London, a full house.
Aug. 28th, 2008 08:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jacktellsliesI arrived in London and made my way to the house where I'd be staying; it only required one hired coach, two tube lines, and a bus, which isn't bad at all, given the nature of the place. I imagine this would change after a decade or so of monotonous commuting, but as an occasional visitor at least, finding one's way through the city is one of my favourite parts.
The door was opened by a seven year old French boy. He was too young for any English, and as this trip has been reminding me with embarrassing frequency, I'm far too American for any useful French. I worried that I was in the wrong place, but I uttered the correct passwords: "couch surfing" and "Gareth," which was my host's name. Actually, I hesitate to publish anyone's full name on the internet even if they've already done so, but his middle name is Alexis, and his last name begins with Brink and ends with worth. Never in my life have I heard a name more perfect. His absurdly wonderful (read: British) name is, in fact, most of my reason for requesting to stay with him.
Theo, the young French boy, led me to the kitchen where I found a pretty Asian girl who, it seemed, could speak nearly any language in which one cared to greet her; the boy's mother; and another American. Gareth, I learned, was not home, nor were the other members of his family who lived there, but several of the nine other couch surfers besides myself staying in the house were. I considered leaving. But the French boy was funny, and gave me a tour of the house despite the fact that we were both left deeply confused by our attempts to communicate with one another. And the Asian girl, who is studying in Paris, was leaving for Dublin the next morning. She gave me her map, and I gave her advice on travelling in Ireland.
And I learned that the American, whose name is Corinne, is practically from my neighbourhood back home. She's from Doylestown, which is where all of my former roommates on Catharine Street were raised. In fact, she worked with Bill, and they were good friends for years. She was at my house once for a barbecue; I remember meeting her. She used to work at the other Whole Foods in town, so we also know some of the same people through that. More importantly, when asked where we are from, both of us respond, "Philadelphia," and a moment later, when we remember or when we are forced, we'll add, "in The States." Once we'd both said it and laughed and squealed a bit over the coincidence, it was obvious to both of us that it was true, that we are Philadelphians before we are many other things. I'm surprised we didn't recognise it immediately, her in her thrifted sweaters, me in my rent boy clothes. (An aside to my beloved fashionable Philadelphians: exceptionally few people in the world do it like we do, and those who don't cannot begin to understand us. The poor fools. I make them nervous, and they make me nervous, and it's just impossible. I've been missing your tastes, your ties, and your encouragement terribly. I'm also missing the rest of my closet.) There were other similarities, too. She's queer, and she's dated trannies at the early stages of their awkward metamorphoses. She dates straight boys too, and knows intimately how awkward that can be, how much you can like them even while knowing that there are parts of you they do not see. She and I were friends immediately.
The door was opened by a seven year old French boy. He was too young for any English, and as this trip has been reminding me with embarrassing frequency, I'm far too American for any useful French. I worried that I was in the wrong place, but I uttered the correct passwords: "couch surfing" and "Gareth," which was my host's name. Actually, I hesitate to publish anyone's full name on the internet even if they've already done so, but his middle name is Alexis, and his last name begins with Brink and ends with worth. Never in my life have I heard a name more perfect. His absurdly wonderful (read: British) name is, in fact, most of my reason for requesting to stay with him.
Theo, the young French boy, led me to the kitchen where I found a pretty Asian girl who, it seemed, could speak nearly any language in which one cared to greet her; the boy's mother; and another American. Gareth, I learned, was not home, nor were the other members of his family who lived there, but several of the nine other couch surfers besides myself staying in the house were. I considered leaving. But the French boy was funny, and gave me a tour of the house despite the fact that we were both left deeply confused by our attempts to communicate with one another. And the Asian girl, who is studying in Paris, was leaving for Dublin the next morning. She gave me her map, and I gave her advice on travelling in Ireland.
And I learned that the American, whose name is Corinne, is practically from my neighbourhood back home. She's from Doylestown, which is where all of my former roommates on Catharine Street were raised. In fact, she worked with Bill, and they were good friends for years. She was at my house once for a barbecue; I remember meeting her. She used to work at the other Whole Foods in town, so we also know some of the same people through that. More importantly, when asked where we are from, both of us respond, "Philadelphia," and a moment later, when we remember or when we are forced, we'll add, "in The States." Once we'd both said it and laughed and squealed a bit over the coincidence, it was obvious to both of us that it was true, that we are Philadelphians before we are many other things. I'm surprised we didn't recognise it immediately, her in her thrifted sweaters, me in my rent boy clothes. (An aside to my beloved fashionable Philadelphians: exceptionally few people in the world do it like we do, and those who don't cannot begin to understand us. The poor fools. I make them nervous, and they make me nervous, and it's just impossible. I've been missing your tastes, your ties, and your encouragement terribly. I'm also missing the rest of my closet.) There were other similarities, too. She's queer, and she's dated trannies at the early stages of their awkward metamorphoses. She dates straight boys too, and knows intimately how awkward that can be, how much you can like them even while knowing that there are parts of you they do not see. She and I were friends immediately.
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(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-28 11:40 am (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2008-08-28 11:41 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-28 11:51 am (UTC)I feel terrible; for all my pining and working to get back into the UK, you deserve to be there far more than I do.
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Date: 2008-08-28 12:04 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-28 12:17 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-28 12:05 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2008-08-28 01:01 pm (UTC)also, it is an absurdly, almost disturbingly small world!
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Date: 2008-08-28 01:05 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-28 01:08 pm (UTC)