Life as a Cosmopolitan-Poser

Dear Readers:

I am going to attempt to briefly describe my first two weeks as a Londoner. I say briefly because I've received veiled complaints about the length of my blogs. Those of you that would like to deprive yourselves of my witty humor and storytelling capabilities by skimming, I can hardly blame you. In fact, I was reviewing/editing an old essay only yesterday, (of course, in my usual manner lasting a mere 14 pages) and I was like "Good gracious, Andy, get on with it! I'm probably one of the only people who's read this essay and is actually interested in the topic, but you are eternally droning!" So know, dear readers, that I likewise have suffered at my wordiness and am working on a more desirable solution.

I have recently discovered how un-cosmopolitan I am fact am. True, I have an obsession with personal cleanliness and I love what the city has to offer, especially to someone my age and with my interests in the arts. But the fact is, I grew up on a very small farm in a very small town in Montana. I love nature (though there are limits, especially where insects and animal feces are concerned) and I'm used to wide open spaces, the country, and few people.

London is not like this; the amount of people is overwhelming. Millions. MILLIONS. Everyday, everywhere. Surrounding you on the tube, rushing past you in the street, living in all the little brick buildings. Therefore on the tube the other day I had my first experience of real culture shock. There were just so many people, so many people I couldn't even move or turn, and I kind of freaked out a bit. It was so foreign to me, and I have reached a point where now this is no longer a vacation, but actually a place where I am staying and living.

But don't let this make you think I don't love London, quite the opposite. It's fascinating, huge, and unfathomably energetic. Also my little journey here earlier provided me with quite a lot of experience to build on. I am picking up on the language. I know, it's English, but now I'm the one the accent, I'm the one who uses words nobody knows, and I'm the strange one who doesn't know what "knackered, gerkin, brolly, wooly, and gris" mean. But I think I've managed to figure out how to say "sorry" with a perfect British accent, or at least a good enough one that people don't give me the you're-an-American stare when I run into them.

On to adventures, which naturally I've had quite a few. The other day I managed to get locked in the institute by myself with no way out, and naturally my phone ran out of minutes before I could contact help. Fortunately I was prisoner for only an hour before the tenant arrived and let me out. I've gone to two plays at the Globe, both 1st rate, and last night I saw Wicked, which truly is a glorious spectacle. I've made it to the Opera once and confirmed my growing suspicion that I'm really just a German-opera-junkie and bel canto is not my thing.

My fellow Americans are entertaining, and for the most part a bit younger with different interests from myself. The British have proved fascinating and I look forward to meeting more. My host family is wonderful, and the food is kosher. My internship is just beginning, but so far appears to be very promising, and I find I'm quite enthusiastic about it.

Otherwise, my complaint about London is there is simply too much to do. No matter how busy you are, you've missed out on at least 5 amazing things everyday. Operas, concerts, performances, and museums galore, not to mention Pope visits. I can think of only three things to make me happier in London: 1. a piano to practice regularly 2. good Mexican food 3. and a fountain of money to afford all the things I want to see and do.