An Interview with Richard

So, since I announced to my friends here that I'm leaving in July, there have been lots of "why?" questions. But my housemate, Richard, who has a much bigger heart that he gives himself credit for, took the time to ask me a couple of thoughtful questions:

What were the highlights of your time here?
In list form (and in no particular order),
  - my trips to Iceland, Spain, Scotland, Thailand/Vietnam and The Netherlands/Germany/Denmark/Norway/Scotland/France
  - the Royal Ascot (which was unlike anything else I did and which I was inexplicably REALLY excited about all day)
  - the Royal Wedding (which I didn't even intend to attend, but am so glad that I did)
  - seeing Wicked (which was phenomenal) and the Lion King
  - my little weekend to Battle and Canterbury (which was the only thing I really did alone, and was also the first time I ever cared about something considered history)

It's notable to me that very few of these highlights took place in London. For the most part, I used my time in London as a springboard to everything else I enjoyed. And I think that's related to my reasons for leaving. London was great for a short while, and I enjoyed the time I had there... But London just isn't the city for me. It's too big and I feel too disconnected and displaced. Turns out, I'm just better suited to a smaller city.

What will you take with you / What have you learned?
The obvious answer here is that I made some great friends. My housemates, travel buddies, fellow teachers and occasional pub partners made my trip what it was.

But I also learned a little bit about myself. Part of that is what I talked about earlier, relating to the kind of city I see myself in longterm. But another thing I know now is that I'm ready to start thinking about my life in a longterm way. I desire, unlike ever before, to start putting roots down somewhere. I want to settle, to live somewhere longer than a few months or years. I want to start investing and saving for a house. I've never wanted these things before (hence my tendency to just pick up and move to new cities). Now that I do, I really feel like something inside me has shifted - like I've grown up a little. I may even have become (dare I say it?) an ADULT. Yikes.

~~~~~

Since returning to Victoria, I've had a lot of "um... weren't you going to stay there longer?" In a nice way, I think people are a little confused about why I would move to one of the most famous cities in the world... and then come back. But I never really committed to staying there forever. When I left, I knew that I would either stay 6 months (the minimum term, and the remainder of the school year) OR for a longer time, on the scale of years. And when it came time to decide between the two (around the 4 month mark, when I needed to seriously think about booking a return flight), I knew that I needed to return to Canada. Given the aforementioned desire to settle somewhere, and knowing that London wasn't a place I could see myself living long-term, well, any more time spent there would kind of be... wasting time.

So here I am. All settled (except for a place to live... I'm still workin' on that one...) and happy back here in Victoria. I love that I walk down the street and run into five people I know. I love teaching back at my favourite school. I love that as I typed this sitting in a local Starbucks, a woman beside me asked me to watch her stuff... and that was completely socially acceptable and normal! I love being able to walk to a friend's house (and it doesn't take an hour on the tube to get there). I love the sunny weather!

It's good to be home.

London PRIDE

London's Most Fabulous were out and about for the PRIDE festival and they did not disappoint. In the spirit of celebration, I have decided to name the best and worst of the day.

And so, ladies and gentlemen, the award goes to...


Best phrase on a t-shirt - there's a tie in this category, because I just can't decide between "It's exhausting being this fabulous" and "Some people are gay. Get over it."

Best phrase uttered by a gay man - "that's so gay. " I befriended the gay couple beside me, and they, of course, were judging the train wrecks (or, as they called them, "gays without a cause") right along with me. The two of them reserved this particular phrase for those whom another gay friend I know would deem "unforgivably gay".

Best Protest against a Protest - the gay men and women waving rainbow flags and chanting "God loves everyone!!" as a response to religious picketers.

Best crowd I've yet seen in Trafalgar Square - I've now joined the crowd on both Chinese New Year and Canada Day, and this day probably saw more people milling around Trafalgar than both of them combined. The announcer said that over 1 million people were participating in the day's festivities - that's a LOT of people supporting PRIDE! Well done, London!
     edit: Since drafting this post, I've been reminded that I was also there for the Royal Wedding... during which the entire area AROUND Trafalgar was also packed. I also attended the Harry Potter premiere there more recently than PRIDE, and I had to stand in the middle of the street OUTSIDE the square just to see the screen. So I'm still giving PRIDE an award for excellent supporter turnout... but I suppose it's not the best crowd I've seen there.

Best show of support without flaunting promiscuity - while last year's Vancouver PRIDE day was amazing, I had to admit that the thing it seemed to promote the most was a promiscuous lifestyle. On the other hand, London's parade had 0 naked people prancing about, 0 packages of lubricant handed out, and very few clubs represented. Instead, there were loads of political, school, and religious groups whose supporters were happy to dress (somewhat) more conservatively and be just as proud of their support of the GLTB community.

and now for the worst...

Worst evangelistic idea (possibly ever...) -  set up right next to (and I do mean right next to, as in directly beside) the parade route were a group of men and women holding signs with Biblical verses printed on them. The preacher, oblivious to the crowd and its disinterest or disapproval, carried on with his (to most of this crowd) incomprehensible "Christianese" speech. I get that you think you are acting in love, and I understand where you stand on this issue, but come on... Did you really think that you were going to convert the masses this way? In this location, on this day? Give your head a shake.

Worst wardrobe malfunction - one of the drag queens in the parade was sporting ridiculously high heels, which clearly had been damaged at some point in the festivities. And the method of fixing chosen? Packing tape. Ugly, brown packing tape. I mean, honestly! You couldn't have used some ribbon, as I saw another queen doing? Wardrobe fail.

Worst handout of free swag - pamphlets and stickers. And that's it. No lollipops, drinks, condoms, flags or mardi-gras-style necklaces (all of which are handed out like they're going out of style at both the Victoria and Vancouver PRIDE festival parades). Lame. But, on the bright side... I didn't have to figure out what to do with all of that stuff afterward!!

Royal Ascot

To be fair, I hadn't heard of it before moving to England. But as soon as I got here, people were telling me it was a not-to-be-missed event. This is a day marked on high society's social calendar. The Queen even attends (and yes, we did see her as she processed along the race track in an open carriage - and this time I had a front-row seat)!

And so, I donned my large-brimmed hat, dressed up all fancy-like (which, if you've spent much time with me you'll know, is quite the rare occurrence) and headed to the races. And it was Fabulous-with-a-capital-F! Every gentleman and lady was dressed to the nines. There are actually dress codes that must be adhered to, and they vary depending on the ticket you purchase. But regardless of station, nearly every woman had donned a hat, or the ever-popular fascinator. Men wore suits and tuxes with tails (with major hot-points going to those who chose to add a top hat).

The races themselves were actually quite exciting. Although I didn't bet anything, I chose a favourite for each race (based on the highly scientific method of "which horse has the best name?"). I did pretty well, actually, for the first half of the day... But my method fell apart a bit after that and it was probably a good thing I didn't have any actual money on the line!

But even without having any vested interest in who won, it was still exhilarating to watch. The excitement of the crowd tangibly swelled around me as the horses approached and the race neared the finish line. Various names were shouted as betters cheered on their steed. And everyone else, like me, just shouted and cheered for the fun of it!

I couldn't help but notice the horses and jockeys responding to the energy of the crowd too. As they neared the finish line, I could see the horses' muscles working so hard, and the jockeys urging their animal to go faster and harder. It was almost as if the two of them fused into one muscular and powerful being. I know that sounds a bit hokey and poetic, but honestly, I've never seen anything like it!

And after all the races had concluded, I headed over to the Bandstand with Richard and Pippa for a good old-fashioned bandstand singalong. And I'm so glad I did! It was definitely a highlight of the day. Little union jacks were waving all over the place as the slightly-inebriated crowd belted out tunes by the likes of ABBA and The Beatles. The people were loudest, however, when they clutched their hearts, flung their arms over each other's shoulders and swayed gently back and forth for the more traditional English tunes: God Save the Queen, for one. This was English patriotism like I've never seen it, and quite something to behold. Definitely worth staying for.

Crossing the Street

Something I've noticed...

Here in London, but also in larger cities like Vancouver and Victoria (and even Barcelona), there's a certain way groups of people move across crosswalks. It's consistent, with little variation (albeit some). I'm talking about a large-ish group of people standing at the side of the road, at a light-controlled crosswalk which is red. How people get across that street (and when) depends on various factors, but primarily it comes down to familiarity with the city; it's a matter of not being comfortable knowing which direction the cars are coming from. For some, though, I think there's a sense of doing what you're told, when you're told to do it (these are people who wait for the little green man to tell them they can walk, regardless of how long they stand at an empty and quiet street corner).

Generally, there are four waves:

Wave 1: The Locals
    I would also include experienced travelers in this group, as they tend to absorb "localisms" quicker than your random vacationer. Locals are on the move, and efficient about it. They look both ways (or just the correct direction) six or seven steps before they even reach the crosswalk, so they can adjust their pace to skip through the oncoming traffic. They don't wait any longer than they absolutely have to.

Wave 2: The People Who Watch The Locals
   These are the folks who are paying attention to everyone around them. They see the locals go for it, and wonder what the heck they are still doing standing there! These ones will take a quick look both ways, making sure it's STILL safe, then jet across just behind Wave 1.

Wave 3: The Partners
   These ones pay MUCH less attention. They only go when they realize their companion(s) are already across the street. There's a startled look on their faces as they realize they've been left behind, then slight irritation passes over until they too run across the street. By this time, the light has changed anyway, and they look silly twice-over, because now they're running like it's red, and it's already changed to green.

Wave 4: The Tourists
   There's always one final wave of tourists who stare in awe at the people who have gone before them (because most of the members of the first 3 waves arrived at the light AFTER this group). But rather than jump on the bandwagon, they've patiently stuck it out and waited for the light to turn green, because, after all, that's the RIGHT thing to do. It's the SAFE thing.

And really, does it matter? Do any of us really get anywhere that much quicker? Nope. But we feel more efficient about our travel when we walk like the locals. And we can smugly (because, after all, this is London) look down upon those who stand and wait like fools.

I wonder if there is any correlation between my theory and pedestrians getting hit by cars... Hmm...

The Royal Wedding

Five months ago, before I left Canada: "Nah, I don't think I'll go. I don't care much about the Royals, so why would I brave the crowds?"

Two months ago, once I'd started talking to locals about their plans: "Nope, I'm definitely not going. It's a thing all the tourists will do. Every English person I've met is doing all they can to avoid it, even leaving the country for the 4-day weekend."

Two weeks ago, when the hype was getting a little more exciting: "Well, maybe I should go. I mean, when will I ever get this close to a Royal Wedding again?"

Two days before the wedding: "Okay, let's go down to Central London, but watch it in a pub or something. I don't want to get crushed by the crowd."

The day before the wedding, after a teacher I'd met offered to lend me her fabulous hat for the weekend: "Heck YES I'm going! I'm going to do the whole thing: get up ridiculously early, head right into Central London, stand along the Royal Mall, see the Royals. Get the whole experience."

And now? I'm really glad we went. It really was a moment in history. A once-in-a-lifetime thing to see all of the Royal family in person, right there in front of me.

Plus, it's all anyone talked about for days afterward. That night, Joe, Rich and I, all exhausted from our own adventures that day, collapsed in our lounge comparing stories and photos. Even now, a week later, when I meet new people, one of the first questions I'm asked is "and what did you get up to for the Wedding?"

This is what I tell them:

My friend Anna crashed at my place the night before so we could get up and out efficiently, without having to find each other in a crowd. The alarm had been set for 5am (seriously, who gets up at 5am on a HOLIDAY, right?). We got up, dressed, made coffee and were out the door shortly thereafter. After a quick stop to grab some provisions for the day, we met up with some other friends of mine and headed over to the Royal Mall (the long road leading up to Buckingham Palace from Trafalgar Square). Unfortunately, it didn't really work to be in a group of 5 and we ended up separating from those girls a little later.

As soon as we got through the gate and found ourselves staring up at the massive flags waving all the way up the Mall, we were distracted by an approaching journalist. He represented the Associated Press and wanted to interview me. Me? Yes, ME! He asked where I was from, why I was joining the crowd for the wedding, and then got down to his REAL reason for stopping us: gesturing towards my head, he said, very red-carpet-esque, "and, uh, WHO are you wearing today?" Seriously? You think this hat, which I borrowed from someone I barely know and has a "Made in China" label is designer? Well all right then!

"Vera Wang."

Yeah, I went there. I figured he clearly didn't know any better, since he was the one asking the question. (And truthfully, she's the only designer's name I could come up with on the spot). So he wrote it down in his little reporter's notebook, took my photo and told me this would all be on Twitter within about 5minutes. If I had any idea at all (or even any interest in learning) about Twitter I could tell you whether or not this claim was substantiated.

In any case, Anna and I kept on moving. We scoped out a pretty good spot, right along the Mall, with only two rows of people in front of us. And then...

we waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

Given that we were there before 7am, and the first royal car to drive by was at 10:15...we were there a while. But we chatted with the English people around us (who were actually quite helpful when it came to identifying the random royalty that drove by later) and listed to the Royal marching band entertain us with tunes such as "Copacabana". Plus, we did some people watching and texted people we knew who were watching it in other locations. Somehow, we passed the time!

From 10:15 until 10:50 it got VERY exciting. Starting with William and Harry, followed by Charles and Camilla, Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip and finally Kate herself, they passed right in front of us as they all made their way to Westminster Abbey. Every time a new vehicle was approaching there was a surge of excitement. Even I got caught up in it - and, as I mentioned earlier, I've never even been a particularly huge fan of the Royals!

I had assumed that from 11:00 onward it would be a bit boring as we all stood there waiting for them to come back. But oh, how wrong I was! The spot we picked turned out to be fabulous for another reason: there were speakers mounted just across the Mall from us, which broadcasted the whole wedding! That meant we could hear everything everyone said and sang. It was quite amazing, actually. As soon as the service started, the whole crowd was respectfully quiet - they wanted to hear it! And about two minutes in, when Kate said her first words, "I will," there was an absolute eruption of cheering from everyone around us. Being the cheeky smartalec my mother raised me to be, I just had to pipe in with, "wow, were you all really that surprised?"

The crowd continued to participate appropriately in the rest of the service too. We were quiet when we should have been and sang along with the hymns (they were published in programs). And then, when it was over and they were on their way back to Buckingham Palace, it all got very exciting again. This time the seating arrangements were a little different and Wills & Kate were first - and this time they were all in open-top carriages so we got a MUCH better look at them. They were waving and smiling to everyone! And we were all waving and smiling (and snapping photos) too!

When it was over, and we joined the throng towards the Palace to see the balcony bit (and the kiss!) I quickly realized that there was no way we were going to get close enough to see anything. So Anna and I ducked out of the crowd and made our way back to Trafalgar Square, where we knew giant screens had been set up. We got right into the thick of it over there, met back up with the girls we had separated from earlier, and watched the last part there. I'm really glad we did - we could see it perfectly, and the crowd there was just as excited to see it as we were (hence all of the waving flags obscuring the view!).

Once it was all over, I headed home to have a nap and then, as I mentioned, rehashed it all with my housemates. We all really felt we had participated in a "moment in history", and I don't think anyone would disagree. Years from now, when we are all watching their coronation, those of us who braved the crowds last week will be able to say, "I was there on their wedding day. I saw them moments before and after they took their vows. They were beautiful and they looked so happy."

But I also felt, beyond the grander "moment in history" feeling, a more intimate reaction to the event. The moment the service started, and everyone quieted down to hear them speak, it felt as though we all had been personally invited to the wedding. I mean, sure, we all had really crappy seats and couldn't see the bride and groom. But we were there. We were a part of it. I think that's what really struck me the most.

And finally, a note on Kate (or Catherine, the Duchess of Cambridge, as we're supposed to call her now). I'm actually quite impressed with her. Granted, I don't follow any news or gossip about her, so I only have my own impressions from the one day. But she seemed quite composed and happy for someone taking on so much responsibility. And she doesn't seem to expect the attention she receives, but rather seems to be surprised and appreciative about it. When she and William stepped out onto the Buckingham Palace balcony, and she looked around at the 2 million people who had come out to see them, the look on her face clearly read, "Wow...all of these people are here to see...ME?" And then she smiled naturally and waved and kissed her husband when she was told to and carried on responding to the crowd. So I have to say, well done, Kate! And good luck!

The rough side of London

I taught in a different area of London the other day, one generally considered to be 'rough', and it was as if I'd stepped into a different world. Some aspects were familiar to me: the streets looked the same, with poorly aged buildings and garbage on the ground. Street signs, as usual, were inconsistently located up high, down low, on the walls of buildings and on separate posts. Trying to find the school among the maze of roads and roundabouts was the usual challenge.

Except this time I didn't feel comfortable taking out my phone to use the GPS. The atmosphere made me uncomfortable, and I didn't want to carry my most expensive possession out in front of me, flashing my out-of-place status like a beacon.

I'm not sure I can accurately convey what it was that made me feel so uncomfortable. But this was a place where the faces of the residents were hardened into unapproachable scowls. The body language of every person I passed very clearly warned of aggression. Everywhere I looked I was receiving a message, loud and clear: I belong here and YOU do not. Just stay clear and melt into the background and I'll leave you alone.

So I did just that. I avoided eye contact, tried not to look at anyone for too long, lest it be construed as staring. I kept my handbag shut and zippered. And when someone spoke to me, I flinched, reflexively clutching it tighter (turned out that was a bit of an overreaction - he was just asking for directions, which I obviously couldn't give him).

Actually, I think, in hindsight, that my reaction to this place was largely unnecessary. I think I let my preconceived notions of what this area WOULD be like dictate how I felt. And when I was given a very few indicators to support the rumours, I generalized and let my imagination run, scaring myself into seeing and assuming things I needn't have. Gangs. Hidden guns. Pickpockets. Aggravated behaviour towards me.

But then again, I kind of look like an easy target. I mean, if I were a bit more "street", I'd probably pick on someone like me. White chick wearing very uncool clothes walking around looking up, down and everywhere like she's CLEARLY not from around here, clutching her purse like it's going to sprout legs and run away from her? Yep, like taking candy from a baby. Or lunch money from a nerd.

So I thought about all these things throughout the day as I taught in a VERY lovely, brand-new school (which, by the way, I ended up finding without incident) that seemed a bit out of place in the low-income surroundings. And I decided to just relax and play it cool and largely ignore everything and everyone around me as I retraced my steps back to the train.

And then I started hearing the growling.

I could tell immediately that it was a couple of dogs, and the sounds were getting louder with every step I took. Quickly, I came upon the two very tough-looking canines just up ahead of me. And it turned out I had cause to feel my initial concern. Both dogs were scowling and growling agressively. The muscles in both of their bodies were tensed for an attack. Both were straining at their leads and their bared teeth were about six inches from each other.

The only thing preventing the dogs from absolutely destroying each other were their owners, holding them back by their leads. But the guys were as relaxed as their dogs were tensed. They stood leaning back on their heels, arms crossed, faces expressionless. They both watched the dogs, but looked a bit bored doing it.

If I could have taken a picture without fearing I'd been beaten up (or worse) I would have. As it was I only dared a few glances. But the whole scene was quite a bizarre thing to behold.

When in Rome... (or England...)

It was time to do something very 'English'. One of those quintessential activities you engage in that make you think "Wow, I REALLY AM in _____". So I went with my housemate Richard to "The Boat Race". This is the annual Oxford-Cambridge rowing dual on the Thames. A little trivia for you: they've been doing it annually since 1856, except during the World Wars. For those of you who read/watched The Social Network, this is the race that the Winklevoss twins trained for, and lost. Hugh Laurie, of House fame, also rowed for Cambridge in the 1980 race.

Anyway...

As everyone does, we picked up a few cans of beer on the way down to the water. Once we reached the park and cracked them open, I noticed the police wandering around. Worried about my open-can-in-a-public-place, I tried to hide it a bit behind me. Not to worry, Rich informed me - while it IS technically illegal to be drinking beer in a park, it's all just kind of ignored until you do something REALLY stupid. Excellent!

Getting closer to race time, Rich and I headed to the waterfront. While he is a 6'7" giant of a man, I am considerably shorter and wanted to be right near the stone wall so I could see. Because I'm me, I started talking to some random people once we got there, and we became fast friends. With the addition of a friend of Rich's, the five of us were feeling the excitement of the crowd and getting anxious for the race to begin!

To pass the time, I started looking around me, doing a little good old-fashioned people-watching. It was impossible not to notice these guys first:

Amidst the crowd, they were dancing up a storm. Bedecked in their hats and prize ribbons, with bells strapped to their shins, they were making quite a ruckus. Apparently young children in England are taught the traditional dances, much like Canadian children learn to square dance and do the Maypole.

Next, as the crowds crushed in around us, I couldn't help but notice this guy:

Seriously? You came to this very busy and public event, stood about three people back from the edge of prime viewing area, and brought a book to read? Ah well, to each his own, I guess!

Some people were really serious about getting the best seat in the house. And apparently they felt said 'best' seat was up in a tree:

After much standing about, craning my neck to watch the preliminary stuff on the massive screen, the race had begun! The tension was palpable. People in London take this seriously, especially if they have personal ties to either school. Having no such ties myself, it didn't really matter to me who won. But, having done a little research before the event, I knew that Cambridge was favoured to win, that they won last year, and that they had won more past races (80, to Oxford's 75). So I decided to root for the underdog.

About 30 seconds after mentally making this decision, and JUST before I had a chance to open my mouth and make it very well known who I was favouring, I began to notice the large crowd of men to my right. Who were very clearly, very LOUDLY expressing their support for Cambridge. Hmmm... better keep my cheering a big more vaguely generic, then!

About 5 minutes after the race began, the boats were in view of our spot along the river. 30 seconds later, they were not. Unfortunately, because of the venue of the race, you can really only see them that long. That's why they have the giant screens set up as well - so you can watch the rest of it!

After the race, we (and every other person who had been watching the race) headed to a pub for a couple more pints. All-in-all, an excellent day! And I feel like a Londoner! Thanks for taking me out, Rich!


Oh... and Oxford won. Hooray!

I have a proposition for you...

I had dinner a couple of weeks ago with a friend and her very nice, very proper English parents. We were having a lovely evening in a little local spot, a Lebanese restaurant called Yalla Yalla. It’s in an area called Soho, which is an interesting hybrid of theatre-district, seedy-redlight-district and relatively-new-gay-district. The restaurant itself is frequented primarily by Londoners, as it’s a bit off the beaten-by-tourists-path. It’s loaded with atmosphere, but only about 20 patrons fit into the small space, so it was loud and a bit warm.

After the meal, my friend’s Dad stepped outside to get a bit of air. He came back about five minutes later, looking a little agitated. When he sat down, we had the following conversation:

Dad: ‘Well, that was interesting.’

Daughter: ‘Why? What happened?’

Dad: “I was just propositioned!’

Daughter: ‘You were what?’

Dad: ‘Propositioned! A woman walked up to me and asked me if I wanted a good time tonight. I told her I was with my family.’


I was in absolute hysterics by this time. My friend’s Dad was looking a little pleased at having had this little adventure in the streets, and it was just so perfect seeing this very proper man tell such a story.

Later, when we all left the restaurant, we saw this window illuminated in tell-tale red right above the restaurant. We’re just assuming this is where the aforementioned ‘lady of the night’ would have taken my friend’s Dad.

Only in Soho…

Little Venice

What's that? You're wondering who THAT random dude is? Be patient, my friends, all will be revealed...

~~~~~

On Saturday, Anna and I went on a guided walking tour of the area known as "Little Venice". I have decided that I really enjoy this method of being a tourist. It's a neat way to explore the city, someone tells you interesting things along the way, and it's good exercise too!

When I first stepped off the bus into this little section of London, I was struck by how different it looks from the rest of the city. It doesn't have the overcrowded-touristy feel of sites such as Piccadilly Circus and Leicester Square, nor the older-buildings-and-dirty-streets feel of the area I live in. This was something different. It was clean and white, with intriguing architecture lining the streets and canals littered with boats. I have to say, it bore no resemblance whatsoever to actual Venice, but it was nice nonetheless.

Our tour guide ("Shaughan" ... what a silly name! It's like his parents tried to think of the shortest name they could, then elongated it as much as possible) was pretty good. Not as good as the pamphlet made him out to be, but he was full of all sorts of random facts and there was lots of name dropping. Below are a few highlights from the trip.


Celebrities: Little Venice is home to many-a-celebrity, mostly within the music world. I definitely should have had my Mom and Alan with me, who would have appreciated these names MUCH more than I did, but we did get a look at the areas inhabited by the likes of U2's drummer, somebody from Pink Floyd, Annie Lennox, Kelly Osborne, the guy who created Paddington Bear, Joan Collins, and Michael Flatley (his house was nearly bought by Madonna, but she backed out at the last minute). Actually, we had a bit of a funny moment outside Michael Flatley's house; Anna hadn't heard of him, so I did a little "Lord of the Dance" demonstration to job her memory. I'm sure I did a wonderful imitation, because she remembered right away! The rest of our group was pretty amused as well :)

Status: The aforementioned celebrities take their little corner of town seriously. The little boats moored along the canal edges are a bit shoddy looking, but are actually functional. Lawyers (and other such ridiculously-too-rich people) actually use them to get into town. The mooring fees are upwards of £10,000/year, which leads me to believe it's a status thing to have a boat out front, rather than a practical solution to the age-old problem of having to take the tube with the "commoners". And there are signs up in the streets threatening a £500 fine for leaving dog poop on the sidewalk (are you KIDDING me? FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS??)). I guess they like their streets clean and pretty. But somehow I doubt they would appreciate me taking them up on the gesture they display prominently in their lawns: the carved pineapple, a symbol of welcome (apparently).

Trivia: Probably the most interesting viewpoint along the way was of the hospital in which Alexander Fleming worked. I remarked to Anna later how funny our brains are; when our guide started the story, he just mentioned Fleming's name. Out of nowhere, my mind associated that with one word: penicillin. I thought to myself, What? That's crazy. But, as I listened to the rest of his narrative, it turned out that Fleming was the man who invented the medicine! I must have learned this at some point in my educational journey. I'm sure I could not have answered correctly had I been tested on this knowledge, but somewhere in the recesses of my brain, the connection was still there. Random!

Politics: Partway along the tour, as we were merrily following Shaughan through a small park, we noticed we were headed towards some kind of demonstration. People were waving black flags with Arabic script written on them, and there were police surrounding the area. I have no idea what they were protesting, but a man came along and helpfully informed us that "The Arabs are taking over England!!!"  Likely not, but thanks for the info, Random Dude.

The Toilet: We had lunch in a little cafe called Toast. The food was fine, nothing to write home about. But it had the most bizarre bathroom ever!! The toilet had instructions on the wall, but they were all in Japanese. There was a scale on the floor. The light was blue and so low it seemed off even when it was on. It was dark enough that the mirror was absolutely useless. The sink (actually the coolest part) had a little fountain-type faucet that we both thought was pretty cool. Oh, and the toilet paper was sitting on top of the radiator, getting all warm and toasty. Which, not gonna lie, was nice. But also a fire hazard.

~~~~~

The Man in the Picture: Okay, you've waited long enough (these posts are so long, I'm amazed any of you make it to the end). There was a small group of people on our tour who did not speak English. It was actually fairly annoying that they had someone with them who could translate, because it made it harder for the rest of us to hear Shaughan. Anna and I pretty much tried to stand as far away from them as possible for this reason. Little did we know, the guy ended up being hilarious!

Our first encounter with him was about halfway through the tour. We had gone past a couple of random statues named "Man Standing" and "Man Walking" (I told you they were random). I ran over and told Anna to take my picture "walking" beside "Man Walking". Random Italian guy rushes over to me and says, grinning from ear to ear, "Married! He's married!".

Really? THAT'S only you English you know?

So I laughed and said, "I'm the other woman!" and took a much sillier picture.

Not five minutes later, the tour stopped right at the water's edge along one of the canals. As we had done at every single stop, the entire group huddled around Shaughan, then looked back, waiting for the Italian group to catch up. Except this time, they weren't hurrying to catch up. The man was climbing aboard a boat!! His wife was taking a picture, as if this was a neat tourist attraction. Nope, sir, I'm afraid that's just trespassing.

Fast forward about ten more minutes, and we're just walking along between tour stops. The man stops us for the third time (the first was to comment on my illicit affair with the statue, the second was to label Anna "Blonde" as if that was her name). This time, the only English he could spout was "Mafia" while pointing to himself. "I'm in Mafia!" Great, sir. That's just wonderful. We've somehow managed to make friends with a trespassing Sicilian mafia member.

And friends we were. At the very last stop (the hotel Freud stayed in), I was listening intently to Shaughan when I felt an arm wrap itself around my shoulders. Confused, I turned to see Mafia Guy with his arms around Anna and I, and his wife in front of me, taking a picture! Um, what? Well, all right. You've been hilarious, Mafia Guy. So, okay, you can take a picture with us. Good thing Anna was on the ball and handed the wife her camera too.

The Social Network

You know, it's been a bit weird. The connections, how it's all falling into place... it's weird. Good, but weird.

It started in December. I posted the following message on Facebook:
Okay, Network of Socialness, I need your help. I'm heading over to London mid-January and I don't have anywhere to live yet!! Anyone have any contacts over there who may be willing to help me out? Let me know if anyone needs a roomie, has a room or flat to rent, or even has a spare bedroom I could live in for a couple of weeks when I get there, while I look for a place. Thank-you!!!

As a result, my friend Terrence sent my email address to a friend of his, Tina. When Tina emailed me, she explained that she needed to return to Canada for the month of January to renew her working Visa. So, she said, I could stay in her room from January 13th (when I arrived) to the end of January. This, I thought, was perfect! I had somewhere to go when I arrived, and a base to work from while looking for something more permanent, to begin in February. Great! (And another big THANK-YOU to Terrence for making this connection!)


So Tina and I made plans. We worked something out for rent money, and discovered that our travel plans over Christmas overlapped so that we could meet in person and exchange the keys. One day in early January, I traveled into downtown Vancouver to meet this girl who had generously offered me her space. But how would we find each other? I told her what I was wearing, and we joked that this was starting to feel like a blind date.

When she walked into the Chapters location we had agreed on, and looked around for me, we both began to laugh. Completely coincidentally, we know each other! We both volunteered for an organization called Students for Literacy while studying at UVic. We also ran into each other on a TOC placement in Victoria a few years later. How random is THAT?!?!


But the randomness doesn't end there.


Fast forward a week, and I was arriving in London. I took a cab to the new place with all of my suitcases, and moved myself in. About half an hour later, I received an email from Tina saying that her plans had changed and she was NOT coming back to London, so my temporary-2-week room turned into a more permanent place. Which is great - I love my roommates and it was nice to just unpack once! That night, one of my new roomies (Joe) took me out with a couple of his friends. We had a lovely dinner at a great place called Cha Cha Moon. On our way home, Joe and I chatted about friends and teaching and whatnot. I have a School Break coming up in February, so I was telling him about my thoughts for travel plans and he mentioned that a few of his Teacher-friends are going to Egypt. I thought that sounded pretty cool and mentally added it to my list of "places to go while I'm living on Europe's doorstep."


The next morning, I finally connected with a friend from university, Nicole. She's been living and teaching here for a few months. She sent me a Facebook message with her phone number and invited me to check out the Imperial War Museum later that day. While checking Facebook, a message Nicole wrote to another friend of ours came up on my NewsFeed. In it, she mentioned her upcoming trip to Egypt in February! Hmmm...that sounded familiar. Could it be that my friend Nicole was ALSO a friend of my new roommate?


What are the chances, right?


So I walked into my kitchen to ask Joe if he happened to have a friend named Nicole who had studied at UVic. Yes, in fact, he did, and he was in mid-text-conversation with her, making plans to visit the Imperial War Museum!

Nicole had absolutely no idea that Joe and I knew each other (how could she? We'd only met two days prior!), let alone that we were living in the same house. And yet she was merrily messaging away, making plans with both of us simultaneously.

Life is crazy.

~~~~~

On a smaller, but still very cool note: A friend of mine from Victoria, Sasha, has a sister living here in London. Sasha connected us before I left Canada, and we exchanged a few messages (again, Thank-You, Facebook!). I finally met Emma last weekend. We went out for a drink and then she took me to a friend's birthday party. When her boyfriend Goran showed up, he was wearing a "Vancouver Mt.Seymour" t-shirt (which he bought here in London!). It was a nice little piece of home :)

Overheard by a Canadian: Episode 5

Typical message heard by passengers waiting for trains: "Your attention, please. The train to ___ [insert destination here] has been canceled due to _____ [insert technical jargon here] earlier today. We apologize for any inconvenience."


Today's message: "Your attention, please. The train to Luton has been canceled due to a passenger being hit by a train earlier today. We apologize for any inconvenience."




um...WHAT?!?!? You really couldn't vague that up a bit? Was it really necessary to announce it at all? I, for one, did NOT need to hear that right before I stepped onto your next train. And what about the "inconvenience" to the passenger?? I hardly think this apology covers it.

Why? Are You Writing a Book?

Picture this: It's the end of a long day of teaching, you are absolutely tuckered out and can't wait to get home. Ahead of you lies an hour-long commute by various modes of transportation. To pass the time while sitting on the bus, you are texting and playing games on your cell phone.

Suddenly, a woman gets up from her seat and walks towards the exit door. She rudely shouts out to the driver, "Stop the bus, please!" You glance up to see if the "STOPPING" sign is illuminated; if it is, the bus driver made a mistake. If it isn't, the woman is just crazy and rude.

The sign is illuminated, but further glancing reveals that we are not actually AT the stop yet. Unexpectedly, the bus screams to a halt. This is no ordinary okay, driving here is a bit crazy and the cars come within inches of each other and swerve to avoid all manner of things kind of stop. This is a slamming of breaks, oh look, there's a car IN FRONT of the bus and we're about to hit it and I can see the driver because we're about to T-bone it kind of stop.

But just as suddenly, your attention is diverted from the near-accident. The woman is standing in front of you, and you have the following conversation:

Woman: "do you have a cigarette, luv?"
You: "no, sorry."
Woman: "do you smoke?"
You: "no."
Woman: *pauses*  "how old are you?"

I'm sorry, is that relevant? But you're a bit taken aback by her blunt questioning, and it seems impolite not to answer. Plus, she is now leaning uncomfortably close to you and she reeks of cigarette smoke with undertones of gross-ness. So you answer her, thinking it might be the most expedient way of ending the conversation.

You: "um, I'm 27."
Woman: "what do you do?"
You: "I'm a teacher."
Woman: "a teacher?" 
You: "yes"
Woman: *pauses*  "clever girl"

At this moment, the bus pulls into the stop and the door opens. The woman abruptly turns around and exits the bus, at which point she asks the first person she sees if they have a cigarette. You wonder to yourself if she's going to have the same interrogative conversation with every person she attempts to bum a cigarette from.


As the bus pulls away, one other thought crosses your mind: in the immortal words of my Poppo, "Why? Are you writing a book?"

A Walking Disaster

In case I've been giving the impression that my life here is just peachy and everything is wonderful all the time, I'm writing today to set the record straight.

Truthfully, there are a lot of aspects of my life here that I do quite enjoy. There's always something going on, if I feel like checking out the town. I'm quite happy to be forced to do so much walking (and so is my waistline). My roommates are great and I've made a few more friends. My room is spacious and my bed is pretty comfortable. Life in London is good!

But I have to be honest, there are darker moments. There have been minutes / hours / days when I question myself, my choices and my vocation. I wonder if I'm really meant to be a teacher (or rather, whether I want to be a teacher anymore). I wonder why the heck I thought it was a good idea to move so far away from everything I know.

I'm not homesick. At least not in the way I've felt homesickness before. Heck, I've only been here two-and-a-half weeks; my heart is still in vacation-mode! But there are things I wish I still had. Friends' faces I wish I could see. Dinners with my family I wish I could share. A job I left that I'm only realizing now how much I loved. If only I could somehow mesh my lives - all of the best parts of Canada magically shipped over so that they existed here.

Apart from that, I'm still me. And, true to clumsy-Angela form, mishaps occur.

~~~~~

I was on my way to work on Friday morning, purse on my shoulder, my "everything I need today" bag in my hand. The first few portions of my walk-tube-walk-train-walk-bus-walk trip was complete, and I was about to catch my bus. The only glitch was that my bus stop had closed down the day before, so I was searching for an alternate stop. Crossing the street at a crosswalk, still craning my eyes to search for said stop, I was distracted by an approaching car that screeched to a halt at its red light (which the driver clearly noticed at the last minute). In that moment of distraction, my foot found a pothole in the ground and BOOM, I was sprawled in the middle of the street, belongings (and shoes) strewn around me.

Now, for those of you in Canada, I need to paint a bit of a picture for you. This is NOT North America. Pedestrians do NOT have the right-of-way in any and all situations. If you are crossing the street by foot, and a car is coming, it will NOT slow down for you. It will careen past, nearly missing you, honking all the while. And if you REALLY get in the way, the driver will stop the car, get out and yell at you for being in the way. Plus, the green-walk signs at the crosswalks are VERY short, so there's really no time allowance for crawling across a street while strangers pick up your belongings and you try to put your shoes back on.

In a panic, I managed to get to the side of the road, reassemble myself and my bags, and assure the friendly people that I was fine (I was not, but that's what you say when you're mortified). Still on a mission to find the bus stop (and still not knowing if it's going to even be there), I hobbled a block up the street. Fortunately, it wasn't too far, and the bus WAS listed, so I breathed a sigh of relief and sat on the tiny bus bench (picture a slightly slanted metal bar about 6 inches wide).

Immediately, nausea and panic swept over me. It's hard to describe what came over me, but a wave of black seemed to take over my consciousness, and I thought for sure I was going to pass out. The only conscious thought I could form was that I was NOT okay and I could not take care of myself. I began to worry about what would happen to me and my stuff if I did pass out at the bus stop. I considered stumbling into a nearby shop to seek help, but then the bus came. After a moment's consideration, I decided that a bus driver (in my eyes, a member of public service) could in fact be the best person to turn to if I did come to the point of not being able to care for myself.

It is a strange feeling to know that you are not well and not able to help yourself. I'm such an independent person that it is inconceivable that I might not be able to do things for myself and that I might need to put myself in the hands of a stranger in order to be okay. Frightening.

Anyway, I got on the bus. By this time, I had remembered the bottle of water I was carrying so I was drinking that. After about 20 minutes, I started to feel a bit better. Mind you, the pain in my right ankle (and my left knee, and my right thigh) was throbbing and I was constantly worried that someone was going to jar it again. I was sweating and peeling layers (scarf, jacket, etc.), with nowhere to put them but my own lap. Needless to say, it was probably the least comfortable 20 minutes of my life!

Finally my bus reached my destination. Gingerly testing my ankle, I hopped off the bus and limped up to the school. I've been there for two weeks now, so I'm well-known by the staff. My partner teacher and TA helped me with plasters (band-aids) and an ice pack. By the time the kids came in, the cold pack was wrapped tightly around my ankle, secured with my bright pink scarf (that's hot...).

The students were all my "helpers" for the day, retrieving items and putting things away. They were also very sweet about making sure I was "okay" and asking how I was doing.

The teachers urged me to go to the Hospital to get it x-rayed and checked out. Apparently, I can write to the Council for compensation if the hole I tripped in was "larger than a 50p coin" (which it DEFINITELY is). But I don't have my National Insurance Number yet (which means I'm not registered as a local to receive health benefits). I could use the travel insurance I purchased in Canada before I left, but it just seems like too much of a hassle when the doctor is just going to tell me to ice it and keep it up. I can think of those things all by myself...

Two days later, I'm still not walking properly. I'm a lot better than I was on Friday, but I'm still limping and don't have full range of motion in my ankle. Hopefully it's better again tomorrow, since I won't be able to sit around all day to rest it!

Things I Just Don't Think I'll Get Used To

When you move to a new country, it's your job to fit yourself into the culture. It's not acceptable to me that locals here will "understand what I mean because it's American and they're used to tourists or they've seen it on TV." I moved here, and I should adapt myself to my surroundings. Not the other way around.

But there are a couple of phrases I'm having a particularly hard time with.

#1: The Toilet. As in "Miss, can I use the toilet?" while I'm at school. Or "Excuse me, where is the toilet?" when I'm at a restaurant. In Canada, it's considered pretty low-brow to refer to it thus. We're much more accustomed to asking for the "bathroom" or "washroom." And to be honest, I have felt a little uncomfortable for my whole life even using those terms. I'm too dang Canadian, and it seems impolite to mention by name the room in which we do things which we do not mention in polite conversation. But here, they just ask for the porcelain throne itself! I have to physically force myself to use the word toilet. In fact, I rewrote that last sentence three times because I didn't even want to type it. I didn't want you to read it, hear my voice in the writing, and listen to me say toilet. But I suppose if you were here with me, you'd hear me say it out loud. So there you have it. I've said it. Toilet. Toilet, toilet, toilet. Perhaps if I repeat it several times, it will become more comfortable and roll off my tongue with ease? Perhaps not.

#2: "Are you all right?" This is the default question over here. It's akin to "Oh, hi! How are you?" back home. Each and every time I walk into the other Year 1 class, the teacher says "Are you all right?" Every time my Agency consultant calls me, he asks "Are you all right?" It's CRAZY, I'm telling you! In Canada, you only ask someone if they're all right if you think they're not. It took me a full week to understand that they weren't actually concerned about me. I wasn't walking around looking like I was going to fall down or burst into a rage. It's not concern people are expressing, necessarily. It's just the way they greet you.

#3: The Light Switches. They're all upside down! Upon reflection, I suppose it doesn't make any more or less sense to designate "ON" as "up" or vice versa. But I've spent 27 years walking into rooms and flicking a switch up. So it's hard to adjust to flicking it down every time. I think this will be the thing I just get used to over time. Turning something off by flicking up will become second nature; then, when I return to Canada, it will feel wrong again. Oh well... c'est la vie!

A SECOND Day in the Life

Day 2's recap requires a little less explanation:

• not raining
• not late
• totally organized
• crazy-kid-that-I-was-warned-about pretty much did a 180degree turn in behaviour, largely in part to the sticker-reward system implemented by his TA and followed-through by me
• HOWEVER, two other kids started acting out like crazy, because they "wanted a sticker chart too"
• actually had time to EAT my lunch during the break
• HOWEVER, got just a few too many details about a staff member's current attempts to get pregnant right now... ah, well, it was nice to have someone to chat with! 
• met my new "from-Victoria-now-living-in-London" friend Anna for delicious (and cheap!) pasta dinner.

It's aaaaallllllll goooodddddd.....

A Day in the Life

A record of my first day of UK Supply:

6:30am: Alarm rings. I am tired. VERY tired. I still have not fully adjusted to the time change, plus I was pretty ridden with anxiety last night over my first day ("will I get there on time? will the students be as difficult to manage as everyone says? what if it's crazy but they like me and I have to go back all week? what if they DON'T like me? what if my alarm doesn't go off in the morning? what if...? what if...? what if...?"). So it's an early morning. I still feel all of those insecurities and worries as I get ready to leave the house, but I also have the "I can do this" calm that I get every morning before tackling a new teaching assignment. Most of this anxiety isn't new - I felt it when I taught in Victoria too. But there are a few added stresses doing it for the first time here.

7:15...well, 7:20am (okay, I admit, I was running a tad late): Leave the house. And, for the first time since I arrived, it's raining. Of course it is. I'm carrying my shoulder bag, my lunch, my teaching bag, an A-Z map of London book and a tube map. Oh, and an umbrella. I look (and feel) ridiculous. And I'm getting wet. Of course, I'm also getting warm, because, for the third time in four days, I've worn too many layers before hoofing it to the tube station, and I'm sweating already. Now that's attractive.

8:40am: I'm lost. And late. The first few legs of my walk-tube-walk-train-walk-bus-walk trip (seriously, that's the easiest route to the school) go pretty well. But apparently there's a difference between Kentish Town West (on the Overground Line) and Kentish Town (on the National Rail Line). Who knew? I find myself at the wrong end of town, searching for a bus station that is nowhere to be found. I must look pretty distressed at this point, because a very nice man asks me if I need some help. He directs me to Kentish Town Road, where he says I'll find the station I'm looking for so that I can find the bus stop located outside of it. His directions aren't exactly correct, but miraculously, the bus I need goes up this street and I am able to get on it (after some more help from a couple of teenage girls who don't really know much more than I do). Phew, I'm on the bus. I check with the bus driver, and yes, I'm definitely on the right bus.
But wait, there's more. Because of the mix-up and all of my extra walking around, I'm now sure I'm going to be getting to the school JUST in the knick of time, if not late. I am feeling TERRIBLE about being late! I can deal with everything else, but I've NEVER been late to a school placement and I can't believe I'm starting now! I phone the Office so they can phone the school to let them know. He asks me if the stops are being announced, because that's the only way I'll know when to push the STOP button on the bus. And yes, that's right, I'm on the one bus in the city whose announcing mechanism STOPS working about halfway through my trip. So I have no idea when to get off the bus. Time to bug the bus driver... again. "This is the bus to Meadow Drive station, isn't it? The announcement will come on for Meadow Drive, won't it? I haven't missed Meadow Drive station, have I? This woman DEFINITELY knows where I'm going.
Finally, we get to the right bus stop (she announces it personally with her microphone, even though I'm sitting 2 rows from the front), and I get off (still carrying loads of things, trying to balance an umbrella and hitching up my pants so that I don't arrive looking completely like a drowned rat with wet pant-bottoms).

8:50am: School starts. Oh, and I arrive at the school at the same time. Awesome. As any of you teachers reading this will understand, this is pretty much stress-central right here: I'm walking in unprepared, every adult I speak to warns me that this class is "chatty" (which is universal code for "misbehaving"), and they've had 3 supply teachers (TOCs, for those of you in Canada!) in the last 3 weeks. Awesome. Luckily, I have a prep for the first 30min, so I'm able to get a handle on things (a bit, but not nearly enough, as my 9:30 lesson requires set-up).

12:00pm: Lunch. The kids leave the room and I embrace the sudden quiet. You don't realize how loud they are until they aren't there! I assess how I'm doing at this point. I've been a bit haggard this morning, running to keep up and not really feeling on top of my game (and no, I don't give myself any leeway for it being my first day - I'm a professional and I should always be my best!). I couldn't find some of the materials listed in the lesson plans I was given, so I just made do with what I could. The other Year 1 (Grade 1) teacher touched base with me in the morning and mentioned that it was okay for me to deviate from the lesson plan as long as I covered the topics in a similar way. So that's what I've been doing. They learned the right things, just not the same WAY they would have from their teacher. And that's okay.
I take full advantage of the 1h15min lunch break to get myself ready for the coming afternoon.

3:20pm: Dismissal. The afternoon has gone much smoother. We've all had a chance to get comfortable with each other, I was much more on-the-ball after that lunchtime cup of coffee, and the students were engaged and working hard. Aside from a lot of chatter (and I don't necessarily mean misbehaviour this time, just noisiness) and the two kids who decided to punch each other during the afternoon playtime (recess), things went well and I'm feeling a lot better about the day (and about myself as a teacher too!). And you know what, those cute little British accents made it all okay in the end :)  (How CUTE is it to hear "Miss, can I go to the toilet?" about 15 times while supervising the break?) And the kids and I are enjoying each other. One student walked straight up to me, gave me a big hug and said, with a huge grin, "Miss, I like you!". Another made me a card: "Miss Corni. I like you." Pretty darn adorable!

4:00pm: Call from my Agency. A woman from the agency calls to ask how my first day went (I have to say, they have been quite helpful and supportive today!), and to let me know that the school would like me back for the rest of the week (there's a couple of those anxiety points taken care of - they like me AND I want to go back!). So I spend another half hour in the classroom getting ready for tomorrow. There are a few things I'll need to get ready in the morning, but I'm pretty much ready to go and feeling much better.

4:30pm: On my way home. I've morphed back into a tourist (ugh!). Determined to figure out the CORRECT route between the school and my house, I take out the A-Z map (it's a book filled with all of the street maps in London) and follow the bus's route with my finger. Eventually (with a little texting help from my super roommate), I make it home unharmed (ah, so THAT'S where the Kentish Town station is!). Oh, besides the giant puddle I walked beside at the same time someone drove through it. Awesome. Now my feet are drenched with puddle water.

6:00pm: I'm home. A couple of Skype dates with Mom and Teci (yay!), and my day is officially over. I close my bedroom door, hibernate inside watching old episodes of The Big Bang Theory and work on crocheting a hat (and I think I'm actually going to keep this one for myself). This is my happy place. And hopefully I'll sleep better tonight!

My, How I've Changed

I came to London for the first time 9 years ago. I was young, I'd never seen anything of the world, and I was very excited to explore it. Monica and I share many memories of being young and silly while on our 6-week backpacking trip through London. When I think back to that trip, I just have to shake my head at us. Seeing Big Ben and not realizing it until later that night, going to bed most nights around 9:00pm, our homesick breakdown in Belgium... oh, how young we were!! But we were also very excited about everything we wanted to see: Loch Ness (too bad we didn't actually make it - wait, that's another silly moment), David (oh, no, we didn't see that either, did we?), Pisa (yes, we did actually make it to that one), Stonehenge, Trinity College in Dublin, Piazza san Marco in Venice, and all the other beautiful things that we saw, took pictures of and created memories of. We were bright-eyed and keen to explore it all, to make the most of every single minute we were in Europe. It was the trip of a lifetime!

And now 9 years have gone by. Naturally, I have made comparisons between that first trip and this one. While London remains virtually the same, my experience of it has been quite different thus far. The following are a few of my thoughts on various aspects of "London life".

On Being A "Local":
It's a different experience moving to a city you've only ever been a tourist in. I felt a bit of this when I moved from Langley to Victoria, having been a tourist there many times during my childhood. It was different and fun to transform myself into a "local", getting to a point where I was looking slightly down my nose at those pesky (but highly amusing) tourists who took pictures of everything, walked around with maps in their hands and actually waited for lights to change before crossing the narrow streets of downtown.

And now here I am, doing the same thing again. Except this time I feel a yearning to be a local. I don't WANT to use the tube map; I just want to have it memorized already. I don't WANT to look the wrong way when crossing a street, so I just shift my eyes and slightly shift my head to check BOTH ways (I don't want to get hit either!).

I'm also spending a lot of time and energy adjusting to a new life, trying to be responsible and attempting to feel as normal as possible in an unfamiliar setting. I'm attempting to curb the effects of jetlag by going to bed at normal times (although last night's trip to a pub and the hour-long commute home didn't help!) and getting up early too. I'm eating as healthily as possible (which is helped by the fact that all my body seems to want these days is yogurt, toast and apples). And today I spent the morning wandering around my area, visiting the grocery store, dollar store and library. 9 years ago, I would have spent the day hopping from Leicester Square to Buckingham Palace (making jokes, getting lost and taking pictures along the way). But I just have this calm sense that I'm going to be here for a while, those attractions aren't going anywhere, and it's more important for me to settle than to sight-see right now.

On Being Impressed:
This isn't to say that I haven't seen anything touristy yet. Actually, I had a bit of a funny moment yesterday. I was meeting some friends downtown as we were headed to the War Museum (which, by the way, was fantastic, sobering and massive - we were there 3 hours and didn't come close to seeing everything). When I exited the tube station and came up at Westminster Bridge, the London Eye was there in front of me. I turned around to see Big Ben looming overhead (and yes, I knew what it was this time). My heart lurched a little bit seeing these famous sights, and a load of memories and emotions washed over me. In a flash, I thought back to the first time I had seen it, I connected with my UK ancestral roots (and thought of Nana), and the first coherent thought that came to mind was "Hellz YEAH, I live here!". It was a pretty exciting moment. Then I strode off across the bridge (camera-less) and dodged around the hoards of tourists taking pictures of both sights. All this is to say, even though time has gone by and I'm older and a little less keen now (see that British slang making its way into my writing already?), the sights, as they say, are priceless. And no less exciting to behold.

On Double-Decker Buses:
The one thing we did NOT do in London 9 years ago was ride a double-decker bus. I can't even remember why, but it probably had something to do with being too shy to ask how to use a bus. Again, we were young and silly. In any case, it has always been one of those "I can't believe we didn't do that" things (akin to not riding a gondola in Venice). Two nights ago, I rode a double-decker bus, on the top deck, just like I'd always pictured myself doing once I arrived here again. And I thought to myself, "hmm... This feels just like a bus in Victoria. Why have I been waiting 9 years for this?". I have a feeling returning to Venice and riding a gondola won't carry the same disappointment (at least I hope not!).

On Noticing My Own "Accent":
For the first couple of days here, I really spent an inordinate amount of time hearing my own voice and noticing how different it was (no jokes about that being related to how much I talk, please!). And yes, clearly I sound different from the Brits around me. But honestly, there are so many people speaking so many languages and with so many international accents, it's not that weird that I have one too. It helps that I live with a Canadian, and that half of the friends he's introduced to me are not from Britain (they're from Canada, Slovakia, Italy and New Zealand). Shopkeepers and servers have varied accents too. So I'm feeling less and less "different" as the days go by.

~~~

Life will go on, I will eventually see all of the sights and museums (most of which are FREE! I don't remember it being that way when we were here before!), and I will begin the working life on Monday (yes, I'm already booked to teach a full week). And I'm sure my impressions of living here will change a thousand more times before I head back home. Or perhaps I'll move on elsewhere, only to form new memories and create a new life in yet another new city?? We shall see....