Moving back to the US after living abroad
If only the same were true above ground. When I lost track of my phone in Whole Foods, I never saw it again. The stroller I left outside my daughter’s nursery school disappeared quickly while I nipped in to pick her up. And the wallet I left in my purse by the Starbucks on Notting Hill Gate went missing for good.
But maybe people are a bit more honest deep down, on the Tube.
You don’t tend to see street performers taking off their clothes in front of crowds of tourists here in Atlanta. In fact, you don’t often see crowds of tourists. And if I were to happen upon a naked street performer, I would probably duck, for fear of a gun-toting proponent of decency who might object to the display.
Now I yearn for the daily dose of indecency I used to encounter during my eight years of living in London: the odd used condom I would step over on my way to the playground with the kids; the guy who set off fireworks in front of our apartment building; the men who would relieve themselves just outside my office.
Atlanta is a much more sterile place. A neighbor here described recently how she called 911 because there was a drunk man passed out in her front yard. I can’t say that I had the same experience in London (I would encounter the odd drunken reveler outside my office, but never at home — not a party neighborhood, I suppose). But if I did, I wouldn’t have called 999 (Britain’s answer to 911) — maybe the local police non-emergency line.
But public nudity and drunkenness help to make London unique. When I first visited London, I was with my parents, staying in a family friend’s place by Edgware Road. Late at night, we heard a commotion. Outside, there was a 20-something year old man, stark naked, riding in a shopping cart, pushed by a stumbling group of youths.
Back then, I didn’t know what a bachelor party (what the Brits call a “stag do”) was. But I did know that a city where you could ride through the streets, nude in a shopping cart, had to be pretty fun.
Lord Lloyd Webber has great expectations to fulfill: if it closes after less than a decade, Love Never Dies will be seen as a disappointment. A twenty-three year run (and counting!) is tough to top. But I’m rooting for it, if only so that we have a hope of seeing a sequel to Cats before the end of the decade.
I’m a big Obama fan, but even I never expected him to win the Nobel Peace Prize…
A postal strike. Really? How inconveniently timed — just before my mother-in-law’s birthday.
Overall, I’ve found that the UK mail system is more efficient than the US. A letter sent by first class mail in Britain will reach pretty much anywhere in the country the next day. I’ve mailed letters in New York City to a destination three blocks away that have taken three days.
And pretty much everything I’ve sent by Royal Mail reaches its destination, as opposed to the package of CD’s my mother in law sent to my husband back in April, which have yet to arrive.
Here in Atlanta, we often receive the neighbor’s mail. But then, I have yet to experience an American mail strike. I think the Brits need to take on a motto like their US counterparts: “Neither Rain, Nor Snow, Nor Gloom of Night….”
Or at least the very least, resolve their dispute in time to deliver my mother in law’s birthday sweater.
With the start of games that actually matter to the US season, Brits might actually start to care.
But maybe that’s a stretch. Brits, I’ve found, are purists about their sports. Scantily-clad dancers, jumbotrons and action-appropriate theme songs (i.e. Final Countdown during the last few minutes of an NBA game) wouldn’t go down well there.
At football games in the UK, most stadiums are creaky, the concession stands sell a fraction of what you find in the average US arena, and the sound of the fans singing and shouting obscenities at the opposing team would drown out any stereo system that tried to offer themed music.
So the NBA games would probably be played for the ex-pats. But there are enough ex-pat basketball fans in London to fill the stands. I wish I was one of them.
I wonder if I can get my $12 back….
During a family photo session on Saturday alongside a peaceful duck pond in Buckhead, we were informed by a zealous community volunteer that we didn’t belong there.
She explained that non-residents taking photos need to contribute to the upkeep of the park. She suggested we give $75 (!) in exchange for using the park as a backdrop in our photos.
Many parks in Atlanta belong only to residents. We discovered this during our house hunt. When we took the kids to a playground in a Buckhead neighborhood, a friend cautioned that cops might stop us, since we didn’t live there, and hence, weren’t supposed to be there.
Luckily, our seven month old and two year old enjoyed the playground, and avoided arrest. But we were on our guard.
I suppose if the residents have to pay for the upkeep of their parks, they are reluctant to share the wealth.
Those fees must be high, because many residents seem to take an almost fiendish glee in ejecting visitors. When we parked alongside this duck pond, which was mysteriously empty despite Saturday’s beautiful weather, a man walked by us and said: “You’re new.”
It was not a statement of welcome.
Overall, people are very friendly here. But they do like enforcing rules.
Then he changes his mind, and joins Michelle and Oprah (!) at International Olympic Committee meeting to campaign for his adopted home city.
I thought his visit would clinch the Chicago victory, and Oprah would send it hurtling over the finish line.
I’m glad that South America will finally host the Olympics. But I may have to reassess the world’s opinion of Obama…and Oprah.
Wow. What a snub to Obama. AND to Oprah! I assumed that Chicago would at least make it to the final round of the 2016 Olympic bidding.
Will it be Rio?
Reverse Culture Shock 