Grey's Journal

Moving to London

June 30th to July 4th

I felt like I sneaked into the country.

For many months, I worried about how to answer the woman at the customs counter in the airport. All my life our dialog had been the same:

``What is your purpose for coming to this country?''

``Vacation.''

``How long will you be staying?''

``Three to five days.''

I was quite worried how to answer this time. `Coming to live here' and `No idea' didn't seem appropriate answers.

I also had the fear that I would be turned away the instant I opened my mouth. This trip, I was going to use my Irish passport for the first time. One look at the passport, one listen to my New York accent, and I would be exposed for the fraud I felt I was. How dare I claim Irish citizenship when I have never set foot in the country?

Well, I have a great-grandparent who was an Irish citizen. When I was 5 years old, a law was going into effect that would no longer allow people to claim Irish citizenship that far back the generational lines. So, on the day before the law went into effect, my father filed for my citizenship. Sixteen years later, I stood on the customs line, Irish passport in hand.

It was my turn at the customs counter. I silently handed the woman my passport. She typed something in her computer, swiped my passport through her reader, and handed it back to me.

"Have a nice day, sir."

I was dumbstruck. No questions? The only time they don't ask questions is when I return to the US, when I go to my home county... Before I realized what I was doing, I opened my traitorous mouth, thereby shattering any notion of me being Irish, and asked if that was all.

"That's it sir."

I thanked her and quickly went on before she could realize the error she had made.

I was in London.

I was in London, as a citizen. Free to work and live and stay as long as I liked. I was in my new home.

* * *

With the help of my mother (she is a flight attendant, and thus a useful person to know when trying to go abroad), I moved into my summer flat in Bethnal Green.  Bethnal Green is the Queens of London, except it has fun little alleyways and doors with knobs in the center like hobbit holes.

I wish I could tell you that I did all sorts of fantastic things on my first day, but I cannot. I spent most of the day in a sleepy fog. It was unsettling to leave New York at 7 PM and arrive in London a few hours later at 6 AM. I did my best to stay awake all day, but was only moderately successful.

The next morning, (to the surprise of no one who knows me, I imagine) I headed to the museums. I doubt this would be most people's first course of action, but I had an excuse. It was raining. I'm sure, had I asked a wizened, old time Londoner what to do in his great city on a rainy day, he would have responded ``Off to the science museum with you, lad!'' No doubt about it.

The National Science Museum is exactly as a science museum should be. Lots of futuristic looking displays, strange lighting, and text explanations of everything that nobody reads. To my surprise and delight, even on a Monday morning, the place was packed with parents, little kids, and the occasional lone kindred spirit.

The British are thoughtful enough to include three bathroom options: Male, Female, and Family. I have found the British to be like Apple's computer designers. They don't radically alter anything, but they make simple, useful changes that leave you marveling why no one thought of them before, and wondering when everyone else will catch up.

The large number of displays of naked people was a surprise. In the ``who am I?'' gallery, for example, there were several photographs of naked people on the walls and in books. These had intimate descriptions of who they were and what made them unique. I guess if you are going to have a nude photo in a museum that hundreds pass by daily, there is little point in being shy about your private life.

It was interesting that none of the parents I saw kept their children from these exhibits. Nakedness and sexuality seem much more readily accepted and natural to the British despite their reputation as prudes. As a result, I felt uncomfortable with being uncomfortable around the photographs.

The other spot I had to travel to was King's Cross Station (London's Grand Central Terminal). I went to the railway  in search of platform 9 and 3/4. To my surprise, it was there. The English put up an official looking sign above a bricked off archway. I tried to push my way through, but to no avail. Looks like I will have to continue with my muggle life. Too bad, I would dearly liked to have been in Ravenclaw.

I spent most of my week walking around the parks and getting acquainted with the city. It is more like DC than New York. There are no skyscrapers, but there is much interesting architecture to be found. As an unplanned city, the street layout is organic. No Cartesian-coordinate addresses here. The sign posts do not guide you down specific streets, they point you in the general direction you should head.

The British do love their parks. I could not seem to walk three blocks without passing at least a little one. They also love their dogs. By default, dogs are allowed in the parks without leashes. In total opposite to the US, if you don't want to be near dogs, you have to go to the `people only zone'. I have also seen drinking fountains for dogs, next to their human counterparts. What a great country.

* * *

My favorite spot so far is Trafalgar Square. I keep finding myself gravitating towards there to take a break, read, or write this journal. There are four lions on an elevated stone platform surrounding a tall slender column. This is in a courtyard in front of the National Gallery and has two large fountains. The lions and the stone platform upon which they sit were clearly not designed for people to climb on. But climb they do. That's what makes Trafalgar Square fun. Imagine the Lincoln monument with kids climbing into Abe's lap and making bunny ears behind his head for photographs. It would be a much more interesting place.

Apparently, the English are not as sensitive about their national monuments as Americans are. I like this system much better. It makes the monuments more accessible in many ways. The lions at Trafalgar Square are real because I have climbed them. Abe Lincoln is an abstraction.

It is also fun to watch the families arrive at Trafalgar Square. It is always the same regardless of the wide variety of ethnicity and religion. As soon as the child sees the lions, they scamper away and climb the six foot stone platform, and then onto the backs of the eight foot tall lions. While the children are having fun, the parents are busily snapping photographs. I have probably been in the background of hundreds of photographs by now.

* * *

Well, that's a rough account of my first week's impressions. I have vague intentions to continue the journal in the future, but we will have to see what happens.

I hope everyone is doing well.

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Copyright © 2003 Wellington Grey


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