Day 6

Adjustments

In America, common responses to news that you are planning travel to England usually begin with "how exciting!"

If the exchange lasts long enough to require details, you have done well. Between "how exciting!" or its cousin "Are you excited?" you might encounter an array of similar questions or comments regarding nuggets of smoothed up truth about jet lag, the high cost of staying/eating/living in London, and the abnormality of driving on the left. And as the conversation ends, you might well hear, "Well, at least they speak the same language!"

I am chagrined to admit I may have uttered these sentiments myself in some earlier incarnation.

At the same time, in America, "at least they speak the same language" is a bit of a joke. Like many commonplaces it requires that we laugh together. Socially it allows us to have a conversation, getting around the inevitable foot shuffling by providing common ground, however predictable that may be.

Embedded somehow in our "common" and predictable understanding is the correct notion that English American-style and English British-style are dogs of contrasting breeds. Or at least dogs of different temperament. Whether we can name it or not we all instinctively embrace playwright Bernard Shaw's famous comment that "England and America are two countries separated by a common language."

I have thought about the language question a great deal in the week we have been in London. Language is different here -- it is pronounced differently, it is used differently, it employs a different vocabulary. But the differences in language that a rural New Yorker like me encounters in London is about the same as the differences I would face moving to Atlanta, say, or to New Orleans, where I would still sound funny speaking my English and where I would still have to listen carefully to understand what the locals are saying. These are not at all like the differences in language I encountered in Russia in 2004, where even the few phrases we had practiced beforehand did little to move barriers. For Russia our tranlator was the most important person in the world. In England, an American sometimes needs patience, imagination, and focus -- things we don't necessarily cultivate at home.

What I think is really at issue here is not so much language problems, although I have encounterd some, as it is language adjustment. In fact, the principle issue of travel would seem to be one of adjustment itself. And adjustment, it seems clear, is primarily a matter of attitude.

Think of the areas of adjustment already mentioned. Jet lag, for instance, is adjustment of the body's wake/sleeping cycle. Insignificant for some, debilitating for others, and minor discomfort for most, but temporary for all. The high cost of living requires an adjustment, or rather constant adjustments, of priorities and resources and expectations. Cost, of course, is a constant and complicated issue requiring complex responses, unless you are one for whom money is never an concern, whereas jetlag is fairly simple and of no consequence after 48 hours or so.

A short list of differences that have arisen for us that do not make the casual conversations in America might begin with the difficulty of making cookies. Yes, that's right, cookies. In short order I finished off the cookies we brought along to fuel the flight over or to fend off starvation should we get stranded in a waiting room somewhere for days on end. The flight was not good to the cookies. They had begun to crumble and were nearing their expiration date, so I had to finish them off the day after we arrived. What can I say?

Well, in order to make cookies we needed to buy ingredients, a task that required we find a grocery store and then find ingredients in the grocery store that fit the recipes my wife has used for decades. Brand, packaging, units of measure, placement in store (what logic will simplify the hunt?) all come into play on top of the questions of supply (do they have a product called shortening?) and what is in the package itself once you find it. After my wife had conducted a time consuming, diligent, but unsuccessful search for "stew beef" in one of the larger markets we have been in, I took over the hunt. Eventually I located a package well above her eye level marked "stew beef." Having never seen it uncut at the grocer's before, we had to study the package carefully before concluding that it was likely the same cut of beef we had always known.

So shopping requires a bit of detective work, considerable imagination, and not a little time and energy. At least at first. But we are managing -- even without chocolate chips as we have always known them.

Note how things are, do not assume that the familiar forms and methods are necessarily superior, experiment to see what works for you, be flexible and adaptable -- these are the stuff of adjustment. Pay attention. Above all, have a sense of humor: be able to laugh at yourself. These are the ingredients of successful adjustment.

I may have to return to the issue of driving on the wrong side -- that is, driving on the left -- but in the meantime we getting by. We are making do. One has to make the best of it, you know.