ok, so i'm behind, as far as being up-to-date with my trip goes, but here is a long-winded report on my Tuesday... just tuesday? gosh - read at your peril. :) It's now Saturday, and we've done more each day. i'll catch up with the other days later :)

Jessica, i hope everything went well on Friday, and i can't wait to hear about it.

Lastly, i'd like to explain, some. i have spotty time to type stuff up, and even when i do, i'm either tired or rushed. i also have to be careful about what i write, as i don't want to jeopardize anything that P&L, etc., are doing here. Not that i expect my blog to get heavy traffic, but with my luck(?), my little bits of information would get picked up upon, and be the very unraveling of someone else...

Tuesday

Mom, I got back to Slough ok last night. I know that’s your primary concern! :P My roommate, Terry, and Jayne, were mad at me for going by myself. But I had checked it out with P&L for safety, and they were all nonchalant about me going. And to be fair to Terry and Jayne, this whole time P, L, A, J &K have warned us not to go anywhere alone, and yet, P&L were fine with it. I also left a contact number for Kristin with Terry.

Also, I met a couple of nice people going to and from S last night. On my way into London, I caught a packed, rush-hour express train, and was bewildered as to what to do (there seemed to be not enough room to stand even, much less turn around in the middle of a packed train, when I was sporting my backpack (with that guy, it’s like I’m 2-3 people, and we all know I’m a little “chubby” to begin with). But with profuse apologies, people were very patient and very nice. Even the rough looking guys I came face to face with in the middle of the train car. I made it to the back, and stood, and got into a lovely conversation with a woman named Helen. She had just moved to S with her husband because the housing prices were more manageable. She was also just coming off her 7-month maternity leave, with her little boy. She was/is a New Zealander, living in London, and she was go great, so helpful and so, just, lovely. There she was, trying to help me think of free things to do in London (I’m going for the cheap, here, people!). Just so nice.

And then, on the way home, later that night, I was trying to figure out from which platform my train was leaving. I couldn’t find it (turns out that they list the next, like, 7 trains, but only the first 3 trains to leave were listed with platform numbers), so I approached the woman next to me, and she pointed it out, and was also soooo very nice. She was taking the same train (and then onward to Oxford), so we rode together and chatted the whole way to S. Turns out her mom lives in DC, and she had gone to Hopkins undergrad (class of ’84). Small small world. And even on Sunday, on the Tube, I had heard a woman talking with her friend, and I recognized an American accent from both of them, though I couldn’t hear well enough to discern the origin. Until I heard her talking about Lake Pontchartrain. And we all know (ok, those of us from Louisiana (the REAL L.A.)) that no one talks about Lake Pontchartrain unless they are from Louisiana. So, sho ‘nuff, the two women were from New Orleans, on work assignments with KBR. Again, small world.

But, onto Tuesday.

The weather has been cool Monday and today. It’s also been a little overcast, off and on, but still no rain. I’m sure that since I’ve now bragged about no rain, it will rain all day tomorrow (our “day off” or our “tourist” day).

Today, we got up bright and early (we meet for breakfast at 7:45, 2 minutes away from our Travelodge), shared our experiences from the day before and then headed out to our groups’ assignments (there are just the 4 assignments, but we rotate through them as groups).

Today, my group was assigned to Whitechapel. This meant that we headed out to East London took a walking tour of the area, and met in an Islamic Center with 3 Muslim women. It was very interesting. Evidently, East London, Whitechapel specifically, if I understood correctly, is the docks area of London, and prior to the airport, was the first stop for immigrants to London. Kind of like New York City was for immigrants coming through Ellis Island, or even, as “new” immigrants always tend to be more populous on the coasts than anywhere else, until they are at least somewhat integrated into the culture and feel comfortable moving away from others like them.

So, for Whitechapel, this meant that the French Huguenots had settled there long ago (if my church history class hadn’t covered 2000 years in 4 weeks, I’d know when. But I don’t.), and then moved on when they climbed out of poverty. The same with the Irish Potato Famine immigrants, and then the Polish Jews. Now, though, it is those from Bangladesh, mostly Muslims, which is so odd. Not that they are Muslims from Bangladesh, per se, but rather that they are replacing Jews. Thus, there are Christian-cathedrals-turned-synagogues-turned-mosques. Just that Jewish/Muslim juxtaposition strikes me time and again. I even have a picture of a huge mosque built right next to the last-standing-synagogue in Whitechapel. Just odd.

We met in the Islamic Center with 3 Muslim women, as I said before. One was a 2^nd generation British Muslim, Hasema, (I think?), striving to help carve out a British Muslim identity that would take precedence over the international issues taken on by Muslims the world over. That is, though those issues might be important, they were not the defining issues of British Muslims. I kept thinking of it in terms of parallels with churches and missions and church-planting in other cultures. How does a daughter church separate her identity from that of the mother church, especially in an entirely different land and country? A church established in China by Americans probably doesn’t need to follow every turn of American culture and denominational development as much as it needs to respond to Chinese cultural shifts and forge out a new path there. Am I making any sense?

Another of the women was a white Englishwoman, Sarah Joseph, who had converted to Islam 18 years ago. She looked about 35ish?. She wore a white hijab (sp? – the headcovering Muslim women wear. Not the kind that covers the face, though), but a long, modern skirt and a longsleeved shirt. Her mother had been a modeling agent, and so when Sarah converted to Islam, Sarah took on the hijab as a feminist act in which she felt able to be judged on what she said and did, rather than being held to beauty standards, first. However, she shared that ironically, where she had sought to be judged on her words and deeds first, and appearance second, she was now being judged by appearance first (as a Muslim), and then on what she said or did second. Regardless, Sarah is now the editor of “emel” (pronounced “M-L”), a magazine about modern Muslim life and living, I believe (I’ll have to peruse my copies closer). Her husband is a Bangledeshi man who has public stature, owns “Q” magazine, and makes appearances on British TV.

Finally, the 3^rd woman, Binga(? Shoot, now I can’t remember!) was a younger, single woman, dressed in the black hijab and a long black dress, though not a modern dress, but more like the black flowing robes we see on TV. She works for the Muslim Human Rights Coalition, and had some pretty strong opinions and defenses as well.

They were chosen by A in order to give us a different perspective than the stereotypes we in America are frequently spoon-fed of Muslim women (i.e. submissive, meek, subjugated, abused, having no voice, etc). Because each of these women are strong and opinionated and consider themselves, and are considered by others, activists. That is, they are willing to get involved in issues of all kinds, shapes and sizes from the perspective of Muslim women. And while we were assured that these women were speaking from a moderate Muslim position in a moderate mosque, you still can’t dismiss them easily.

They, again, were lovely.

After that, came the tour of Whitechapel which was just fascinating. There were several buildings that A pointed out were older than America (though not older than our Spanish land grant, Mom! I didn’t say that, though Mom, since I’m sure he could just turn around and point out another building that WAS older!)

After that, we dispersed, each to his/her own. I headed to Kristin’s neck of the woods to get a haircut, and had a nice time looking around. I did get my hair cut, and it looks ok-to-good. However, I think I want it a little shorter. I am thinking I’ll take Jayne there tomorrow to get a haircut, too, and see if I can’t get them to trim it, some. We’ll see.

Regardless, I’m sporting some sizable blisters on my toes, from my new sandals. The red flipflops, (Shani and Judie, you know the ones) hurt my calves and arches for long periods of time, and the super-new black sandals I got (Super and Jude, you haven’t seen them, I don’t think – oh wait, Super might have) rub the tops of my toes. But, except to y’all, my faithful readers, I’m trying not to complain. We’ll see tomorrow when I get blisters on my blisters!

The World Cup is huge here these last couple of weeks, as kristin has mentioned on her blog. England played Sweden tonight and tied (after a 2-1 lead, England). There are English flags EVERYWHERE (they are the white flags, divided into equal quadrants by a red cross, not the Union Jack, which I’ve learned is British, not English).

What’s also funny is that people pause and look at me funny when I talk. I’ve even had a couple of people not understand me. I had a moment, today, when I realized that my experience is what British people experience every day in America when they are not understood (try not to laugh too hard, Marie!). I’m not sure if I am incomprehensible, due to my accent (mom, don’t tell dad. You know he’ll just say that I mumble, and it’s not the accent! Just kidding, mom. Tell him. And then tell me how he reacts), or if they are expecting me to speak with a British accent, from the way I look, and are thrown off when it isn’t British (I’m thinking the reverse of that story you told me, Unchin, when that security guard (?) couldn’t understand y’all because she couldn’t seem to come to terms with the fact that you could possibly speak clear American English.)

I’m also trying not to be the loud, brash American, so I find myself speaking more softly, I think. Not that I am trying to be someone else, but rather, just reading the situation before I let loose. Especially when I am on my own.