My first day in London left me chastened. Despite all of the dire warnings from the Dublin taxi drivers, ("You'll not like it there, love, everyone always in a rush") I was certain that London would be no problem for me. I've lived in New York, after all. New York has twice the population density of London, so I was confident that I was twice as tough as I needed to be to live in the Big Smoke. I was surprised, then, when I found myself being the sort of person that would stand still in the middle of crowded pedestrian thoroughfares, looking up at gigantic buildings, mouth slightly open, until I've been run into and yelled at by loud, angry Britons.

I'm still confused as to which way to look when crossing streets, and the added traffic of a major metropolitan city has me completely befuddled. I'm not yet familiar with the coins yet, so rather than holding up lines of people, I've been paying only with bills. After two days, already, I have a huge pile of useless change. I went to the store today to buy sugar and stood at the counter for a few minutes, desperately trying to figure out which coins to hand the woman behind counter. I was embarrassed and sweating, and finally the woman took pity on me and grabbing my hand, took the appropriate change out of it, and handed me the remains. Awkwardly I thanked her, trying to neutralize my accent, and trotted out the door.

Then yesterday, I decided to explore the cities Korean restaurants. My first stop (Korean Kitchen. 32 Windmill Street, Picadilly Circus, London, W1D 7LR) served me a bowl of soup with a hair in it. I showed the waitress, and she sent it back. I waited 10 minutes for another soup, and when it arrived, it had a black hair delicately balanced on top of a piece of tofu. Interestingly, I was not offered a free meal or anyone's firstborn, but they did suggest I wait for a third bowl of hairy soup. I left, and made my way to Jin Korean Restaurant, 16 Bateman Street London W1D 3A. As I was eating my lunch, a cockroach crawled out from the in-table bbq equipment and pranced across the table. He finally crawled back in, and I attempted to ignore the situation until a pair of antennae poked out and waggled at me, as if laughing. I put an upside-down plate over the hole, and mentally teleported to my safe space.

Last night I went to visit some friends in Whitechapel, in London's East End. When I left, I didn't take directions, confident that with the help of my A-Z I'd make it to the tube station. "It's Ay to ZED not Ay to ZEE, Lina. Yank."

Of course my ingrained sense of direction--my father calls me a topographical cretin--got me completely lost and as I wandered the streets of Whitechapel at midnight, I grew increasingly more terrified.

Lina stream of conciousness: I'm going to get mugged. That will be so humiliating. Wait, I know this street name. This is exactly where the serial killer Jack the Ripper stalked his prey! I'm going to get murdered here. Hang on, Jack the Ripper only killed prostitutes. I'm not a prostitute. I'm going to be fine. Oh shit. Everyone here thinks all Americans are whores. I'm so dead. I'm so dead. I'm so dead. Oh wait, there's the tube station. Yeah, I'm street smart. Phew.

So my first 48 hours left me feeling less cosmopolitan than I had hoped.

But then this morning, after having a crumpet and a cup of tea (seriously), I hit the streets and found a Chinese market, a Japanese market and a Korean market all within 7 minutes of my flat and I perked up. Even the local Spar (it's like 7-11) carries strange Asian snacks. After stuffing myself with a half-dozen Korean delicacies, I sat back, content with my new geographic position. I know that going to a couple of Asian markets and eating a little banchan doesn't sound like a big deal, but to me, it is. I'm so delighted to be back in a big city and to have access to all of the funny little things that one can't find anywhere else.