american-english

After not sleeping on the plane at all, despite the delicious lie flat seats, I hopped on the train from Heathrow and made my way to the London Underground. As I was looking out the window at the foggy pre-dawn, it occured to me that England looked quite a bit like home. For some reason I expected it to be wildly different, and even though the tiny stone buildings and miniscule backyards were unlike anything I've seen in America, it all felt so familiar and comforting. You know that inside those little lighted windows was someone warm from the rain, snuggled and cozy inside. I felt immediately at ease. Even though I had not slept, there were still hours to go before I could check into my hostel so I decided to go on a mission to find the cheapest mobile phone in London. I was slightly surprised to find that the cheapest mobile phone in London is not so hard to find, as mobile phones seem to have joined football as a national obsession. After dropping a measly 9£ on a horrendous pearly pink clamshell, I hit up the Tate Britain in time for the free tour. Luckily I was a bit early to catch the Francis Bacon show and avoiding alternating between nausea and abject fear for an afternoon. It ended up being really great but just as we reached the 19th century narrative paintings, I felt the sudden urge to pass out. I sleepily made my way back to the hostel and effectively crashed for the rest of the night. I woke up just briefly to meet a fellow Yank art historian who was similarly jet lagged so we geeked out about languages for awhile. I only got up for a bit of water and I'm about to go back to sleep, hopefully for the rest of the night.