When we first moved here, it felt like the beginning of an extended vacation; a leave of absence in a way. We were going away for a while, but it would only be a while; yes a long while, but there was an end date in sight, even from the beginning. Setting aside the fact that I was indeed working here, it was my perfect kind of a getaway.
When traveling abroad I have always held in high regard, and "aimed" for those trips that allow you to really get a sense for what it's like to live in the place that you're visiting. And to do that, I have always felt that you have to try to stay in that place for as long as you possibly can. That is why moving to London was the beginning of my ideal vacation. I was actually - really, undeniably - going to get to know what it was like to live in London, as a foreigner. And so the first while here was a honeymoon of sorts. I was out every weekend exploring the city, playing detective trying to find the best festivals, the hippest local markets with the freshest produce, attempting to find a hidden deal on theatre tickets that no one else had discovered ... in a way I was pretending to be my own Captain Cook or Captain Vancouver, but instead of discovering a part of Western Canada, I was discovering my new home town. Like a newlywed I had rose coloured glasses on, and nothing about this city was bad, or wrong, or annoying.
The Tube ran on-time and frequently, (oh how I already loathe the Canada line, and I don't even live in Vancouver any more!), every square mile of the Capital was accessible via public transport, and the rest of the country was connected by an extensive network of rail lines that could take you hundreds of miles for only a few pounds.
When Sarah arrived, I was proud to show her what I'd found. "You've got to come with me to see this!" I would declare, and would force my own schedule and agenda upon her. It was quite fun for the two of us to go out and see this new Royal world, and put our own stamp on it; explore it together and feel as though we'd made it our own or maybe, that we'd found a piece of it that we could steal away and keep safe for ourselves - something to hold on to for the years to come, something that would be our special memory.
Back then everything was always new. The little bits of slang that I would hear, the skinny little side alley which seemingly leads to nowhere that is the hallmark of Europe; the red buses, the commute to work that took me past Big Ben and Parliament, the 11-digit phone numbers ....
Sarah and I are still discovering new parts of this city, and of this country, but two years on now, and some things have changed; and some have not. The rose-coloured glasses that I wore in earnest at first, have faded in their ability to cover those things that tourists don't see before their return flight takes off. I am still loving our London life, but it's quite apparent now that the Tube does not run on-time all the time; that there are parts of the city that you really do need to a taxi to get to; that the train companies are very rarely on-time, and I am now usually appalled at how many quid it costs to take a train just 10 miles.
I do, however, have those moments where I am still flabbergasted by where we are. I still pass Big Ben on my way into work. When I take the time to look up from my morning paper and I see the Union Jack flying over Elizabeth Tower, it still feels special. When I sing "God Save the Queen" to Chris to calm it down, it still feels special. I am much more comfortable with the slang, and I can actually understand every word that's said in a TV show now.
But this city is still magical. I haven't found that one thing that makes it so - I have found the Stone of London, but that's not it - and maybe that's a good thing. Because two years on, I'm really looking forward to the next three.