What was meant to be an average Thursday, where I went from work to the gym for Body Attack class, stopped at M&S on the way home to grab something healthy for dinner, and then watched recorded episodes of the Daily Show while I finished packing, turned to to be nothing of the sort.
I went from work to the gym, but when I got there I found that Body Attack was canceled. Arnaud, my extremely french and extremely fabulous teacher was in some of biking accident and was in the hospital! Sacre bleu! So I was going to turn my luon-clad butt around and head home - but then I realized that if Body Attack was not happening, the studio upstairs would be empty for the next hour....
I was extremely obsessed with Zumba prior to my move here. So obsessed that I knew the entire class by heart, and downloaded all the songs from my favorite teacher's playlist because listening to them when I wasn't in class made me happy. When I got here and could find a decent Zumba class, I realized I could actually do my old class from New York on my own - but the problem was finding a place to do it. The studios always had a class going on, and you really need a big, mirrored space in order to Zumba properly.
Well, I finally had one. So in I went, flipped to my Zumba playlist on my Ipod and went for it.
It was like riding a bike again. It all came back to me, instantly. Every shake, every shimmy, every twist. I was having a blast! I was in my own little world of latin music heaven. I was so far in my old little world, that I didn't realize that a new face to the regulars that are usually in class had entered and was standing at the door of the studio, watching me.
As I took out my earphones, she approached me asked - "this is Body Attack class, right?"
"No, no, class is canceled tonight," I replied, "I'm just doing a bit of Zumba...."
"Ohh, oh no. Well - can I take your Zumba class then?"
Now blushing red, I replied, "No, no - I'm not a trainer. I just like to dance. I'm just doing some Zumba for fun, on my own."
"Oh, right. Well, COULD you lead a Zumba class, since Body Attack is canceled? You seem to know what you're doing..."
At first I felt like shouting, "get out of here and let me Zumba in peace!!!" But then I thought, actually - I could teach a Zumba class! This could be fun! The problem was, I had no way of making my Ipod play to the whole room, so I had to turn her down. But she wasn't the only one who in the next ten minutes stuck their head through the window, starred at the class schedule on the wall outside looking confused, and walked away scratching their head as I continued to drop it low.
I gave myself quite a workout, and when I finished up I headed to M&S to get something for dinner, but nothing was appealing to me except the cinnamon apple pie ice cream pint, so I got that instead. I'd earned it.
I couldn't be bothered to wait until I got home, so I got a plastic spoon and started walking towards my flat while digging into my ice cream, not caring what passerbyers thought. As I approached my street, I noticed my flatmates sitting outside at our local pub, The Chelsea Ram, smoking their fags and drinking wine. So english.
They started shouting as I came into view, "Go in and get a glass, join us!"
I sat straddled the empty bit of bench next to Suze and put down my half eaten pint of ice cream.
"ANNA!" she shouted. "You are so naughty! Were you walking home eating ice cream?"
I suppose this was a rather naughty thing to do, but I had been to the gym so they canceled each other out in my mind.
So with their wine, and my ice cream, we had ourselves a proper feast. And when the wine ran out, we got another bottle, and another, and we had such fun just sitting outside on our corner, talking about our little decrepit flat and all the hilarious and strange things that have occurred in the last year there, about London and New York, and how I've "become so honorary english" until suddenly it was 11 and the pub was closing so they kicked us out. But lucky we live "just a stone's throw away" as my flatmates' say.
When we got home, I did something that really look me to the next level in my quest to experience the english culture. I tried Marmite.
I went from work to the gym, but when I got there I found that Body Attack was canceled. Arnaud, my extremely french and extremely fabulous teacher was in some of biking accident and was in the hospital! Sacre bleu! So I was going to turn my luon-clad butt around and head home - but then I realized that if Body Attack was not happening, the studio upstairs would be empty for the next hour....
I was extremely obsessed with Zumba prior to my move here. So obsessed that I knew the entire class by heart, and downloaded all the songs from my favorite teacher's playlist because listening to them when I wasn't in class made me happy. When I got here and could find a decent Zumba class, I realized I could actually do my old class from New York on my own - but the problem was finding a place to do it. The studios always had a class going on, and you really need a big, mirrored space in order to Zumba properly.
Well, I finally had one. So in I went, flipped to my Zumba playlist on my Ipod and went for it.
It was like riding a bike again. It all came back to me, instantly. Every shake, every shimmy, every twist. I was having a blast! I was in my own little world of latin music heaven. I was so far in my old little world, that I didn't realize that a new face to the regulars that are usually in class had entered and was standing at the door of the studio, watching me.
As I took out my earphones, she approached me asked - "this is Body Attack class, right?"
"No, no, class is canceled tonight," I replied, "I'm just doing a bit of Zumba...."
"Ohh, oh no. Well - can I take your Zumba class then?"
Now blushing red, I replied, "No, no - I'm not a trainer. I just like to dance. I'm just doing some Zumba for fun, on my own."
"Oh, right. Well, COULD you lead a Zumba class, since Body Attack is canceled? You seem to know what you're doing..."
At first I felt like shouting, "get out of here and let me Zumba in peace!!!" But then I thought, actually - I could teach a Zumba class! This could be fun! The problem was, I had no way of making my Ipod play to the whole room, so I had to turn her down. But she wasn't the only one who in the next ten minutes stuck their head through the window, starred at the class schedule on the wall outside looking confused, and walked away scratching their head as I continued to drop it low.
I gave myself quite a workout, and when I finished up I headed to M&S to get something for dinner, but nothing was appealing to me except the cinnamon apple pie ice cream pint, so I got that instead. I'd earned it.
I couldn't be bothered to wait until I got home, so I got a plastic spoon and started walking towards my flat while digging into my ice cream, not caring what passerbyers thought. As I approached my street, I noticed my flatmates sitting outside at our local pub, The Chelsea Ram, smoking their fags and drinking wine. So english.
They started shouting as I came into view, "Go in and get a glass, join us!"
I sat straddled the empty bit of bench next to Suze and put down my half eaten pint of ice cream.
"ANNA!" she shouted. "You are so naughty! Were you walking home eating ice cream?"
I suppose this was a rather naughty thing to do, but I had been to the gym so they canceled each other out in my mind.
So with their wine, and my ice cream, we had ourselves a proper feast. And when the wine ran out, we got another bottle, and another, and we had such fun just sitting outside on our corner, talking about our little decrepit flat and all the hilarious and strange things that have occurred in the last year there, about London and New York, and how I've "become so honorary english" until suddenly it was 11 and the pub was closing so they kicked us out. But lucky we live "just a stone's throw away" as my flatmates' say.
When we got home, I did something that really look me to the next level in my quest to experience the english culture. I tried Marmite.
I'd seen my flatmates eating it on a regular basis, but had been afraid to go near the stuff.
People who love marmite will defend it to the death, and Suze is one of them, stating there is nothing better than marmite on toast with a bit of butter. It's her go-to snack and she eats it all the time.
So post-pub as she was preparing her slice, I opted to try one as well.
It doesn't get much more British than a jar of yeast spread. Turns out, this gooey, sticky, stinky stuff is really healthy, and kind of delicious. I can't exactly describe the taste, aside from saying it's very salty and savory. Their slogan is, "you either love it or you hate it," and I didn't hate it!
I think I will bring a jar back to New York with me, and from time to time I will have a spot of toast with a tad of but-tah and marmite, and eat it with my pinky up, thinking of Suze.
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