On Being British

I hate long flights. Ten hours earlier I had departed Houston, Texas, my home. It was 7am local time as I walked into, for the first time ever, Gatwick Airport.

January 1990. The company was sending me to work in the UK. My immediate boss was already there. I had been given explicit instructions on how to get to the new company apartment .... errrr... flat. As I made my way through the crowd on my way to the baggage pick-up ... errrr... Arrivals Hall, there was an eerie feeling inside of me. I was in awe. You could say I was awestruck. For one thing, all the signs were in English. I had been travelling for a year where everything was in French. Mostly in West Africa. And the people. Where did all these people come from?

I got through the customs and immigration officials, then picked up .... errrr... collected my checked baggage. I had been told to take the train into London. The Gatwick Express. It was a 30-minute ride; a very quick and very smooth ride with the foggy British countryside out the windows. At 8:30 in the morning, I found myself inside the famous Victoria Station. Even I have heard of Victoria Station. Hell, I watch the old movies.

I found my way to the taxi line .... errrr... queue, and waited my turn. After the short wait, I was sitting inside another famous local landmark - the London taxi. I gave the driver the address and as we made our way through the crowded streets, bustling with humans, mostly on their way to work, I had another eerie feeling inside me.

I was home. I knew, instinctively, that I was home. Two hours earlier, I had not ever been in the United Kingdom and now, I already felt totally at ease.

Over the next days, weeks and months, I became quite comfortable being in London. Not only London, but Wales and Scotland as well. (I travel a lot) By the time this stint was finished .... errrr... at the end of the day, I had spent five years in the UK.

I truly believe that if there is such a thing as a former life, I must have been British. I've been to many countries numerous times, but never had the internal feeling that I had whenever I was in Britain. It all seemed so familiar, so ingrained in me, so natural.

I have been back to the UK a number of times the past 10 years and it's always the same. I always feel right at home.

Now I'm back in Houston. Maybe for good, and that's OK. There will always be that very special place in my heart for life in the UK.

I miss it, my friends .... errr ... mates.