Tomorrow I will have been in England for a week, and so on the eve of such an important moment in time I feel I should blog with a little extra pizazz. Maybe I'll blog in rhyme, maybe in pig latin . . . I will probably just blog.

I woke up at 8am bright-eyed and bushy-tailed--still holding on to Canada time. Actually, I haven't found the jetlag experience to be all that daunting. The worst part of it was being awake for nearly 48 hours, I have a better appreciation for how effectively sleep deprivation as a tactic of torture might be used. But aside from feeling sleepy throughout the day at times, jetlag has been a breeze.

I made the walk to the Salford Shopping City again, and on my way back I took a detour down a street I thought might hold the University campus at the end up it. Twenty minutes down, I decided to turn back. I've been warned that Salford is a rougher part of town, and I can see evidence of that though I wonder if I'm just being sensitive to a paranoia I've developed heeding all that advice and growing up in a small and relatively harmless city.

There is some saying about searching out trouble, and generally I think I'll be fine unless I set out to find myself an exceptionally rough experience. But I can't help but feel a little out of place walking in my Nike Shox, LuLuLemon pants, vest from the Gap and a polo t-shirt from American Eagle. Now I don't consider myself a brand-hound by any means--I like the sound of Prada and Gucci more than I would ever like their stuff--but once you list it from top to bottom, it's hard to pretend I'm only a starving student.

I've worked for everything I own though, so I also won't be digressing into any sort of self-debasing critique of the materialism in my life. But I suppose what I'm trying to get at, is that while walking down the streets of Salford I don't exactly yearn for anything.

Place me in a haute couture shoppe along a Parisian rue and, sure, I guess something might catch my eye.

Contrary to everything I was told before I got to England, I've found all the Brits to be affable on the whole. As one of my hosts put it: "Despite how we might look, if you'll just ask you'll find that most of us are desperately willing to help."

I met two men from Africa today, once on my way up Cromwell Road and then again down the other side of it. The first one--I actually didn't ask for his name because the paranoid tourist in me was too busy trying to avoid eye contact and revealing personal information with which he might later track me down with--was from South Africa. He quickened his pace to walk in step with me for about one block, engaging me in conversation I was hesitantly participating in the whole time. And after that he said he wished he didn't have to rush off but did so promptly by crossing the street.

On my way home I was flagged down by another man, this time as I overtook him and his young daughter walking on my left. He asked if I was a student and from there stemmed another conversation about Salford and our business there. Being slightly more at ease with the conversation of a total stranger walking down the street, I did happen to catch his name: Kenny, from Kenya (yes, I too caught the humour in that). Anyway, Kenny (and daughter, Sabrina) are in Salford while Kenny goes to school.

I'm not sure what to attribute these two conversations to. As a Canadian, I have sort of taken on a reputation for friendliness by default, even though I know myself to be somewhat guarded and even anti-social, particularly with strangers. Maybe they caught a glimpse of the Canadian flag attached to my backpack; maybe I look approachable (highly doubtful--I've been working on my "unapproachable" face); or maybe it is the other that is friendly and approachable. Both of these men were from Africa, does anyone know how friendly the African culture is, generally?

Maybe they were attracted to the novelty of me. Both men mentioned that they wanted to go to Canada. Though they had to ask if my accent is American, they both like it. Sidenote: everyone has asked me if my accent is American; no one assumes it is Canadian.

This is getting long.
Just some thoughts though.

I think "everyone" is at the Pav right now (the Pav being the Pavillion, on site club/bar to meet every downtrodden, homework-ridden, sleep deprived student's needs). I should really throw caution to the wind and find my way over there--yes, even without a hair dryer OR a flat iron.

Let's hope it's dark.