Around Kings Cross |
London is cold. Not cold like the chilliest day in California cold, not cold like the A/C is on full blast in Yogurtland while you’re trying to eat your green-tea-chocolate-cheesecake concoction in shorts and sandals cold, but cold cold.
Highbury Park |
So cold, in fact, the wind pierces through your clothes like you’re not even wearing any and your face freezes so tautly you begin to realize what Botox would feel like if you ever got into it. As my damp hair turned to crisp strands of icicle weaves, I realized I was going to need a hat…and some gloves, and thicker socks, and woolier scarves and a portable furnace if I was going to survive the next 5 weeks. My “California Cold” wardrobe of fashion scarves, delicate knits and “party cardis” wasn’t going to cut it. I was going to need an upgrade.
The sloshing rain water up my leg from missteps into puddles that came out of nowhere, were not helping my morale any. Ok, Anita, just keep walking. You’ll just have to go shopping tomorrow, out of necessity of course, not indulgence. Some things can't be helped. But despite the cold, I realize a beauty here that is undeniable. My walk through Highbury Park each morning reminds me of this. The looming gray clouds over wet lawns give the grass verdant hues that are otherwise lost against bluer skies. The strokes of black branches canvased against grey-white skies look like pen and ink drawings and I am trapped staring as my neck crooks upwards as I walk. There is a quiet, stillness here that forces me to listen, that forces me to slow down. The locals though carry on about their business unshivering, unwaivering, accepting the cold as another part of their day. Mothers stroll their children through the park bundled in layers of scarves and hats, elderly couples walk their dogs with hands nestled inside long woolen coats, merchants set up shop for the day and patrons still sit outside on the sidewalk for their morning coffee. The cold chill of the day is as commonplace here as the warm glow of the sun is in California. I'm going to have to adapt. But I haven't acclimated yet so I walk fast and tell myself not to think about the cold. Onward! The Victoria Line is straight ahead. (I think. . .)
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