Arriving

And, just like that, I have arrived.

I've stepped into the best of foreign lands where they say things like "chock-a-block" and "knackered" and "jolly good." More importantly I've landed at Bryanston, where one could walk around Dorset for hours, swinging a walking stick and smelling the wheat.



But first things first. I like nesting almost as much as I like handwritten letters, so I've got to get these suitcases unpacked. My flat, which is mine, all mine for the year, has two stories, all the basic furniture I need, and "heaps" of natural light. As I lug my worldly goods up the stairs, I can hear the fountain in our little courtyard sing and spill over the bricks, and it is a calming soundtrack.

I did ask my housemistress, in a fit of elation, "Don't you just love living with such a beautiful courtyard?" but judging from her, "Ah, yeah, well..." she has chosen to be joyful about more important things.

That was probably my biggest American Moment today, gushing about the courtyard. But give me time; it's only 2:30.



Sometime this afternoon, Julia and I are going to go for a walk to keep ourselves awake. Given that jet lag is real, and that Julia didn't sleep at all on her plane ride, it may be more languid saunter than brisk stroll. But, as if it's taken pity on us, the Dorset sky has brightened and the sun beams (in contrast to two weeks of solid rain before we got here).

As Julia says, this is the "Best. Life."