When we moved to Atlanta, we thought we were in for hot summers, a mere week of winter, and maybe a few crisp cool days in between. It was suggested to me that I might not even need a winter coat while living here.
In fact, an Atlantan told me recently that during most winters, she would wear flip flops, rather than shoes and socks, because the weather was so warm.
I find that hard to believe. Since October, the weather here has varied between chilly and freezing. While there were rare exceptions, like the Sunday in November when we held our daughter’s birthday party outside (that wouldn’t have happened in London without a sturdy tent), it seems like the temperatures have been relentlessly cold.
I have learned skills that I never thought I would master, like driving on snow and ice, and defrosting car windshields.
But for the most part, I find myself in a state of mind where I never thought I would be — nostalgic for British weather.
London was predictable. You might find a gray rainy sky in August, December, or April. And temperatures would probably hover between 50 to 60 degrees Fahrenheit (that’s 10-15 degrees Celsius for my European readers).
Here, when it rains, it’s apocalyptic, with flood waters rising and big trees falling down. In London, it rains frequently, but it’s usually just a mist that you stop noticing after a while.
People here tell me this cold weather is unusual for Atlanta. But having lived here for more than a year, I fear it’s becoming the norm.
A brisk snow storm is falling on Atlanta, but the bright side is this: the hail stones that hit me as I loaded the kids into the car this morning have abated, turning into fluffy flakes.
Reverse Culture Shock 