Landing in America

I have been acclimatizing for three and a half weeks now, trying to attune myself to this made world they call America. Location-wise, it is not so bad. The photograph is the view from the park 10 minutes up the road from our apartment, or 'condo' as they like to call them. For the curious, that is Manhattan Island, about where Central Park would be. You can see the Empire State Building in the background. So it is that we are quite close to America's economic centre. Those building's are about 20 minutes away by public transport, and its quite alarming to think that is a completely different State to the one I'm standing in with its own laws, taxes and even accents.

Ah yes, the accents. One of the biggest stumbling blocks I came across in my steady acclimatization (and I do not say that to be humorous - you do need to adjust to this country) was trying to understand what anybody was saying. Yes, it is English - but for the life of me it would be more understandable if they were speaking Swahili. Never have I been in an English speaking country and wished that I had a phrase book! There are certain individuals that I just cannot understand, and regardless of the number of times the phrase is repeated I still have absolutely no idea what they have just said. Heaven forbid I should go anywhere a true American accent is employed - say Georgia, for instance. And I must say, the coin flips both ways. Quite often the reaction to a non-American accent will be the subtle glazing of the eyes and you know from that point its probably best to just point. Personally I think that I speak English quite well. I believe that I don't mumble and my vowels are clear - but apparently not.
But I do try, and my ear has slowly been getting used to the American tongue as it murders the English language (oh dear - did I just say murder? Surely I meant pronounce in a regional dialect) and I thought that I was on top of things until I went to a cafe on the weekend. I had ordered a regular sized coffee but requested a double shot (because American coffee is quite terrible, and even an espresso is weak and flavourless). What I ended up getting was two regular coffees and I couldn't, for the life of me, understand what the lass was trying to say. In the end I just nodded, smiled and said 'O.K.' (see I'm a local already) much as I would when a Japanese person was trying to convey something to me that went past the bounds of 'hello'. What the poor girl was trying to tell me was that they got my order wrong. Oh yes indeed! They also forgot the bacon with my breakfast and it was cold...but we will not go there, that is a complaint for another day!

So there we have it. I am slowly coming to grips with this country. My application to work has hit the American Brick Wall (it's called bureaucracy - the British invented it and the American's perfected it), but the University semester begins in two weeks and I'm eagerly looking forward to it. For those without the knowledge, I am starting a two year, non-credit certificate course in Fashion Design. Thanks to my industrious grandmother who could create an entire wardrobe for the cast of The King and I on nothing more than an aging Singer, fifteen yards of green stretch nylon and a single role of black satin ribbon - I have absolutely no fear of the sewing machine and the wonders it can do. Coupled with my desire for an interesting line of male fashion and the cold hard fact that I spent more time using Tamara's sewing machine than she did, it was a forgone conclusion.