Don't judge me for the lack of interesting stuff here. I'm so out of inspiration, I'm only writing this because I know I'll have less interest(and memories) to write it later. So, here you are.
Arrival.
I arrived at RIX with an entourage. I know, I'm so cool. Grandpa and mom came to see me off, and Marinka stayed later after her night shift. So, I only had to listen to grandpa's reminder about the very different life and how he has no advice for me for 10 times or so. It's funny, when you leave everyone seems to be much more interested in you, everyone feels like they didn't see you enough and they think it's essential that they let you know that. Strange thing about that - it's me, not them. I'm the antisocial one. But, for example, my aunt is so excited about letting me know how much she stands behind me whatever I do, she forgets we don't talk. She totally forgot that we have a conflict and we're definitely not best friends.
Anyway.
The flight was nothing unusual - I've never had an exciting flight, no turbulences or deep fogs for me. Everything is always as planned. Boring.(I'm wondering what kind of Universal revenge I'll be getting for this - perhaps a Lockerbie-like crash?)
Behind me were three exceedingly and sensationally stupid and also curiously drunk Russian speaking girls. Man, they were dumb! I won't be repeating any specifics, but there was talk about getting hot pink t-shirts with the label "alcoholic" on them, so they wouldn't lose each other in the London jungle. Also, some poor guy was described as disgusting and there was a general wish to never see him again, because, apparently, this sorry-ass person managed to come to some party with this girl whom they all really hate, and who's a total slut, by the way. That's the kind of entertainment I had during the flight, because I wasn't sitting comfortably enough to read a book, and after careful inspection of all my belongings I failed to find my mp3 player(which actually made me really nervous and uneasy - it'd be a downright tragedy if I couldn't find him also in the suitcase. Yes, I call him "him".)
You'll be relieved that at the moment when I really didn't need him and was actually looking for a nail file I found the naughty little thing sitting comfortably in a corner of a certain pocket in my bag that I checked 3 or 4 times before. I'm telling you, he was there sitting and laughing at me all that time.
Well, I got out of the plane, went to pick up y suitcase and it was 3rd or 4th to come on the moving thingy. That's a first. Obviously, as we all know - your suitcase is always the last one or at least more to the end, but never in the beginning.
I managed to lift the darn thing all by myself(pretty much a heroic act - I expect Homer to come up with a literary masterpiece about it anytime soon).
I got my train, only had to wait about a minute. Got in train, sat down, got to my station, got out. In the meantime I managed to see an example of how mother nature has a really weird sense of humour. A couple went on the same train as me, and the weird part was that the girl had really, really thin hair. I'd even say - a few hairs. The guy, on the other hand had a lion's mane on his head - Robert Plant in the Zeppelin heyday wouldn't be ashamed to have something so, what's the word..., monumental. I know, you don't really care about hair. But I do, and this is my blog, and I'm telling you about MY adventures here. So, you can suck it. Hair it is.
Let's see - after that I found myself in the very familiar London Bridge station, which didn't help me realise that I'd have to go downstairs to the Tube station to get a ticket. Even though I knew it already. We did the same thing with Marinka a couple months back. It was like groundhog day.
Except it did end eventually.
Did you know, if you have a 20+kilo suitcase with you and also a rather heavy laptop(no, Winston, I'm not saying you're fat - you're prominent and respectable) there's a 50% higher possibility that none of the Tube stations you'll be going through was an escalator or a lift? Because it's true. All the stations before and after London Bridge and Collindale have escalators. Not the ones I need. And that bloody suitcase is heavy. I wonder, what the hell did I put in there? And also - Brits are sometimes such jackasses. The guy stands there, he has nothing better to do than look at me struggling and stopping after every 5 steps to catch my breath, and he doesn't even think of helping me. Do I look like a radical feminist or something? And then when I get to the barriers, he has the nerve to say: "That looks like a heavy one there." No shit, dude.
Otherwise they're all kinda helpful, they didn't mind answering stupid questions about where to put the darn ticket(I'm more used to the Oyster) and others. They even wished me a good trip and all. Just no offers to help me and my Sisyphean suitcase up the stairs.
Well, even without their help I arrived in the Collindale Tube station in one piece, hadn't been robbed, Winston still faithfully by my side and in my head a faint memory of directions towards my new home. That is - I remembered I had to turn left and somewhere after the circular should be the Writtle House(which is where I'll be living for the next academic year). What could possibly go wrong?
Well, somewhere by the circular I realised that there are so many directions to turn, and I didn't remember the name of the right street and I had no idea how the whole Platt Halls complex looks like and I was tired, Winston was getting on my nerves, I really wanted to kick the suitcase and I was lost. A girl in distress can always find some help if she has a phone. So I texted Rudīte hoping she'd be by the computer. No answer. Silvija's at school. Marina just got home after a night shift. Not many more people I'd like to give my email password to. So I tried Marina anyway and decided just to go forward on a hunch. By the time she answered I was on my way, and by the time I told her my password I saw Writtle House. Good hunch.
Next problem - where the hell do I go? I see signs saying "Accommodation registration" and each pointing in a different direction. So I stood there in the middle of the parking lot, still texting Marina as if she could do something to make this better. Naturally, every person, at least every female person would ask for directions the first person she'd see. This is where the bloke inside me woke up and he decided there'll be no direction-asking, we'll stand there until we figure something out. So we did - me and my inner bloke. We stood there like that for about 15 minutes or so, desperately trying to look casual and relaxed while biting our lip and nervously kicking the curse that was the suitcase.
In a movie this would've ended in some kind of a really, really embarrassing situation, but luckily this was real life, so after a while my female side got bored of standing there and decided to take a stroll around the building. And - voila! - there's the registration! Never mind the signs saying that I need my offer, two passport sized photos and the contract ready. Nope, let's just stroll forward and see what happens. So, Chai went to the closest person, stated her business and waited. Boy, did the guy look confused when I told him I don't have any photos with me. You see, he found the envelope with my name on it, and there were no documents or photos in there. Even though there should've been. I know because mom payed a shitload of money to get them there in 24 hours, and the lady who answers emails told me they got it. So, the kid got creative, and together we produced two copies of my passport picture(there goes making a good impression - I look like just out of prison) and all sorts of other copies and papers. Including him giving me the wrong copy of one of the documents(He was supposed to have the pink slip, and give me the white one. He did the opposite. Oh, well.). Anyway, we got along famously, arranged all my papers, he managed not to answer my questions and I managed to look completely lost and confused. He then felt sorry for me and helped me find my room and even get my two-tons-heavy suitcase up the stairs. Because this is London and a lift is an unnecessary luxury. In a place where people often carry really huge suitcases. Then he helped me deal with the door, I thanked him and went to conquer my new luxurious and grand 5x3 sqm apartment.
As I told Marina - it's OK, the furniture isn't broken, it's clean, doesn't smell bad(but it does smell a bit funny, but it's temporary - I'm already working on making it smell like me), in my hallway I'm the only one. Actually, it looks like in the whole building there are only two people. Me in my room, and a black girl on the other side of the house. I thought I was on a horror movie set.
To tell the truth, the spartan asceticism of the room made me uncomfortable, so the first thing I did was throw some random things around on the floor, the bed and the table. Felt more homely immediately. I did all I could to cover the walls and other clear spaces with things, as much as I had them. But at least now you can tell that someone's living here.
What else. I haven't been to any of the orientation events they've organised for this year's international freshmen. If someone tell this to my mother, I swear I'll find you and make you regret it. She is to know nothing about it and live in a bliss thinking that I'm using any chance I can to learn everything about here. I can tell you what I definitely know - to my hallway and the next one(12 rooms together) there are two bathrooms designated and only one has a shower. Can't wait for the rest of the folks to get here and start a morning line. Also we have two toilets. The same expectations. The kitchen is ginormous. Like, really - huge. And so far it looks like only me and the Vietnamese girl who lives next door to me use it. And then someone invisible and dead silent - because there's no evidence of any activity, except for the trash bin that's rapidly filling with empty milk cartons and other things like that.
I don't know the name of my neighbour, but in a cunning manoeuvre of socialising I went to make coffee today at the same time she decided to make herself breakfast. So, now I know she's Vietnamese, doesn't speak a lot of English, but what she does say, she says well. I also know there's somewhere in this building another Vietnamese girl and a Danish person of unknown gender. And I know that she's very loud when it comes to opening and closing doors, and also I think she's been moving her furniture, because I can't imagine what else can make that noise I sometimes hear. We have a deal that one day we're making a cooking evening and feeding each other some national food. I don't know any traditional Latvian recipes, I think the Vietnamese are fond of meat, and I'm vegetarian. What could possibly go wrong? Also, I've no idea what's her name. But there'll be food.
Oh, and I met two other interesting subjects. The first day I arrived I realised that - of course - I don't have with me a lot of essential things, like something to drink, sugar, coffee, toilet paper and an adapter(I do however have an American adapter if anyone's interested). So I went shopping. by the way - now I know three different routes to the same shopping centre and they're each either very long or very complicated or expensive. I'll have to find the nearest Tesco soon.
Anyway. So, I came home when it was already quite dark, so, naturally all the doors would be locked. I'd have to find my magnetic card and somehow get inside. So, I got the white plastic thing and steered towards the most prominent doors I could see. At the same time two girls approached the same door and seemed to be really worried about not having their card with them. When they realised I was aiming at the same door we made a deal - I let them in if they show me how. And it worked! In the following 3 minutes I found out that other halls have two or three kitchens per floor, also they have more bathrooms and that they're going to a party and that one of them lives in room 32 bu the other one lives in one of the Platt Halls. They looked 13 and a bit tipsy already, with layers and layers of cake-y makeup on, so I decided I'd pretend I didn't hear them asking what are my plans for that night. I'm much more into geeks than loose minors.
So, that's all I can think of right now. I'll wash my hair and then go in search of a Tesco. I need breakfast cereal. A girl has to eat. Also, mom was right, I need a dish towel. And dish washing liquid. And a sponge. And socks. And a dark towel so I can dye my hair some evening.
So long, suckers!
P.S. I really miss Latvian logic, everything's so weird here. Especially street-crossing culture. I can't get used to cars not trying to hit me but actually letting me pass in the middle of a street!
P.P.S. You know, a couple days after I moved in I got a strange email from some dude who says he got my email from a student worker here at MDX. I'm confused, I think I have a stalker.
