Day 2: Things are Looking Up

So here’s the kind of day I had:
Woke up at 3 a.m. Had to pee really bad, but didn’t want to traverse the steps in the dark only to pee in the equivalent of a Johnny on the Spot/Outhouse. I’ve been holding any and all bodily fluids since I arrived. Don’t even ask how I bathed the next day and with what. We won’t go there.

Got up in the morning and searched online for hotels. Couldn’t find any cheaper than $200. Finally found one for a bit under $170 (ouch), then called to book it and both my credit cards were declined. I had to call my mom back home to get new cc numbers to use, but the cell phone I bought denied me access to call the states. In the meantime, I was hungry. Went to the kitchen and fell down the stairs on my way. Apparently, my socks were slippery.

I called the cell company, got everything straightened out, called my cc companies to see what was up, and they were all asleep. It was 6:30 a.m. in the U.S. I got the cc number for an Amex from mom, called the guy back (Mark, who later became my new bff in London), only to discover I needed a code on the front of the card, which I didn’t get. When I finally called Mark with the code, I couldn’t find the piece of paper I wrote it on. It wasn’t in my bag. I was now in the car, so I had to go back inside. I called Mark back and hung up and realized I forgot to get the address of the hotel. I actually talked to Mark six times in less than an hour. Whenever I call now, I just say, “Hi Mark, it’s Stefanie.”

Went outside and it was raining. Luckily, I love rain. But not in a 30 year old car with no power steering, brakes that really work or anything that really works. We chugged along roads with millions of cars honking at us. She has to drive slow and stops full before turning as the wheel is so hard to turn. She must have the strongest arm muscles of any human. She can’t back it up, as it has no reverse. It stalled a lot and the parking brake got stuck so a strange man got in the car next to me to help us fix it. While getting into a parking space, she somehow got stuck halfway in the road and there was a truck blocking us. She couldn’t pull forward or backwards and cars were honking like crazy and passersby were all looking into the car. A man with a rough accent got out of his car to yell at us, asking us to move. Apparently, there is a law here where people can’t pass other cars so they have to wait or they’ll get a ticket. When the truck finally moved and we pulled in, a stream of about 30 cars came past us. I got out of the car to get to the tube, but was on the wrong side of the street, so I had to walk down a narrow part of the median not meant for foot traffic and squeeze my body in when buses passed me. Then, I felt like a tourist.

Here’s where it got better:
I hopped on the Angel tube. I had no idea what I was doing or where I was going, but I had some directions in hand and tried my best to look like I did this all the time. I wondered, did everyone know I was a fake? How could they tell? I didn’t stop to look at signs or pull out a tube map, the truest mark of a tourist. I had on a stylish coat with big buttons and a silver belt. True, the coat was white and it’s after September, but I could still be a native, just a fashion backwards one. I had a messenger bag. EVERYBODY in London carries a messenger bag. I even saw a man who looked about 80 carrying one. I made two connections which took next to no time. Once, the tube stopped inside a tunnel and the boy next to me who looked like Nic Carter or his brother, Aaron, said “Fuck’s sake” in an Irish brogue which sounded a bit like “Folks ache,” and then we were off. I think the train must’ve heard him. Next time I’ll try an Irish accent and see if it works.

I got off at Edgeware Rd. and ended up getting lost, but met some delightful people in a clothing store who helped me. I couldn’t find any street signs and they noted that they were on top of buildings rather than on the street intersections or at light posts where we have them. That made it easy. I found a grocery store and bought some delightful sugar free muesli, natural yogurt, Kleenex, Nairn's oat cakes, olives and cheese and some of the most delightful hummus (with cilantro) I’d ever tasted. I found my hotel, which is actually a knitting house. They knit all manner of clothes and sell it internationally. There are only 7 rooms here and they’re all designed by local artists. Gail, the manager, brought me a cup of tea with milk, and I was immediately sated. I had a little picnic on a beanbag chair (Kath: ours are way cuter, these are square and brown), and finally felt happy for the first time. Gail said she’d cut me a deal if I paid cash and I could stay here the full three months if I wanted. There is a lovely kitchen with stove and everything I could use for my stuff and there’s even a rooftop garden. It’s about a 20 minute walk to my school, which might give me a good excuse to walk off the bread and pastries. Granted, I’d still shell out over $2,000 a month in the end, but it’s very central, and close to the grocery and this is sort of an international village where I live. There are people here from all over the world. I barely hear English speakers, to be honest. And I like it like that. It’s a total melting pot. There are kebab houses everywhere, Middle Eastern places galore (one called Fatouch I have to go to since it’s my favorite salad ever) and so many cute little cafes. Every café has its own style and all of them are so colorful and hip. This place feels more like me than anyplace I’ve seen so far. I was in North London and it’s mostly residential, very spread out. You can get easy public transport links but it’s not the same feeling. I want to be in the bustling action. If I’m going to be in London, I want the full effect.

I just met a woman in the kitchen from Indonesia. Her name is Titi. I told her what I knew about her cuisine, based on my research and turns out she had some of it in the fridge (black sticky rice with coconut cream). She offered some, but I told her no thanks cuz of the sugar. I don’t think these French chefs are gonna like me too much when I spit out their tarts. Oh well. Titi was cooking lamb chops, noodles and spinach with oyster sauce. Yum.