Petite Patriots

Tonight I went to a Jenny Lewis concert, alone.  I didn't mind going solo; in fact I think it was more enjoyable because I could dig the whole scene by myself and meditate with my own thoughts for an hour and a half.  The opening act was fantastic.  I don't know who the lead singer was, but he was some big guy with long gray hair, a bushy beard and dark sunglasses, and he sang real deep and blues-like, à la Jason Molina from Songs: Ohia.  He also had some funny commentary, and at one point said, "I mean, it's cool if the dudes here are getting down to these songs, but really, this show is for the ladies because ladies make the world go round."  Word.

Jenny Lewis was exactly as I pictured her: calculated and cute, a little bit theatrical, and a hell of a performer.  When she sang "Acid Tongue", it just about melted my heart.  The whole band put their instruments down except for Jenny, and they just stood there in a semi-circle around her, harmonizing next to her guitar.  Their sound reminded me so much of America that it was almost unbearable.  In fact, the whole time I was hearing, smelling, and feeling America all at once.  There was something about the booze and perfume that wafted through the air, the folksy guitar, and flannel uniforms of the band members that had me almost convinced that I was actually in a bar in Wisconsin.

Last night, a group of friends and I went out to dinner, and on the way back on the subway, some guy next to me gave us a hard time for sitting in the "handicapped seats."  For the record, these seats situated next to the train doors, although labeled as handicapped, are almost always occupied by the average commuter.  The man next to me was drunk, and clearly picking on us because we were American.  It made me so angry.  I looked up and down the aisles, looked at him directly in the eyes and said, "Well, when I see someone handicapped, I'll be sure to lend them my seat."  The rest of the ride back was uncomfortable.  We just sat there in silence, looking at the floor and holding our breath until we arrived at our stop.  The guy tried to make small talk, asking us whereabouts in America we were from.  Maybe he felt bad.

My professor said the other day that Glasgow was two-faced all over.  They're known for their camaraderie and their stabbings, beautiful autumn leaves and endless rainy days, the grungey East End and the posh West End.  It's like Jekyll-Hyde all over the place.  Some days I'm surrounded by friendly faces and sunshine, other days I'm confronted with rude subway commuters and taxi drivers who want to tell me what America is like for 10 minutes in front of my apartment while I anxiously rub coins between my fingers.

Someone said yesterday that we only have 5 more weeks left of class.  I couldn't believe it.  I barely feel like I've moved in, and before I know it, I'll be packing again.  I think, altogether, I have about 9 more weeks left here, which means that I have about sixty-odd days to write twenty-five to thirty pages of work, visit four countries, and be that "changed person" people keep saying you turn into while abroad.

I also have roughly £180 of spending money to last me for the rest of the semester.  Oops.

I was so sure at the beginning of the semester that by the time I got around to the Jenny Lewis concert, I would feel all settled in, social, and buoyant.  I pictured myself in the front row, enjoying a pint and rocking out to some American music, but tonight I found myself in the back with all the middle-aged couples, awkwardly holding on to my coat and scarf and wishing I could reach out to the band and say, "ISN'T AMERICA AWESOME??"  and have them agree and whisk me away on their tour for the rest of the year.  That'll be the day.

It's not that I don't like it here; in fact, I think it suits me pretty well and I'm very pleased with how much it inspires me to create and be the writer I've always wanted to be.  Sometimes, though, the pang of loneliness and homesickness can be a little much.  They don't tell you about that when you study abroad.  And if you go to a small liberal arts college, they don't warn you about the scary world of bureaucracy, and the rampant red tape that entangles all European universities.  This week, I was informed that I had signed a year-long contract for university accommodation instead of a semester-long contract, and therefore I was responsible for paying accommodation fees until they could find a replacement for me in my apartment.  Nevermind the fact that I was only given a year-long contract while all the other students from Beloit received semester-long contracts.  Nevermind the fact that it says I am a semester-long student all over my application.  Had this situation cropped up at Beloit, I would have sent an email to someone explaining my situation, and the rest would be taken care of.

After I was told that I could be paying up to £2,000, i.e. $4,000 in accommodation fees, I didn't know what to do.  I had never been confronted with this kind of obstinacy.  I immediately contacted my parents, and, feeling like a little kid who just scraped her knee on the playground, explained what was going on.  My mom got in contact with the head of the international office at Beloit, and made sure that everything would get taken care of.  My mom isn't usually one of those helicopter moms who gets in your face if you're inconveniencing her child, but on the occasion that she sees me being mistreated or used, she can be a real wolverine mama, bearing her teeth at any predator threatening her pack.  This summer, an employee at the Apple Store sexually harrassed me and when I came home confused and scared, I could barely get the first sentence of my story out to my mom before she was pulling me out the door to complain to the manager.

It's the fighters of America that I miss, the rebels that embody true American spirit, like my mom, who I wanted so badly to be next to me when I was on the subway yesterday, or reasoning with the Accommodations Office this week.  The best I can do right now is remember the people that inspire the brave, rebellious American inside me.  My mantra for this semester started when I was in the security line at the airport in August, waving goodbye to my parents.  Be brave, I told myself.  If I'm not brave while I'm abroad, well then I might as well crawl into a hole and never come out.  So when I'm traveling by myself to London, Spain, Dublin, and France, when I'm bankrupt and alone, and when I'm telling it like it is to some ignorant native, I'll think of you, and you think of me.  That way I'll come back being the bolder Caitlin that I want to be.