The Arrival.

There’s something about arriving in a place for the first time that makes even the most trivial details seem important. I can still vividly remember my first arrival in London – everything down to the short exchange at customs (“So, what’re you studying in London?” the customs agent inquired through accented words, stamping my virgin passport dead-center on the page. “English literature,” I beamed. “Well, you’ve come to the right place…”), the black-cab ride along the left side with miniature signs reading: Red lights indicate doors are secured, and the Cadbury chocolate vending machine that stood outside the airport, dancing in my mind’s eye with regal purple and gold swirls – although it was nearly eight full months ago. In all honesty, England felt like yesterday. And that’s probably true because I never left. In fact, I had always been there – way before eight months ago, anyway – because it’s hard to leave a land immortalized in the pages of books for centuries. Ink is infallible like that.

But, back to reality... the first two weeks are hard. Really hard. And not just because you’re an American in a foreign city. The first two weeks in any new place are hard, so just add the fact that locals look at you with the same soul-firing heat their ancestors channeled through red coats and bombs bursting in air just because your flag was still there 235 years prior. Everyone tries to remind you, “Hey, at least the Brits all speak English!” Um, sort of. Language barriers somehow become more stringent when everyone’s aware they’re speaking the same language and still can’t understand the words coming out of your mouth. At first glance, through perhaps a set of foggy glasses, everything looks the exact same as the world on the other side of the pond. But upon closer inspection, as if an odd reversal reflector informs: Objects in mirror are weirder than they appear, everyday objects like cars, Coke bottles, and money have transformed into a new shape over night without your consent. You suddenly hate the sound of your own voice and can’t understand why everyone walking the streets appears to talk in a whisper. You struggle to find street signs only to discover they’re arbitrarily plastered to the side of a building facing the opposite direction. You scoff with absolute disgust when you realize the eggs at the supermarket are not refrigerated. You cannot bring yourself to laugh when you ask for a bathroom and everyone replies, “Oh, do you want to take a bath?” You realize the food really is as bad as everyone says it is. Most of all, for reasons you can’t explain, you begin to feel unbearably uncivilized.  

But this passes. Things like that always do.

There is no code or map that says this-is-this or that-is-that, but it all becomes fluid. All it takes is a moment. Just a single moment for everything to line up and drop the little fact in your brain that Oh yeah, this is London. For me, it was simple, really. A red double-decker bus. Probably this one:

It’s silly, honestly. It’s just a bus. But there’s something about that bus. What is it? It’s like a kernel of recognition that lodges somewhere between the temporal lobe and the back of your neck, tingling when you’re aware of it. A faint sensation that makes the experience seem familiar. It’s the same prickle you get down your spine when you walk into Starbucks and see this: 

Or when you’re strolling down the street and a blue plaque catches your eye:

At this point, it’s too soon to realize the natural wonder of the place. The arrival is monumental beyond belief, only to follow with a series of extremely cloudy days (literally and figuratively) that seem never to end. But they do. Because there’s still that kernel back around the head. It’s trying to communicate in the smallest voice possible, without giving too much away, that there really is something about the city, the place, the people, the country. You don’t know it then, but it’s not before long that all is revealed: London, despite all its faults, errors, and flaws, is inherently nothing short of pure magic.