London is an old and quirky city.

She is equal parts history and modernity; here, one really can find bits of old England tucked away at every single corner (even the most unexpected ones).

Take, for example, the building that I'm staying in now. The owner of the building tells me that it was constructed in 1776, which would make it as old as the United States of America, and further, that it was bombed by Hitler during World War One and the London Blitz. He points out the parts of the building where the old bricks and new bricks meet. I learn that in fact, people from the Georgian era used to live in this building; the lowest caste of servants lived on the highest floor, while the master of the house lived on the second floor, the first floor being too near the ground for their status and rank.

Sometimes, it is mind-boggling, to be walking about the streets of this city, and knowing you may be walking on the very same streets that the Roman feet trod on during the full flower of the Roman Empire, to walk, on hushed footsteps, into the shadows of dimly lit cathedrals, knowing that they have stood for hundreds of years, and hosted countless congregations of worshippers, to join the rush hour crowd in the Tube stations and wonder at the huge cavernous solid steel and brick roofs that somehow convey a certain majesty, for all that it is a simple Tube station.

The people are interesting; they are at once friendly and reserved. Seats are given up automatically for parents with prams, little (and not-so-little) old ladies with baskets and students with large pieces of luggage, 'excuse me's'. 'thank you's' and 'sorry's' are always rolling off their tongues, and here, bus drivers are thanked.

London is a walking city; a city for the walking folk. Bus rides tend to be long and dreary, while black cab rides are paid for through the nose. Today, to prove to myself that I could survive in this city, I walked from Russell Square Station back to my current temporary residence near King's Cross Station, and before that, I navigated three friends around the Tavistock/Euston area.

The weather is not so cold yet as to require a thick jacket; often a t-shirt and pair of jeans will suffice. It is a bracing sort of cold, and when the wind blows, I push myself against it. The breeze keeps you sharply awake, and lack of sun means one can run at almost any hour; eight a.m., noon, three p.m..

My first few days in London have been a myriad of experiences and discoveries (sometimes, rediscoveries). I am slowly finding my feet in this country; or perhaps it should be, I am finding my feet in this country again. It has been a decent sort of start.

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