What I like most about England? Occasionally surprised me with that question. I get caught, because it comes without warning in the middle of any informal exchange, on the rare occasions that I talk to English. I find it curious that most people who inquire are middle-aged people who may find it essential to the defense. I do not go too loud. If you look a certain hand, it is almost logical that a newcomer to a strange place to be tolerated, in addition to the typical suspicion that the premises observed, that some will drop out of the blue this question. Maybe wait for confirmation of a hypothetical-style grandeur of "how good it is here," may await the short notice of nonconformity to respond with a string of reasons prepared extolling the advantages of the place. acknowledge that they do not take England with that name so loud and historical references in my closest. I live and not live in an English town. Habit these days a territory called London, a sort of Anglo-Saxon version of the meeting point of all the tribes of the planet. This is hyper-diverse and multicultural capital, just walking from one neighborhood to another, note the inequalities, the faces and attitudes. Riding a bus is enough to listen to short dialogues others who can speak both English and English, Portuguese or Italian and Russian, Polish, Arabic, Urdu, Punjabi or Hindi. So my initial reaction to the question is always cerebral and defensively, is that I do not live in England but in London.
A simple explanation would leave out the fact that the contours of the big city, is already in the territory say that more English. Could be, but actually I find many features that differentiate a county (shire) of another. Anglo cities, except for concentrated urban centers where the main economic and cultural activities, resemble each other too.
Last weekend we visited Oxford. There was the usual tourist trip around the ancient universities, because we spent most of the time walking around in a walk for charity. I dare say I did not find many differences between the landscapes I saw in the Oxfordshire countryside and central Cuba. In addition, we had a hot day and hot sun all afternoon that brought the light so unique in this latitude, which lasts until about ten o'clock at night. The differences can be subtle, perhaps having been a regular rainy and gray day, I guess that would be more evident. I say subtle but, for example, the appearance of a country house, or a farm, with its unique architecture sufficient to identify the view as English and non-Cuban. In general, I'd say I did not find too many varieties of green or blue color those patches that both haunt many compatriots. I, personally, do not believe in nationalism, but I like to distinguish the issues of history, tradition or culture are peculiar to those parts of the world.
Two English countryside scenes moments reminded me of my childhood and adolescence, for those curious ways in which memory is activated by certain signals. Along with a near classic, so children's story, the poppies that program took me to the end Stage School of 70 and a specific song that said "Bride of the field, poppy." A dry tree, alone and defiant, almost forgot I remembered a poem by Antonio Machado. However, none of the mental associations served minutes before responding to the irrelevant question of a no-less pedantic about what was nasty lady in England. I say that, at least out of courtesy, I try an answer for these cases. The visit to Oxford was fleeting, dependent on the time just to get there, take the walk and return. Barely had time to take Earl Gray of rigor that our hosts, still sweaty and red, rushed to drink. I opted for a beer, I think to survive a steaming cup when the temperature touches 26 degrees, you have to have a predilection for this infusion or supernatural being born in this country. Definitely, the invitation to tea in summer is my least favorite of England.
