From East to West: An American’s Cross-Atlantic Voyage by Jenny B. '25, MEng '26

I’m currently in the exotic land of England. Over a week ago, I flew into Heathrow Airport on a dragon, and then I rode with a group of knights from London to Bristol, where I currently reside in a castle.

I’m here through MISTI, or MIT International Science and Technology Initiatives. Through MISTI, students can either participate in internship programs with companies and labs all over the world, or teaching programs where students teach STEM and entrepreneurship at high schools in different countries.

Right now, I’m staying in Bristol with Anika (READ HER POST HERE), who’s another blogger! We’re both working in the Dexterous Robotics group at Bristol Robotics Laboratory, although we’re in different projects. It’s a relief that I’m staying with someone I know, since this is the first time I’ve ever been in the UK.

My journey involved three phases:

• Flying from Boston to London
• Taking the train from London to Bristol
• Taking an Uber from the station to the flat I’m staying in (I could’ve taken the bus, but I didn’t want to drag my luggage all over the place)

The Journey to Heathrow, Fortress of the Skies

The few days leading up to my flight to London were hectic. I was graduating, so along with the two ceremonies I went to, I was moving all over MIT and Boston with family. I finally got that damn diploma that I shed so many tears over. Then, I had to pack up everything that was left in my room, and I moved out of Next House. As someone who lived there for all four years of undergrad, it felt weird. But I’ll leave post-graduation feelings for another post.

I arrived at Logan International with Anika through a shared Uber, and then we went off to our separate gates — she was taking Delta, and I was taking British Airways. I pretty much bummed around at the gate for two hours, where I finished the rest of Season 2 of The Rehearsal.⁠01 One of my favorite shows ever. It's like my neuroses got turned into an HBO show. Admittedly, I was getting nervous. This was my first solo international flight, after all.

Half an hour before boarding, an old man rushed over and sank down in the seat next to me. He closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. Turning to me, he grumbled, “Of all the airports I’ve been in, Logan International is on my shit list.”

He sounded a lot like David Sedaris, with a similar amount of his wit. He asked me if I’ve been to the UK before, and I told him that it was my first time. When I asked him how much he’s visited, he said, “Oh, many times. I was a medieval history major back in my post-doc years, so I’ve given tours for cathedrals and such. England is a lovely place.”

It was an uneventful flight, and therefore a good flight. I watched Madagascar and the first half of Pee-wee as Himself, and then I dozed off. Throughout the short moments where I was awake, the sky sped from sunset to sunrise in only a handful of hours, like the world outside was on fast-forward.

My brief stay at Heathrow Airport was also uneventful. I was tired and gassy (shh don’t tell anyone else) as I waited for my baggage. I glanced down at my phone.

No mobile data. Uh oh. I turned the airport Wi-Fi on and off. Still no data.

Kids, when you get an eSIM before an international flight, make sure that it’s properly activated. I had to do this once I got to the flat, where there was stable Wi-Fi.

The Ride to Faire Bristol

Although I was data-less, I luckily had the foresight to download my train tickets beforehand.

I had to take two trains: through the Heathrow Express⁠02 There are two ways to get from Heathrow Airport to Paddington. There's the Heathrow Express (faster, but pricier) and the Elizabeth Line (a little slower, but cheaper). As tempted as I was to take the Lizzy Line, my heavy suitcase and jet-lagged state convinced me to take the Express instead.  from Heathrow Airport to Paddington Station, and then with the Great Western Railway from Paddington (London) to Bristol.

When I reached Paddington, I was greeted by a massive glass ceiling that arched over several terminals. I had half and hour to spare before my train arrived, so I tracked down the Paddington Bear statue for a quick picture. As I waited in an empty seat near the departure boards, I could feel sleepiness finally start to creep in.

PADDINGTON! I haven’t seen the movies

The train ride was about an hour and forty minutes, and I was asleep for the first half of it. But when I woke up, the English countryside was passing by my window. It was a landscape that I had only seen in TV shows and movies. It was beautiful. Horses and sheep occasionally dotted the fields. When the train went through Bath Spa Station, the track was surrounded by canals and elegant structures tucked between trees and hills.

The English countryside (imagine there's a herd of sheep somewhere)

Near Bath Spa station (yes it's called that)

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Yeah, I don’t have anything else to say about this part of the trip. It was my favorite part, though.

By the time I arrived at the station, I was famished. The melon sticks I ate at Heathrow weren’t enough to fend off the hunger pangs. As I hauled my luggage through the place, a warm savory smell drifted from one of the stores. I was so hungry that it might as well have sent me floating through the air like a cartoon character.

Sure enough, it led me to a nearby pasty shop. Pasties are kind of like folded pies, which are usually filled with savory fillings like meat and vegetables. One of the women gathered behind the counter saw me and said, “Sorry, love, our card reader is broken so we only take cash.” But luckily, I exchanged some dollars for pounds back at Heathrow, so I bought a chicken/bacon/leek pasty. To this day, I haven’t found a pasty that was as good as that one.⁠03 I was convinced that all pasties were like that, so I got a pasty at Morrisons, one of the major supermarkets in the UK. It was really, really sad. Edible, but sad. Maybe it was the hunger that warped my senses, but it was the best thing I had eaten in weeks.

Taking Up Resydence Withinst Our Noble Keep (Under the Suprevision of Our Landlorde)

I took an Uber from Bristol to the flat. Back in the States, I told my landlord that I would arrive at the flat at around 2 PM. When I got there, it was 1:30 PM. With no mobile data to contact her over Whatsapp, I awkwardly lingered around the front door with my luggage. I wished that I had bought another pasty.

A car pulled into the parking lot next to the flat. A white-haired elderly man stepped out with a bag of groceries. Curious, he stood and peered at me for a few moments. I nodded and smiled, and he waved back with a soft smile. He headed into the flat that was two doors down from me, dropped off the bag, and then headed back into his car before driving off.

I squatted there and tried to bust out a blog post on Microsoft Word before the old man came back, half an hour later. It was 2 PM, with my landlord nowhere in sight. He stared at me for a few seconds longer than before. Walking over to me, he asked in a quiet voice, “Are you moving in?”

Smiling sheepishly, I said, “Yes, I’ll be staying here for the summer. I’m waiting for my landlord.”

“Oh dear. You’ve been waiting for quite a while.”

And then, he says The Phrase.

“…would you like a cup of tea?”

If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve said, “Oh, I’m fine. But thank you!” Because why would I go into some guy’s apartment if I didn’t even know them?

But, this was not the United States. This past semester, all of the students in the MISTI UK program had to attend a handful of training sessions, where our program coordinator Stephen taught us that “Would you like a cup of tea?” is not just a question about drink preference, but a gesture of friendship and even comfort. To reject the Cuppa Tea is to reject such a gesture, to signal that I was not interested in establishing some semblance of social connection.

Heeding Stephen’s advice, I accepted. With a warm smile, the neighbor let me into his apartment.

The Neighbours

Now, you should be wary of stranger danger. I don’t want to set a bad example and say that I had a “feeling”⁠04 We all like to convince ourselves that we won't end up like the dumb college kid in a horror movie who wanders into a haunted house. that this would be a harmless encounter, especially since I didn’t have phone service. But, since I’m writing this alive and well, I have the privilege to recount what happened.

The man fixed me up a Cuppa Tea, which actually ended up being a glass of orange juice. We sat down on his couch with a polite distance between us, awkwardly sitting there in silence. I thanked him for the Cuppa Tea. I asked him if I could call my landlord, and he says, “Oh, I don’t have one of those handheld phones, but I have a landline over there if you would like.” He motions to an off-white plastic landline, next to a wooden old-fashioned radio and a pile of album covers for a band called The Drifters.

I usually get stiff around older people out of the fear that I’ll set a bad example for Generation Z, but I was even stiffer around this man. I was still trying to figure out English social cues, and I didn’t want to repulse this kind old man with American brashness. So, I tried out some light conversation.

“This is my first time in England,” I admitted.

His eyes grew wide. “You’ve never been in England?” he said, in quiet awe. “I’ve lived in England all my life,” he said, his eyes still wide.

Eventually, I said that I should check if my landlord is here. The man said, “Oh, I can take you to Matt, who lives nearby. He’ll probably have her number, since she used to live here.”

He led me to the other side of the row of flats, where he introduced me to a couple in their 30’s. They were quite friendly as well. “This is her first time in England!” the old man added as Matt let me borrow his phone. Right at that moment, my landlord pulled her car over by the street and hurried over to me. “I’m so sorry, my love!” she called. She wrapped me in a warm hug. “I was getting one of your keys copied, and it was taking longer than I thought!”

She gestured towards the old man. “And I see you’ve met Martin! He used to be my neighbor when I was here.”

“This is her first time in England!” Martin said, with the same amount of awe as before.

“Yeah!” my landlord said. “She’s from America! Isn’t that exciting?”

“Oh!” he said, his eyes growing wide with fascination. “I’ve never been to America. Would not like to, either.”

Not only does Bristol have rich artistic history,⁠05 So everyone knows that Banksy is (allegedly) from Bristol, but while I was writing this post, I found out that Massive Attack is also from Bristol. LIKE HOLY CRAP. I was so bummed out that I had to miss their concert back in Boston, but apparently it got cancelled anyway. You should listen to their music. but I’ve heard that Bristolians are known for being friendly and open. Even then, I didn’t expect the warm welcome I would receive from my neighbors on my very first day. I spent my last three summers on MIT’s campus as a student researcher, and as much as I enjoyed staying in Boston, I’m really glad I stepped out of my comfort zone to spend this summer in Bristol.

Anika and me, appreciating local art