The Feel of England

It has been two weeks and three days since I left the United States for England. I feel like I have been living here for a month, though—which is not good or bad, just a strange perception. It seems that when a lot of changes occur all at once, your brain wants to stretch the memories of those events over a more typical course, probably so you don’t go ballistic with the sudden increase in information and stimulation.

As the study abroad coordinator so wisely put it two years ago, “Leicester is not Kent, Ohio.” For some reason, the emphasis with which she said the words stuck with me. Leicester is not Kent, Ohio. She said that about two months before I was to leave the country, and the image of another world popped into my head the second the phrase was voiced. Well, it’s true. Leicester is another world; actually, it’s more like another dimension, like in The Golden Compass. Everything is kind of the same, but the one book you read in America is not the same book you will read in England!-- (as so many of you know, having read of the famous changes to Harry Potter.)

Everything has an air of antiquity about it. Buildings have the feel of having been carved into the earth. Houses are brick. They have chimneys and a real need for those dancing sweeps, especially when the wind blows and ash falls down the flue and scatters all over the living room floor.

Standard to students is the three-tiered, fold-out dryer stand upon which damp clothes are laid for two or three days. Want instant dryer action? Only if you have precious pounds to waste. And the only thing bigger in England than in America is the electrical outlets. Each one has a button next-by that turns the current on or off, to save on electricity. Floor vent heating is almost unheard of. Radiators are the heaters of England. You can go to the Homebase and buy sleek, shiny silver radiators for your posh abode if you can afford it.

Twenty-four hour time is used in all clocks and mobile phones, but if you ask the time, you will always hear the twelve-hour version. They measure weight, distance, and speed in a mishmash of metric and English systems, and they claim anyone younger than middle age has been taught the metric system since elementary school.

There is a produce shop and a greenhouse on every corner. Small hardware stores and local bakeries still exist. The city center is home to the largest covered market in England, where they sell amazingly cheap fresh fruits and veggies, as well as scarves and clothing, handbags and pillows. Across from the chic glass façade of Highcross Shopping Centre is an ancient, crumbling Roman wall. Richard III spent his last night here. Geoffrey Chaucer was married here. The Romans built a walkway here, called New Walk, which is the fastest route to the city center from the university. Next to Dominos is a gothic church. Across from that are about fifteen curry restaurants, which makes sense because Leicester has a significant Indian population. They play loud Indian rap music from tiny cars and popularized Bollywood movies in cinemas all over England.

Queue is a popular word here. The world is smaller but there are no less people. Places are a little bit more crowded than in the suburbs of Cleveland, and you must learn to wait your turn.

There is so much that is good about England. When Jana was locked out of her house on day one, she stopped a local woman to ask if she knew where the door to the alleyway was, and three people overheard and began to hunt with us for it. When we were unsuccessful, this woman offered to let us use her mobile phone, and asked if we wanted help carrying our bags to my house. Where in the US most people would brush you off with an, “I don’t know,” here, people will genuinely offer their assistance, free of charge.

There is the bad, too—door-to-door salesmen are not uncommon, and junk mail on your stoop is not illegal. Ads for the ‘pizza, kebab and burger’ joint down the street, ads for hair stylists and acupuncturists, hypnotherapists and student deals, all come pouring through the mail slot and are left for you to find in a big pile at the end of the day.

The fashion here is much more prominent than in the midwestern US; less jeans and more tights and boots, and scarves and layers and jewelry. Fashion being everywhere, it is also more accessible and affordable. The Brits take pride in their clothing. Several downtown boutiques will sell a shirt for three-hundred pounds, but right across from that you will find off-brand items of the same style for fifteen. It is easy to find good combinations of clothing when all of the clothing is good. Hairstyles are important, too. Everyone has a modern cut, many with excellent dye jobs to boot. Student discounts are advertised at the stylist next door. Looking perfectly modish is a must—tanning, however, is not necessary.

Alcohol is featured more noticeably here; it is legal to carry open bottles in the streets, and freshmen who have just turned the drinking age of eighteen are not scarce with bottles of wine in their clutches, tottering on their high heels from an eventful night at the club. Shops close early, but bars (especially clubs) are open late, sometimes until five in the morning. The party scene is large, but mostly for the benefit of the undergraduates.

Right now, at a quarter ‘til eleven at night, I can hear the raucous chanting of far-off party-goers having a good time. I live in a good location: not too far from campus, far enough from the younger crowd. I used to wonder if my street was safe, but that was before the nighttime strolls during which I ran into more than one policeman patrolling by foot or bicycle. Help is not far off if ever needed, and thanks to a certain Clarendon Park officer, we have our screaming eggs; which, though not as effective as the illegal pepper-spray or pocket-knife, should do the trick to alert the authorities in an emergency. The Brits, by the way, think Americans are laughably over-equipped with their knives and mace.

Ten minutes to the hour and it is time for me to get ready for bed. I feel I must set myself some boundaries as far as studying goes, so I will take the approach of the professors and resist going into the library for study this weekend. Of course, I may work on a theory or two from home, and I do have a modest amount of reading already stocked on my new 2gb flash drive, ready to be downloaded onto my internet-free computer. If you are reading this now, I have probably uploaded this blog entry from my switchblade (my slang term for the flash drive, which slides in and out of its case like so) at Jana's house.

So now, I will turn off the light with a yank of the cord, and snuggle down into my winter duvet.

Overuse of the word brilliant here, by the way, is not always off the mark.

Goodnight, everybody! And welcome to England!