After another night of on and off sleep, my body clock is still jumbled. The converter blew the flat fuses several times, so I had to make my way to the Apple store walking from the university—another adventure. Good news—I have internet and now charging in the flat.
Oddities: In the university faculty office this morning, I was offered coffee or tea. To my discomfort, it turns out that there is an Irish maid who actually prepares tea/coffee and cleans up the mugs in the evening. Perhaps GB is more stratified by social class than I expected; I noticed that only faculty (no staff) were provided the same courtesy.
Language, of course, is very odd. I am not enjoying being pegged as American every time I open my mouth. Simple requests confuse the Brits. Not only is my dialect obvious, but word choices are very different. For example: “Mind your foot” for “Watch your step.” One cannot walk a block without being stopped by youngsters wanting to educate about this cause or that: Unicef, endangered species, etc. They all want to engage in a conversation about the US as well. Talk about being foreign.
Had lunch today in little bistro.
The waiter from Bulgaria said he was so happy to be able to talk “American” with me. When I asked him to explain the difference, he said: The Brits say “eigh, mate.” Americans say, “Wuz up, mon.” He had a few other funny takes on our dialect gleened from “movies and music.”
BYOB. You better bring your own bag when shopping or there will be a hefty fee ($2) for each plastic grocery bag. The neighbourhood grocery (Tesco) has no basic food like rice, beans, eggs or oats. They carry pre-made meals for 1-2 servings (similar to Fresh and Easy), single serving cans of soup and lots of cookie/cracker/stuff. The butcher is down the alley a few shops away from the fish monger.
Eggs sold by the produce folks without a carton.
I could not fathom how to get 6 safely home loose in my bag.
Here are a few snaps of my flat. Spartan with lumpy down duvets that make beds look sloppy but keep it warm in the frigid here.
The rest all come out upside down when I post so I will work on it.
Reflections: There is something really wonderful about being out walking for errands and being bombarded with people on the tube, sidewalks, shops, etc. It is sure a contrast to how we stay in the bubble of our cars going from point A to point B. People have been incredibly helpful and friendly.
I am very uncomfortable, however, when folks ask what I am doing here and for how long. When I say, “teaching,” perfect strangers launch into these academic subjects that I know nothing about. I guess my age and the fact I teach at university sends a message about who I am that so does NOT fit either my self-concept or who I am. Even the landlord made assumptions about what I would be interested in seeing and doing that suggest his notion that university professors have a body of cultural capital I lack. I need to remember this when dealing with 20 year olds—I hope I don’t teach from a place of assuming they know things that are really rarified products of elite knowledge. Would I really know that Keats had a collection of Rembrants? Should I? And, is it high on my “to do” list to “pop over on a Sunday morning to see?” It is perplexing and not something that happens to me at home.
Adieu
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