This is London

The Plane

As we began to descend I looked down onto what appeared to be the surface of a martian world made of cotton and fluff. There were ridges and valleys in the clouds, and I swear I saw what looked to be a replica of the Grand Canyon, though its usual browns and reds has been replaced with soft grey and white bits of fluff where sand should have been. 

The first thing I saw when we came though the clouds was a soccer, or football, stadium. And then there was some very regal and ancient looking structure. Would it be too terribly silly to say that I saw a castle from the sky? 

And then there was the Thames. 

It feels like I have been reading about the Thames non-stop for the past three years. It serves as such an integral setting in British Literature. It was incredible. I saw the Thames, this fabled river that has served as such an iconic marker in my mind for the sort of dichotomy between the new and the old, the civilized and the wild, the rural and industrial diaspora of Victorian England. When I saw the Thames, the beginning of this adventure felt real. But it wasn't terrifying or overwhelming. I was instead overcome with this sense of "Yes." This sense that finally I would be able to see the places that I study. (Though the landscapes have transformed dramatically from the times when Charles, John, Joseph, Charlotte and Jane saw and loved them.) 

Meeting London

At the moment, London is appearing to me to be some sort of parallel universe. The people and structures look, at first glance, to be exactly the same as they are at home. Well--not exactly "at home," but in a city. A big city. One might even compare it to certain places in The City of New York, though I am not familiar enough with this place to name a comparable neighborhood off the top of my head. The first glance is sort of where this comparison stops, though. 

Maybe, think of this: You know those drawings that you sometimes get on paper place mats that double as children's menus at restaurants? They are really more like puzzles than just plain drawings. The goal in looking at them is to pick out all of the little things that you don't see at first, but upon revelation create something very bizarre out of what at first appeared to be very familiar. You see that a chair leg is in fact a baseball bat. And that the kitty cat in fact has two tails, and that the man standing beside him is not holding a cane in his left hand, but instead the second of the two tails at a clever sort of angle. 

Anyway, London seems to be sort of like this in my mind. I am so conditioned to see things in a certain way, and am so expecting of a certain image, that it sort of takes a little while for my mind to catch up with what my eyes are actually seeing and realize that I can't just look left and then right before crossing the street because if I do that I might be hit by a storming red double decker bus--or should I say, "coach."

Freezing London

It is DAMN cold here. 

"My first night sleeping in my dorm room:" two pairs of socks, my Scripps sweatpants, two t-shirts, my Cinderella sweatshirt, my puffer jacket, and my pink beanie with the ball at the top. Mix together and heat with radiator through the night. 

And yes, my radiator is on. 

Unfortunately, the huge window in my room is rather permeable to the biting temperature outside. The window is rather fantastic in the daytime, though. It looks out upon some brick buildings that contrast fantastically to the grey sky. My dad says it looks like a jail cell. It's definitely NOT Scripps. 

I don't mean this to sound so negative. I guess it's just all so incredibly different that it's kind of off-putting. I'm really looking forward to classes starting, though. I have this sort of craving for British Literature at the moment that is sure to be fulfilled about ten times over.