I saw a really interesting gag sign on the tube (synonyms: underground, train, moving vehicle that has frequent delays) the other day. It was printed in the same format as the official rules and regulations of the train. It read:
“Don’t acknowledge fellow passengers or sustain eye contact beyond two seconds. Please respect urban solitude.”
My first reaction was: “oh, some cynic must have put that on the train! No one else could possibly think like that.” Then, though, I thought about the last eight days of living in London. It has been virtually impossible to make eye contact and smile at people walking by in the underground. People, for the most part, look at me like I’m crazy when I greet them in some way or compliment an article of their clothing.
But I love these moments; moments of brief connection between random strangers on the tube or on the street. What’s the point in the heterogeneity of the urban landscape if you can’t take advantage of connecting with and learning from all of the diversity and difference you find there?
So the last week has been a game of trying to break with the “urban solitude” culture, and trying to fit in with everyone else. Yesterday, I wore a pair of slacks with heels and stormed onto the Tube with a cup of coffee looking really confident and rushed. As I swiped my Oyster card like I meant business, I totally fit in with rush hour. Alternatively, I serenaded people coming down the escalator to the tunes of Elton John. (see video here: http://www.facebook.com/permalink.php?story_fbid=45623971075&id=1230300026#!/video/video.php?v=1646863379660&comments)
See if you can guess which is which:
1. Introducing myself like a madwoman to everyone in my classes (break with)
2. Saying “sorry” with an British accent when I have to get by someone in the market (fit in)
3. Carrying a mini oven through London (break with?)
There are exceptions, though. In the store yesterday, I was looking at eggs and an elderly lady turns to me and says in a really thick accent: “I love me’self a good egg! These look scrumptious!” I agreed wholeheartedly, and as she walked away she cried, “Cheerio, young lady!”
I think I am in love with this woman.
I also had an amazing time over the weekend at a JSOC Shabbaton (weekend Jewish convention) in Bournemouth, a beach town around 2 hours from London. It was a beautiful and spiritual weekend, and I met so many interesting folks. Plus, I got to take in the beautiful (albeit very cold and windy) shoreline. I spent time mostly with Brits, and I brushed up on my British slang (bonk, jokes, dodgy, “g”). One of my friends told me that teatime was at 4:30, so while around a dozen brits were playing a game, I brought them a tray of tea, cookies, and mints. Ha! I bet I won their friendship. I also got the full meaning of what a “stag party” is in the UK. On Saturday night, I went with a few friends to a karaoke bar. There were three “stags” going on-one giant group dressed as cowboys (the FULL regalia), another with sideburns and hula skirts, and a third as fairy tale creatures.
On the Shabbaton, myself and a friend made him out of leftover food scraps. Thought I should share.
L’Chaim! Here’s to a great week of experiencing a new city. Next post? I tell you about classes…
I liked your writing here about the broad strokes of urban life, where truly, somehow the machines bring humanity together-the machines of speed and travel, of reaching higher and higher into the sky, of constructing vast tunnels under our feet, of being everywhere all at once, yet feeling like a
stranger within the masses. I’m a bit of a writer myself and what I have learned is that words can be the last of what inspires us, the last chapter of the richness of the human experience. First, we must learn to observe, to watch upon all the madness that surrounds us, and capture in a telegraphic moment: the faces that shape emotion, the color of the skin that shapes the thoughts of our ages in our social order, the clothes that shape the image of rich and the poor amongst us, the smiles or frowns and the sense of the ineffable that goes unspoken, yet is innate in the energy and kinetics of the bustle and hustle that caress the air in a foreign place. To let the eye shape who we are before we can speak a word.
Ok, sorry, sometimes I get going and it’s hard to stop. Hope you have more and more exciting days in London and keep writing. (have you ever taken any creative writing classes?)
Your writing blows me away. <3<3<3