I never want to see this bed again.

When I was in Italy studying the language a few years ago, I met an American judge who was a friend of my flatmate’s mother. She told me that when she was young she’d joined the peace corps, and she still considered their method the best one for teaching a foreign tongue: when she had arrived in whichever South American country she was sent to, they threw her straight into the middle of it. Find a place to live, and find a way to communicate—the only rule was that you couldn’t live with other Americans. In that situation she learned Spanish pretty quickly. I feel like I’m learning DC just as quickly: so here I am, in the deep end. And it turns out American isn’t really a language I speak, though I’m getting there.

When I got up Saturday morning I just had this task in front of me: get to know the city, find a place to live. Well, I don’t think I’ve penetrated far into DC, but I’ve at least learned the bus system, visited quite a few different areas, found a few spots that provide drinkable coffee. I’ve been within 3 blocks of the White House and had no idea that that was the case, though, so I suppose being a tourist comes later. Or as a friend said to me: you’ve got your priorities—you’ve found vintage clothes, good books and fresh food. And when I’ve got two years ahead of me, and not two weeks, I suppose that it’s the everyday comforts which come first.

So here it is: the deep end. I’ve looked at three apartments. One lovely (but not available for another few weeks), one awful and one somewhere in between. I’m looking at two more shared apartments tomorrow, and waiting to hear back from a real estate agent about some new one bedroom places in Mt Pleasant that fit in my price range. I suppose house hunting is just as awful no matter where you do it, but I suppose it’s this feeling of potential freefall that goes alongside it: I have to be out of the dorms here in another five days.

Walking down the streets of Georgetown today, I feel like I’ve only just started to understand what affluence is: and no matter how materialistic I may be, I admit I find it quite disturbing. The row houses are beautiful, the cobbled streets poetic, but among other things, Georgetown feels like a particularly white enclave in the city. I went to Adams Morgan today, and found a much more vibrant mix of cultures—it felt more natural. And I got served the single biggest cup of coffee (and a proper caffe latte, too) I have ever drunk. It’s not all Starbucks.