We got a bit of fresh sunshine today. Unaltered by clouds, the rays beat down from the blue sky for a full 45 minutes before disappearing behind on-coming rain. It's summer here, July, and yet I wore a sweater last Tuesday. Wednesday too. On some level that seems tragically unfair. My colleagues at lunch today stated, quite seriously in fact, that they only consider going to warm places for vacation. If you're from Britain and can't sit on a beach to thaw for two weeks, then what's the point in going?

As a new resident of the British Empire's capital, I can't help but be amazed every time I step out my door how massive London is. More people live in London than all of Scotland. It's the largest city in Europe. When you sit on the Tube or walk the streets you hear Russian, French, Italian, Spanish, Chinese, Hindi, Japanese and "American" all around you. Taxis, double-decker buses, and cars cram onto the roads; grocery carts, shopping bags and massive numbers of people, spill out onto the sidewalks and into the intersections. You don't get medals for fighting the crowds everyday, dodging the red-faced men with black umbrellas and the tourists squirming like salmon upriver.

The buildings look smart and dignified. Even the houses us "normal" people live in have a dash of old-world grandeur.

There's a lot to see, a lot to do, here in London, of course. I feel like I'm standing at the edge of the world, excited to jump in and explore but simultaneously hesitant because it is just so overwhelming. Since I've been here about a week, I've yet to do anything "touristic", barely venturing out of my own neighborhood. One step at a time.

I saw a bus line the other day whose final destination was listed as "World's End." Maybe I'll get on that some day and see where it takes me.

It can't be far.