The prodigal LSE Lass has at last returned. I would have written sooner, but the Chinese government has a bone or two to pick with freedom of expression, especially websites known to inspire bloody national revolution like Blogspot. So sorry for not returning your calls. I missed you, too.
So here I am in the midst of one of the most exciting cities in the world, about to embark on what are sure to be many a madcap adventure. The first of these involves navigating British postgraduate education, which in the humble opinion of this red-blooded American is truly baffling on a number of levels. As the Bard once said, "Let me count the ways":
1. Drinking. Appears to be mandatory. Can happen anywhere, at any time. Prepare appropriately. Professors at the LSE frequent the pub George IV; at all costs, it is to be avoided the day before an exam or a paper is due.
2. Course selection. Appears to be capped, but no one knows; appears to involve applications, but no one is really sure which ones or how to do it; appears to involve approval of the department, which is attained in an unknown fashion; and appears to be due. Soon. Panic ensues.
3. Student Help Office. Open regularly, Monday through Thursday, 2-3pm, only in weeks immediately preceding a partial lunar eclipse or immediately following the anniversary of the ascension of the fourth Vice-chancellor of Mauritania. Barely exaggerating.
4. Student Union. It says something about the school as a whole that one of the most prominent student grounds on campus is the Marxist Society. Words cannot express how excited I am to debate them while inebriated in a public place every time they try and give me a flyer. Margaret Thatcher will be proud.
5. Kidnapped penguins. Apparently, it happens here.
6. The Queen christens our buildings! How adorable!
On a slightly more serious note, it strikes me how much London is a city of immigrants, and how much this resonates with my own experience. My own mother lived here for years when she was young and still at school. My aunt and uncle came here during the Irish recession in the 1980s and never left. My great-aunt and her four daughters still call this place home decades later. Countless cousins have passed through here for every reason you can imagine: for education, finding work, finding a new place to live, visiting friends and family who have come before, and just for the sake of passing through. London attracts them all. And now here I sit, another immigrant in a line of immigrants. Who knows how long this city will be home?
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