traveling
To London or Bust (Preferably ‘To London’)
Waiting in traffic. Waiting to check my bags. Waiting in line at airport security. Off with my shoes. Off with my jacket. Walk through the metal detector. Beep! Beep! Beep! Turn around. Off with my belt. Walk back through metal detector. Nervous suspense. All clear. Put on my belt. Put on my jacket. Put on my shoes. Note to self: next time I fly, wear less. Wait to board. Waiting. Waiting. Call my boyfriend. “BonVoyage”. Borading. Get cut in line. On the plane. Looking for my seat.. Looking for my seat.. There’s a small Indian child in it. (?) Get asked by non-English-speaking Indian woman to switch seats. Finally sit down. Window seat. Nice. Wait to take off. Kid screaming two rows up. I remember to take my birth control. Screaming. Crying. Spanking. More screaming. Waiting for 7 hours to pass. 30,000 feet above escape. 30,000 feet above bliss. London – weary or not, here I come.
Week 1
Upon arriving to London I get to my apartment one train ride, two taxi rides and approximately 30 pounds (the currency) later. The sun is shining brightly so myself and two other students in the programs decided to adventure out to find a grocery store. It was no Bloom or Giant but regardless, I was quite satisfied with the food selections, and the prices seemed cheap enough until I remembered how much more the pound is than the dollar – ok so, maybe the prices aren’t so cheap after all.
Culture Shock is:
Getting in the taxi, I found myself automatically panicking about a head-on collision until I remember that the driver is actually on the right side of the road, which in London, is of course, the left.
My room is about average dorm room size with three girls squeezed in together. Luckily, I was first to arrive so I get the single bed off to the side and against the window, looking down five stories onto the street below. The apartment could definitely use a more homey touch. Tomorrow I plan to take care of this.
