I'm back in Seattle, found a Frisbee pick-up team to join--and am desperately missing London. No more Caffe Nero, no University College London, no quick rides on the tube. And it's so odd how easily I've transitioned into being back in the States. I don't have the call the bathroom a toilet anymore and I won't be embarrassed if I call trousers pants.
(That always lead to an awkward pause in conversation. Once, at a Frisbee tournament I heard that we were supposed to wear shorts, which sounded absurd since it was cold, windy and hailing off and on.
"Do you think it would matter if we wore pants instead?" I asked some of the girls.
"What??!!" they said, horrified.
I suddenly remembered that pants means underwear.
"I mean..."
"Trousers, yes. We figured.")
I crammed as much as I could into my last day in London. As I walked back from Sainbury's, I suddenly stopped and looked at everything I would miss: Tottenham Court Road, the traffic, the shops, the construction. Yasemin and I took a walk to bid adieu to our adopted turf. We strolled down to Covent Garden and continued to the Strand. Visited the National Gallery at Trafalgar Square and popped in to see Monet's curvy bridge and Van Gogh's textured sunflowers one last time.
London, I must say this: Bravo! Bravo! Bravississimo!
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