5 November — London isn’t for everyone. That makes sense. Sushi isn’t for
everyone. Skydiving isn’t for everyone. Salvador Dali isn’t for
everyone. I’m not sure why I didn’t think to apply the widely understood
concept that not everyone likes everything to the city, though the fact
that most people I spoke to before I left told me how great London is
and how I wasn’t going to want to leave and that I would come back to
the States a changed person. That last point is probably true; I have
grown a bit in the past two months and have learned a lot about myself.
One of the things I have learned is that I never want to live in a city.
Before coming to London, I tried to keep my expectations at bay. Despite that, there was part of me that hoped my future self might end up in London as an editor at a publishing house (a girl can dream). Or I started to wonder if London might be the place to apply to grad schools for an MA in Literature or Gender & LGBT studies. My academic and professional goals were excited by the city—I would have access to more diversity than I could fathom and might begin to navigate the intricate spaces and social groups that intertwine in London’s demographic tapestry.
Somewhere along the way I guess I must have “forgotten” that I am a quiet, highly sensitive introvert. Loud, crowded places make me uncomfortable. Scotland (especially the Highlands) satisfied my desire for greenery and nature. The landscape was calming and we spent a disproportionate amount of time in small towns. I loved it. So much of me felt nourished and comforted because it reminded me, in ways, of the parts of Idaho that I hold close to my heart.
The first two weeks in London were overwhelming. I had never been around so many people in my life. I was unaccustomed to the smells, noises, and general atmosphere of the city. Things calmed down once classes started at Queen Mary because academic arenas are familiar to me, even though the structure of my classes here differ from the ones I take at Lewis & Clark. My process of getting accustomed to “city life” began when I started to look for things that were less unfamiliar or overwhelming than other things: museums, cafes, parks. These are still the places I go when I feel homesick for a bit of quiet, or a bit of greenery, or my favorite coffee shops back home.
London isn’t for me: BUT, that comes with a huge “however.” I am so grateful to be here because I have access to a multitude of resources for things that I care about. When people ask me why I chose the London Humanities Study Abroad program, I bring up my major. I have been reading and loving books since I was three and I adore my English major because I get to think about the way words and literature affect society. Within London itself I have access to not only numerous manuscripts, but the pub Charles Dickens spent time in and Virginia Woolf’s house. I can take the train to the Bronte Parsonage Museum in Haworth or go to Oxford to see where Lewis Carroll and J.R.R Tolkien created some of the most well known fantastical worlds. On those train rides I get to see the countryside, a beautiful landscape dotted with church steeples that vastly differs from my experience driving across Idaho (where the brown landscape is dotted with dairy farms).
London is known for its night life. On Friday and Saturday nights I see groups of people my age dressed to go out to the seemingly infinite number of pubs and clubs. They’re laughing and having fun and probably (definitely) a bit intoxicated. From what it seems, the evenings serve them well most of the time. I can appreciate wanting to get dressed up, go out, and dance until tonight becomes tomorrow, but let’s be honest: that isn’t my scene most of the time. I felt uneasy about this for a little while, as if someone might tell me off or say that the reason I’m not getting on with London is because I don’t go out enough (or, God forbid, that I don’t drink). But I shouldn’t have to change myself in order to like something. I’ve traded the loud top 40’s beats in a basement for a café a block from King's Cross Station that plays The Internet and has a hummingbird painted on the wall. I’d go for the walk at 9 am on Saturday mornings to a row of coffee shops not far from our campus over the cold walk home from Mile End station when its dark and after midnight. I’m lucky enough to be able to watch the sunrise from my kitchen in Pooley undisturbed.
I love hearing different accents with every coffee shop I step into. I know that if I need an hour or two of quiet, I can go to a museum and wander or sit. London has a lot to offer everyone. Whenever someone from back home asks how I like it here, I answer them honestly. I try not to gloss over the fact that I am not a city girl. Then I immediately tell them what I have liked, the surprising opportunities I have stumbled into (like a Queer Women’s Media Convention, fantastic theatre productions, a concert by my favorite artist that made me cry). I am saying “yes” more and pushing my boundaries, challenging myself to find parts of London that gratify me as a quiet person. That can get exhausting, and sometimes I just wish I was back in a place where I could actually see stars at night.
I don’t hate London by any means, and I don’t know if I will get a full view of what it has to offer before I leave. There is a lot of good here. I just thought that I would like it a little more by now. My relationship with London sounds like some break-up letter: “It’s not you, it’s me” and “I think we just want different things.” I like that being here has given me the opportunity to connect with a smaller group of people from Lewis & Clark, and I now have a greater appreciation of the things that are distinctly “Portlandian” or “Idahoan.”
I am not going to like everything I try. However, I would be more concerned if I wasn’t trying anything. I find ways to broaden my view of the city and England. I approach every new experience with an open mind. What more can you do?
—India Roper-Moyes