nuts, nuts, nuts

This morning I flew to London to find me an apartment. The trip started as good as possible. The flight arrived early, and ten minutes before scheduled touchdown I already sat in the Stansted Express into town. There the chaos started, big city chaos, London chaos, and it wouldn't end till the end of the day.

I had to change tubes at Bank, which involved, unbeknownst to me, a mile-long underground hike that ended at the Monument station. Halfway through the subterranean maze I lost confidence I'd ever see the light of day again, and when I was finally spat out to the ground, I was in the wrong place. A short overground train ride, illegal with the ticket I had purchased but luckily gone unpunished, took me to Olympia where a friend had kindly offered to take me up for a few days.

Right upon arriving, I started making phone calls and setting up appointments. Two were for the same day, and so I left the apartment hardly half an hour after arriving. The first apartment I saw was near Uxbridge Road – in walking distance of but striking contrast to quiet, residential Olympia – a lively, multicultural neighborhood with tons of halal butchers, tiny grocery stores, fruit markets, coffee shops, pubs, and a large triangular green space amidst crazy traffic.

This was London in a nutshell and a area where I'd love to live. Unfortunately, the apartment didn't live up to anyone's lowest standards. It was large with a nice terrace but run down and unkempt. I didn't say yes right away, and I don't think I will.

The second place I saw was the total opposite. It was in leafy Southfields near Wimbledon in a quiet, middle-class residential street. The house belonged to an elderly Greek lady who I didn't see. I talked to one of her nephews who lives in one of the rooms, as does another nephew. Two more rooms, one of which I was interested in, are rented out. Does this sound like a weird setup? The house was in prime condition with a beautiful little backyard, but I can't imagine living there – basically as an appendix to an established band of people.

In the course of the evening, I made a few more phone calls, set up appointments, and wrote down more numbers. My days will be filled, but going around I'll get a first non-tourist impression of London, my new home. If you're wondering what's so triply nuts about all this, check out this fantastic offer for a one-bedroom apartment. PW means per week, and a pound weighs in at two dollars. Anyone want to sponsor me?