The First Week

My flatmates are all American. It's not typical, apparently, and I'm a little frustrated to lack the whole immersion experience, but it's early days. I start class tomorrow, and hopefully I'll meet some Brits or other internationals in that setting. One of my biggest reservations about studying in my beloved London was that it is the American's European Town, and the similarities won't allow for much personal growth and boundary-pushing. So, the all-American dorm doesn't exactly help with that reservation.

That said, my roommates are all delightful, and I don't know that I would trade any of them for a European. Well, none of the ones that I really know, anyway.

So, my first week of this experience has been all about Americans in London. We went to pubs around New Cross (the sad little town where Goldsmiths is located), laughed about accents and bobby hats, and passed Big Ben while taking a bus in to the city, oohing and aahing all the way. It's been nice, really. I like being a tourist, and an American stranger in a strange land. I've always thought that London was really good for that kind of thing, too, what with friendly people and a perfect combination of lovable tackiness and cool satire.

My first visit into London was at night, and to an Irish pub. With the flatmates. After drinks. And a drunken bus ride (not me, them.) I was not terribly amused by any of it. Particularly the dancing and the club business. It's not for me. The whole time, I was wondering exactly how dangerous it would be if I left the crowd and walked around Trafalgar Square by myself at 11:00 p.m.

So the next day, I did just that. Well, not at 11 p.m., and not breaking away from any crowds, but I did catch a bus and land in the square all by myself. After absorbing Nelson's Column and the general Trafalgarness of it all, I went to the National Gallery and sat in on a lecture on Guercino's "Elijah fed by Ravens," and stared for a few years at the dots in Seurat's "Bathers at Asnieres." I was only rushed by myself, and no one kept me longer than I wanted to look at Flemish Renaissance masterpieces or something (not that I mind the Flemish Renaissance, of course...)

I was even more happy to be on my own for my next stop: the National Portrait Gallery.

I do want to get into that experience, but it's getting late, and I'm sure the story will tie in excellently with tomorrow's post (I am optimistic) about my first classes, London with fellow Americans, and why I am studying here in London. Actually, it ties quite excellently into why I'm here.

But now, I am tired. And I have class in the morning.

Cockney slang I don't understand: "Fair do's."