Paul Reggentin: An Introduction

Hi, this is Paul. I’m one of the Roger M. Jones Fellows this year. Along with Sonia, I’m studying in London. I’m taking an MA course in Comparative Literature from King’s College London, which starts tomorrow. Here’s a quick update on my first week in London.

The first thing I did in London was fall asleep. I set a 30-minute alarm; when that woke me up, I set another, and, after that, another. In total, a 90 minute nap.

In my defense, I had just been on a red-eye flight from Orlando, a flight on which I was the only person not a member of a family fresh off of a week at Disney World. Out of the many dozens of children on that flight, some were happy to be returning home, some were sad to be leaving Disney, some were excited to be on an airplane, some were bored to be on an airplane with nothing to do, and some had to use the bathroom, but all were expressing their feelings clearly. I was also seated one row in front of two infants.

It’s a weak excuse, sure. It’s hard for me to justify doing the one thing I can do anywhere in the world in a city that offers any number of things I can’t do anywhere else. But eventually I did get out of bed and into the city.

The first thing I noticed, which looks foolish now that I type it out, is that London is a really big place. Not only is it big, it’s sprawling. There’s no organization to the streets whatsoever. They make abrupt turns, split, merge, become suddenly one-way, and, in addition to all that, none of them are pointed in the same direction. As a mere pedestrian in the middle of such chaos, I am nearly always disoriented. One benefit of the constant confusion, though, is that I’ve wandered down many interesting streets with many interesting names. Names like Garlick Hill, Threadneedle Street, Limeburner Lane, Puddle Dock. Just outside the financial district, I found a series of streets named Milk Street, Wood Street, Cloth Street, and Oat Lane, which I learned had retained their names since they served as medieval markets selling those goods.

I found myself tripping over history many times throughout the week. Entering an art museum on a quiet square one afternoon, I spotted a sign reading “Roman Amphitheater: Basement”. Down two flights of stairs were, in fact, the foundations of the amphitheater from the era when London was a Roman colony. I also ran across one of the few remaining buildings that survived the Great Fire of 1666, the gravesite of Daniel Defoe, the house where Samuel Johnson composed the first English dictionary, and, just behind a massive glass-and-steel bank headquarters, a section of the city wall built by the Romans.

Every place in this city is hiding generations of history. I can’t wait to spend a year both uncovering the past and working towards my future.

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