I was looking around from my vantage point over the heads of the people standing at the bus stop when a woman, walking through them, burst into a smile. I looked around again to see if I could spot what made her smile, but couldn’t find anything. I looked at her again, and now she was trying to hold back the smile. I do that too, sometimes, when walking on the streets. Sometimes I think of an old joke, or remember something funny. I thought maybe that was it. I fixed my gaze on her, and watched as she walked past me. When I turned back, an old man in a black coat, wearing a plaid scarf and a grey beret, was looking at me with a kind but mocking grin and a twinkle in his eye.

I wondered if he had noticed my eyes tracking the woman. He edged slightly towards me, so I looked away. When I looked back, he was still staring at me, so I turned away again, this time for longer. When I finally looked back at him again, he was still staring at me with a smile. He took a small step towards me, and said, looking up, “That’s a cosy spot you have there…”

I smiled, “yes it is!” I was sitting on a green water control cabinet, with my arms and legs crossed, swinging my feet. It gave me an extra foot or so of height, and a better view of the street. Maybe it was because of my sister’s cats when I was growing up that I had acquired the habit of looking for a good vantage point when waiting around.

The old man asked, “Are you waiting for a bus, or the end of the world?”

My smile widened into a cheeky grin, “whichever comes first!”

He laughed. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” I answered.

“Where’s home?”

“Clapham”

“Ah, so you’re taking the 137?”

“Yes, the 137,” I answered, turning my head towards the north end of Sloane Street, “though the end of the world might come first.”

“That’s a good bus, the 137!” He eyed me for a few seconds, and I felt a bit disconcerted. “I’m taking the bus for one stop only,” he finally continued, laughing at himself, “because I’m lazy!”

“What, just over there?” It was only a five minute walk. I thought to myself, “you can probably walk there before the bus gets here,” but said nothing.

“Yes, I’m going to the club, you see? Much better than sitting at home on a Friday night watching the box. Where do you work?”

“At Imperial College”

He gave me an inquisitive look. “It’s just a few minutes walk in that direction,” I added, nodding to the north west.

“Oh yes, yes, of course! Imperial College! I’m a client of theirs…” he said. I think he just didn’t hear me right, or perhaps didn’t get my accent, but now it was my turn to give him an inquisitive look.

“The Charing Cross Hospital,” he completed, “I go to the Charing Cross Hospital sometimes.” He paused, looked around, and then looked for the bus. “It must have been a long day for you.”

It was just a few minutes past seven in the evening. “Yes, it was. This whole week.” I explained, “In fact, I think it’s going to be like this for the next few years…”

Well, in fact, today I had woken up at 10:30 in the morning, eaten a lazy breakfast, and carried out a few chores before leaving home for work. Walking across Clapham Common on my way in – at around two in the afternoon – I decided to take my shirt off and lie down on the grass. I finally walked into the office at ten past three, having spent about forty minutes reading my book about weather and climate and getting some London Spring sunshine, and thinking, “Man, I love being a PhD student!” But – the only reason I had allowed myself the break this morning was because I had indeed had a tough week filled with early mornings, late nights, and long working days. I needed the rest, badly. So there.

So the old man asked, “Are you doing a higher degree, is that why?”

“Yes, I’m doing a PhD.”

“That’s a good place to do one, Imperial,” he commented.

“Yes, yes it is.” I looked up, and around, then back at him again. Then I realised he had been talking to me, but I had lost track, and couldn’t make out what he had said just as he concluded and looked at me expecting an answer. I smiled and nodded. Satisfied, he continued, “I think, for the time that I’ve been living here, I must have clocked over a thousand miles on the 137.”

“Where do you take it to?” I improvised, as my thoughts still wandered through my recent experiences settling back in London.

Re-adapting to London was harder than I anticipated. For the first time since leaving Brazil I would have to commute. Previously, I had always lived within walking distance of work or school. But I had turned the commute in my favour: I had a twenty minute bus ride that I spent reading, preceded and followed by 10-15 minute walks through Clapham Common and Knightsbridge. Sometimes, the walk to the bus stop turned into a long sprint, since I could see the bus coming from across the Common. The commute helped me disconnect myself from work and leave it at the College, helping preserve my peace at home. I had even begun to think that I was better off for it, after all.

But re-adapting to London is not just getting used to transportation. There is the food, which is remarkably… unique… as well as the peculiar aesthetics of home interior finishing and decoration. I never understood why plumbing and electrics had to go along the outside of walls instead of inside them. Then there’s the humidity and shade, with cold that seeps into your bones at night. London is its own reality, like any other place on earth. No better or worse, just different – and getting used to it again takes time.

“Oh, Oxford Street mostly. Sometimes I take it to Sloane Square, mostly I use it to get to the West End,” he answered.

“Yes, it’s a great bus for me as well,” I added as I looked up for the bus once more, “it takes me to College or down town all the way from Clapham.”

He motioned towards the bus approaching in the distance, “Looks like it’s here!”

“I think that’s the 19,” I said.

He squinted his eyes and put his head forward. The bus was nearer now. “Yes, yes it is.. the 19.”

As the bus pulled over, the old man pulled out his wallet and searched for his bus card. “Good bye, then! Have a nice weekend!”

“You too, good bye!”

I looked again, and the 137 showed up in the distance.