Addictive Afghani Tea and Medieval Marching Bands

Well, I'm wrapping up my month in London. I leave in just about ten days to head back home, and I'm so, so looking forward to it. Not only to the pizza, pork roll, and beach, but to everything familiar. Sometimes I forget how strained and difficult it is doing the cross-cultural thing; while it's interesting and rewarding (that's what they tell us, right?), it's exhausting. I can't wait to go home and say things that are immediately understood and hear jokes that I immediately find funny. Or even to introduce myself as "Colleen" and have people know what word I just said. It will just be nice to going back to doing things easily.

With only 10 days left here, nothing is "easy" yet. I just met another new flatmate in my United Nations of an apartment. Ackbah, from Afghanistan. I couldn't understand much of what Ackbah was saying, but he studies some kind of engineering, and was surprised I knew where Afghanistan was. I, close-minded American that I am, was surprised he didn't hate me when he heard where I was from. In a city where I get a lot of heat from a drunk Frenchman on a public bus for being American but only friendliness from an Afghani flatmate, life is never simple here.

So that's Ackbah from Afghanistan, Veronique from Mexico, "Owen" from China, Silent Asian Roommate (now gone... but to where?) and Evil Roommate from the Netherworld. Ackbah offered me some Afghan tea and promised me I would be immediately addicted; friendly offer, but unfortunately I was busy stealing Owen's pots and pans in one of my covert cooking schemes and I couldn't relax for a cup of tea. Maybe I should have just broken down and purchased the 5-pound cookware set. Probably not. Maybe I will miss life in Flat 23. But probably not.

What has been fantastically enjoyable in these final two weeks of my London life is the weather. This I did not expect. It has been and (supposedly) will be sunny and in the high 70s everyday. And so, we've done our fair share of lying out in Hyde Park, drinking midday at outside tables at our favorite pubs, going on picnics with the Brits, and organizing campus barbeques. My favorite moment, by far, was a few days ago in St. James' Park, the park practically adjacent to Buckingham Palace: I brought my laptop to finish writing a paper, and found a really hidden picnic table in the shade overlooking the lake. Discounting a lot of noisy and seemingly-mating birds, it was quiet and great. Until a drum and fief band began playing. Or, actually, the official Royal Drum and Feif Band, or whatever they call themselves, in their red uniforms and furry hats. And I sat there, as a partially-deaf grandma and I basically ignored a band practically from the 1600s as they gave us a private concert. And no joke, I sat there and wrote about what I found to be "everyday living in London." To steal from my much-missed Cindy Adams, only in London, kids, only in London.

Now off to penultimate Friday night in London; I guess it's time to make it really count. Cheers.