Etheldene Randomness

Etheldene Avenue. This was my street for three months. This is where my host family lived in one of these five bedroom houses with one bathroom. The cars are always parked like this. There are no garages. Tight spaces call for tight parking. Many of the cars I had only seen on a video game until I walked up this sidewalk on January 13th. I was so lost. I was so new. I knew nothing about the place I was in, but everything I thought about for the next three months was part of an effort to become familiar with this vast city. I walked this street hundreds of times and each time I felt a little more like I owned my own section of the neighborhood. It was different over there. I don’t typically take pride in the street I live on, but I wanted to over there. It was my own little patch of London, and knowing it inside and out made me feel more like a local. The sidewalk across the street is where all my journeys began and ended. I usually left the house at 8 and froze while walking down this street without a coat. I looked inside any house that didn’t have their curtains drawn. Some were simple, others were packed full of stuff and furniture. A number of them had plasma televisions on the wall. I kept track of where certain cars were parked to see where certain cars lived. I memorized the names of them and any distinct features on the car. I wanted to see how the house I lived in differed from the others on the block. I think I ran by Chris Cooper not far from here one day. I took this picture walking up from Park Road where I caught the W7 to Finsbury Park. The bust stop is just a hundred yards behind the point at which I stood to take this picture. The W7 came down the hill from Muswell Hill Broadway every 3-7 minutes. It took me through Hackney, Crouch End, and on to Finsbury. I sat up top on the left side usually halfway back. I was early enough on the route that it wasn’t too difficult to get a window seat. After a few stops the bus filled up with business men and women. Everyone wears wool over there and I really stuck out on some days when I was wearing the orange Mountain Hard Wear shell. I watched the seats fill up in front of me. Someone sat with me on most of the morning trips. The silence of everyone on the bus got to me sometimes. You couldn’t tell if all of us were going to a funeral or our jobs. I was happy though. The bus unloaded us at the Finsbury Park station that is serviced by the Piccadilly and Victoria lines which are blue and light blue on your tube maps. Loads of business people funneled into a circular tunnel that banked slightly to the right as it moved underground. I really was the only student out in the boonies with all these rich, successful people, except of course any other students in the same program as me. I rode in carriages stuffed full with men and women in suits and business attire. I was the one grunged out person. My pants for the trip consisted of three pairs of Carhartts that I alternated for weeks at a time before they were cleaned. The Carhartts were great because they stayed clean and any top looked halfway decent with them. I fit in a little more once I put on a nice pair of leather shoes, a zip up, high-collar sweater, and my European carryall. The carryall I bought at Topman on Oxford Street. I haven’t worn it since then, but I miss it. Why can’t Americans dress nicely and get over men wearing purses? I love rocking the man purse.