“To Thine Own Self Be True”

It was June 1985, spending a semester in London as part of the University of Michigan and Sarah Lawrence College Study Abroad program that three room mates and myself embarked upon a weekend trip to Paris.  Back then, there was no Trip Advisor or review to read on the ferries that took passengers from Dover, England to Dieppe’,  France upon which time, after going through customs at the port, one world board a train for the three hour or so, trip to Paris. Our accommodations in London were in the Knightsbridge area-not far from Harrods’ Department store-where we lived in a red/orange brick townhouse, about four stories with other college students.  On our floor was our ‘largish’ room with four twin beds and dressers drawers.  Also on our floor was another room of two guys, one from U of M (M.O.A., a Sig Ep-MOA stood for Man of Action, which he was the opposite of, just a nice guy and Richard from NYC and Sarah Lawrence College.  We all shared a very small bathroom with the tiniest shower I had ever seen.  There was a lounge area on the first floor and in the basement was a kitchen with a couple refrigerators that we all shared. Classes met on Monday thru Thursday with Fridays for free time to explore or get away for the weekend. 

     The girls in our room were my high school and college friend, Denise, a gal from my ADPi sorority, Karen from Grand Rapids and Esther, who lived in East Quad, I believe Denise had known Esther from class on campus.  

     The Paris trip had come about because our faculty advisor, Enoch Braden from U of M had arranged a trip to Cardiff, Wales the week before.  We all took the train up from London.  Upon arrival, we went to the dormitory were we were to stay at for the weekend, which the four of us found to be filthy and we had no desire to stay the weekend.  After a quick survey of the situation, we decided that it would be best to get on the soonest train going back to London to salvage the weekend.  Possibly this could have not been Professor Braden’s fault, as he too was lacking Trip Advisor and the reviews that are so readily available to us all forty years later. Anyway, we told him our plans and he didn’t seem to pleased with our decision but it was our weekend and we weren’t going to waste any of our precious time in Europe doing something or being somewhere we weren’t happy with (‘to thine own self be true.’) We decided on that train ride back to London that we would plan a trip the following weekend and that’s how Paris came about. 

     Somewhere along that trip back or over the weekend, someone told us or one of us that we should most definitely take the Thursday night mid-night ferry from Dover to Dieppe’.  “It’s just what you do. It’s the party crowd,” sort of like a rite of passage.” (Paraphrasing here, but how it must have come about).  All of us agreed that “when in Rome” -or in Europe for that matter, we most definitely shouldn’t pass up an experience.  The only problem was, really NONE of us were the party crowd.  All four of us were the kind of girls that liked our Lanz flannel nightgowns and none of us were night owls.  It’s kind of funny to think back that none of us considered that this might not be the best way for us to travel to Paris.  

     Anyway, we take the evening train to Dover, get dinner and then board the ferry most likely sometime around 11 pm or just after.  It was quite a colorful crowd as it was the time of punk rock and many on board were dressed in such attire.  There were a couple bands on different levels that set up, several bars and a few counters that would be described as snack bars.  Seating on board varied.  There may have been upgraded seating, but I don’t remember, but I do remember booth like seating facing one another with a tray in the middle (at the windows) and the majority of seating was bench seating, some in rows and some here and there.  It was loud, and as the energy level appeared to be rising, we all were getting tired.  In addition to the loud boisterous music we observed lots of drinking and some smoking.  We sat next to two American girls on the train from London who also were heading to Paris, they were beginning their summer backpacking adventure across Europe.  

     We stayed awake, barely and when we arrived in Dieppe’ we quickly went through customs-I’m guessing the agent was wondering what four girls like us were doing on that ferry too.  We did however, sleep on the train to Paris which took us to a beautiful train station the heart of Paris,  most likely the Gare de Lyon, it looked like something from WWII.  It was probably about six thirty in the morning when we exited the train station to the scent of bread baking and found an open bakery to buy croissants, so breakfast was easy, finding a place to crash at seven in the morning, proved to be a little more difficult.  Denise was the only one of us who was fluent in French so we depended on her to get us around and she did a good job. We walked around and found a place, Denise negotiated us getting our room ASAP and we all crashed for a few hours to rest and regroup.  We had discussed our ‘fly by the seat of our pants itinerary’ which included Montmartre, Sacre Couer,  the Louve’ (someone tried to heist something while we were in the Mona Lisa room when the doors locked,  but then quickly were opened once the matter was handled by security.  We took the famous boat ride on the river Seine, we ended up on a Russian speaking tour but we enjoyed the scenic cruise anyway.  We walked the famous Champs-Elysées’ saw the Arc de Triomphe How could anyone not enjoy Paris in June.  On Sunday we headed back to London, via the train to Dieppe’, crossed the channel-there was no Chunnel back then, and then the train from Dover to London.  On the train back to London, we saw one of the girls who we met on the front end of  our weekend trip, who  going backpacking.  He wallet had been stollen by the gypsy children in Paris and she just wanted to go home, her friend met up with some friends from school to travel with, to carry on.  

     All in all, it was a good weekend, but we were wiped out from the crazy all nighter we pulled on that ferry.  The nap on the train Friday morning followed by the early check in that Denise negotiated helped but we all realized that just because something ‘sounds’ like the thing to do, maybe it’s just not ‘your kind of thing to do.’  You have to know what kind of person you are and decide your fun and vacations accordingly.  Probably we should have taken the Friday morning trip, returning Sunday in the afternoon/early evening.  Since we all returned safety back to our town house and no one got robbed you could call it a success…

     On our way back, we decided to embark on another weekend adventure the following weekend and started planning a weekend trip to Edinburgh, Scotland.  Somehow we, most likely Denise, found us accommodations  at a nice little Bed & Breakfast (commonly back then called B & Bs). It was the home of a retired couple, Mr. & Mrs. Shannon, address, Coates Gardens.  When we got back Sunday night, we told MOA, one the guys who lived next to us, about our adventure and our plans for the following weekend. He asked if he could join us and we thought, “why not?”  He had explained to us that his roommate was not a great fit, not a problem but just not the kind of guy who wanted to travel beyond London.  When Denise booked the B & B she explained that there were 4 girls and 1 guy.  When Mr.  & Mrs.  Shannon showed us to our room, she said that she has the “brother & sister” in the room with the two twin beds and that the rest of us girls were in the room with the three twin beds.”  Esther, the nice Mexican girl from the Honors College at East Quad, offered to be the sister to MOA.  (His fraternity bros, had given him his nickname jokingly because he really was one of the kindest guys I ever met while I was a student at U of M). 

     The trip to Edinburgh was a complete success.  We took the 4.5 hour train ride up, took a cab to Coates Gardens to the lovely three story town house decorated like something from Masterpiece Theater.  Friday night, we went to a pub for dinner that happened to be one of the places Rod Steward played before he made it big. There was a black and white framed photo of him in soccer/football attire. The following day, we walked to the Castle and did the tour, shopped down the road to where the Palace is ( I bought a brown kilt and the red Princess Diana black sheep sweater). Staying with the Shannons was perfect for us.  They were probably surprised that we all were back home quite early at night-a much better fit than the midnight ferry to Paris. It was like staying with your grandparents. Mrs. Shannon make a delicious breakfast with tea, eggs  (“Scromboled” I can still remember how she pronounced scrambled eggs in her thick Scottish accent), bacon, scones and orange marmalade. They sat with us for breakfast.  When we paid for our stay she handed us a receipt along with Cadbury chocolate bars for the train ride home.  Mr. Shannon called the taxi to take us to the train station for the trip back to London and the two of them waved from the window as we rode away. 

     Recalling those three weekend back in 1984, good lessons were learned.  There first weekend that started with a train ride up to Cardiff, took one look at the dirty dorm and four of us decided, “NADA,” and removed ourselves from an uncomfortable situation even though it was a little uncomfortable telling the supervision professor that we were unhappy with the accommodations.  Lesson learned, “don’t stay somewhere you are not comfortable staying, make a change (we laughed at how quick we made the decision to head back to London).  The second weekend, we learned that we were not night owls.  And the third weekend we implemented the lessons we learned the following two weekends and we were true to ourselves. On the rainy trip back to London we looked back on  previous weekends traveling and decided that the next weekend, would be a good weekend to maybe just stay around London.  With it being the end of the first week of Wimbledon, next weekend would be the cumulating finals.  We ended up taking the train to the little borough of Tudor style homes and buildings that is Wimbledon on the following Sunday, which happened to be the 4th of July, where they play the famous grand slam.  In the men’s finals was Jimmy Connors vs John McEnroe.  It cost 2 pounds (the equivalent of about $2.30) to get into the grounds. There was no Jumbotron screen to watch, we sat on the hill and listened to the crowd, as there was no dome either.  The headline in the morning newspaper I picked up on the following day, “The Brat is Back!” McEnroe won. 

         Shakespeare’s quote “To thine own self be true” comes from Hamlet. Here’s the full quote:

“…This above all, to thine own self be true

And it must follow, as the night, the day

Thou canst not then be false to any man”

Shakespeare was referring to being honest with yourself, to live according to your own principles and to act in accordance with your true self. The quote implies that being authentic to one’s self leads to integrity which is the foundation of a good life and that by being true to yourself, you are more likely to be true to others.  

Back then, for a group of young girls to venture out like we did was safe. I recall the time we were in London one murder occurred and it made front page news.  London was a safe world class city to traverse in.  Several days a week, I headed out on a run that allowed me to explore different parts of the city, from the parks to the different areas of the city from Westminster, to Mayfair, to Nottinghill and so on.  It WAS fun to explore.  We did get in cars with people we didn’t know, not smart, I know and I wouldn’t recommend it but we had a good feeling about it when we did and it all worked out ok.  We all very much so, I’d have to admit, ‘To thine own self, we were true’ (sans the mid-night ferry to Paris) on that summer and we traveled as we wished.  Looking back, it was a semester of many…

Great Days 🇬🇧