Mind the Gap

The London tube is much nicer than the New York subway. I know I’ve said that before, but it still holds up. Probably most helpful is the constant reminder to “mind the gap.” In the subway you’ll just hear, in a strong New York accent, “Watch your step,” if even that. “Mind the gap” just sounds better, and when paired with a generic English accent, it’s downright sophisticated. The reminder is completely necessary, however, because sometimes there’s legit a foot of space between the train and the platform. At first you’ll be standing on the edge of the train, ready to step forth into oblivion, until you remember that helpful prompt, look down, and realize just how far from the edge you really are.

That’s how London can be for me. Sometimes I forget I’m in England at all. We could be out in Shoreditch and my mind will somehow transplant me in the East Village, until I try to cross the street and remember the cars are coming from a different way. Or I’ll be sitting in my dorm, watching the clouds pass by from my window, lost in a book, and it won’t be until I hear some students pass my room speaking in English accents that I’ll realize I’m not in Wisconsin anymore. It can almost be like some bizarro world, where everything is so similar yet there’s still something fundamentally different that I just can’t place my finger on. We speak the same language, but with different accents and many different phrases. We watch a lot of the same shows and listen to a lot of the same music, until someone will make a reference to an English pop culture standard that everyone will understand but me, the American, who had never heard of it before. We eat the same food, in theory, though I’ll never understand this country’s obsession with Marmite and fish, and their insistence on adding ketchup to their different-tasting pizza. Books have different covers but the same insides, they begin numbering their floors at zero, making what’s technically the second floor labeled floor one, and even the toilets are different. It can get surreal, though I do want to clarify that I’m not saying one way is particularly better than the other.

One thing that’s struck me as surprising about England is how few people here ever admit to really loving their country. It’s not necessarily that English people hate England, rather that they’re just not nearly as vocal about their national pride and tend to be self-deprecating about this island nation as a whole. In America, you’re bashed over the head with patriotism from birth. The Fourth of July isn’t just a national holiday, it’s practically a holy day, where George Washington and the other Founding Fathers are deified to the extreme, messiahs to save us from tyranny and sin.

Probably an odd observation, but something I noticed none the less, is how few British flags there are hanging around. It’s not like I’m some weirdo who goes judging nationalism based on the number of patriotic symbols you can have hanging from your window, but I guess after living in America, where every other building has an American flag on display at least somewhere, and a lot of businesses do as well, I couldn’t help but see how few Union Jacks were flapping in the London wind. Hell, I’ve seen more houses back home with Wisconsin state flags than I have buildings here with the national standard. I’m not making any judgement, just stating something I’ve noticed.

“So,” one of my friends asked me, somewhat tentatively, as if afraid it may be a touchy-subject, “is it true that all Americans have to say some sort of pledge every morning before school?” After my affirmation, I was somewhat surprised at her reply of “Weiiirrrrdddd... just a little brainwashing, I guess.” I recited the whole thing, from memory, something I know I can do in my sleep if I wanted, after about 14 years of saying it every morning from preschool to high school graduation. Since I went to Catholic school all my life, I grew up starting the day with a prayer, facing the cross, then, depending on the layout of the classroom, shifting to face the flag, moving hands from folded across our midsections to letting the left arm drop and placing the right hand over the heart. Our pledge pose is almost more reverent than the one we use to speak to our Maker, with our hand placed directly over our lifelines rather than the lazy clasping of fingers we use for prayer. Through the pledge, from the words to the stance, we’re not just giving America our “allegiance,” however you interpret that to mean; we’re giving our hearts, minds, and very souls to the Union.

Maybe it is kind of weird, now that I think about it. I guess I just always assumed other countries had something similar, where schoolchildren were made to stand and pledge allegiance to the flag of wherever they were from as well. To be honest, I kind of like the pledge, besides the “under God” part, but that’s an entirely separate issue. Maybe it’s because I’m so used to it, I can’t imagine starting my morning classes as a kid any other way. Call it brainwashing, call it naivete, but I just don’t see what’s wrong with it.

English perceptions of America can be slightly terrifying. Someone once asked if it was true that most Americans were creationists. It was a relief to the kitchen table when I replied that not even a lot of Americans were, just a very vocal minority. Sarah Palin is probably the most famous American politician right now just barely after Barack Obama, and many people here take it for granted that if you disagree with one, you must automatically agree with the other. I’m not shy about my politics, and I’ll gladly tell anyone who I voted for- it’s never been a secret that I cast my ballot for McCain, and still consider him a great personal hero. I have, however, learned to be quieter about the “why” aspect of my politics, after an extremely difficult year. I’ve never felt the brunt of my peers’ anger more so than during and immediately after the election, so I’ll just say that while I self-identify as a Republican, I’m not going to explain my reasoning besides to say it’s personal and I’m not comfortable with the inevitable judgement. But I will make it clear- just because I don’t agree with Obama, does NOT mean I support Sarah Palin in any way, shape, or form, and I definitely do not aspire to be like her. Just, you know, clarifying. Cause that’s necessary.

Whenever new people ask me where I’m from, I respond with “the Midwest, but I go to uni in New York.” This ups my cool factor considerably, cause English people LOVE New York. Seriously. Forget LA, screw Miami, sorry Chicago, here it’s all about NYC. When I first met my English roommate Jess and answered the requisite “Where are you from?” question, she just laughed and said, “Everyone here wants to go so badly to New York but you actually leave THERE to come all the way HERE,” like I was sacrificing a suite at the Ritz for a closet at a Holiday Inn.

It’s not just the affinity for songs about New York, or movies placed there. Probably what I find the strangest is the massive proliferation of Yankee’s caps. They’re EVERYWHERE. When I first moved into the dorm, my program had given us money to spring for a cab, useful with all our baggage. My cab driver was a younger guy, pointing out any landmarks we passed- Abbey Road! And, um, the place where the tube got bombed. But hey, Abbey Road! When I mentioned I was in from New York, he got excited. “I love New York!” he exclaimed, “I’ve never been there, but look at my cap!” He gestured towards his hat, a black baseball cap with the familiar entwined Yankees logo. At first I thought it was a fluke, that I just happened to have a New York-phile cabbie. But nope, Yankees are HUGE here, without any of the interest in the actual sports involved. When I walked into tourist shop to pick up some postcards, I was surprised to find Yankees caps tucked in between Princess Diana shotglasses, Big Ben piggy banks, and Tube Map condoms. Why sell memorabilia from a completely different city in a completely different hemisphere in your tourist trap? The answer eludes me.

Coincidentally enough, I’m currently sitting in the dorm kitchen next to my friend, who, though having never been the NYC, is wearing a “Zoo York” shirt, with a Brooklyn Bridge design and the Yankee’s logo with the N switched out for a Z. Underneath that bridge is the word “Unbreakable,” which I guess it is, at least true in comparison to London Bridge’s penchant for falling down. Or, you know, at least according to the song.

There’s a book out here called “Brooklyn,” by Colm Toibin. I haven’t read it, and by the sounds of the description, I likely won’t. But the ads for it are everywhere in the Underground, massive posters that don’t have the Brooklyn Bridge on display, or maybe the Manhattan skyline as seen by Brooklyn. Nope, they just show the Empire State Building, up close and personal, as if to drive home the point that the book has something to do with New York City, no matter the borough.

What is it with New York here? If anything, it just makes me a bit nostalgic for Fordham, Lincoln Center, and Manhattan in general. I don’t easily get homesick. I never really have. But all this New York love does make me miss it, my favorite city, the place that’s kept me sane for the past few years. I’ve had a massive craving for the Flame, memories of Times Square, residual excitement for New York City nights, especially the rooftop parties with a view of the Empire State Building. I only know a handful of people here who’ve been to New York, though they all seem to love it. I genuinely want my friends to visit me, and even joke with my friend Jack, who loved New York on his visit a couple years ago, how we should get an apartment in a few years, no matter how much like the Odd Couple it would probably be like (I wouldn’t be the clean one, that’s for sure, I’m too cluttered).

It’s not just New York that’s entered the popular culture, America-wise. Just today, I’ve already heard the Beach Boys’ “Surfin’ USA” (for the umpteenth time in London) and Will Smith’s “Miami,” besides, of course, “Empire State of Mind” yet AGAIN.

Earlier we walked to Hampstead, a twee little village-y part of London right near where I live though much nicer. Hampstead itself epitomizes some of the American stereotypes of England- cozy little shops, traditional pubs with names like The Flask and The Holly Bush, cobblestone alleyways, and just general quaintness all around, as if it’s somewhat stuck in the 1950’s. Hampstead is about as traditionally English as London gets, though smack in the middle of it is a restaurant that bills itself as an “American Diner,” under the distinctly Hollywood name of Tinseltown. Inside are vinyl booths and photos of American celebrities, with glamorous award show shots of Tom Cruise, Paris Hilton, and Michael Douglas being just a few of the faces gracing the walls. The restaurant sells “American Classic Shakes” with both distinctly American brands for flavors (Oreo, Snickers) and very English brands that I had never heard of before coming here (Jaffa Cakes? Is that how you spell it?). The menu includes the “Empire State Burger,” because there’s clearly nothing more New York than the largest burger on the menu, and “Dinkytown Waffles,” so named after “a small Minneapolis town”- though never mind that Minneapolis is a city, not a state. Tinseltown itself was actually pretty awesome foodwise, with good quality, but that’s precisely why it’s nothing like my diners back home, the Flame in particular. The whole point of a diner is that the food isn’t always that great, the decor isn’t so contrived, but rather whatever the owners decided to throw together, and the clientele is mostly old people and cheap students rather than the British hipsters and oft-mentioned celebrities Tinseltown seems to attract. It’s apparently one of Russell Brand’s favorite restaurants, however, I’d be surprised if even the most D-List celebrity listed The Flame or something similar as theirs.

While sitting in an “authentic American diner,” I couldn’t help the compulsion to whip out my notebook and ask a few questions, cause I’m just THAT DEDICATED, dear reader, to this blog. “So,” I began, “What do you guys think of New York City?” It helped that Alicia Keys’ version of “Empire State of Mind” was playing over the loudspeaker (I’m really never going to escape that song, am I?) to get us all in the proper mood.

Chris, from Northern England and having never been to the city, answered as I scribbled furiously to keep up. “I just think it’s one of the most exciting places in the world, though I don’t like the over-21 rule.” Students here can’t imagine having to wait for a legal drink for at least another couple years, and the fact that even I, at 20, can’t order a glass of wine back home astounds them. “New York is a microcosm of the world, and I think people don’t necessarily think of it as a representation of America, but rather more of a world city.” This is true. Perhaps my closeness to NYC made it impossible for me to separate New York from my home country, but if New York’s not America, than what can it be? How can New York be any less American than, say, Milwaukee, or even frickin Delafield, Wisconsin, for that matter? Chris continued, though the discussion of New York City struck me as incongruous with his English accent. “New York’s the easiest place for English people to relate to.”

I wanted to ask more, but realized I was becoming some sort of weirdo journalist wannabe, taking notes on conversations I should just casually be having with friends. Plus, you know, the food came, and everyone got too busy stuffing their faces to talk much more about a city thousands of miles across the ocean that nearly none of them had visited. Why do English people relate to it so well? Why not LA, or Chicago, or Boston? LA’s interesting, though I can’t say I’m a fan. Chicago’s slightly more similar, weather-wise. Boston is the closest we have to matching London with sheer historical significance, even if it’s still a baby in terms of age. The rest of England isn’t, from what limited I’ve seen, much like London, just like the rest of America isn’t necessarily similar to New York.

In the few moments I took to ponder this, Chris shrugged in between sips of his “American” milkshake. “Plus, we all really like ‘Friends’ here, so that probably helps.” Great. An entire country loves New York, the city I’ve enjoyed from living there and experiencing its culture firsthand on and off for the last two and a half years, because of a fictional show featuring my nemesis Jennifer Aniston.

They began asking me the same question, but reversed- “How do Americans view London?” It was only fair, but I soon felt apprehensive. I could’ve gone into why I chose London- because I love British music and culture, because I’m an English major and this made the most sense, because it was the only city I could think of outside of America that could compare to New York, because I already spoke the language, and most of all, because I’m a bit of a freak and love history so much that I wanted to go to a place where I had grown up reading about their royal families and landmarks- for FUN. It’s sad when I start spouting off random factoids about Elizabeth I for example, or naming Henry VIII’s wives in order, or really a billion other sad history freakitude when I grew up not actually having to KNOW any of it. But my massive desire to be near the places my people of interest trod, no matter how odd, propelled me to London.

This isn’t really normal, though, and I got nervous answering the original question. I couldn’t really come up with an answer. I’m not really the best representative for America, but I end up being the token person my friends ask about my home country cause I’m often the only one in the room from there when the question comes up. It’s not that I mind- on the contrary, I love it, mainly cause I like to use it as an opportunity for me to learn about England, and there’s no better way than the osmosis of knowledge that takes place in conversation. I just think that my English friends are getting a pretty skewed, weirdo version of America through me. I’m not exactly what you’d call the typical American college student, if there is such a thing. I think anyone that owns more than 5 books on serial killers, made a Michael Jackson collage after he died, and has a massive yearning to visit all the important cemeteries in London is automatically out of the “normal” category no matter what happens.

Of course, it’s not all happiness and butterflies when it comes to English perceptions of America. Today alone I’ve heard at least three “Americans are stupid” jokes, but since they were from my friends I didn’t mind so much. What I DO mind is when adults make the same jokes, only worse, to a classroom half-filled with Americans. My Medieval Book professor, besides being a bit on the boring side and having a tendency to speak so slowly, there’s literally a pause... between... every... word, also has a bad habit of mocking the United States at literally every opportunity. Last class he spent an hour of the two hour period ragging on the US, when he full well knew quite a few of us were from there.

Sample quotes, which I have since I wrote them down directly as he said them, and just imagine there being a massive pause between each word as if they all carry some grand significance: “It may be possible that in America the students may not always pay attention, as I’m sure the possibility of getting shot with a concealed weapon makes concentration more difficult.” “America is a larger, and [sarcastically] more benign country than our own...” “In Medieval times the number one source for history was the Bible, as people then, just as people in the American South and their previous president’s administration do today, believed they were reading history as a story by God.” He does occasionally have a nice thing to say about our country here and there, like how he enjoys American students since we participate more (I’ve heard numerous professors say this) and actually lumps me in with the other English students since I don’t really talk that much and he assumes silence to be a British trait. Mostly, though, it’s all about how much America sucks and how terribly dangerous it all is.

I would never presume to say one country was better than the other, and I would definitely never, in a million years, go Brit-bashing. That’s stupid. When I first started hanging out with a lot of my English friends, a few were apprehensive about me and the other study abroad students. Apparently, there were a couple Americans here last semester (though thankfully gone now) that spent nearly every conversation telling the Britons that their country, culture, and heritage was terrible and all that mattered was America. Not only is this horribly offensive and patently untrue, it makes me wonder why they even bothered to study abroad in the first place, and what they could’ve possibly gotten out of it other than padding for their resumes. I’m here to experience English life, all of it, even parts that I might not necessarily like or agree with, and I definitely won’t pass judgement. I actually really like England, London especially, and can’t imagine how anyone can go on and on about how much they believe it sucks. Then they just hadn’t experienced enough of it. Oh, sure, I’ll complain about how it shuts down early here, but that’s because it prevents me from seeing MORE of London, not because I just feel like complaining. Why make fun of a city you voluntarily signed up for living in? Especially when that city actually is pretty cool, if you’re open-minded enough to give it a chance, like London is? I just don’t understand, and likely never will.

Every day here I find myself getting a little bit more used to my surroundings. For the first month or so, I’d inwardly geek out every time an English person spoke, reveling in the different accent. Now I don’t even notice. I find it perfectly natural for buses to have an upper deck, and always check to see which tube lines are closed for the weekend. There’s still a gap between America and England in my mind, and likely there always will be, but it’s steadily closing as the semester wears on. Hearing about events back home, sometimes I can’t help but wonder what’s more foreign now- the English events going on in my front yard or the American events far away, spanning an ocean and significant time difference. The distance between the train and platform may still be far, but sometimes you just have to leap across it, ready for whatever’s on the other side. Mind the gap.