Princeton in London
"Wish You Were Here"
Anna Humphreys
Issue date: 3/11/01 Section: Column
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a Princeton student in possession of a sense of adventure must be in want of a change. So I left.
True, studying at University College London for a semester was not entering the undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns, but it did offer things that Princeton could not: namely, London. While juniors here tackled new stress levels, suddenly the eleven of us were not juniors or English majors, we were Affiliates. This was liberating. Sure, we had to write papers and attend at least one class a week, but I still woke up every morning excited to be in a foreign country and not knowing what I would discover that day…
…Like the free museums and cheap theater tickets. McCarter’s Geriatric Revue kindles a certain amount of student interest, but culture is so accessible for a student in London that there is no excuse to miss out on it. And get this: we were required to see plays for our Junior Seminar — tickets paid for by Princeton. Even when we had to pony up our own pounds, shillings, and pence, an expensive seat in London costs somewhere in the neighborhood of $40, a far cry from New York theater, where that amount barely buys an intermission snack. From Shakespeare to musicals to weird offbeat plays to hilarious two-man Irish comedy, London theater has much to offer, particularly for American students studying abroad.
If seeing plays gratis were not enough, Princeton upped the ante by hiring our own social coordinator (don’t leave home without one). From her e-mails before our arrival, we all expected someone in her mid-twenties, a recent college graduate. Under the clock in Waterloo Station early one Saturday morning, we discovered Rachel Boulton to be the most energetic woman alive, a 67-year-old avid mountain climber.
With us trailing behind, she bounded through Stratford-upon-Avon, combed Hampton Court Palace (the pilfered home of Henry VIII and his train of wives), all the while relating English history to us. We made an inordinate number of stops to eat (“Have more — Princeton is paying for it!”), as Rachel showed us Southern England as if it were her home. She would guide the group into off-limits corners to point out something we simply couldn’t miss — like St. Augustine’s altar in an obscure church.
True, studying at University College London for a semester was not entering the undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns, but it did offer things that Princeton could not: namely, London. While juniors here tackled new stress levels, suddenly the eleven of us were not juniors or English majors, we were Affiliates. This was liberating. Sure, we had to write papers and attend at least one class a week, but I still woke up every morning excited to be in a foreign country and not knowing what I would discover that day…
…Like the free museums and cheap theater tickets. McCarter’s Geriatric Revue kindles a certain amount of student interest, but culture is so accessible for a student in London that there is no excuse to miss out on it. And get this: we were required to see plays for our Junior Seminar — tickets paid for by Princeton. Even when we had to pony up our own pounds, shillings, and pence, an expensive seat in London costs somewhere in the neighborhood of $40, a far cry from New York theater, where that amount barely buys an intermission snack. From Shakespeare to musicals to weird offbeat plays to hilarious two-man Irish comedy, London theater has much to offer, particularly for American students studying abroad.
If seeing plays gratis were not enough, Princeton upped the ante by hiring our own social coordinator (don’t leave home without one). From her e-mails before our arrival, we all expected someone in her mid-twenties, a recent college graduate. Under the clock in Waterloo Station early one Saturday morning, we discovered Rachel Boulton to be the most energetic woman alive, a 67-year-old avid mountain climber.
With us trailing behind, she bounded through Stratford-upon-Avon, combed Hampton Court Palace (the pilfered home of Henry VIII and his train of wives), all the while relating English history to us. We made an inordinate number of stops to eat (“Have more — Princeton is paying for it!”), as Rachel showed us Southern England as if it were her home. She would guide the group into off-limits corners to point out something we simply couldn’t miss — like St. Augustine’s altar in an obscure church.