To London!

Ok, so,

I know that at many points in my life I have sworn up and down I'd never EVER keep a blog. To those who had to listen to me kvetch: I am deeply sorry and you are free to rub it in my face as much as you like. Junior year study abroad has made a hypocrite of me. Alas. I decided to begin this more as a sort of record for myself and not just a mass-email-because-I'm-too-lazy-to-keep-in-touch-with-all-off-you sorta thang. I arrived the Friday before last, January 8th, and because I have been a lazy blogger already, I am going to recap a bit.

First of all, Kuwait Airways was amazing. It was the best long flight I have ever been on. What made it so great, you ask? It could have been the turquoise and gold upholstery. It could have been the curmudgeonly/lovable, old British couple I sat next to who ordered the dinners "without the main meal thing" (so just the little snacks). It could have been the steward with the giddy smile of a small child who said he had a "surprise" for me when I wedged myself out of the bathroom, and then gave me an icebreakers mint. Maybe it was the father and son across the aisle from me who pretended not to notice as the mother curled up under their feet for three hour nap. Maybe I was just so relieved I actually got on the plane after all the visa troubles I had (story for another time. In short, and according to my mother, it was all my fault.) Whatever it was, Kuwait Airways and I will meet again, mark my word.

For weeks (months) before leaving, I had been a hot basket-case of mess, having second thoughts about wanting to go, and generally having anxiety about beginning my semester in a new place. I felt like I had been schlepping from college to college enough already and I didn't even know why I applied to go abroad in the first place. I mean, apart from all the grand, romantic reasons everybody goes abroad, why had I wanted to go? A month before departure, my feelings could have been summed up as: do. not. want.

But once faced with the psychedelic seat backs of the transatlantic flight, I was surprisingly... fine.

After landing, getting my two 50 lb bags, and taking the train to Paddington Station, a friend of the fam met me there and drove me to my dorm. If she hadn't been there I think my arms would have fallen off and I would have bled to death right there in the station. Am I being dramatic? I guess I am. I probably would have just lived in the station the whole semester. Anyway, I arrived to my dorm (the address of which I will gladly give to anyone who wants to write me a letter. I love mail. Who doesn't.), and moved into my small, single room.

Over the course of the first week I got lost many times, met my four very lovely suite-mates, went to the British Museum, started school, bought very little and paid for a lot, got lost some more, talked to many friends back home, cried a little, explored, managed to eat, got a phone, took the tube, minded the gap, slept horribly, avoided starting this blog, saw a few friends who are here with me, and thought of New York often.

Will write more tomorrow. I miss many people back home. There were so many beginnings that got nipped in the bud before I left. I know it isn't possible to just put them on pause until I get back, but in my head I still wish it were, even as it comforts me to have time passing and beginnings stirring elsewhere.

As a side note, I would love to hear any anecdotes that you have to share. About traveling? About frolicking? About licking?

Cherio!