I have had this drafted for three weeks, so if you feel like the time has passed for such sentimental blog posts, picture me writing this after a heart-wrenching few days of lasts with my very best friends in the world. My mom and Isaac are coming, but not yet, and for the first time I am alone in the city. I've spent the day finally surrendering my money to TopShop, the retail obsession of England, on Oxford Street and drinking hot chocolate alone in an underground cafe playing 1940's Christmas music at the Churchill War Rooms. I also was wearing a beanie, if that adds anything to the urban vibe of basically my entire life at this point. This is what that girl has to say about how the last four months have changed her.
I feel like the obvious starting point here would be the sense of direction I acquired--and all that goes with it--that was essentially nonexistent before I came here. As a girl who once got lost on her way from Target to her house, it is pretty remarkable that I could write the above snippet of my day at all. The busiest street in an international city? Alone? And the War Bunkers, a place I'd never been before--I found it? By myself? And I took the tube to and from all of the above? That alone is enough to grow a person right up. What I love even more about being able to navigate tricky European cities is how it takes frankly anxiety-ridden young girls like me and turns them into independent forces to be reckoned with. You can walk way fast because you know where you're going. You don't look like someone to bother messing with. You fit in. Being out alone is not dangerous. It's what people do, and by living there, you do it too.
I feel like the obvious starting point here would be the sense of direction I acquired--and all that goes with it--that was essentially nonexistent before I came here. As a girl who once got lost on her way from Target to her house, it is pretty remarkable that I could write the above snippet of my day at all. The busiest street in an international city? Alone? And the War Bunkers, a place I'd never been before--I found it? By myself? And I took the tube to and from all of the above? That alone is enough to grow a person right up. What I love even more about being able to navigate tricky European cities is how it takes frankly anxiety-ridden young girls like me and turns them into independent forces to be reckoned with. You can walk way fast because you know where you're going. You don't look like someone to bother messing with. You fit in. Being out alone is not dangerous. It's what people do, and by living there, you do it too.
Next up, I LOVED the people I met in the places I went. The best story to represent the caliber of people I stumbled upon: Thanksgiving dinner.
Over Thanksgiving break, we had a few days to travel where we wished. Hannah, Addie, Lexie and I decided on Salzburg, Austria, which turned out to be exactly what we wanted: a quaint, Christmasy mountain getaway. Trying to avoid missing our family get togethers at home, we overcompensated with reservations at a restaurant that had gotten rave reviews, and hoped it would be cozy. When we came in, the long-haired, Japanese headband-wearing waiter said, “You’ll be at a table with a few other people. That’s how we do things here.” We were plopped down at a big wooden table with two Austrian men downing endless pints of beer. At first we tried to ignore each other, but it was so humorously awkward it was impossible. They spoke some English, and the younger one couldn’t help but smile to himself as he eavesdropped on our conversations while his friend was in the bathroom. We joked around with them so much and taught them what Thanksgiving was. When they left, the next takers rolled in: a sweet French-speaking lady from Quebec and a riot of a young British couple on holiday for the weekend. We laughed so hard at this English guy’s irreverent sailor mouth and his pretty decent American accent. We told them about the church, and when they left, he said affectionately, “Good luck on your missions. Come to my house...I’ll slam the door right in your face! Cheers!” And all the while our waiters were swooping in and out, joining in the giant tease fest that was that entire night. When you eat out in Europe, it’s a social thing; you’re supposed to spend the entire evening there. This was the first night I really experienced this, and with complete strangers. We were there for three hours, and it was as good as being with family, only with Schnitzel and Strudel in our little pub in a village in the alps and I didn't learn any of their names.
Over Thanksgiving break, we had a few days to travel where we wished. Hannah, Addie, Lexie and I decided on Salzburg, Austria, which turned out to be exactly what we wanted: a quaint, Christmasy mountain getaway. Trying to avoid missing our family get togethers at home, we overcompensated with reservations at a restaurant that had gotten rave reviews, and hoped it would be cozy. When we came in, the long-haired, Japanese headband-wearing waiter said, “You’ll be at a table with a few other people. That’s how we do things here.” We were plopped down at a big wooden table with two Austrian men downing endless pints of beer. At first we tried to ignore each other, but it was so humorously awkward it was impossible. They spoke some English, and the younger one couldn’t help but smile to himself as he eavesdropped on our conversations while his friend was in the bathroom. We joked around with them so much and taught them what Thanksgiving was. When they left, the next takers rolled in: a sweet French-speaking lady from Quebec and a riot of a young British couple on holiday for the weekend. We laughed so hard at this English guy’s irreverent sailor mouth and his pretty decent American accent. We told them about the church, and when they left, he said affectionately, “Good luck on your missions. Come to my house...I’ll slam the door right in your face! Cheers!” And all the while our waiters were swooping in and out, joining in the giant tease fest that was that entire night. When you eat out in Europe, it’s a social thing; you’re supposed to spend the entire evening there. This was the first night I really experienced this, and with complete strangers. We were there for three hours, and it was as good as being with family, only with Schnitzel and Strudel in our little pub in a village in the alps and I didn't learn any of their names.
It wasn't just in Austria that I found people to be both widely fun to talk to as well as straight up kind. On my last day in London, as I was momentarily confused in a tube stop, the homeless man playing a didgeridoo on the ground stopped playing to ask, "What are you looking for, sweetheart?" in a tone completely void of creepy intentions and only full of genuine goodness. I was so struck by it and grateful to him that I lamely tried to scoop a handful of change out of my purse to give him, but all that came up was no more than 60p and a lone Advil that I, horrified, saw myself drop into his case as I panicked and walked away. Not smooth on my part, but the point is that he was a person I only got to associate with for a few seconds that left an impression on me. There were hundreds like him. Here, I truly learned how to live in the non-Utah world where practically no one is like me and it doesn't matter. I loved every tiny instance where people let me into their lives and gave me the chance to not care about how differently they lived them.
I would be missing a massive influence on who I am after London if I didn't mention my 39 adorable temporary siblings of 27 Palace Court. I never stopped being impressed when people passed up an opportunity to say something rude about someone or gave good old kitchen crew their all. Being with them, I learned how to make everything fun, even the things that suck like unknowingly paying 10 pounds to tour a ship you don't care that much about. I was immersed in what has to be the funniest 1% of BYU's population. They showed me so much love and it changed my life.
Then there's the subtle aspects of British culture that I got used to and now hate to live without. The word Piccadilly is a regular part of my vocabulary. I loved the way people phrased things, like how they said "Hiya" instead of hey and "Y'olright love" instead of how are you. My YouTube and Spotify ads were British, my Twitter feed was full of ads for stores you can’t find in America, I still can't figure out how to get online prices to change back to dollars, and my choices of movies became Sherlock, Pride and Prejudice, and Young Victoria. England was in every detail of my life, and I think that added to why I love it so much.
On our last day of religion class, the Stake President of the Hyde Park Stake spoke to us. He didn’t really delve into church subjects at all, so that’s why I 100% got that question wrong on my final. No matter, because what he said meant a lot to me. He started out talking about cities in general—how, because of the huge number of people in a concentrated area, ideas flow faster and there's more activity. When he got to London specifically, he got emotional. Quoting a General Authority’s observation on visiting London, he said, “London is a crossroads, and I am honored to be a bystander.”
I couldn’t agree more. For the past four months, I’ve been there as every celebrity in the book has come and gone through this city for premieres and awards shows. I’ve seen news happen: the Scottish Independence vote, Will and Kate’s new baby, and even terrorist threats on my city. I’ve corralled crazy primary kids with members of the church from New Zealand and Africa. I’ve dined on Thanksgiving dinner with Austrians and fellow Brits. I am invigorated as I stand in the middle of a huge city where things are always happening, and I get to be a part of it.
I couldn’t agree more. For the past four months, I’ve been there as every celebrity in the book has come and gone through this city for premieres and awards shows. I’ve seen news happen: the Scottish Independence vote, Will and Kate’s new baby, and even terrorist threats on my city. I’ve corralled crazy primary kids with members of the church from New Zealand and Africa. I’ve dined on Thanksgiving dinner with Austrians and fellow Brits. I am invigorated as I stand in the middle of a huge city where things are always happening, and I get to be a part of it.
I would be lying if I said I didn't cry at least once a day the week leading up to December 19th and for a solid two hours at the airport when I left, concerning all other passengers. My mom put it well when I was in tears and she said, "I'm glad you're so heartbroken. I'm glad it was so everything you wanted it to be that you can't stand to leave." I know I can't stay away from "this happy breed of men, this little world, this stone set in the silver sea" for long, but for now, here's to a new year, new hair, a new apartment, an old favorite boy of mine coming home from a mission in two weeks, and a ravishing 2015 as the new girl that London turned me out as.