Look both ways before crossing the street. Ok. So that means look left, then right? Is that right? No wait, I have to look right first, because the cars are on - now why is there an iron fence along the sidewalk here? London streets are so confusing!
After a personal inner dialogue like this, you might get the feeling that "everything in London is backwards." I certainly had to get used to specifying "still" water in restaurants, to avoid the assumed mineral/sparkling bottled stuff. My first time in Europe, last spring, I was actually struck with how familiar Londoners seem, despite the vastly different city they live in.
Take the signs for example. They are all different. Expectedly green destination signs are blue, stick figures are drawn differently, and no parking signs threaten "clamping" instead of towing. Caught up in noticing these differences, I almost stepped on the foot of a guy politely arguing with his girlfriend over these exact signs, "Dear, I understand it says 'north,' but we'll run into the traffic on Downs if we." They argue about directions in Europe too, just like us.
There was also the night I went clubbing in Piccadilly. Standing in line, in front of two pink-haired leather-clad guys, musing at the thought of a first-time nightlife experience in London, and overwhelmed by accents from all over the world, I heard a girl from Finland mutter those oh-so-familiar words, "They're checking id's, do you think they'll know it's fake?"
Even a decidedly international meal in a foreign country (think Indian restaurant in London) included an opinionated waiter with his own suggestions for our cuisine.
I went to London expecting different customs, schedules, manners, and perspectives. All these things do exist. I saw people talking and working in London who have, according to my life experience, no comparable American counterpart:
A 60-year-old man on a busy street corner loudly reading off headlines of the "evening" newspaper he was selling at 6 p.m. (surrounded by dutiful and distracted regular customers).
The well-groomed, silent bathroom attendant at Harrod's (an up-scale British department store) who quickly waved his own hand in front of the automatic sink sensor, so the warm water would already be flowing for me (after saving me from a seemingly impossible chore by dispensing soap onto my palms for me).
Or the woman selling hand-made flags from under a tent in front of a thousand-year-old cathedral, calmly sipping coffee and talking to her fellow vendor.
But for all the different, enlightening scenes and the amazingly historic nature of the place, people I can relate to occupy London. This made international travel comforting and revealing. I could have reasonably expected major similarities; they do speak English, live in a modern city and have ample access to American culture. But I didn't know what to expect, and it was a nice surprise.
My first overseas trip exposed me to kidney pie, cars the size of porta-johns, some bizarre daytime television, but also reassured me that even in London a couple can find ways to disagree about how to get to their in-laws' house.
