Heather in London

Hello, all. After months of silence after the initial novelty of blogging wore off, Socialite is back to chronicle the adventures of Heather in England. For those of you who haven't heard, I'm spending seven weeks in England studying Victorian history at Cambridge.

Yesterday marked my first experience in air travel. It went very smoothly, though I didn't get much sleep on the flight. I left the U.S. at 5:30 PM and arrived in London at 6:00 AM. I got to look at the countryside out of the window as the plane began to drop altitude. It was breathtaking. However, I find that some of the wonder of this experience (and others) was somewhat jaded by exposure to similar scenes on television. Looking out the plane window is not entirely dissimilar to looking at a TV screen. This makes me question the merits of travel documentaries and related media. Not to sound too melodramatic, but I think it hinders the expansion of the soul by creating a disembodied familiarity. Previous experience with the film versions takes away from the adventure of experiencing the real thing.

I won't lie- after the plane landed, things got rather stressful. It took a good fortyfive minutes or so to clear immigration, and then I had to collect my baggage and arrange to take the Gatwick Express to Victoria. I felt rather self conscious, as I've never traveled before. I sat on the train next to a very nice English businessman named Richard who had just dropped his son off at the airport. The stress intensified after I arrived at Victoria Station, when I had to take the tube (subway) to the neighborhood of the brother of a friend of mine who has graciously agreed to let me stay at his flat overnight. A friendly and slightly untillegible Jamaican tube worker named Rufus helped me purchase my ticket.

Trying to board the subway in the midst of rush hour with two heavy, large suitcases was a harrowing experience. I had to switch routes twice and lug my baggage up stairs, as most of the tube stations aren't equipped with elevators. Thankfully, several friendly travelers assisted me with my luggage at various points. By the time I reached the station near Jonny's flat, I was completly overheated and exhausted.

Jonny lives in north London near Camden. The high point of the day occured when I encountered Jonny's refrigerator. It's bright red and has the word "SMEG" on the freezer door in metal letters. I had assumed that this was a smart ass bachelor tribute to the vulgarity "smeg" frequently uttered in "Red Dwarf", but it turns out that Smeg is actually a popular Swedish manufacturer of kitchen appliances.

After Jonny left for classes, I took a brief nap and a shower and went outside to explore the area on foot for a few hours. I had coffee and a sandwich at a shop by the trainstation and read a few chapters in an economic history of Victorian Brittain that I was supposed to have completed before the trip. Then I wandered through a commerce center and eventually ended up at the Camden art gallery, where I had yet another cappucino and did some more reading.

Certain awkward yet pressing questions entered my mind...where are the bathrooms? What do I call the bathrooms? Do they have water fountains? Do I tip the wait staff? How much do I tip the wait staff? Do I look conspicuously like an obnoxious and bewildered American tourist?

Eventually, I negotiated my way around everything but the water fountain question. I asked Jonny about it later, and he said that they just don't have them in England like they do in America. He speculates that this is because people are likely to urinate in them.

My self consciousness depleted as I realized that the foriegners outnumbered the actual Brits. It's interesting to hear the immigrants speak English with accents that are mixed- Russian and Queen's English, for example. A barista named Svetlana talked with her fellow Barista (also an Eastern European) of the difficulties of her interracial, intercultural relationship with her Indian fiance.

Little bits of America were around to welcome me. A fast food restaurant advertised "lip-licking good" Southern Fried Chicken, and a strip club called "Secrets" proudly proclaimed that it featured "American style bar dancing." Thanks for the welcome London.