coworkers told me that her favorite holiday ever was to Ohio. So, I was a bit confused by the range of pro/anti American sentiment I encountered that night.

The next day, Shannon and I walked around town. We saw two great guitarists playing Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" in the middle of a pedestrian street. We followed the River Avon later in the day. This, I think, is the best part of Bath. It reminded me of the Regent's Canal in NW London. There were canal boats moored along the way with names like this:

As we went along, we got to see a lot of gardens in the backs of homes. I think the analogy between American lawns and British gardens is true. People seem to take a lot of pride in their gardens here.

It was surreal to see Shannon situated and oriented in her new home. I don't think there are many things as satisfying in the world as being shown around a new place by an old friend. I have many other opportunities for this in the near future, between hosting some family and friends in London in March, and traveling to see others in their places in April.

So, what about the identity crisis in Bath? Shannon thinks it has to do with the fact that there is a substantial older population in Bath, but also a lot of university students in town. What occurred to me when I arrived back at Paddington on Monday was how different Bath and London are, though they are only a ninety-minute train ride apart from each other. I am reminded of what that guy told me in the tube, that the city and the country are so different they're almost adversarial. I couldn't quite get a read on Bath. But, I've lived in London for nearly two months and I can't get a read on my own locale.

Which brings me to some thoughts I've been having about what a weird situation it is to be a student abroad. I'm hearing all about people I know falling in love with where they're studying, and I too have had an extraordinary experience here so far. But, it feels almost like a liminal space, to be living in the most expensive district of a city and not working or paying rent. It's an enormous privilege that I'm not sure I'm comfortable with. I don't like telling people I meet that I live in Zone 1. Think about it: there are over 8 million people who live in London, and about 10,000 of them live in Zone 1. It feels unreal, with no sense of local community to speak of, except for my program.

Ultimately, I'm just passing through this city. All I can do is enjoy my time here, be open to new opportunities, and perhaps hope that I can come back someday, maybe to live as an actual Londoner (even though many of the people I have met who live here don't actually like it much). My real hope is that by the end of my semester here, if I do want to come back, I will at least know why: why this place, and why me in this place.