It’s been a moment since I’ve moved into my flat in London, and I have A LOT to discuss. Let me preface this by saying that as a third year commuter student, my only ‘roommates’ have been the mice that I occasionally hear scurrying in my walls in the winter. Also, you should know that I may be a bit of a neat freak, but in my opinion, anyone who wears their outside clothes in their bed should never be allowed to enter your home.
Anyways, back to moving in, I can confidently say that my experience so far has been..shocking? Confusing? I truly don’t know how to describe it, so instead I’ll write about what stood out the most.
Dirty carpeted floors, showers with no ventilation, and gum stuffed into holes in the wall- all things that I anticipated seeing in my flat after two years of visiting my friends’ dorms at DU, and unfortunately, I was right. Many accommodations are worse than this, yes, but I can still complain! I share a kitchen and hallway with 5 others, one being my close friend from DU who is also studying abroad, and the rest who are first year students.
Oh! Did I mention that my room is right in front of the kitchen door, and right next to the entrance door to the flat? It’s great! On the first night, I heard my flatmates coming in and out of the kitchen, playing chess, making the fire alarm go off (twice), and trying to get into my room from 1 AM until 5 AM- it was an incredibly immersive experience.
For context, this past week was freshers week. It’s an event packed orientation week of sorts; free food, club fairs, and even University-sponsored nights at the club. While other students prioritized going out and meeting others, I, on the other hand, was occupied trying to come to terms with the fact that I will be in London, on my own for the first time, without my family beside me.
My mom helped me move in after we explored Edinburgh the week prior, and the combination of a disruptive first night in my flat alongside the sadness I felt about my mom going back home made the first part of the week very difficult. I started the panic, counting how many weeks I had to endure my living situation before I came home into my cozy, quiet bed. My thoughts began spiraling into feelings of doubt about this entire academic journey. So, I started to do what I do best: talking people’s heads off for reassurance about my anxieties. One person who I complained to, my brother’s girlfriend, told me to “be uncomfortable being comfortable” and at the moment, I hated her advice.
Moving on, one night, I went into the kitchen and asked my flatmate and his friends if they could keep the noise down in the hallway. Not only did they listen, but I even got a text in the morning apologizing for the disturbance. It was a small thing, but it reminded me that not everything — or everyone — is out to get me. There’s kindness here, even if it’s a little hidden under the chaos. I need to keep reminding myself: things could be worse, and they often aren’t as bad as they seem at the moment.
That moment with my flatmate got me thinking – I signed up for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I know I’d regret it if I came home unchanged. Growth doesn’t happen when you’re comfortable, and I have to learn to sit with discomfort instead of running from it. That’s kind of the whole point, and it’s exactly what my brother’s girlfriend was trying to tell me. Studying abroad was never going to be just an extended vacation. If I don’t lean into the challenge, what was the point of coming in the first place?
So I keep reminding myself of everything good: the comfort of my bed, the places I finally get to visit, and the spontaneous catch-ups with my best friends who are studying all across Europe. Just this past weekend, I attended Oktoberfest in Munich with some of my closest friends, a trip I had been eagerly anticipating for months. I still miss my family, but it turns out, there’s less time to be sad when you’re too busy figuring things out. And maybe that’s exactly what I needed.
For free reality TV, take the tube home on a Friday or Saturday night.
On a ride back to my flat from Regent Street, I eavesdropped on a conversation of two young women next to me, talking about a failed date. (But is it really eavesdropping if you’re not even trying to listen, and you hear it anyway?)
“I can’t believe he had the absolute nerve to text me after I arrived at the bloody restaurant. I texted him, like, are you mad? Is he seriously taking the piss right now?”
Before arriving in London, I, like many Americans, thought that the extent of British slang was “‘ello love,”, “‘innit bruv” and posh things like “tea and crumpets” or “pip pip cheerio”. I was very wrong. British slang is much funnier than I originally thought. Here are some of my favorites that I’ve heard so far:
Cheeky (spontaneous, something you shouldn’t really be doing, i.e. cheeky Nando’s)
Quid (British pounds, £)
Knackered (tired)
Maccy D’s (McDonald’s)
Ledge (legend)
Daft (dumb, stupid)
Mental (crazy)
To demonstrate these (read in a British accent for full effect):
After a mental day at uni with my daft classmates and no quid in my bank, I was absolutely knackered, so I went down town in the tube with the lads to Maccy D’s — but my mate Willy realizes he has some quid left on his Nando’s gift card, so he’s like, “mate, let’s have a cheeky Nando’s on me” and I said “Willy, bruv, you’re an absolute ledge” so we went to have an extra cheeky Nando’s with a side of Top Quality Banter.
(Note: Nando’s is a South African multinational fast casual restaurant chain that specializes in Portuguese flame-grilled, peri-peri style chicken. Very tasty. Go try it if you haven’t.)
Salvador Dali’s Lobster Telephone at the Tate Museum of Modern Art.
…and lobster paella at Borough Market.
Some other short phrases I like are:
“Taking the piss” (“Are you trying to make a fool of me?”. But it can have quite a range of meaning, from “Are you kidding?”, all the way to “I’m just teasing/joking”)
“How’s he done that then?”
“You ‘avin a laugh?”
“Look at the state of that!”
There are a lot more that are very explicit (but hilarious), so I can’t include them here. Just know that lots of Brits can have quite the foul gob (mouth) when they want to. If you’d like to experience some for yourself, hop on the line of your choice in the evening, but preferably at least after 7pm when everyone is done with work but is also done indulging in happy hour and is a little more loose-lipped. Just sit back, relax on the brightly-colored seats, and listen in on some conversations. Who needs to pay for Netflix anyway?
Babel, also at the Tate Museum. Comprising hundreds of radios, each tuned to a different station, the sculpture relates to the biblical story of the Tower of Babel and information overload.
Speaking of listening and observing: If you like staring like a tourist while trying to look like a local like me, this next bit will be of interest to you. I recently learned about psychogeography, or the study of how a person’s physical environment or the place that they live in affects their actions, character, and emotions. This was the focus of my first class for Writing London, and I quite like the concept. The idea was coined by French philosopher Guy Debord in the 1950s as a critique of modern urban life. Debord’s argument was that cities are built for capital, and not people. The commodification of everything in urban spaces limits creativity and spontaneity by filtering out authentic experiences, since individuals travel around the city almost exclusively for work and commerce and are exposed only to “predesigned spectacles”. Think of all the overpriced, mediocre cafés that only exist for Instagram purposes that you will encounter on the main streets of any given city, which are the primary “attractions” you will see when you walk around. It’s designed to be that way. Generate views from Instagram, then reap the profit from purchases of watery oat milk lattes. According to Debord, when people practice the freedom of everyday life along these sorts of predetermined urban routes, freedom becomes “a mere image of itself”, where authentic experiences are limited both physically and mentally because everything is designed to revolve around things you can either buy (cafés, souvenir shops, etc.) or produce (going to work).
Debord’s remedy to the disconnect between city and person is “the dérive” (“the drift”), or what I can only describe as the art of meandering. The “dérive” is the practice of wandering throughout a city without a particular destination in mind, simply following your own curiosities (“this thing looks interesting, therefore I will go this way!”). Drifting through space then allows you to explore how the city is constructed, as well as how it makes you feel, without the added pressure to buy something or go to work.
My first meaningful meander was with a classmate after my first class on Monday. We had no plans after class so we picked a direction starting from Regent Street and just walked. Not far from our campus, we passed along a street full of embassies: Sweden, Kenya, Poland, and China, to name a few. As we chatted, we continued along through Regent’s Park, then to Marylebone High Street. I liked meandering, wandering, drifting, loitering, whatever you want to call it. You can learn a lot by simply letting your feet, eyes, and ears follow what you think is interesting. Look at that tree with plastic bags all over it. There are birds I’ve never seen in Regent’s Park. Why does that woman keep touching her pockets? Is she a tourist worried about the notorious London phone snatchers? These are things I noticed, but someone on their own meandering journey will take interest in completely different sights and sounds.
A strange bird that I have never seen before, encountered by me and my classmate Tiffany during our drift in Regent’s Park
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, a beloved Brit who created Sherlock Holmes, once wrote, “You see, but you do not observe.” There’s no point in living in a complex, bustling city and restricting yourself by treading the same few paths every day. Being abroad forces you to slow down to look at your surroundings since everything is new. But mastering the art of noticing and being curious is something that helps you feel more present and take home more memories from the whole experience. I think that in modern times, we focus a lot on what we can present to other people from our travels. What souvenirs can I buy and take home to show my friends? Where is the best spot to get an aesthetic photo for my social media? In other words, the goal of travel can quickly become a contest of “who had the better Instagram story” rather than authentic experience. I’m a victim of this too. I obviously have to take pictures for this blog and to show my parents that I’m alive and doing things, so I find myself thinking “hmm, this looks like something I should take a picture of and post” more often than I really need to. It’s not a crime to take pictures, but it shouldn’t become the main goal.
This reminds of a quote from one of my writing inspirations, Anthony Bourdain: “Be a traveler, not a tourist.” Being a tourist is easy. It’s easy to pull out your phone and snap some pictures of Big Ben, hit post, and call it a day. It’s easy to open Google for Best Places to Eat Near Me. It’s easy to follow simple routes of predetermined excitement in a new city. Tourism becomes travel when you make a conscious decision to see what experiences unique to you that the city has to offer, rather than “proof” that will show off the fact that you’re more well-traveled than anyone who sees your Instagram story. What’s ever going to be more unique than the memories you have?
A cool old church I encountered during a solo meander around Notting Hill when I found myself with some free time.
My advice is to be your own Google when looking for things to do: Ask your Sainsbury’s cashier what parks are best for a scenic walk. Stop strangers in the street and ask where they got those cool shoes. Tell your classmates who live in the area that you’re looking for a good lunch that won’t break the bank. Meander, drift, wander where your heart takes you. Above all else, be present and enjoy the ride.
Since arriving in London and learning about the dérive, I’ve been making an effort to get off my phone (except for directions or telling my friends that I’ve arrived at our pub of choice) and keeping my headphones out of my ears in order to hear the sounds of the city in addition to seeing them. Meandering meaningfully is a skill I’d like to continue to develop while abroad and take home with me when I’m done.
Thanks again for reading. Take some time to meander around your own city. I promise you won’t regret it.
DU Abroad 