Rudders at Home

I live a conflicted life sometimes. Ok, not really, but I do play a vicious game of “am I a local, am I a tourist” every now and then.

Sometimes I see tourists on the street during my roam to and from work and I’d like to just grab the map out of their hands, say, “where do you want to go” and then direct them on their way. I think part of it is sheer frustration and part of it is that librarian’s desire to show them the way. Possibly it may be that my bossiness is coming out or perhaps it’s that I understand how nice it is to at least feel like you’re going someplace, instead of standing in a place that you know is completely inconvenient to everyone around you, struggling to read a map which is way too big for the city environment you’re in, and that you don’t understand anyway.

I don’t do this, however… I don’t stop and help people, or try to help people. And sometimes, as I pass people who are clearly struggling, I even feel a bit bad. Why don’t I help? Well, apart from the prospect of having all people around look at me like I’m a nutter (London digs its claws deep), I don’t do it because even after five years in this country, it all boils down to the fact that I still feel like a tourist. (That and my mother taught me never to speak to strangers.)

Now, don’t get me wrong, I am a bit of a local. I have a number of local elements. I CAN help people find what they’re looking for. I understand the London A-Z, and know where the river is and whether I’m north or south of it – there’s a lot of people out there who don’t even know the name of the river I’m talking about! I even know some London neighborhoods that Paul doesn’t, and I even know his own neighborhood better than him in some places. But this knowledge doesn’t encourage me to stop and lend a hand.

I’m not a complete foreigner, any more, but it’s taken a long time to get to this place.

I think becoming a local is a scary thing. For me, it means a certain level of permanence has been achieved, and I’m not sure I’m ready to admit it yet – even though five years is proof enough and extremely hard to ignore. I think I prefer to feel like a tourist. It allows for the dumb mistakes I still make in this country, and to top it off, if I feel like a tourist then it means not stopping to help doesn’t mean I’ve lived in London too long.

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