Mary Wisniewski
Overseas Columnist
“Are you alive?” asks an elderly woman sitting across from me on my return flight to London. It is quite a disconcerting question to wake up to, but I suppose I can’t really blame her. After all, my face is pale, my eyes red. I reassure her that indeed I am alive and reach for my overnight light. It does not turn on. “You are simply unfortunate,” she said.
Later on after landing in Heathrow, I attempt to navigate through the tube with two suitcases and two small bags while unsuspecting strangers get smacked by them as my luggage sways. Locals stare in horror. Incognito, I am not.
Every time I fly away from my hometown, I feel unsure and anxious. This is somewhat surprising considering I have always had the desire to leave it and do. But somewhere between age 9 and 19, I grew used to and even attached to my home state and its unusual customs like women wearing reindeer jumpers during the holidays. People always say you can never go back home again, but I always do.
Pulling up to the London house, I realize I am not alone. Familiar faces greet me with large smiles but also with heavy bags under their eyes.
The students are happy and excited to return, yet sad and tired to leave wherever they spent the holidays. We all live two or three lives now and do not know exactly where we belong.
Luckily, it only takes a 48-hour hibernation and a trip to The Crepery to readjust.
Unlike last semester, we know where to buy groceries, which way to look while crossing the road and to say cheers instead of thanks. We are masters of navigation of landscape and certain customs but certainly not masters of the city and English people.
It is a weird concept to live in an American house in England. After all, it makes it a challenge to meet and befriend actual Londoners without seeming like a psycho. But, it is a challenge we are excited to face.
Yesterday I met a man with shaggy gray hair on the tube. “Elvis is amazing,” he tells me as his struggles to keep his left eye open. I notice his hand has the word mum and a treble clef sign drawn on it. He introduces his wife, a street performer in Covent Garden. She juggles he says.
Back at home, I meet students and not street performers. Living in London allows us to meet people very unlike ourselves, which is exactly why we are here. Like Cat Stevens sang, we are all on the road to find out.
They say sequels are never as good as the original, but, in the case of London, I know it will be and perhaps better.
This semester will be a series of chaotic quests that will teach us about history, customs and people. You just have to make sure to step out of the house and an adventure will surely find you.
01-20-2005
