01/14/09 - - Day Two

Apparently the big, front page news on the tabloids today, and even on page 5 in the “National” section of The Guardian, is that Prince Charles addressed a fellow member of the Cirencester Polo Club who is from Punjab as ‘Sooty.’ This also follows up racist remarks Prince Harry made about three years ago.
In the reader response section of the article a woman commented that “If Diana had lived, Prince Harry might have been a very different and better – person.”

I find all this pretty interesting as I’m reading the local papers and trying to get an idea of who the local public icons and “celebrities” that are always under some sort of scrutiny. I figure it’ll help me carry on a conversation when I talk to the locals at a pub.

I never thought it about before but I feel that the Royal Family are probably a bunch of jerks in person and I wouldn’t get along with them—at least Charles and Harry. They seem to be the American equivalent of Paris Hilton and Britney Spears (respectively). It may be a good idea to keep such blunt thoughts to myself until I get a better idea of how other Brits feel this topic.

Any thoughts?

* *
Today’s newly learned British term:

When you want to order a regular cup of coffee at Starbucks (perhaps it applies to other places as well), ask for a “Tall Drip.” Somehow, for no logical reason at all I think it might be a good idea to make sure I don’t rub my nose at the same time as I asking for a Tall Drip.

01/13/08 -- Arrival

A PROLOGUE

Lights. Lights are what I saw as I was being driven over the Triborough Bridge and took one last glance at the Manhattan skyline.

Perhaps it was the Gin & Tonic thinking for me, but as I was glancing at the glaring lights, for the first time I thought about how many people, how many lives were represented in each one of those lights that emanated from each apartment? Two? Three? Is it a family of six? Or maybe it’s one lonely individual.

It’s probably useless to seriously wonder; as Carl Sagan would say (besides “Billions and Billions!”…. Wait, that was just Johnny Carson….) that would be like trying to count all the stars in the universe—you would have to count every grain of sand on every beach on Earth. I guess it would be rather time consuming.

This thought of the lights came back to me again as I was flying away from JFK.

I’m now passing over Nantucket and can clearly see the land below; as if I were looking at a map. However, this “map” still has faint lights emanating—people are there. People whom I may never know or meet.

Despite all of this mindless yabbering that isn’t going anywhere, this diverse bunch of fellow travelers who all speak different languages and have funny accents are all going somewhere. As I sit in my seat in the beginning of this flight, I overhear conversations of where some of these people are from and where they have been in the world. Because of these past experiences, these fellow travelers whom I have only just begun to join the ranks of probably don’t think much of this trans-Atlantic flight.

When you grow up you eventually start to realize that you are never as smart and experienced as you think you are. I suppose that this is my way of know more about those shining lights that cover the continent of Europe at night.

* *

The moment I arrive in London’s Heathrow Airport a new sort of challenge arose that I never had faced before: keeping a straight face from hearing all these British accents.

It’d be interesting if Brits laughed at and are as intrigued by American accents as we are by theirs. I’m sure they do. But I bet they do a better job at keeping the joke among themselves—since they are such a polite people.

When I got off the plane in Heathrow, there was this ridiculously long gate that may have been half a mile long because it probably took some where around 10 minutes to get to the main part of Heathrow. As I was walking with my luggage, one of the first things I heard was an older Scottish woman complain to her husband “This is quite a hiii-ke.” I bit my tongue to keep myself from laughing out loud.

The further I went down, the more accents I heard. The tougher it got.

I finally reached customs. This was my ultimate test. A do or die moment. If I laughed in the face of a British Customs Agent, all hell could break loose.

Fortunately, I was able to keep a straight face and have a nice conversation with the Agent…. Hope that wasn’t too anti-climatic for ya’ll.

* *

I just reached the Tube. 17.50 pounds!? That’s nearly $40 for a train ride to get to where I live (or so I thought)! I guess it pays for the service and the train, whose interior looks like a missing set from “back to the future two.” Now that I put it that way, it’s certainly it’s worth the money!

After going through maze, after maze of corridors (I’m catching on quick, eh?) I finally reached the some ticket booths. I paid for the tickets but had no idea where to go. Fortunately, there were two ticket sellers/helpers waiting around, standing with good posture and smiles. Now, let me tell you, as a native New York City Subway rider, I felt right at home when dealing the service personel!

Exhausted—only having run on 4 hours of proper sleep (again!) the night before and 4 hours of resting my eyes on the plane ride, I helplessly approached an older ticket woman, who had a lovely face and lovely whiskers and hair outlying it. I smiled, showed her my $40 train ticket and said “Hi, I’m new here. Could you help me out?” She smiled and gave instructions of where to go. Exasperated yet thankful, I gasped for air as I smiled and said “Thank you!” She told me to go the loov, go down two flights. I didn’t know what a loov was so I took the elevator thus concluding my first encounter with one of these sweet people that I share common blood with.

I thought I had reached my destination at Paddington Station. However this was only the beginning of my troubles. I still had more tickets to buy and transfers to make.

* *

My experience of being totally lost in the London Underground train system was made no easier by the sheer fact that along with my lack of sleep, my memory was shot as well. I would frequently go up to a train worker and ask him (or her!) where I needed to go, to which I would receive clear instructions. No sooner than my walking down the escalator I would totally forget where I’d have to go. By the time I reached the platform, what remained of my common senses told me to only trust older women in receiving directions--like the lovely, furry train attendant from earlier.<3>

This worked. However, I couldn’t help but feel totally embarrassed from my walk of shame with two huge roller suit cases—as well the enormous book bag on my back that I was constantly knocking into from behind. It was an awful way to start a report with the locals, one which only reminds me of how back in NYC there’d be tourists that get in the way of all the locals.

At one point in the Underground, I caught an evil glare from some London punk. In my sleep-deprived mind, I figured he recognized the helpless prey that I was. For once in my life, I had finally experienced what it was like to be country bumpkin.

I decided to avoid eye contact with that fierce look under the pretense that maybe he wouldn’t see me if I didn’t look right at him. It must have worked because after a few stops I saw him step off the train with a swagger that imitated the likes of Liam Gallagher.

* *

As I write this now, I lay in the bed of my pre-arranged flat lying exhausted as an open orientation is going on. In the state I’m in now, I need to sleep before I socialize.

* *

I woke up in a cold sweat by 3:45 PM London time. A cute mixed-race girl (Persian?/Hispanic??/Arab????), with whom I’m more or less acquainted with (before being in London, last time I ever spoke to her was some time in Freshman year a few years back), opened the door to my room—waking me up. She told me that my roommate told her to wake me up at this time, to which I just moaned and muttered something that may have been incomprehensible. She left.

I lied in bed freezing under my covers despite it being the afternoon and warmer outside than when I had arrived. My stomach was twisting and turning. I needed help but I didn’t want to get out of bed. So, I stayed.

Eventually, I gained the strength to get out of bed and take a shower.

Afterwards I got dressed and made up (hair gel and deodorant) and headed to a hotel for the Student Orientation/Dinner.

Although it was labeled as a “Dinner,” I got more irritated by all the presentations from people spanning the guy in charge of the London Office of SU Abroad to a Detective Constable from the London Metropolitan who warned of the prevalence of theft in London and the dangers of “wacky tobaccy!” Which was followed by his imitating the smoking of a joint; I thought it more resembled the sound of sucking on a straw. He also grumbled about how England doesn’t keep it’s criminals in jails and etc—He probably voted for Thatcher.

Once the speakers finished talking, the food was ready to be eaten. Although the cuisine lived up to the traditional English reputation, it still hit the spot—especially when the last thing I had eaten was a mini-croissant on the flight over at 7:30 AM (it was 6:30 PM at this point when I finally got around to eating).

As soon as I finished eating, I left the hotel where this Orientation was being held. I was way too tired to socialize with any of the other students there. Besides, I have been finding myself more interested in mingling with the London locals than with my fellow Syracuse Students. Although I quite haven’t gotten to the stage of engaging in a full conversation with them (given my recent of jet lag induced state of mind), I have gotten quite a kick out of politely asking a stranger for help in directions on how to get somewhere when I’m lost. I’m sure that by getting a guitar tomorrow and going around to the different open mic bars/clubs/coffee houses, I’ll be in a better position to mingle.

I have always thought that if I lived in 15^th to 18^th Century, besides being a heretic, I would have been an explorer. Now I am continuing that childhood dream of traveling to strange and exciting places by being here in London and I am thoroughly excited for what lays ahead in this City.

See ya in the next one!

* *

POST SCRIPT

I’m lying here in this small flat bedroom that I share with my roommate unable to go to sleep. As far as I know, nothing is bothering me that should be keeping me awake.

This room is small for two people--hell, it’s small for even one person. The closest thing I can compare to this is my brother, Tommy’s bedroom. It is probably half as wide and about 3/4^th’s as long. It reminds me of the small youth hostel room that I stayed in the night I arrived in Japan back in 2002. I was awfully scared at the time. I was awe struck by the fact that all my family and friends were literally on the other side of the Planet. Quietly, yet harshly I told myself what a bad idea this whole thing was. I was so stressed that I barely was able to sleep that night.

Now I’m in England and it is 2009. Things sure do change for some part, if not for the most part.