Getting settled in ...

Oh, btw if you are an American trying to get a bank account it would be like Hilary Clinton trying to run on a republican ticket – you get treated like an ass (get it?).

“Passport please, work permit, work letter, proof of this, proof of that…kiss our flag…”

Apparently everyone is intent on making sure there is no money laundering accounts being set up just as in the US. I am all for it but I don’t see how and why opening an account should take an hour. In the home of capitalism, cats are trying to get you into a checking, savings, money market and a zero % APR credit card account for the first 5 days (if you really read the fine print) in like 10 mins. Not here. Lady, pleasant as she was, acted like she was being paid to serve the minimal amount of clients possible per day.


Ok, ok. Maybe I am sounding a bit grouchy. Things really aren’t that bad. The sun is out today. Its 55 degrees outside. I didn’t get run-over looking left then right instead of right then left to cross the street. Our concierge is actually very nice and I love the old French lady who owns the pastry shop 2 blocks from my house. When I went in for breakfast, she said bonjour with the warmest smile that would melt any alloy. I like the fact that the major streets paralleling mine both have very nice gardens and a couple of old, old cathedrals. And it certainly didn’t hurt that our associate was flexible enough to accommodate me when I popped into the office today (I was expected tomorrow) to send off some emails.

All in all, life is good. I am thankful for this new phase. Feelings of excitement mixed with a slight anxiety has me ready to take on London. Everyone says the 6 months will go by so quickly but what I learned from Einstein’s Dreams is that time is really only a matter of relative perspective. I choose whether to make it go fast or slow depending on how I choose to spend my time the next six months. But inside I know they are probably right. I have already chosen to meet new folks, and to gain new experiences. To travel wide, but to also embrace the city. To engage my artistic side more but to also step it up to another level at work. I have chosen London. We shall see if London chooses me. This is the diary of an American expat in London.

Arrival in London

February 25

Name 3 differences between NYC cab drivers and the xxxxxxxx limo service from Heathrow to central London? (i) one is a cab one is a limo service (ii) that is it. No more. Kaput. Ce finit. Period. They are one and the same with one intent – kill self and passenger or be killed. I mean, you’d think a limo service will have it going on but the lady driver I had was hell-bent on getting into London under an hour despite the chaotic Monday morning rush hour traffic. I had to beg her to let me get to my apt safely. It would really not be cool to die on the way to my flat on my first day here.Anyway, we did get safely to my flat in London and I must say that the digs is a nice hookup. Great tree lined street. Quite. Clean. Spacious. Many of you travelers out there understand the need to come home to a “sanctuary” when you are away from home and the layout definitely gave me reason to smile.

A few weeks earlier I had polled my friends on where to live in London (I had the option of choosing anywhere I wanted, yeah...I know!).The feedback was both varied and passionate and left me thinking that if I made the wrong choice that I was doomed to be the pariguayo American missing out on life as it should be lived in its fullest. A pariguayo (for those of you with furrows on your forehead) according to Junot Diaz, author of The brief and wondrous life of Oscar Wao – a must-read factual and insightful yet disturbingly tragic story about a Dominicano’s life in Jersey, New York and Santa Domingo – is a party-watcher not a doer. “During the First Occupation it was reported that members of the American Occupying Forces would often attend Dominican parties but instead of joining in the fun the Outlanders would simply stand at the edge of the dances and watch...contemporary usage describes anybody who stands outside and watches while other people scoop up the girls. The kid who don’t dance, who ain't got game, who let’s people clown him – he’s the pariguayo.”

Comments such as “For what its worth, we found south ken to be a bit too upper east side for our tastes…” and “south kenn actually should be considered the 52nd State it is so American…” made be reevaluate the “options” I had and although I have that internal smile every time I walk into my apt, ask me again in a month how I feel and I might just be pulling my hair out for not listening to my fellowship of the ring. Well, technically I am in Chelsea but then again I think it’s like saying I don’t live in the village, I live in West village!


I crashed on getting home. Was supposed to take a 2 hour nap but woke up at 5pm. The concierge had left for the day and I couldn’t get anyone to explain why the shower drainage was not working as I thought it should (“I suspect previous renter took many baths and tightened the stupid up-down drainage disc”) or why the heater was on all night (“it’s not enough to change thermostat setting, you have to shut off individual radiators since the latent heat is used to warm the bathroom towels”. Ha), or why I could only log unto the internet with my work computer and not my personal computer (“sorry, I only enabled one computer ID, didn’t realize you had two computers”. Huh?). So, after all the fixes I went and got me a nice big Indian meal. I have to say it wasn’t as good as Indian row in the east village but it was alright. By the time I was done ordering thoug, I felt like I had just asked an MTA worker in New York how to get to the upper west side – overwhelmed with monosyllabic nonsense. You know…

”excuse me, how do I get to the upper west side?”
“the subway”
“well…I know that. I meant which…”
“the 2”
“but the F is on the 2 line”
“construction”
“huh? Is the 2 running then?
“nope”
“so what then?”
“get on the 1 on express line and switch to the F…at 59th switch to the A, B or C then at 81st get out and take the cross town to 79th. Back to the 1 and that should take you to 145th”

At which point, you just go outside and take a cab.

“excuse me, what types of curry do you have?”
“many”
“can you tell me how briyani is different from sag or tandoori?”
“yeah”
“well…?”
“one has spice, one has veggie.”
Pause
“which is which?”
“hmmm”…confused look.
“how much?”
“₤ 13”
“what? ₤ 13???”
“oh, sorry. I charged you the stay-in price; take away is ₤ 9”
“Are you sure?”
“No. pardon me. I just started 2 days ago but I will get the manager to help you”

At which point, you just go outside and get McDonalds.