Becoming a Londoner (kind of)

I’m slowly getting used to working in central London. I get on the train in the morning (alternatively: squeeze on with a million other people), and I trek my way through the business district, dodging important-looking men and women in suits, briefcases swinging by their sides, trying not to get run over by a bus, or cyclist for that matter.

I’ve got to say, I don’t feel like I quite belong in their world. And I’m pretty sure I never will.

Still, it’s fascinating to see how London functions in this area. It’s fun to study people and try to guess what they do for a living – they all look the same. There doesn’t seem to be a lot of room for originality or creativity, at least not in the manner of appearance. Just like I felt so very visible while living in Ecuador, being a head taller than everyone else (and a gringa), I involuntarily stand out here with my green jacket with the yellow Pippi Longstocking-pin attached to its front.

There’s one particular phenomenon that has caught my eye – jogging lunch breaks. Every day when I go out to get something to eat around 1 o’clock, I constantly have to watch out for sweaty, panting people who are actually going for a run in their lunch hour. And it’s not like two or three people every day – it’s a whole bunch of them! And I’m thinking, is this really the only time you can do this? Are you that busy? Should you maybe re-think how you live your life? And when do these people eat? Don’t they get hungry like the rest of us?

London’s fascinating on so many levels. And it might just be my small town ignorance shining through, but one of these days I’ll stop one of them and ask them all those questions. They’ll probably think I’m just as weird as I think they are. And that’s completely fine.