Stranger in a Strange Land

Maybe it will hit me tomorrow when I'm shown my office. Or sometime in the next couple of days, when I'm alone in my flat-erm-apartment for the first time. Because it still hasn't hit me yet that I'm a Londoner no more.

These last couple of weeks have felt surreal -- maybe because I've been so exhausted and overwhelmed and crazily busy. I knew moving my stuff across an ocean was going to be hard, but I'm almost glad I didn't know quite how hard it was going to be (and it's not over yet). It probably hasn't helped that I've eaten rather strangely -- I literally had a scone with jam and cream for three out of my last four meals in London (and on one of those days, both of my snacks were Montezuma's dark chocolate with sea salt.) But despite the temptation to stuff my face with every last thing I might not eat again anytime soon, I resisted. (I may yet be demanding care packages of mince pies and sticky toffee pudding though...)

When I drove in from the airport, I spotted a pub called Baker Street that looked neither like (a) any pub I've ever seen or (b) anything one might find in the whole of England, let alone on Baker Street itself. Yesterday I spotted a place called Elephant & Castle and mentioned to a friend that that was the name of a tube stop in London. Another friend told me about a bar she likes where lots of Australians hang out, and I said -- half-joking -- that I'd spent more than enough time around Earls Court. Except then I realized no one there would understand the reference, and I didn't bother to correct her when she referred to it as Kings Court.

Sigh.

I do feel a bit like a stranger in a strange land. I fumble for American words sometimes, I alternate between calling the subway the Tube or the Metro (but never managed to call it "subway"), and I'm not quite sure what to say when people seem disappointed that I haven't acquired an English accent. The other day in the bank I asked if there are places besides post offices that sell stamps. And thus far I am incredibly disappointed by the fabled American customer service. I'll spare you the gory details, but I told the electric company that after 8 years wandering in the wilderness of England, I expected better from them and that to be told they couldn't turn on my gas and electricity over the weekend was as disappointing as being told Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy didn't exist. (I also pointed out that surely they'd do something about it if there were a gas or electric "emergency," but I digress.)

Anyway, a quick note to say I'm still here, still chugging along (I did binge 8 days ago, bu have managed to keep up the exercise amid the madness), and hope soon to be posting more regularly.

PS I did end up throwing out the scale. Much as I loved the idea of a scale in the US that gave me my weight in stone (and I may yet ask the next English visitor to import one for me!), it didn't make the final cut for my suitcases and by that point the moving boxes already had gone.