It’s wild to think that I’ve been living in London for over a month now. Since my last post, I’ve been to Bath, Jane Austen’s ideal holiday destination; Harrod’s, the iconic, luxurious department store of the royal family and other well-to-do Londoners; Hampton Court, the palace of royals such as Henry VIII (along with his many wives); the Houses of Parliament; I’ve taken a turn on the London Eye on a misty evening; finally had fish and chips with mushy peas at a pub down the street; I’ve picnicked in Hyde Park; and, of course, I’ve been attending classes for a month now.
I’ve heard several times that it takes thirty days to make a habit out of something. I’ve been in London for more than that and the astonishing thing is that it feels normal. That this place I had dreamt of seeing for what feels like my whole life is now in the smallest bit familiar to me. I want you to know how sweet this familiarity is. Apart from the excursions and the destinations, I want you to see what I love about my day-to-day life in London. Here’s a small list, in no particular order.
Words that don’t phonetically make sense.
This applies particularly to bus and Tube stops. Some of my favorites include (with their pronunciations in parentheses): Southwark (SUHTH-irk). Surrey Quays (SIR-ee KEEZ). Greenwich (GRENN-itch). Leicester (LESS-ter) Square. Gloucester (see below; GLAHS-ter). I don’t know what makes these words so delicious to say—maybe it feels like breaking a rule and getting away with it—but the sheer fact of knowing how to pronounce these makes me feel the tiniest bit smug. They’re proof that I’ve been here.
The St. James Hatcham kids.
St. James Hatcham is a nursery school right next to my hall of residence. Every weekday is punctuated by the sounds of their raucous recesses. The spirit in these kids continually astounds me. Sometimes it seems like they yell at their very maximum volume for a half-hour straight. Every once in a while their voices gather into a sort of chant, and I imagine they are staging a sort of civil war: boys versus girls perhaps? My favorite part is when the cowbell rings for recess to end, and the volume does not diminish in the slightest. They always make me smile, even if in total disbelief of their tenacity.
Goldsmiths Christian Union!
How sweet it is to be surrounded by a body of believers in a completely foreign place! For me, the CU has been a place of warmth and fellowship, of peace and reassurance. We have had a movie night, we’ve gone to church together, we’ve prayed together, and we’ve sought biblical answers to really difficult questions. I am so thankful for this group.
The FOOD.
It’s sort of a blanket generalization (at least from what I’ve heard in the States) that English food is tolerable at best and dismal at worst. That has not been my experience here. On the contrary, I’ve been able to indulge the already-spoiled foodie in me. The sheer abundance and affordability of Brie/Camembert cheeses should speak to that. (Things I’ve consumed with said cheese include: a brie-and-bacon baguette, a brie-bacon-cranberry panini, a Camembert and cranberry chicken burger, and a pear-arugula-cranberry-brie sandwich, pictured below.)
Sometimes–to my elation–our flat has fancy after-dinner nights. A few weeks ago, we sat around the table for good conversation, crepes filled with raspberry jam, passion fruit curd, and clotted cream; crackers and cheese, wine, and coffee. It was a dream come true.
And, I know I’ve posted this on Facebook already, but would you just look at this sundae from Harrod’s? Worth all of my £15.
Goldsmiths peculiarities. (Also known as: Toto, I don’t think we’re at Hope College anymore).
Going to class every day, I am always surprised by something funny, odd, beautiful, oddly beautiful, or just bewildering: The tough-looking guy in one of my English classes who came to class wearing, over his tattoo-covered biceps, a t-shirt covered with photos of real kittens. The posters for the Anarchist book fair. Walking through a thick cloud of marijuana smoke on my way into class. And, my recent favorite, these signs:
There’s was also one–that has since disappeared–that read: PLEASE DO NOT DRINK BEER IN THIS CLASSROOM.
So, in short, I love this place. It’s always surprising me, and I’m looking forward to finding more to love in the next two months.
Till We Have London 
English is a pseudo phonetic language and British people retain classical pronunciations for many words. Americans are, in favor of simplicity and efficiency,too lazy to memorize all those hassles and just pronounce them the way whichever is the easiest. Btw, that jumbo bowl of everything is a bomb.
Best short description of London I’ve ever read. Nice one.
This post is AMAZINGGGGGGG.
You are such a blessing.
and just so your smugness doesn’t bite you in the bottom…it’s SuR-ee KEEZ
but apart from that you are one of us, well and truly a brit.