When you've sent your contract two months ago and not heard anything from the school, it's always a comfort to receive an email the night before leaving "excuse me, may I ask you when are you going to arrive here? Signed: your boss." Oh well.
Yes because, as pointed out by many with disappointment, amazement, humor and distrust, although I'm Italian I'm going to England for a month to teach English. So what?! It's a sign that I'm being considered a native speaker, so suck it up, please.
The journey begins in the evening, with a Ryanair flight which surprisingly (but not for the regulars) is an hour late, while we're also asked to tear out our boarding passes already... so then if we have time we should fly the plane, what do you say?! While waiting to board I stare in awe at the two-year-old boy who probably still doesn't walk with ease, but on the other hand uses his iPad as I wouldn't be able to do even after a 60-hours course "iPad for dummies."
The plane is packed with crying infants, lovely babies do you actually need to take planes at night and not let anybody else sleep?! Arriving at Stansted, I say to myself "smart as I am, I'm going to sleep on the chairs at the arrivals' lounge, nobody will have thought of it!" Not a single soul.There is already half of London's population lying in preposterous positions, on the chairs and on the floor. A group of German girls was ready with sleeping bags (in fact there's a temperature of 5°C), pads, pillows, so on and so forth. I have the super cheap kit and you can see why: it constantly deflates, forcing me to assume contortionist's positions and certainly doesn't help to sleep. At 4am I see a brave man taking all of his stuff and leaving 3 free seats, I almost throw my 20 kg suitcase: chairs taken! Too bad that after an hour I must get up and refresh myself with a crepe (I ask for white chocolate, they put dark chocolate... I wish they were all like this, the errors of life!), then go to the bus stop to get to London. Then you wonder why it only costs £ 2. Well, when this sort of small truck comes where you need to load your suitcase by yourself, you understand everything.
In London it's raining -surprise!- but I find the familiar smell that I still don't know if it's smog, rubbish or restaurants but it's London's smell and I love it. I swear that the next British tourist who complains about the bridges in Venice shall be tortured to death. Try and run up and down the subway with a suitcase and a backpack and then tell me. Escalators and elevators, these strangers. Toronto 1-0 London.
I look for shelter at Starbucks'. Where the wireless connection isn't free.Toronto 2-0 London. But I'm ready for a true adventure in the pure English countryside, hoping that my shoes are waterproof. Meanwhile, today let's go and see "Mamma Mia!", tomorrow we'll think about the job.
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