Just as a long journey begins with a single step, a journal begins with one word.  Better choose a good one.  Tea.

I'm sitting here in London at the kitchen table drinking a cup of tea.  Actually, to be completely honest, I'm much less drinking the tea than I am using it as a device to warm up my frozen hands.  It is April 19th,  and apparently we are experiencing an especially cold London Spring.  I cannot remember who it was that originally said this, but I've heard somewhere that weather in England often makes one feel that they are permanently wrapped in a cold, wet blanket.  And today I am tending to agree with them.  My spoiled Arizonan ass has been turning blue from the cold all day.  While Hodge and the housemates wander around in a simple shirt and pullover, I am sitting here with three layers on top with a scarf.  And I'm still fucking cold.  



But what a boring way to start out my blog!


My husband carried me, (YES, he carried me!), across the threshold of our house in London yesterday when we arrived.  There are a million reasons why I love him, but the fact that after a 10-hour flight accompanied with jetlag he still insisted on carrying me across anything is very special.


Yesterday after landing at Heathrow Airport I had my whole life's immigration experience flipped on its head.  Instead of being an immigration lawyer who felt at least slightly comfortable with these things, I was the subject of an inquisition at the hands of a grumpy female immigration officer.  I truthfully said I would likely be in the UK for roughly two months, but when she found out I was married to a British citizen, the tables turned.  I was told that I was completely unprepared, and that I should have brought a whole packet of evidence showing that I had no intention to permanently stay.  After sufficiently humiliating me and repeatedly insinuating that I must be shitty immigration lawyer, she informed me that she was giving me a "coded entry", which means that next time I enter the UK I need evidence of my intention to leave.  


Feeling grumpy and tired as I walked out from customs, Hodge and I were greeted by a driver that was sent by his parents.  The driver handed to me a huge bouquet of freshly cut flowers.  My eyes were wide in that car...not only because London is a unique and beautiful sight, but also because I kept forgetting that it is not a death sentence in this country to drive on the lefthand side of the road.  There were many small moments of panic...!


Hodge brought us to a couples massage on our way to meet his family for dinner.  To be sure, this was a very sweet and thoughtful plan.  I had never had a Thai massage before.  We stripped down to our underwear and happily awaited what I thought would be a nice and relaxing treat after our long flight.  Unfortunately, every moment of this massage was accompanied by some degree of pain, and I walked out a rather flustered version of myself.  Adding to my disorientation,  I had done my hair in anticipation of meeting my mother-in-law and two sister-in-laws...but after the massage my hair was literally sticking straight up.  (Thai massage apparently includes the head and scalp...).  As we drove to my in-laws' flat I frantically tried to calm my frizzy and wet hair. (Yes, constant rain since our arrival).  


Dinner with Hodge's family went very well...my mother-in-law Jadranka cooked a delicious meal and served everyone champagne and wine.  I'm feeling very loved and welcomed in London.  :-)