Well, I’m safely back in the arms of Her Majesty’s bosom…wait…let’s try that again.
I’m safely back in the sensible part of Her Majesty’s Empire. And it is cold. And damp. And cramped. And dusty. And I love it. But I miss home.
It’s a bifurcated longing though. I really do feel like a stranger in a strange land. There is so much that’s familiar to me, walking through our village where I lived for 18 years, or wandering the old town of St. Albans, I know the streets like the back of my hand, but at the same time everything is so different.
I can’t remember street names, or rather I can remember the names, but not where they are or where they lead. Whilst being driven around I often find myself suddenly and completely lost, waves of dissociated nausea rolling through me until we turn a corner, or crest a hill and I’m able to place myself in my mental-map once more. I fleetingly wonder if this is what early stage Alzheimer’s must be like. It’s horrible.
I was in London on Friday, going to the US Embassy to renew my visa, and again things felt strange. I felt like a tourist having to study the tube map to work out how to get to the Northern Line from Marble Arch. Of course, as soon as I saw Tottenham Court Road that entire quadrant of the map appeared from the depths of my memory to guide me home, and I was even able to offer travel advice to a confused American tourist. The Thameslink through Kings Cross no longer exists and that confused the hell out of me and rendered me utterly useless. A bemused guard gave me directions to the new First Capit(o?)al Connect out of St. Pancras.
I feel desperately homesick for England, but I need it to be the England of a decade ago. I am no longer comfortable in my Englishness, or perhaps I am too aware of it suddenly.
I miss home too. Her endless blue skies, the aching call of freedom just a hand grab away. Her silly liberal gun laws, and daft politics. The gentle humour of her people, their eagerness to learn and to discover. Their disdain for the different and for pomp and circumstance, yet their love of curiosity of all things novel, hidden behind a bluff facade. I miss the slow rolling Mississippi, the green hills of Arkansas, the hot, humid nights and the scorching humid days. But still…
…I am aware that this is not my home either. My trip to the US Embassy is a humiliating reminder that I am stateless, not welcome or comfortable in my own land, and neither welcomed nor comforted by my adopted homeland.
Don’t worry, Ian. I can has buy you a pint on Wednesday. That, and the prospect of giving me a hug, ought to make you feel better. If not, I can always slap you round the head with a wet fish.
hm, the sun is no longer here in Memphis… and we had some heavy rain on Friday. Maybe that helps a bit?! And it is a feeling of fall in the air, and I want to buy warmer clothes ;)
I understand what you mean, somewhat. When I visited my old home Uppsala in January I realised that it had changed in just the two years I had been gone. And Stockholm, my lovely old home town, was changed but not as much in comparison. Maybe because I knew that I wouldn’t really recognise all the things since I moved away more than 12 years ago (oh that long ago)?
If anything, I think this is the strange and somewhat unsetteling idea of not staying in one place your whole life. You open your heart for something new and end up feeling torn?!
I’ll buy you a beer when you get back here :) And beware of the slapping of wet fish….
@Henry I can has beer? And fish slap?
It’s partly jetlag getting me in brain funk I’m sure. The stress of the first couple of days means I didn’t sleep well so I’ve been here for four days now and I’m still not settled. I think after a couple of days and getting out and about it’ll be better. And beer.
The first time I went back home, after a year in Canada, I was completely lost. Funnily enough though, the UK feels less foreign when I go back now, after almost 7 years away. I think I’m more used to switching between the two countries now, plus I expect it to look different to the last time I was home, which helps to mitigate the effects.
Don’t the roads look narrow though? And the cars are so much smaller… on average, anyway.
Have a pint of Tetley’s for me, if you would!
Oh, and the embassy thing sucks too. Although there is a very nice, very busy family-run cafe very close to the Canadian High Commission. They do an excellent jacket potato with chilli and cheese.
You can get to Kings X via Thameslink by using the Victoria line platform. Plus side: tourists and many other people don’t realise the connection is there. Downside: you need to have a valid ticket for the underground (eg a travelcard) to do it. Don’t get me on the aeons-long disgrace of Kings X- St Pancras, one of the miseries of modern life (if you happen to work at Kings X).
Are you going to the British Library (another Kings X landmark) on Wed? If so, see you there – I get to meet you at last.
@Cath: Tetley it is! Everything does seem small for sure… but I guess that’s only cos everything in the US is so bloody big! :)
@Maxine: See you on Wednesday! :) …now the pressure is on…Thank god Grant isn’t there too or I think I’d probably
pooppop with excitement!Except I’d refuse to buy you Tetley’s. Or anyone. It’s London furrfu.
I like
localNorthern beer forlocalNorthern people.Theakston’s then. I’ll do Theakston’s.
(Sorry, but Tetley’s beer is just wrong. Where I come from,
)
Theakston’s is good too. Have you tried Black Sheep?
And there’s nothing wrong with Tetley’s bitter (or tea). I’ve been drinking it since I was
16lucky enough to find a pub that would serve my friends and me18.My Dad and several of my male British friends have taken it upon themselves to educate my Canadian husband about such matters. They all seem to enjoy the lessons immensely.
Oh yes. Multiple times.
(Shut up Gee. It’s beer, as well you know).
Beer? Yes, of course. But I was
fixatedstill thinking about Her Majesty’s Bosom. My late father in law was a trooper in the Household Cavalry (I hope I’ve got that right or Mrs Gee will kill me, never mind that it’s our wedding anniversary) and had occasion to accompany HM on state occasions such as Trooping the Colour when HM was quite young. Towering over her as he was, he could ascertain that she was indeed well stacked. Mrs Gee further informs me that HM gets her foundation wear at Messrs Rigby & Peller of Knightsbridge which she (that’s Mrs Gee) recommends for ladies of generous embonpoint.I do love Theakstons, I must admit. And 6X. And Pedigree. And Speckled Hen. And just discovered Deuchars (sp?) last night. The Greene King IPA had gone though, which is a shame. Ahhh…anything NOT the usual American canoe sex is just nice right now!
fwiw, HM back in the day was actually “well fit”, I believe the local urban vernacular puts it. Grandfather Brooks was one of the Old Contemptibles (served as a farrier in the Royal Horse Artillery I think). He was invited to join the Royal Mews after the war, but mamma said no, that sort of thing wasn’t for the likes of us, thus ensuring our lower class mediocrity carried on for another generation until daddy won his RN commission. Dad got to meet HM & HRH Princess Anne a few times while working at Greenwich Staff College in later years…
Oooh, Happy Anniversary Dr. & Mrs.Dr.. Gee
Thank you, Dr Brooks.
@Ian – Where has the greene King IPA gone? Its here.
awww… Tetley’s and Speckled Hen. And real cider… on tap. I really miss that. Not the sweet, sweet cider but the dry ones, in a tall glass…. dreams on
@Brian: The silly sod playing at being manager (not 23 if he was a day over 18) was being The Big Man until someone asked for the Greene King… “Oh, I don’t know how to change kegs yet…”. Cue Derision and snorting from CAMRA types
@Asa: Ahhh…more than you can imagine luv :)
yes, happy anniversary!
Ian, you don’t have to change countries for that expat-from-the-past thing to happen. What I knew as Pennsylvania — the one in Updike’s early books — is part of the Boston/NY/Philly encrustation now. If you peel back recent stuff there’s still something PA Dutch, but it’s been overwhelmed and I imagine it’ll go soon. I can’t see it surviving as a tiny minority culture. I missed the change & continue to live in a place I don’t understand and maybe never will. All you can do then, I think, is write the time and place you knew & do it as truly as you can.
There’s a piece Colm Toibin wrote for NYRB a few years ago warning Yiyun Li about the problem. I don’t know what she’s done about it — afaik she still can’t go back to China, and she’s got to be ludicrously busy now anyway. But she’s a smart woman and I see no reason why she shouldn’t keep writing the China she knew and the expat angle she has. Her China might be going, or gone, but it’s not as though she’ll stay the same.