It's been four days since I landed in London and I've felt every bit of them. Being here really is like being in another country. And it's not the big things, either. Soft serve ice cream is Cool Whip. Sprite will never quench my thirst. And the 80s have either never left or just arrived.
Depending on which airline one takes to get here, one may or may not notice these small things right away. Back in March, for my first visit here, I was lucky enough to fly British Airways. What a treat. The food was delicious, movie selection varied, and cabin crew as nice as could be. My flight with Virgin Atlantic, on the other hand, was like getting skullfucked (I debated using this word, not because of its graphic content, but because I wasn't sure if it exaggerated how bad the flight was. It doesn't). To begin with, I was not aware that Economy meant Steerage on the Titanic. The extra "three inches of leg room" I read about on Virgins website proved useless, as under the seat in front of me was a large, metal box. Sitting on the aisle next to three lovely British women, one of whom offered me a sweetie, bless her heart, I was constantly bombarded by the cabin crew moving briskly through the cabin. After having my elbow hit for the sixth time, I gave up all hope of "enjoying the flight," as I was told to do over the intercom. Never mind the creepy cartoon flight safety video.
To make a long story short, the food was dreadful, the movie selection featured films that constantly skipped and blurred, and every single female cabin crew member wore eye makeup three inches higher than their brow. Seriously, UK, it's 2010.
But whatever, right? I landed at Heathrow, an airport so big there's no witticism to do it justice, and hailed a taxi to take me to my flat. And this is where London lost me.
1. Motorcyclists should never, NEVER drive as fast and swervey as they do here.
2. All major cities, however, should have bus and taxi lanes that drivers obey.
3. Cars should not be able to make random U-turns wherever they damn well please.
4. London is full of white vans that could only be labeled "sketchy" in the US.
Arriving to my flat £60 poorer I made a few more discoveries.
1. Why be safe when one can be narrow?
2. Hot Water is amazing in London.
3. Screens are for those who wish to feel a breeze and keep bugs out, which apparently no one wishes to do in London.
4. Stall showers were built for people who wish to wash only their upper bodies.
But despite these "cultural differences," I have had a hell of a time so far. How could I not? Even though we like to think we're culturally aware because we have a friend from England, or a classmate from Pakistan who made this awesome authentic dinner one night, or did a report on an African country in 5th grade, the truth is we have no idea until the foreign becomes the norm. Already British pounds are feeling less like Monopoly money and more like the currency of a developed nation. And it was damn fun learning that. A voice goes off inside my head every time I look at the unrefrigerated eggs in the grocery store, but I've eaten them and haven't died yet (try my scrambled eggs, by the way, they're unbelievable). We hear time and time again that the only way to get something fully out of time abroad is to lose yourself in the country. Yes. Absolutely. And no. I will never be British. Try as hard as I want, and believe me I will try, I can never rock the turtleneck, tweed vest, and golf cap. I like my soft serve thick. I like aspartame in my soda. And 2010 will always, always kick the 1980s ass. But none of that means I won't have a good time figuring it all out.
Oh, and if you're wondering what Bill Bryson has to do with preempting my arrival, he simply took the best title for a retrospect on life in the UK and fucked the rest of us. Thanks, Bill.
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