I have become a big sissy when it comes to the cold.
When other Atlantans talk about how bitter the temperatures here have been over the past week, I nod gravely, and exchange dramatic stories about the biting wind and the icy ground.
And it is cold here. This normally lively fountain on Peachtree appears to have frozen.
But then, these 30 degree days are balmy compared to most winter days in upstate New York, where I went to college. And here, most people tend to spend mere minutes outside, while they walk from their climate controlled houses to their cozy cars.
In New York, I would trudge through the rain, sleet and snow to the subway, then slide down icy steps to the train.
Here, I just spend five minutes defrosting the car. So really, I have no right to complain.
From what I gather, temperatures here are rarely this low. And I am out of practice with cold climates. While I was living there, London was generally pretty temperate. Now, of course, that seems like a distant memory. I really feel for Londoners; the roads and public transport system have been snarled by far less snow than what they’re seeing now.
But I wonder whether cold weather aficionados in Scandinavia and elsewhere think we’re all a bunch of whiners.
Reverse Culture Shock 