London

Journal, 30 Aug 99

Once the plane broke through Saturday morning's dark swamp of clouds and we could see London's traffic-congested veins and stone buildings from above, I got to work picturing myself on the ground below. I expected to feel right at home, what with everybody babbling away on sidewalks and in restaurants in my mother tongue, surrounded by printed words on signs and buildings that would echo the shape of my own mouth. But I was wrong. Language does not a country make. Hours after touchdown, I felt like I was a foot in a shoe made for a four-toed horse. In just two years, I've not only adapted to a good 90% of the Swiss culture; it appears that I've also lost some of my ability to adapt elsewhere. I spent it all on one place. For at least a few days during a voyage, generally I to want to live everywhere that I visit—a feeling which usually subsides before the end of a visit. But maybe it was because of my expectations: In London, that wanna-stay-here feeling never got off the ground.

Not that we didn't have a good time. On the contrary. Nicole--Stèph's cousin from Louisiana--and her husband Brian put us up, or put up with us, for the weekend. We did most of our sight-seeing on our own, but all the better: It allowed us to spend our time together as a foursome discussing the nitty gritty of our experiences abroad. Getting the lowdown on this Life-In-England bit from another American puts an interesting angle on the information. They explain to us what we would notice, or at least what I would notice, if we lived here. As I said, I don't know if maybe I used all my adaptation juice on Switzerland, but despite the language difference and the lack of historical roots that the US and England share, I find it easier to have assimilated to Swiss life than I imagine I would to the quirky lot of differences brought on by the uneven forces of industrialization in England. If I may go so far as to nitpick, here are some examples:

• The electrical plugs in England are just a little smaller than a compact car. Even if you're just plugging in a razor, you're required to use a three-prong plug, each of whose prongs could support the weight of two small children. This is in case you find yourself in the bathroom shaving, surounded by your six children, at the very same moment that an earthquake hits and opens the floor beneath you into a gaping, 100-foot-deep chasm. You can then keep your one hand on your razor, grab your six children with your other arm, and safely hang until the emergency crew arrives in funny hats to make absurdly inane remarks in a funny accent about your unusual situation.
  
• As absurd a detail as it may seem, there is no standard for garden hose connections. Therefore, all garden hoses require at least a couple of hose clamps and an unearthly tolerance for springing leaks.
  
• - While most of the US evolved beyond having separate water taps for hot and cold water at least 60 years ago, and the rest of Europe probably even before them, the English haven't quite yet gotten there. The ideal when washing your hands is, of course, to find that magic point beneath the hot water tap when the cold water that was sitting in the pipes finally begins to warm but isn't yet hot. But, of course, as with British tinkering in general, the idea is great but never works in principle and one always ends up scalding one's hands before the soap is completely off. Maybe there are some cultural rites associated with sadistic plumbery that I don't know about.
  
• Barbequeing is the spiritual opposite of boiling and is therefore perhaps genetically incompatible with the English. Not that they don't try, however. But the English idea of charcoal briquets ar more difficult to light than wet wood. It took Brian about an hour to finally get the fire going. During the effort, I foolishly suggested he try lighter fluid. What embers he'd had burning sizzled away in a white smoke once he gave them a squirt of British lighter fluid. No problem, I thought, I'll hold a match to a briquet that got a good dose of fluid. But nothing going. The lighter fluid was as flammable as CoolAid. In fact, the fire didn't get going until the fluid had evaporated. British lighter fluid is therefore a good thing to keep in the kitchen in case of a fire.
  
• Perhaps the most striking coup of British ingenuity was tucked away in Brian and Nicole's shed: a hover mower. "A what?" I asked. Brian repeated himself: A hover mower. Indeed, the hover mower floats inches above your yard and hacks away at the grass--apparently with the same blades that it uses to levitate, which makes for very bad hovering when the lawn is wet and the grass sticks to the blades. "But it would be a lot better if, if," Brian said, hesitating in light of the irony of his words, "if they just put wheels on the thing."

But I have two things to say in England's defense:
1) We were just visiting London, and the rest of the country might be completely normal, even by my xenophobic American standards.
2) The beer is great. The ales and stouts are tops. A Guinness in London is better than any to be found on the continent, second probably only to Ireland herself.

And, I must admit, we didn't visit much in our two days there. We'll have to go back one day. And when we do, I'll put all thoughts of barbecues, water spickets, and hover mowers behind me. And try to time the hot water just right.

r o a d   g r i m e                   u n l e s s                    c o n t a c t