It's 5:30pm on a Tuesday evening. I find myself deliriously tired on a crowded street in the middle of rush hour (or peak time, rather). Men in black suits with white shirts are everywhere; I feel like I'm in the middle of Wall Street, except these suits are cut more stylishly and the average age is half of that on Wall Street. They have better haircuts and smell nicer, too. Damn Europeans, why don't American men care as much? I stop one before he crosses the street and point to a cluster of buildings, asking him to explain why half of them are ancient and half of them are totally futuristic. He delightedly launches into an explanation about how some of the buildings missed the bombs in World War II, which is why they still stand, including St. Paul's Cathedral, but that loads of them were destroyed and new ones were built in their place. I'm so mesmerized by the accent and the vocabulary that I barely hear what he's telling me.
Fast forward to 7:30pm. Thanks to Google Maps functioning without wi-fi or roaming data, I have managed to spend the whole day outside of the London Underground and my feet don't even hurt because of my hideous but clearly incredible Chaco's that I had bought for the walk. I stick out like a sore thumb in my hiking pants and plain t-shirt amidst all of the perfectly-groomed British girls, but what can I do? I have to carry all of my possessions for 800 kilometers on my back; there's hardly room in my 38 liter bag for high heels, dresses, and accessories. I see the pub I'm looking for, comb my hair quickly in the loo, and head downstairs for my second-ever CouchSurfing meetup.
Within 20 seconds of entering the reserved area, I meet an Iranian guy who lives in Australia. He reminds me so much of my friend Casey from Kansas! I ask the bartender to give me his favorite beer, so he hands me a sample. I nearly spit it out and tell him I need the darkest, heaviest beer he's got. He hands me the sample, telling me that it is what all of the old men in England drink and that I won't like it. It's not good, but at least it doesn't taste like rainwater from the rusty gutter of the oldest flat in London... I guess Michigan microbrews have turned me into a beer snob.
I sit down at a table with my new friend and we are joined almost instantly by this older gentleman who turns out to be from Romania. Then along comes a Brazilian. Then a Spaniard. A Czech girl. An Indian guy. My host from London. I am in absolute heaven, and there are at least 40 other people in our area still to meet! This is the reason I travel. I want to meet as many people in the world as I possibly can-- I want to know why they talk how they talk, dress how they dress, say what they say, and what I can do to make them smile. I want to have a positive impact on every person I meet, and break American stereotypes while doing it. I can't begin to count the number of times someone has asked me, "Are you sure you're American?" Americans are known for not leaving their own county, let alone the country. We are supposedly judgmental, impatient, loud, condescending, and closed-minded. We expect others to adapt to our ways, we murder our neighbors, and we eat too much. The fact that my fellow Earthlings think this way about my friends and family makes me sick to my stomach. I tell them that the majority of Americans are actually kind, open, friendly people who ask you how your day is going at the supermarket checkout. They are the first to rush over to an elderly man who has fallen down and are a passionate group of people. My country may not have a good reputation, but as a whole we are a warm-hearted people. I promise.
K
London, England
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