I didn't get a wink of sleep on the plane, so I arrived a bit tired and out of sorts. About an hour later, we arrived at the place we were to call home for the next four to eight weeks. This "home" was provided to us while we search for something more permanent.
The pictures we were shown looked great and they took pets (which seemed to be an issue). When we pulled up, I was impressed. An old building that was clean and kept, so far so good. Entered the lobby and my impression dimmed a little. The stroll down the hall to our room, my impression dimmed even more and by the time we entered our apartment, the light was totally out.
I, most times, have to adapt to the charm of other countries, mostly their amenities. I don't always see it right off the bat. I kept telling myself that as we strolled down the hall to our room. But, the dirty walls were having a hard time convincing me that this was some type of antiqued finish. I'll keep it short, but this place was dirty enough that I knew I couldn't take my shoes off there, much less sleep in that bed. This was definitely not old world charm. It was disgusting. This made any roadside Motel 6 look 5-star. I wasn't expecting large. I wasn't expecting new. I wasn't expecting stylish or posh. I was, however, expecting clean.
Maybe it was the lack of sleep, maybe it was the pregnancy hormones, maybe the fear of change... or all combined, perhaps. But, it lead to a break down. I told a friend that I never knew I was capable of crying so many tears. I was ready to head back to Heathrow and catch the next flight home. I didn't want to leave Scott behind, but I knew I couldn't stay there.
Of course we got here on a Sunday, and Monday was a bank holiday... so, we were on our own. Scott immediately got online and found us a place to stay for a few days until the relocation people were back in their office. We were able to delay the pet transportation for a few days until we knew what our situation would be. And we checked out of St. Mark's a few hours after arriving.
The place we've been staying at is clean, but it is not an apartment as advertised. It's a hotel room, basically... but, without service. I guess that's how they can call it an apartment. BUT... it's clean! And that's all I care about. Today, Scott got in touch with the relocation people and they found us another place on the Thames. We went and looked before booking. For the first time, I felt some relief. It was a nice place and we will be able to check-in tomorrow. The dogs should arrive on Friday.
Though I feel relief, I'm still not totally convinced we've made the right move. The emotion creeps back in at night, when Scott has fallen asleep and I can't. I sit here and worry about the dogs' flight over, giving birth here, being alone during the day. Mostly the being alone part. Everyone knows that I'm a talker, and though I am one, I have a hard time approaching strangers.
I read these expat forums and see how lonely some of these American women are in a foreign land... and some have been here for years. Though these forums are a wealth of information, but I sometimes think they cause me to worry more.
The new place doesn't offer much around it, but we did find a pub down the way. I expect I'll be a regular there during our stay since the food was very good. Possibly the best salad I've had in a long time. Maybe the permanent location will be in an area that has more neighborhood shops, and places to sit... maybe meet a few people. Once the baby gets here, I don't see myself maneuvering the tube very well with a stroller. It's amazing how many stations don't offer any type of handicap access. I've always thought that the UK was more forward than we in areas like that. They are certainly more green. And they definitely worry about fires, here. I mean... one big fire over 300 years ago and you gotta put fire doors on everything?
Okay, well it is late. I need to get up early and get our bags packed. Again. Maybe this BBC documentary on sandwiches will help me fall asleep a little faster.
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