A Night at Piccadilly Circus

Tis a surreal experience to rush out of your home late at night and then return early the next morning (9 am to be exact) – without sleep. As you stumble across the disarray of rejected clothing, jewelry, and shoes, you wonder how you made such a substantive mess in the thirty minutes it took you to get ready. You walk into the bathroom, switch on the light, and --- sigh. Your hair is wild, your makeup has melted off, and your eyes are unpleasantly bloodshot. Not caring, you quickly clean up, shut off the lights, and throw yourself into bed where you promptly fall asleep. 

….

It all started late Saturday evening when I was supposed to meet my friends outside the Piccadilly Circus Tube Station. Due to various circumstances (forgotten IDs, essential wardrobe changes, etc.), I ended up waiting outside the tube station for almost an hour. Though I was by myself, I certainly wasn’t alone. Teeming throngs of people bustled past me incessantly as they sought out their late-night location of choice. Pubs, theatres, bars, clubs – Piccadilly has it all. Then there were the people looking like a flock of roosting pigeons tightly perched together around the base of the Eros statue, which marks the center of Piccadilly circus. 

Piccadilly Circus. Courtesy of INCKX Photography. 

 While contently alternating my gaze between the assortment of individuals passing in front of me and the large video advertisements across the street, I was interrupted with a tap to the elbow. I turn and see that the two guys who’d been talking a little ways from me had now approached me. Greaaaaat. I could only imagine the lovely conversation that was to arise from this interaction. (And before anybody starts to get worried about two random guys approaching me outside the tube station…don’t be. I’d managed - yet again - to unwittingly bewitch two dorky, unattractive, and slightly obnoxious males. Harsh, but true). 

So now, things start to get interesting. I can’t really remember their names, but they did share with me who they thought their celebrity look-alikes were…which is how I will refer to them here…. “Jay-Z” and “Michael Jackson.” I have to admit, I’m laughing as I type this because, of course, neither one of them looked even the tiniest bit like Jay-Z or Michael Jackson. I mean for goodness sake, “MJ” was an Indian man!

They explain to me that they have been having a “debate” (yeah, right) on some points of interest relating to women that they would like me to clear up for them. The first question related to the matter of the scars on Jay-Z's arms. He was convinced that women would reject him at first glance because he had scars, which he proceeded to show me. Let me tell you, you could barely see anything. If you’re going to use a scar question as your opener, at least have something legit to show off. Seriously.

At this point, they’ve figured out that I’m American and are further enthralled by this. They both start coming up with inane questions to get “a woman’s opinion” on – aka to keep talking to me. Ugh.

MJ: “So, say I spot a beautiful woman on the street. I follow her and then go up to her, introduce myself, and tell her something about how her beauty has caught my eye. Is that creepy?” 

(No, not at all. Stalking somebody on the street? Psh, sooo not creepy).

JZ: “Say I was on the tube during rush hour and I was squished up next to a hot girl. How would she respond if I started hitting on her?"

(Well, as everybody enjoys being cramped like a sardine in a can right after a long work day, I’m sure she’d be hard hit with your charm and wit).

MJ: “What do you dislike about Jay-Z’s outfit? Tell me one thing you think he should change.”

(Yikes! Such an awkward question…. I had to blow that one off).

JZ: “May I just point out, that your smile is amazing. It’s perfect…like an angel’s smile."

(I vomited a little in my mouth).

MJ: “So, you have to tell me. How many guys come up to you throughout the course of the day? Ok, wait, just the club. When you go out to the club, how many guys come and hit on you?”

"Umm, I don’t go out much? Really, it's not that many."

(This was me not wanting to admit that the average number of guys coming up to me is between -2 and 0. Unless of course it’s “special” individuals like these two gents).

MJ: “Ok, so like 10-15 guys? Would you say that’s correct?”

(Uhhh….. *quickly checks my phone, hoping that my friends are close*).

Anyway, this probably continued for about half an hour until I saw my friends walk out of the tube station. Thank God. I think my voice sounded more than a little desperate when I called out their names. It’s not that I felt unsafe or anything, I was just annoyed (though slightly amused) and wanted MJ and Jay-Z to leave me alone. I still can’t figure out why I repel all the genuinely attractive males (except Chad) and attract all the weirdos. My mom and I joke that it’s an inherited trait, but seriously, what is the reason?! I’m never doing anything….they just find me. It's like I have an invisible beacon that calls them to me. If somebody could explain this phenomena, I’d be greatly interested in hearing what you have to say. 

And before I move on with my story, I just want to comment on how ironic it is that they were asking ME for advice on women. I am not your average American girl. Things that most girls would go for, I wouldn’t. I’m old-fashioned. I have weird interests and I’m paranoid. For the first ten minutes of our conversation, I was trying to figure out what their angle was…until I realized they just wanted to talk to me. Blegh.

Thinking of ulterior motives though, I was just reminded of something else they said. They asked me if I was a honeybait (it was honey something...I can't remember exactly what they said) - you know, those women that lure unsuspecting men into dark alleyways where a gang of dudes is waiting to rob them or worse? Yeahhh…. an obnoxious, yet interesting conversation.

…

Ok, so I’m united with my friends, we’re ready to go. We finally find a bar+club called Verve, which ended up being a really cool place! The music was amazing – probably some of the best music I’ve heard at a club. You just can’t go wrong with classics like  “What is Love,” INXS’ “Need You Tonight,” and “Billie Jean.” Overall, I found that British clubs are more fun than their American counterparts. Instead of worrying about some creeper dude sneaking up behind me, I could just focus on dancing around and having fun with my friends. There wasn’t any grinding or girl-on-girl skank action – just good, clean fun. Seriously, you could be dancing like this and nobody would care. They might judge you a little, but they’d definitely let you keep dancing.

Because I was nervous about traveling all the way back to Harrow - alone - in the middle of the night, I had arranged to stay at my friends’ campus – Queen Mary – until the tube stations opened again in the morning, which for a Sunday, ended up being 7am. Riding the night bus to their campus was also a unique experience. It seemed that every time the bus stopped, somebody would try to hop on through the middle door. Now, everybody – even I, the tourist – knows that you’re supposed to enter at the front of the bus so that you can either swipe your Oyster travel card or buy a bus ticket. And yet, at every stop, there was “that person” who had to get yelled at by the bus driver – and kicked off - for trying to get on the bus without paying.

At one particular stop, we encountered a very persistent gentleman. As expected, the bus driver saw him and told him to get off. The man refused to budge. So, to make his point clear, the bus driver completely shut off the bus engine.

Now, everybody in this packed London night bus is just glaring at the dude. It’s 3 in the morning. Everybody wants to get home. I was personally amused at how quickly people’s primal instincts take over in situations like this.  Several people in the bus (including the sweet-looking old man behind me) started yelling for somebody to push the offender off the bus! The offender then declared that he can’t believe that we're so base as to suggest throwing him off a bus, and because of this public insult, won’t leave the bus on a matter of principle. Oh my goodness…

When the guy finally noticed that certain individuals might start to do more than just push him off the bus, he finally left and we were free to continue on to our destination.

Once at Queen Mary’s, I spent a good two and a half hours lying on my friend’s floor waiting for the tube to reopen. Around 7, I roused myself and walked to the nearest tube station only to find out that I’d have to wait another 15 minutes before the train would actually arrive. I also found out that all of the tube stops near my school were shut off for maintenance work, which meant I was going to have to take a replacement bus. At this point, I was tired, dishelveled, hungry, and highly annoyed. And of course, it seemed as though there were delays the entire two hours it took me to get back to the Harrow Campus.

...

And thus, we’ve come full circle. I slept for three hours and then got up again to shower, get dressed, and make the long commute back into Central London for London Fashion Weekend. (Check back for a dedicated fashion post in the future!)

Though my night was definitely tame in comparison to others’, it was a night I won't soon forget. Part of experiencing a culture is interacting with the very people who create and influence that culture. Though it seems like I've only been dealing with the nuts so far, I'm bound to encounter a normal person at some point over the next three months. But hell, it's the weirdos that make for the most interesting stories. At least I have that. 

Some English Romance

Whether from the smog floating over the city skyline or the cloud of cigarette smoke that seems to perpetually envelop me, my allergies have been a bit persnickety lately. I also seem to have been grinding my teeth while sleeping these past two nights, which has caused massive pain to shoot up through my jaws and into my forehead. Man oh man, have I been hitting the Benadryl, Motrin, and Airborne. Thank God for over-the-counter drugs. So, because I’ve been feeling slightly under the weather (in more ways than one, it seems) these past few days, I decided it was high time for a solid dose of good cinema.

Luckily, I was already aware of yet another of Netflix’s flaws – the inability to stream video outside the United States - prior to my prescription for medicinal cinema. After scouring the internet, I found that iTunes was going to be the most reliable (and legal) way to access television and film. (Though, apparently, you can’t rent television episodes anymore). For me, the iTunes store is an overly expensive example of what Netflix’s instant viewing model could and should be like. Though steeply priced at $3.99 a pop for regular movie rentals, the selection was varied and up-to-date. I did appreciate the 99c movie rental option. Tearing myself away from the great deal, I searched instead for a film that would complement my London setting, which led me to…… Jane Eyre (2011).

And what a perfect choice it was! Movies and books like Jane Eyre are exactly the reason why I am studying in England right now. The camera pans over the vast and flawless countryside get me every time. I love the delicate and beautiful gowns. I’m enchanted by the charming Englishmen. The public propriety juxtaposed with those fateful stolen glances sets me on the edge of my seat. Why is he so infuriating? How will he win her affection? Who or what will stand in their way? Even if I know the story, these questions still take hold of me as I sit in suspense, waiting for the (usually) happy ending. Nothing gets better than romance in the English countryside.

Fortunately and unfortunately, I’ll never get to see this England of old. For one, it’s a constructed world. And two, if I could actually get into book/movie reality, I’d probably hate it anyway. Bad hygiene and absolutely no rights for women…doesn’t really sound like a good match for me. Luckily, I get the best of both worlds. I get to read/watch these amazing and inspirational stories which confront the social/gender issues of the time amidst the backdrop of one heck of a love story. (Cheers goes to you, Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, etc.). And, I also get to experience modern England in all its glory. Though I haven’t been able to see much of the countryside yet, it will be an interesting comparison to see how my perception of modern England relates to my perception of romantic England.

Indeed, today, I had an unexpected blast of romantic England as we were strolling through the market stalls of Covent Garden. Drifting through the air, I heard a sweet melody – a woman singing O Mio Babbino Caro. Walking in the chilly air, wind rushing through my hair, surrounded by living energy – such a brief, beautiful, personal moment. And it was in that moment that my idealized England and the real England collided. When they will collide again, I don’t know. I can only hope that they do. 

Being Antisocial

I have to admit, I’m feeling slightly (well, more than slightly) antisocial as I sit, alone, in my room and type this blog post. I hear voices and some sick beats pumping out from down the hall, and yet, I just don’t feel like going out there. While everybody has been beyond nice, I haven’t really felt like I fit in yet. Somehow, friend groups have already been established, leaving us thick Americans to fend for ourselves. Granted, my flat mates have been really friendly – probably more friendly, open, and non-awkward upon first meeting than what I experienced back at home my freshman year. They have no qualms about making themselves at home. The first night we were all here, one of my flat mates, Poppy, was already walking around the kitchen barefoot and Ethan, another flat mate, was passing out beers for us all to drink.

Despite this openness, I still feel shut out from their world. Young Britain is essentially enveloped in a perpetual party culture. Even Ethan agreed that overdrinking was a problem in the country (as he downed his 10+ beers. I’m not joking. And this was before his jagerbomb and whatever else he drank later). To illustrate my point, there was a raging party going on all last night that practically consumed the entire residential area. Who parties on their first night at college? I definitely didn’t. I was in bed and homesick.

So, I’ve already got the party thing going against me since I don’t like to party that much and to top it off, I’m not really that big on the music scene, which is super important over here. The clubs are also hot. Probably because there’s a heavy drug culture tied into the music scene. I suppose those two are always linked though. From listening to conversations, I’ve learned that it’s popular to take what (I guess) is the equivalent of acid or whatever people take nowadays to “roll” while they jam out to their dubstep. Oh, and everybody – and I mean, EVERYBODY – smokes over here! The only difference I’ve noticed is that a lot of young people choose to roll their own cigarettes instead of buying cigarette packages. 

I don’t judge. I just can’t relate. I want to hang out with non-Americans but I feel like I can’t without getting sucked into the party scene. I so desperately want a British friend to give me the inside scoop and hang out with me, but my flat mates have only talked about hitting up clubs. My hope was renewed though when a guy on our flat, James, moved in. He seems nice and, at one point, was talking about how he's a homebody. I’m probably going to try to force him into being my friend. Hopefully, his interest in the American doesn’t fade. It seems that when we (my friends from Arcadia and I) initially meets Brits, they are intrigued, but eventually lose interest after a while. I guess the Brits are not into Americans as much as I thought they would be.

I guess all of this is just part of me acclimating to life in London. I’ve been having a fantastic time, but after leaving my friends from Orientation, I’m having some doubts about how my stay at Harrow will work out. Deep down, I know it will work out. I’m just going to have to get over my awkwardness, open the door, and venture out even though it’s so, so hard for me to do. Wish me luck. 

Babies, Twilight, and Customs. Oh my!

*Note: This was written on 9/14, but due to lack of internet, could not be posted until now*

Today marked my epic journey across the pond and for once, I actually had some unusual and (personally funny) encounters. Thus begins the airplane saga:

After nearly dropping the backpack of doom on my head, I situated myself in my seat, strapped the belt buckle over my lap, and prepared myself for the next nine hours of claustrophobia and extreme dehydration. Having the right aisle seat, I stealithily looked to my left to see what kind of creeper I’d have sitting next to me. Luckily (or so I thought) I was seated next to an older gentleman and his wife. Thinking that the trip would go smoothly from there, I eased back and waited for take off.

Then dinner rolled around. The man next to me had to start being a nosy josy (?) about why I was going to London. Then, when I told him I’d be studying abroad, I unwittingly dragged myself into a whole new conversation (which sporadically continued for the duration of the flight) about what I would be studying in London, what school would I be attending, how did I decide to study abroad, where was my home school, what was my major, what did I want to do with such major, what extra-curricular activities did I have, how diverse was Trinity’s population, and so on and so on. I just never know how to respond when people keep bugging me like that. I was getting to the point where I was about to set myself on fire (if you don’t get the joke, watch Airplane). I’m really just one of those people who don’t like to talk to anybody while flying. I’m perfectly fine spending the flight entirely immersed in my own thoughts. My short answers eventually conveyed to him that I wasn’t in the best mood for talking. Hmm, I wonder why?

Let’s start with the fact that I could not and did not go to sleep. Despite my best efforts, operation sleep failed miserably. Several factors contributed to this. First, the lovely conversationalist to my left decided that he was going to be an insomniac and keep his blindingly bright seat light on the entire trip. Said seat light was totally shining in my face. And keeping me awake. Then, I kept hearing this strange noise. I barely open my eyes and look over at my geriatic friend only to find that he is plucking his pen, bookmark, or Lord knows what over and over and over. Oh, and did I mention he had to keep snorting his nose? Then, two aisles ahead of me, I had two screaming children who literally had fits the entire trip to London.  Two aisles behind me and to the right, I had a perpetual cougher. And, throughout the entire evening, someone had to keep opening the storage bin that was oh-so-conveniently right above my head. I’m pretty sure I got punched in the face with someone’s beer gut. What really set me off though is that I opened my eyes, aggravated that I can’t even get an hour’s worth of sleep, and see that the girl in the row ahead of me had the entire 3-seat row to herself and was soundly asleep. Life is cruel.

The one thing keeping me going though was the black gangsta-looking guy (I think now he was maybe Air Force) intently watching both Twilight and New Moon. Seriously, this guy needed to see how everything was going to play out because he had New Moon running until after the plane had landed. What cracked me up, besides this bad-ass guy watching the Twilight saga, was the fact that he kept sneaking looks over his shoulder at me almost as if to see if I had noticed what he was watching. And if I had, was I judging? Strange a combination as it was, I guess Twilight was his guilty pleasure. I approve. 

Now we’re going to fast forward to the plane landing. I managed to schalump the backpack of doom on my back and then headed on to customs. Apparently, students have to fill out some extra sheet of paper (it had no new information on it) before they can be processed. I grab my little sheet and head over to the wall, completely out of the way of everything. Then, as usual, somebody ends up needing to stand in the exact spot I am occupying. This need was felt by a woman and her two children. The children were screaming (mind you, this is right next to me) and were also running into me while the mother did nothing. Finally, they left. Then, waiting in the student line, I had a lovely couple with their daughter push themselves ahead of me in line. Is it really surprisingly that I enjoy being alone…? ;)

Though I made it through customs smoothly, the ultimate battle was in dragging my unseemly heavy bags all around the airport trying to find Terminal 3. By the time I had actually reached the terminal, I could barely speak, my arms felt like they were about to fall off, and I was sweating bullets. But you know what? I ended up being one of the people with the least amount of luggage! Can you believe it?! I can’t! Other girls had brought either 4 medium-small bags or two gigantic, I’m talking heavy-duty, suitcases in addition to a carry-on. Unsurprisingly, they all had problems moving the luggage.

Lastly, I’d like to end this blog with something creepy that seems to be happening to me. There are waaay too many people that look like somebody else. I’m temporarily attributing this unrest to my lack of sleep….

I also want to note that we got assigned roommates for the 3 nights we’re here and I don’t even know my roommate’s name or what her face looks like. I suspect her personality might be tolerable since she is apparently reading The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. Now she’s just going to creepily come in while I’m sleeping. Great. 


*9/17: My roommate was super nice and not sketchy!!*

Hurry Up.....Then Wait.

I'm finally here. The airport. Waiting to get on the plane that's going to take me to London. For 3 months. Wow.

Despite the months and months of planning and getting ready, it still hasn't sunk in that I'll be in a foreign country for the next three months of my life. It feels so surreal. Almost like I'll be back at home, back to everything familiar, in no time at all. Which....is probably true when I think about how fast this next semester is going to go by.

Surprisingly, packing/getting to the airport really wasn't as hard as it could have been. With everything packed last night, I watched Housewives of New Jersey with no worries on my mind. But then, after the show, I went to actually pick up the luggage..... yeah, we all know where it goes from here. The luggage - of course - was ridiculously heavy. I flew into a sweaty panic as I tried to weigh (pun intended) my luggage options. One of the options was to drag the luggage behind me, have the internal framed backpack on my back, and my carry-on backpack on the front of my body. I looked like a giant lump. If only I had a picture to share this ingenious luggage-carrying technique. Though I tried my best to avoid being the obnoxious American with the heavy suitcases, I cannot deny it: I AM THAT GIRL.  Now, Londoners will chuckle as they watch my drag my heavy bags behind me.  I really do need everything I packed. I tried to be as objective as possible when packing, but I don't see how they expect me to throw three t-shirts and some underwear in a bag and call it a day!

I arrived super early at the airport and have just been enjoying the luxury of not freaking out. I had another sweaty experience when the time came to go through security. For those of you who don't know, airport security TERRIFIES me. I break into a cold sweat and look super sketchy, and yet, they never ask me to go through a body scanner, etc. This time round, I did have to have my overly-full (and perfectly packed, I might add) backpack completely unpacked and scanned several times. And, to make it worse, I stepped in something wet while I had my shoes off. Ugh. Security.......

Unfortunately, I'll have to cut this account short as my plane will be boarding soon. But, as I arrived early and had little to no obstacles to heroically conquer, you and I will just have to wait until my arrival in the UK for a good adventure. What I learned about the airport today? Don't gulp down a giant bottle of water right after you arrive. You'll be walking all the way down the hallway (because your gate is the farthest gate from everything) to the bathroom, with the ridiculously heavy backpack, several, several, times.