Cliche

Scatting sounds a lot like speaking in tongues.

That’s what I’m thinking as I sit in in the second floor of a pub, listening to a lady sing the blues. I’m one of the only Americans in a group of rowdy (yet absolutely hilarious) British kids. My next thought: How did I get here?

It’s been a long time since I’ve updated, and I’m sorry. I’ve been only slightly busy. After a whirlwind of orientation where we were basically barraged with carefully phrased common sense- Don’t overtip! Keep an eye on your belongings! Look both ways before crossing the street!- I finally got settled into my dorm at Hampstead.

Hampstead’s kind of far. At first, I was more than a little dismayed. Settled among mansions- apparently, Ricky Gervais and Russell Brand are only a couple of the marquee names in the neighborhood- it takes me easily 45 minutes, a half hour if I’m lucky, to get to King’s College’s Strand Campus, across from the Thames. I have to take a bus, then get on the tube, then transfer to another train, far more than I obviously ever had to do at Fordham, where at worst I had a half hour ram van ride to look forward to that pulled right up to my building.

I’ve been constantly comparing London to New York, a comparison that’s not really fair because they’ve both had such different histories. One thing that gets me the most is that after 12:30, the tube shuts down. Closes. Down for the count. It makes life so much more difficult when trying to get from point A to point B, amd I can’t imagine the subway closing down. I mean, sure, the trains might take forever on a Saturday night at 4 AM, but they’re still THERE. No need to walk a mile to find the nearest night bus to take you where you have to go. But the upside is that the trains are much cleaner here, with plush seats and a smooth ride. No orange plastic benches for the British.

Another surprise is the proliferation of Princess Diana stuff. Her face is plastered on every surface they could think of, most surprisingly shot glass. Getting hammered from a Princess Diana glass sort of creeps me out, considering how her death was partially due to an intoxicated driver. It’s like making Kurt Cobain bullets. But... I’ll still probably get one.

I hate to admit it, but one obstacle is dialect. Whenever I told people that I was studying abroad in London, the most common reaction was, “Oh, so at least you won’t have to learn a new language or anything.” Wrong. I feel like a jerk, since I’m constantly asking people to repeat things. And some words have completely different meanings. After telling my friends about the no pants subway ride, I was met with confused stares. “Wait, you mean they didn’t wear pants? That’s allowed? Or do you mean trousers?”

“Yeah, trousers.” The word felt weird on my tongue. I don’t think I’ve ever said “trousers” before. I felt like a fake, a wannabe, putting on an English dialect to fit in or feel cool. But it was an important clarification. Pants means underwear here. Which would mean a much more scandalous and less hygienic subway ride, and altogether unpleasant.

I also feel like an idiot whenever I open my mouth. I’d be sitting in a pub or on the tube, listening to everyone in their soothing Britishness and sophisticated sounding slang, and then someone would ask me a question and the spell would be broken the second I start to speak. Not only do I have an American accent, I have a MIDWESTERN accent, which is simply unforgivable. I was told I sound like Sarah Palin the other night, and it still stings. Meanwhile my British friends are shocked that I can’t tell the difference between their regional accents- I can get Irish, Scottish, and maybe even Liverpool, but that’s pretty much the extent of my differentiation. But the slight nuances in an Essex accent versus someone from Nottingham? No idea. I can’t even locate them on a map.

On the tube the other day, on my way to the school for the umpteenth time since I STILL don’t have my class schedule, and classes start next week, I found myself thinking about home. What shocked me was that it wasn’t Wisconsin I thought of, or even the US as a whole. I specifically referred to New York City as home, albeit in my head. I’ve never really considered it. Part of this trip to London is also city scouting- I have the advantage of not being tied to a certain place after graduation, and have considered moving to San Francisco and even LA, pondering becoming an ex-pat and living stylishly in London. I never said I was going to live in New York my entire life, so the sudden nostalgia I felt for it still puzzles me. I mean, I love it, don’t get me wrong. It’s a concrete jungle where dreams are made of, after all, no matter how grammatically incorrect.

But... is New York my home? I tell people I’m originally from Wisconsin, but since no one knows where that is, I just follow up with, “But I go to school in New York,” and automatically everyone knows what I’m talking about. Sometimes I even just skip to “Oh, I live in New York,” but I feel like that’s a lie. I haven’t been to New York in just over a month now. I know it’s totally annoying- I’m in London but I’m thinking about New York all the time, and my relationship to it. Though I’ve only been here a week, I can already see myself living here someday- it just feels right. But before I pack my bags, I guess I want to grasp just how much I’d be giving up.

Overall, I’m super in love with London, with Hampstead, with Ellison’s fourth floor. People have been so friendly, and I can’t help but just be totally, completely happy about my choice in coming here. I’m having FUN, lots of it, and I’m just enjoying myself.

That’s pretty much all I have for now. Sorry if it’s disjointed, I’ve been writing this for days. I’ll try to be better at this.