LONDON ON A DIME
In the early months of 2018 I flew to London by myself to execute a strategic infrastructure augmentation, saving my employer upwards of $30,000, plus countless hours of dev & engineering time. But none of that really matters anymore, because looking back it was the first time I got out of my home country to see the world as a foreigner.
After a ten-hour flight over the entirety of the U.S. plus the Atlantic, I arrived to a blustery cold London. I shouldered an oversize duffel bag and pulled a roller case full of tools across Victorian era cobbles strewn with chicken sandwich wrappers. There was a palpable indifference to life in the Big Smoke; it reminded me of New York, only less inviting. I had a moment where I stopped and wondered what I’d gotten myself into.
Despite my best efforts, things didn’t go according to plan. I got lost more than once riding the Tube. I bought a pre-paid SIM so that my iPhone would have service, but couldn’t get it work. The flat I stayed in was lonely, with paper thin walls, and a single radiator that seemed to do nothing. There was a washing machine, but no dryer. Lots of things to get used to quickly while trying to accomplish the big job at hand.
I finished the first half of the work in record time, but at the cost of my health. By the end of the first week my head ached constantly, I was dizzy, and couldn’t sleep an hour. I found a clinic in Canary Wharf and paid a visit, where I was immediately presented to the head nurse. She told me to drink three liters of water a day and take a regimen of antibiotics. I didn't qualify for the UK's free healthcare, so I had the pleasure of doing some old-fashioned English haggling. "I'm supposed to charge you 320 quid," She said. "But, I like you."
Energized by the exchange (and all the bottles of Scottish spring water), I noticed things starting to get better. The owner of the flats gave me a laundry rack to dry my clothes. One of the other tenants turned out to be an American ex-pat with an accent he picked somewhere between Pennsylvania and Hackney, and he gave me tips for catching the DLR. I began to see friendly faces in crowds, bought toast and coffee from street vendors, and leaned in on a belief that being myself and part of community wasn’t mutually exclusive.
Since I mostly worked at night, I was able to spend long, meandering mornings exploring the city and lounging in coffee shops. I caught the Ferrari: Under the Skin show at the London Design Museum. I got to see my favorite tropical pop singer perform at the Jazz Café on Valentine’s Night. I ate a tremendous Sunday Roast at 500 year old pub. Once I’d wrapped up the physical work to be done, I found that the team back home had run into delays. I had a choice to make: fly home and wait (potentially having to fly right back again), or find something else to do. I went the latter, heading south across the English Channel.
