Tea Time

"So," George said, sliding a cup of afternoon tea across the table, "what stereotypes do Americans have of English students that we have proven true?"

Good question. The directness of his query was a bit jarring, but also refreshing. Glancing down at the cup of tea he had given me, I realized I was stuck answering it. Lest I uphold the "rude American frat boy" stereotype by stomping out of the room. It seemed if tea alone can force people away from televisions and YouTube and email and open doors to face-to-face communication, then maybe the Brits are on to something.

"You've already broken most of them," I said.

I thought back to the adjectives listed in one of our pre-departure guidebooks about what to expect from British students.

Sarcastic, elitist, clinical, sophisticated, dry sense of humor... After reading all that, I figured I'd be lucky if I escaped with one British friend to my name.

Friendship had been my biggest concern. I'd never had a problem making friends, but I had to keep reminding myself of this fact as I ventured across the sea. Being completely friend-less while abroad was the most surefire way to make months of lonely hell. Armed only with 6 Chicago Bears playing card packs to bribe friends, I vowed to be as social, cheerful, and helpful as I could to whomever I met. Completely refraining from judging people is probably impossible. But I would try my best to at least stow my opinions beneath a guise of politeness.

Of course, not judging meant discarding stereotypes George and I were discussing right now.

According to George, English students view American students through the American Pie lens. I died a little on the inside when I heard this. According to the American Pie movie series, American students are a bunch of loony rich drunks who run around trying to...well, you know.

By the time our tea was getting cool, George and I were laughing about the strange preconceptions that make it across the Atlantic in a completely disfigured form. George wasn't pushy or snobby or distant. He was just another student. He was my friend.

After lunch, I went running, losing myself along the twisting streets of Bristol. I thought about friendship. About how silly my concern over being alone in a strange town was. About how this concern were only silly because I was lucky to have friends to laugh with.

Running forged another kind of friendship -- this one not with a person, but with a city. Like a stereotype born of fear, a new city is a threatening place because it's streets are alien and its inhabitants strange. It's an unknown. By running for an hour and a half, I let myself get lost in the city, slowly building confidence each time I reoriented myself and discovered where I was. Bristol and I aren't friends yet, but we're getting there.

That night, four Hong Kong students invited me to celebrate Chinese New Year with them. I met them at a restaurant. We sat, talked, and ate for over three hours. We talked about everything: university life, travels, what it's like to live in Hong Kong on Chinese New Year. They even taught me a few words in Cantonese.

I realized the only reason I was invited to share their holiday was because, on a whim, I had gone over and introduced myself to them yesterday at a Study Abroad student tea party. They're fascinated with Americans, and it was uncomfortable to have so many eyes upon me. But I fought back judgment, and talked myself hoarse. That's not something I usually do, but I guess caffeine isn't the only miracle ingredient in tea.

Off to Paris tomorrow to visit Aunt Dale and Nancy Schwinn!