My First English Rain

Well it’s Thursday, my 9^th day in London and I’m sitting in Laura’s room recovering from exhaustion/sickness. It’s raining outside, the first time since I’ve been here and rather than go out and catch another cold I’m attempting to catch my blog up on one of my most physically- and emotionally-hectic weeks…

My departure hiccupped before even leaving the ground. An inoperable emergency exit light in combination with strict airline regulations created a 3 hr delay. It wasn’t until negotiations between QANTAS and some authority was met and their staff managed to convince 60 customers without connecting flights to divert through Sydney (ouch!) were we allowed to board the plane, with the whole middle section cordoned off.

The first leg of the flight was mostly enjoyable. I like flying. I enjoy the challenge of keeping myself occupied in solitary. I probably had enough media to keep me entertained for 20 across-world flights but ended up just watching the back-of-the-seat tele – The Great Global Warming Swindle w/ follow-up ABC commentary, Denton v Elton interview, some Kath and Kim (ick!) etc. The only problem was the ‘friendly’, drunk Australians behind me who kept bumping the back of my seat for the whole 7 hours. They asked me to have coffee with them on arrival in London…I smiled and nodded reluctantly and was delighted to find out that on the second leg that the hangovers had well and truly set in and they weren’t so friendly.

At Singapore it was a bit Rush Rush Rush Go Here No There Now Wait Wait? Why? Get On Plane. Despite still making it (just) in time for the connecting flight we were rescheduled onto another flight half an hour later. My only concern was that I was now flying QANTAS instead of British Airways and had lost my window seat. Hmmf!

To my left was an old Swedish lady with athritis (who spoke less English than I do Swedish) and to my right, a European couple who also spoke no English (I found that out the awkward way). Despite getting up every hour on the first flight I spent the next 13 hours seated, much to the delight of the curled-up fingers beside me I’m sure. I slept most of the flight, mainly just waking for meals, and that was nice.

The feeling of real cold (not the uncomfortable airconditioning cold which irked me during the whole flight) on my skin as I stepped from the plane through the tunnel brought a smile to my face. I don’t know why, but it still does everytime I step outside the house. It’s just comforting, as if familiar. Anyway, the passport check, immigration ‘grilling’ (‘Do you know the Working Visa rules?’, ‘Yes’, ‘Okay’) and customs took a grand total of about 1 minute. I was amazed.

I met with my friend Laura who’d been nice enough to wake up at 5am to collect me on her way to work and make my arrival a whole lot easier. She organized for me my own Oyster card which is a multi-purpose swipe card for London transport and we caught the Piccadilly line for a 32 stop journey from Heathrow to Turnpike Lane where Laura lives. On the above-ground parts of the journey we passed many typically-English sights and I couldn’t help but contrast my emotions with those of arriving in New York. There wasn’t the excitement or surrealism experienced when finding myself in Brooklyn but more relief, and more strongly, contentment. Like I’d finally reached the place I’d spent my life trying to get to (I hadn’t).

Laura left me part way through the journey to go to work and gave me the simple instructions to get off the tube at the station ‘Turnpike Lane’. You’d think that I’d be able to follow those instructions, right? Well, of course I could, and I did. There I met another friend, Charissa, who coincidentally lives nearby and walked (and bussed) me to Laura’s place (via Tesco’s for sandwiches).

I’d previously decided that I was going to dedicate all physical and emotional energy of the first couple of days into combating Jet Lag in the hope of recovering as quickly as possible. And so I spent this whole day sitting on Laura’s bed playing with the internet and trying to keep myself awake. It worked. I stayed awake until Laura came home, we ate dinner, constructed my floor bed and then went to sleep.

Next morning I woke at 5.30am and in typical jet-lag style I felt as if I’d slept about 10 mins. Getting up and having breakfast I found myself in pain and feeling completely miserable. By 9am I decided I couldn’t take it anymore, went to sleep for 3 hrs, woke up feeling comparatively a million dollars and then went out for lunch with Charissa to my first English pub. Lunch was a vegeburger (deep-fried pattie...wtf?!?) and chips with a pint of cider for 4.50. Yum! Post-lunch Charissa took me to the place she’s staying and introduced me to their 5 gorgeous (well, all but one) cats. I hung out there for a while and Charissa gave me a rundown on essential information I had to learn (such as how to find out about and book gig tickets) and then I scooted home to get ready to go out.

That night it had been organized well in advance that I was heading out to see a local band of whom Charissa was a friend and fan and Laura a fan. I caught the tube (by myself…yay!) to the infamous Camden, met up with Laura and her friend and headed to the markets to have some ‘two pound, two pound, everything two pound! Wanna try some? Two pound!’ asian food. It was pretty tastey except I put half it on my jeans. We walked around a little aimlessly under the lead of Laura before finding a small, cosy and well-laid-out Bullet Bar with stools, tables and Bullmer tallies (hi tim!). After some unpleasant sound-checking, The Gadsdens played for about 20mins and I quite enjoyed them. Charissa introduced us to her Slovakian friend she’d met in London and we chatted for a short while before heading home, much to the delight of my fatigue.

The next morning was always going to be a challenge. To do for Monica (who’d flown over hot on my trail) what Laura had done for me two days prior. Getting up early wasn’t a problem (thx, Jet Lag!) but the one and a half hour nauseas journey was, but I was totally happy to do it. After meeting Mon and having a mocha and sandwhich at the airport’s starbucks, we set out on a scavenger-hunt-like journey around the city to find her friend and future flatmate’s work. By the time we met up it had been about 2.5hrs of lugging luggage down a busy street and I was ready to collapse. So I did (at home).

Unfortunately the sleep only went for an hour (half an hour of which my alarm spent trying to wake me) and boy did I feel like road kill after that. I was meant to be going…