Culture Shock

"Have you had any trouble crossing the road?" my brother asked.

Interesting question....since it pointed out to me not only the idea of which way to look when you cross the street....but also to the difference of right-of-way.  Now, London is extremely helpful with crossing the road.  At each intersection, not only is there the ubiquitous walk/don't walk signal facing you down, but written in white paint on the curb is "LOOK LEFT" or "LOOK RIGHT" to remind you which way traffic is oncoming.  Now, when you look the appropriate direction, you might get confused...as the cars parked on the side of the road may not be facing in the corresponding flow of traffic.  There is no legal rules that you must park facing the direction of that side of the road's traffic.  I tend to cover my bases and just look both ways like I was taught to do since I was holding someone's hand in order to do it.  Here's the tricky thing for me....the right of way.  In Boston, right of way is always owned by the pedestrian.  In a crosswalk or not.  On the light or not.  Yes, the drivers get mad...but they absolutely WILL stop for the pedestrian no matter what.  In New York, it is still the rule of thumb to give way to pedestrians, but best keep your wits about you.  I counted it as fantastic fortune that I didn't get hit by a car - as many people I knew had - in my three years there.  In London, the right of way is to the vehicle.  If you are a pedestrian at a crosswalk, and you decide to step out without the express permission of the green walking man lit up....best check to make sure no cars are turning off the main road onto your cross street....because they certainly have the right of way.  Oh, and if you do get the 'walk' signal...go ahead and move at a good clip, because it doesn't last for long, and chances are you'll get stuck in an island until the next light.

So, I've crossed the street.  I'll head to my local Boots pharmacy to pick up some supplies.  Here is where I hear Jerry Seinfeld's voice most pronounced, "So what's the DEAL with...."  And indeed, what IS the deal with aerosol deodorant?  There is a tiny shelf with a handful of roll-on antiperspirant but row after row after row of aerosol.  Maybe, maybe if we were in some kind of tropical clime where it felt refreshing to spray my armpits with something cold in the morning...I could get it.  But it is cold and damp here, and the last thing I want to do is phsssst - "Woooohooooohoooohooo!" every morning.  I'll just pop over and get a new toothbrush to keep in my backpack for post-lunch.  Row after row of toothbrushes...in Medium or Hard bristles.  None (with the exception of the child's mini-brush with Dora the Explorer) in Soft.  My dentist has admonished me often about brushing too hard, and I have sensitivity from brushing away the dentin.  Even Wikipedia knows: . Most dentists recommend using a toothbrush labelled "soft", since firmer bristled toothbrushes can damage tooth enamel and irritate the gums.^[1]  

Guess I'll go with Dora.

I'll just pop over to the skincare aisle and get some Neutrogena face lotion.  Nope?  Ok, then just another lightweight lotion that has 30 spf.  Nothing above 15 spf?  Really?  I mean, I know it isn't sunny here...but every dermatologist I've ever had has said a minimum of 30 spf....even during the winter.  I'll spare you the three pharmacy and two grocery store search for a sulphate-free shampoo.  Needless to say, the personal hygiene category has been a challenge...especially when you factor in the different needs of your skin and hair when the water is so hard it leaves calcium deposits on everything it touches.

The food on the other hand has been a mixed bag of delightful and disgusting.  I'm sure that prawn flavored crisps (translation: potato chips) are a perfectly acceptable flavor...I'm just not gonna try them.  Sweet corn is a delicious addition to chicken and chicken salad sandwiches, just ease up on the mayo.  Bacon...can we just call it something else?  I am used to the fatty, streaky belly bacon, cooked up crisp with a bit of the chewy parts in between.  Here it is back bacon - which has streaky bits and then a chewy oval center piece - or sometimes just the meaty part.  It isn't bad....it just isn't what my mouth starts watering for when you ask if I'd like bacon with that.  The cheese, chocolate and ice cream are to die for.  I can't seem to find tortilla chips and salsa anywhere in my giant grocery store. Food here generally doesn't have the same kinds of preservatives as in the States...which means you buy fresh and more often.  A good habit, but one that is increasingly difficult with the intensity and hours spent in class.

George Bernard Shaw said, "England and America are two countries separated by a common language."    Oscar Wilde would argue he said it first.  In either case...I put my pants on one leg at a time just like everyone else.  It is just that everyone else here then puts their trousers on over top of their pants (underpants).  I have learned most of my language barriers through trial and error.  But pants seems to be the one I just can't break.  Trousers is a word that just isn't part of my vernacular.  I think it would be easier for me to put on slacks and a blouse (like my Nana always did) than trousers and a jumper (sweater).  But I'll always default to pants.  Which will cause a raised eyebrow or two.  "I got caught in a rainstorm and my pants are soaked!" "I have a really hard time finding pants that fit, because my legs are so long."  "I'm gonna put on some comfy pants."  My knickers have never been so talked about.  Likewise, if you say that someone is 'double fisting' at the bar, it does not mean they got caught holding two beers at the same time.  'Fanny' does not mean your rear end.  And "my parents are great at shagging" does not mean they love to dance.  

To say "what?" is considered rude.  That is a difficult one to cull out of my speech.  It is such second nature, especially if I am struggling to understand a particularly strong dialect, to cock my head to the side and say, "What?" to get a repeat of the last bit of conversation.  Or in disbelief to say, "What? No way!"  It is just reflexive dialogue, not ever part of well thought out sentences.

On the other hand, there is nothing remotely impolite about asking for a toilet here.  'Toilet' is the preferred term, as 'bathroom' generally refers to somewhere with a bath or shower...generally not something you would find in a restaurant or shop.  I generally end up asking for the 'loo' - which does not carry the mild embarrassment that generally crops up as an American with the word 'toilet'.

Welcome to London: Check your liver at customs.  The drinking culture here is pretty intense.  It is a bit like being back in college.  Drinking is in order to get drunk...and to order a water or coke at a bar is to open yourself up to mockery and derision from all your friends.  Maybe it's time to get new friends!?  Well, there is a bit of truth in that, as the more internationally diverse the group of friends is...the more relaxed the vibe.  I am as happy as a clam if I get to sit back and enjoy a drink or two while hanging out with friends.  But especially with Crohn's, I get wretchedly ill if I have too many...so it is up to me to make sure the limit is self imposed.  Luckily, I am old enough not to care too much if I'm getting derided for my lack of ability to drink.  I'm getting mocked for my (what I mistakenly thought would be charming) American accent and my constant reference to my 'pants' anyway...so what's a bit more!?

One month down and the learning curve is still pretty steep.  My phone auto-corrects my spelling of color to colour.  I constantly get confused which side of the stairs to walk down (rules of the road generally apply: stay to the left).  It is considered ridiculous to tip your bartender, but appropriate to tip waitstaff (I am still the American who overtips most everyone with the lingering impression of all servers making $4.50/hour).  And what is the DEAL with coin currency?  My change purse is bursting at the seams, because I forget that £1 and £2 notes are coin currency instead of paper.  Besides which, I feel like a moron picking out each coin and reading it to see if it is a 10 pence, 20 pence, or 50 pence piece.  Let me just give you the £5 note and you can just hand me back another fistful of change.

No wonder my brain is tired!