“Don’t go grocery shopping when you’re drunk and hungry.”

I love exploring a new city. When I moved to my first house in Seattle, I remember inviting a friend to walk with me one bright Saturday morning to Pike Place Market. “I live in the city now! So close to all the cool stuff” I recall exclaiming. We never repeated this adventure because little did we know that from that house on 12th and Republican it takes a good 30-40 minutes of crazy city walking to get there. Of course that’s not a bad walk just going, but the return trek home involved carrying purchases and trudging mostly uphill. I eventually moved several blocks closer and a much easier walk to the Market, but I never again attempted that trip.

So of course when I get some free time and the weather is pleasant, I take myself out walking in every city I visit. In Liverpool, Sheffield, Essex, and the Lake District in England; Bangor, Aberystwyth, and Cardiff in Wales; Zagreb in Croatia; and in Kathmandu I walked off on my own with just a map and curiosity to get me some place interesting.

And San Francisco is no different. It was raining Monday morning, so I figured that was a good enough reason to stay in and finally finish my taxes and do some laundry and light cleaning. Of course I had already committed myself to these chores when the rain stopped and the sun made a permanent appearance in the sky. So I did everything I needed to do quickly so that I could go out and soak up some much-needed vitamin D and get some exercise. I packed my backpack with a book, my iPod and some water and headed out the door with not even a map and absolutely no idea where I was going.

I headed towards downtown because I wanted to check out a market someone had recommended and knew it was several blocks and a good walk away. As I was walking, I noticed a park with several stairs and benches that sat on a hill, so I walked over to it, got out my book and sat down to read. I wanted to keep moving, however, so I only read a few chapters before wandering east again.

There are so many beautiful homes here and I always try to pay attention and look up when I’m walking around. I think a lot of people tend to look at their feet, or the sidewalk, while walking and miss out on seeing what’s above them. I’ve noticed a lot of pretty cool things by looking up. There’s a metaphor there somewhere…..

Anyway, so I ended up grabbing a burger, yes I love my red meat, at a local dive restaurant with tons of ambiance, (ok, that’s a lie, I just went to Johnny Rockets, but hey, we can still pretend that I went to a crazy, local, awesome burger joint because that makes for a much cooler story) then headed east again until I was tired, then I turned around and headed back home. On the way I stopped into the market I was told about to purchase some eco-friendly laundry detergent that I haven’t seen in any of the stores near the house. As I was walking out of the market, I nearly ran into a gentleman (I use this term loosely) and a young woman carrying a lot of groceries. I apologized, said “excuse me,” then made my way towards the sidewalk.

“Hey, hey! Can someone put this on my shoulder?!” I turned around and the man, who upon closer inspection looked a little off his nut, was whining and looking uncomfortable. So I asked him what he wanted on his shoulder and realized while speaking that his bag was slowly falling down his arm. He was carrying 2 other bags in each hand, so myself, the young woman and another guy helped him get situated with his groceries before I again attempted to leave the market. The man thanked all three of us profusely as we walked away and we all kind of laughed. The woman said to me as we were leaving, “He told me to never go grocery shopping when you’re drunk and hungry.” When I told my cousin this story she proclaimed, “Only in San Francisco…”

Well, I think stuff like that could happen in any city, which is why I love exploring and looking up and taking the path less traveled. Even if I end up living this nomadic life forever, at least I’ll have good stories to tell. 😉

In transit

Ah, no man’s land. I am presently at London Heathrow, sitting in a long hallway full of closed flight gates. People keep staring at me, probably wondering what the tired girl is doing sitting on the floor in the middle of practically nowhere when there are plenty of comfortable chairs and lounges a short walk away. I came this way looking for an outlet in which to plug my computer. The only ones I could find are along the wall where there are no chairs, no Wi-Fi and lots of people walking to their gates.

I had a bit of a panic attack Thursday night when I started to wonder how my baggage was going to get to Kathmandu. Wouldn’t I have to go through baggage claim to get my bags from Croatia, then check-in for my flight to Kathmandu? How could I do that when I can’t enter the country? And would they detain me again at Customs, and send me back to Croatia? Or would they let me get my bags, but detain me until my 8:30 flight? Would I have to sit in a boring, sterile waiting room like the one I was in at Stansted?

On Friday there were lots of phone calls by my British fixer and lots of running around by me trying to determine what to expect. I printed out my Nepal flight information, my Hawaii e-ticket, and anything else that would show I would only stay in England as long as necessary. It turns out I was supposed to get some sort of transit visa that would have enabled me to go through customs only and retrieve my bags, then return to the terminal. Seeing as I hadn’t done this, I had to hope that the Immigration officials at Heathrow would take pity on me and let me get my luggage without too much hassle. I was instructed to be as sweet as pie in order not to trigger their insatiable desire to be mean to everybody.

I sweated all day Friday running around, and then couldn’t sleep much worrying about what was going to happen. Turns out I had nothing to be concerned about. The lovely man at the check-in desk of Croatia Airlines took my Kathmandu e-ticket and checked my bags for me all the way through to Nepal. I was so relieved I almost cried as I was walking towards my gate. All of that worry for nothing!

So, as I sit here writing this post, I am contemplating what to do with the next 6 hours. When my computer is done recharging, I plan on going back to the comfy, crowded waiting area to get internet and maybe grab some lunch. I was savvy enough to remember to keep some GBP in order to have spending money during my long stay here. After that I may do some walking for some exercise and maybe then some reading. Who knows? After all, the world is my oyster. J

I’m not a crook!

I have been traveling throughout the UK now for almost 4 months. I’ve seen so many lovely places and met so many lovely people and really enjoyed my time there. My British fixer and good friend Simon has added to this enjoyment by allowing me to use his house in Bebington, near Liverpool, as a sort of base so that I could come and go as I  pleased. When I met him in February I had no idea what a good friend he would become and how much his friendship would benefit my life. He’s an inspiration and a rock, and though I sometimes don’t realize and often complain, I don’t know what I would have done without him when Mother England decided she no longer wanted me in the country and deported me.

Shocked? I was too. Let me explain so that you understand exactly what happened and what an injustice it was.

Simon and I decided to travel to Rovinj, Croatia, where his brother had an apartment, to get some sun. The English summer had been disappointing to say the least so sun was a much needed therapy for us both. I was really excited to be able to see a part of the world I probably wouldn’t have seen otherwise. We bought cheap tickets via Ryanair and would stay 5 days, long enough to see a lovely town, get some sun and just relax.

I’ll definitely write a blog post about my time in Croatia, seeing as it hasn’t quite ended, but this post is dedicated to my experience upon returning from Rovinj to London Stansted Airport.

As per usual, when returning to one country from another, we had to pass through Customs. By the looks on their grumpy faces we suspected that the Customs’s agent would be somewhat difficult. The one we got just looked mean and unfriendly. He proved us right by red-flagging my passport because it hadn’t been stamped when I returned to the US from my trip to the UK back in February. This was suspect to him and, so he thought, proved that I hadn’t gone back to the US because the Customs agents in America would never forget to stamp a passport. Then he accused Simon and me of having a serious romantic relationship, even though we both said otherwise, and wondered why I wanted to stay in the UK for so long.

I wasn’t answering the questions to his liking, so he made me sit down in some chairs near his desk and he alerted his superior. She then asked me similar questions and decided that I was suspicious and needed to be detained. So they took me and my bag through the airport to a checkpoint where both I and my bags were to be searched. I was then led to an office where my picture and fingerprints were taken and I was sent to a waiting room to await an interview with a senior Immigration Officer.

Simon and I had been separated and I was not allowed to see him. One of the Customs agents informed him of my situation and he was told it would be at least 3 hours before I would be released. I don’t know how long I was sitting in that waiting room, scared and alone, until a short, weasel-like man interviewed me. He asked me about Simon, WWOOFing and why I was using England as a base for my travels. I could tell that he didn’t like my answers and I honestly think that he decided that I was to be deported before the interview even started.

The waiting room was an office somewhere in the depths of the airport where the staff, not part of the Immigration department at all, were extremely nice and accommodating to me. They listened to my story and tried to be supportive and make me comfortable.

Eventually I was informed that I was to be deported… back to Croatia! Why Croatia? Because they simply send you back to where you have just come from. Once the officer informed me that I would be sent back to Croatia I went a little hysterical. I called Simon to let him know the situation, and then asked to speak to the head of the Immigration department. This fat, ugly, and obnoxious little man came into the office and then took me and one of his colleagues into an interview room to listen to my story.

I was distraught and in tears and I could tell by the stony look on his face that he would not be swayed by a crying woman. I sensed this immediately so simply spoke my mind, rather than begging him to change his. He was being so disagreeable and heartless that I asked him to have a little compassion and treat me like a human being. He coldly explained to me that because I had “worked” (remember, I was NOT PAID A PENNY) in the UK, I had breached the restrictions of my tourist visa, and therefore I must be detained and deported. He was not willing to exercise any discretion or take into consideration the fact that I had booked expensive onward flights that would see me leave the UK in just 2 weeks.

Because I had worked on farms, even though on a strictly unpaid basis, they considered this paid work because they said it allowed me to extend my stay in the country, even though this wasn’t the case as I had always planned to leave in December regardless.

In my opinion, he should have simply allowed me to return to Liverpool to collect my things, let me leave to Nepal, then asked me to change my ticket so that I would return once I was back from Nepal, rather than staying another week as I had planned.

It was pointless talking to the immigration officer; he wasn’t prepared to believe that I wasn’t some immigration criminal who was looking to live in the UK illegally. So, after 7 ½ hours since my flight from Croatia landed in the UK, I was taken, in a caged van, with 4 other women to an “Immigration Removal and Detention Center” in Yarl’s Wood, about an hour north of where I was.

Once we arrived at Yarl’s Wood, we went through 2 large steel gates, barbed wire topped walls and a security checkpoint. We were led into a waiting room, which was then locked, and forced to wait another hour until we were led to another waiting room. We must have waited another hour or so before we were each interviewed and had our bags searched… again!!

By now it was 2 a.m. and we were all just exhausted and just wanted to go to sleep. They kept locking us in the waiting room, but honestly I can’t imagine that 4 women, one with a 3-yr-old daughter, were going to do anything which required them to secure us in a room. I was as uncooperative as possible and didn’t smile in my picture, gave vague answers and wouldn’t smile or joke when they attempted to lighten the mood.

It was 4:30 a.m. by the time I was led to my room. Breakfast was served at 8, but I couldn’t imagine being up by then. I was however wide awake by 7:30 because I had a roommate that left at 7 and I was feeling a little lonely and anxious.

It was only a few days ago, but I have honestly blocked out what happened that first day in detention. Simon came and visited me and brought me my stuff: the clothes and possessions that he had driven all the way to Liverpool to pack and bring back to me. He had driven 4-5 hours both ways just to bring me my stuff so that when I left for Croatia on Monday, I had everything with me. Damn Immigration agents.

I only spent a total of 42 hours in the detention center, but it was longer than I ever hope to be held against my will again. I felt lonely, lost and upset almost the entire time I was there.  I cried every time I was alone and never felt comfortable. How could I? I was basically in prison.

I left for Zadar, Croatia on Monday evening and Simon was kind enough to come with me. He has been a great help not only with planning things so that we had a place to stay and transportation while in Croatia, but he’s been a rock and been more supportive than I could ever have hoped for.

I haven’t decided what I’m doing once Simon leaves on Saturday, but an option is to go to Zagreb and the UK Embassy there and appeal this decision. I simply want to be heard and explain to them the injustice that has occurred.

If anyone reading this would like to help in any way, please write a letter to the UK Embassy or the appropriate representative to let them know that this was an unfair way to treat someone from a country that is supposedly a friend. I just ask that they treat each person fairly and with compassion. Perhaps I made a mistake, but couldn’t they have just slapped my wrist, seen that I was leaving for Nepal in 2 weeks, staying there for 6 weeks, then leaving England for the US in mid-December?

I’m still upset that this happened. Not just to me, but to numerous other people who enter the UK for a holiday and are turned away because the Immigration officers see a law-breaker rather than a human being. How many more times does this have to happen before someone realizes that it’s no way to treat people?

Birmingham/Wales

I have left Liverpool again, this time working my way to Bangor, Wales to work for 2 weeks. I’m very excited about this farm because it’s a bit bigger than the other places I’ve worked and there will be ducks, chickens and bees! I have an unusual fascination for bees and am really looking forward to learning about their care and everything involved in the honey making process.

On my way to Bangor, I’ve stopped so far in Birmingham and Aberystwyth. There’s not much to do in Birmingham, so I spent my day there walking around churches and squares and mostly shopping for things I’d forgotten to pack. It’s funny because the longer I’m here, the more things I forget when I pack. Last time I forgot to bring socks, this time I forgot a belt, my sunglasses broke so I had to buy new ones and I left my camera battery charger in a bag I had decided I hadn’t needed. Luckily socks, belts, and sunglasses can be purchased for cheap and the battery charger can be sent in the mail to my WWOOF host’s house with little problem and hopefully less expense.

So from B’ham I took a day trip to Stratford upon Avon, the birthplace and home of William Shakespeare. Admittedly I am not the biggest Shakespeare fan, but Stratford is a lovely town on the river Avon and it was interesting to see his grave site, where he was born, and probably the place that inspired him.  I was lucky enough to also have pleasant weather (read partly sunny, but not raining) so stayed there for several hours just walking on the river and sitting in green spaces reading and people-watching. Around 4 or 5 I decided it was time to make my way back to Will’s, my host, and so got back to B’ham about 6ish. Will is very into cooking and so was always happy to make a nice meal which I enjoyed immensely. I’m sure I’ve gained about 5 lbs since I’ve been gone from Liverpool, but it was well worth it to enjoy home cooked meals and fantastic desserts.

After B’ham I made my way to Cardiff, the capital of and biggest city in Wales. I arrived on a Sunday evening on a dreary day, so my host and I just had a quick pasta dinner, then headed to a nearby pub for a pint. I hadn’t been feeling well so unfortunately we didn’t stay late and I was ready for bed upon our return to her house. The next day was going to be my “walking around Cardiff” day so I went to bed early and planned to get up and get going early as well.

My day in Cardiff was another completely cloudy, but no rain, day so I walked around outdoors as much as possible. Cardiff is a pretty city with a castle in the middle of it. I explored the University grounds, the Museum, and the Town Hall before heading into the castle. If you live in the UK, and Wales especially, there are castles all over the place. Since I’m from the US and not accustomed to such things I am always in awe of them, even if they’re mostly just ruins. It’s just so amazing that hundreds of years ago people had lived there and there were things in place to defend the castle from others trying to take it over. It’s just nuts to think about the way of life back then, and standing among castle ruins always gives me chills. After the castle I walked over the museum and actually went in because I had noticed on one of those City bus tours that there was a Diane Arbus exhibit that ended that day. I discovered Diane after watching a fictional movie based on her life called Fur. It was an interesting portrayal of her unusual photography and it made me really like her work.

After the photography exhibit, I spent some time walking around Cardiff window shopping and people watching, then headed back to my host’s, Sally, around 5ish. The minute I stepped off the bus and started the 5-10 minute walk back to her house it started to rain. I was happy Sally was home and she had made another pasta dinner so we ate that, then walked to a cafe in the city center that she really enjoyed and I got us tea and dessert. We talked for a couple of hours, but as it had been a long day for me we headed back so that I could rest because she leaves for work at 8 and I was to leave with her.

Cardiff had been a great city, but I was ready for a smaller introduction into Welsh life, so headed to Aberystwyth, on the west coast of Wales. It has a university and is on the coast and I had heard that it was absolutely gorgeous. I met my hosts, Phil and Asia and another surfer that was to be staying there at the same time, Dan, at the train station and we then walked over to theirs, only a couple of blocks from the station. Their flat is lovely and comfortable and I felt at home almost immediately. It was evening when I arrived, so we simply talked and then made dinner then went to bed.

Aberystwyth is a lovely coastal town, but not very big so I set out mid-morning and walked over to the Information office to see what they recommend I do. There was promenade along the beach that led in one direction to a hill with a spectacular view, and in the other direction to some castle ruins (of course!) It wasn’t yet raining, so I decided to climb up the hill and have a look around. The view didn’t disappoint, but when I got down after spending about an hour walking up and being at the top, it started to pour. I found shelter in a sort of beach hut and waited out the rain. It didn’t last long and I set off again to check out the town museum of local history. The girl at the Info desk said the museum could take hours to enjoy, but as it was quite small I was in and out of it in about 20-30 min. No offense to Aber (as the town is called colloquially) but although the museum was an interesting insight into life some hundred years ago, it wasn’t hours worth of interesting.

It was raining pretty hard when I exited the museum, so I walked over to a pub and got out my book, had lunch and waited out the deluge. After about an hour or so, it let up enough for me to walk along the prom in the direction of the castle ruins. Aber is located at the confluence of the Ystwyth and Rheidol Rivers and so after I  wondered around the castle I walked down to one of the rivers and watched as two men in wetsuits paddle surfed up the river towards the sea. It was an odd site in the cold and rain, but I understand when you live here you can’t always wait until the weather is pleasant.

I was cold and wet again, so after exploring the river and castle, I found a lovely coffee shop and had a cup of tea and a piece of cake. I swear, working on the farm will be welcome so that I can lost this weight I must be putting on. I stayed in the cafe for an hour or two, reading and again waiting for the rain to let up so that I could head back to Phil and Asia’s. I was to have dinner with a friend of a friend I had met in Birmingham, so just killed time talking to Phil and Dan until I was to head off. Dan was moving to another host’s place, and so I walked out and said goodbye to him and walked over to where I was to meet Louisa for dinner and drinks. We had a pint in a posh pub, then ate at a Japanese noodle house, then had a fancy cocktail in a even fancier restaurant/bar. It was a lovely evening and I returned to my host’s house completely exhausted and a little drunk. It wasn’t too late, only about 11, and they were still up watching a BBC docu about the 70th anniversary of the beginning of WWII. It was the 3rd in a series and it was about the children that had been evacuated to the country during the conflict. It was really sad and I was a little disappointed that I was too tired to watch the whole thing. But I was planning on leaving the next day to head up north and I wanted to get an early start.

Next stop, Bangor!

Newcastle

I arrived in Newcastle at about 1:45 p.m. and was to hear from Martin about 2ish. I didn’t know if he had a car or what, so I checked my big duffle at the Left Luggage and carried my other bags towards the center of town to explore a bit while I waited. I had only gone half a block when he phoned and said he’d meet me at the train station in half an hour. So I took that time to find the nearest Information Office to try and get some pointers on what to do while in town. All of the people at the info office were busy, so I simply took a few brochures about places I’d been, or were going to and a map of Newcastle and set off back to the train station. It turned out that Martin had taken the metro to the train station, so leaving my bags had been the smart thing to do.

The first thing we did was walk to a nearby café and have lunch. It turns out that Martin is Irish but had lived in various parts of the world so had lost most of his original accent. He is one of the most interesting people I’ve met through CS so far. A lot of people say that Irishmen are fantastic story tellers, and Martin didn’t disappoint. He has done so much in life that I could have sat and listened to him for hours. I only had a day to see Newcastle though, so we made our way towards the river and some more attractions.

On our way to the river bank we passed a castle Keep and some fascinating buildings. There was even a door that was guarded by a plaster vampire rabbit. No one has any idea as to the reason there was a rabbit with vampire teeth about the doorway. It’s a shame that such stories get lost. Newcastle has 6 bridges spanning the river Tyne and they are all different. The coolest one is the Millenium Bridge that is only for peds, and once every day around noon I think, it moves to test the mechanism and just in case a tall boat needs to pass under. Across the river is the Baltic Flour Mill, home to 5 floors of gallery space. The Baltic is the biggest gallery of its kind in the world and doesn’t have any permanent collections. It was very interesting and again we saw a bunch of art work dedicated to the work of Charles Darwin, a repeated theme here and I’m sure around the world due to the anniversary of the publication of On the Origin of Species.

We had done quite a bit of walking, so made our way to the pub for beer and more chatting. We realized that it was getting quite late and Martin had to meet some people at another pub for a CS meet-up, but I still needed to get my bags from the train station and make our way to his house. We hurriedly accomplished this and I met Martin’s wife, Julia. Martin took his leave after having a cup of tea and Julia and I made dinner and chatted some more before heading out to the pub. She is really interesting and I admire her independence and attitude.

Transport is very convenient in Newcastle and it only took minutes to get from the city center to Martin and Julia’s house, and from their house to the next stop where the pub was located. Once at the pub I met a few travelers and a few locals. I was really exhausted though, so after we’d only been there a couple of hours, we left so that I could get home and sleep. Once back at the house though, we ended up talking for another hour or so. I enjoyed it immensely, but was fading fast, so Martin and Julia let me go to sleep around 12:30.

I’ve noticed in my travels of England that just about every shower is different. At Simon’s in Liverpool there is a pull cord that has to be on before you can shower. When I was in Dunmow, the hot water from the boiler had to be turned on for about 20-30 minutes before I could be guaranteed a warm shower, and in Sheffield although the shower was electric, you had to turn a knob to start the shower because the other instruments in his shower were broken. Well, I figured I’d seen it all so when I woke up at martin and julia’s and no one was awake I would take a shower. theirs was similar to Pete’s in Sheffield where there was a knob I had to turn. I noticed that the only cord was for the light though, so assumed that the hot water would be automatic. It wasn’t and I felt too silly to turn off the shower and ask how to make it warm, so I resigned myself to a cold shower. I justified it by thinking that it would definitely wake me up. I had decided not to wash my hair because I didn’t want to be that cold when all of a sudden I heard the exhaust fans in the bathroom come on and the water got warm. I thanked the shower gods and stood under the water for awhile to warm up. It felt great. It’s a great feeling to go from freezing to warm and toasty. I could have stayed in the shower for a lot longer, but figured that now that someone was up I should probably allow them to use the bathroom.

When I emerged from the sauna that the bathroom had become, the table had been set with every imaginable breakfast spread such as jam, Nutella, butter, Marmite and even peanut butter. I had cereal and toast with butter and strawberry jam and felt 100% prepared for my last few hours in Newcastle. Before heading into town we visited the library so that I could check email and train times to Ulverston, the station where I was to be picked up by Peter, my WWOOF host.

We wanted to see the Millenium Bridge move and some more sites before I was to leave at 2:30, so we rushed off towards the city center. We got to the bridge just in time to see it go up, then we walked towards the Earl Grey monument and the shopping district. I saw the original Marks & Spencer, which had been merely a market booth, and the street voted the best street in all of the UK (Grey St.) We stopped into a pub for lunch and more beer before I headed off to points unknown and remote.

I had a great 24 hours in Newcastle was sad to leave as a I boarded the train towards Cumbria.

Leeds

After Sheffield, I traveled up to Leeds. A few people asked why I was going to Leeds, because while it’s a big city there isn’t much there for tourists. The answer is that I used to date a guy from there and I was curious as to where he is from and I wanted to meet up with him again. I had a few issues with accommodation in Leeds, but sorted it all out and found a great host in Simon B. He let me stay at his flat even though he usually doesn’t host and he wasn’t feeling very well. The first night I was there I attended a pub quiz full of UK trivia that I had absolutely no idea about. I ended up just chatting with a few people and had a great time.

My 2^nd day there I met up with my ex, Alastair, and he showed me around the limited attractions. We mostly just ate, drank and talked. It was nice to catch up and I found out that he’s moving to NZ in September. It seems that a lot of people are moving to NZ. I’ve never been there, but I’ve heard how beautiful it is and can understand why people would want to live there. That night I was exhausted and passed out around 1 on Simon’s couch.

The next day Simon B. took me to the Cow and Calf, a lovely rock outcropping in the moors around Leeds. We hiked quite a bit and the views were amazing. We walked down to a nearby pub for lunch and saw sheep just passing through the parking lot and grazing on the grass around the pub. It was funny because it seemed that they were on the lam, no pun intended, and had heard that the grass at the pub was somehow sweeter than any other grass.

After the hike and lunch, we drove to Bradford, home of the National Media Museum. Again, a few people asked why Bradford, but a couple of people had recommended it as a great town with the must-see museum. According to Simon B., it had been a rather dodgy city, but they were in the process of cleaning it up and the media museum was phenomenal. There was a gallery dedicated to Kodak with old camera equipment and commercials, another gallery dedicated to television and the advent of digital tv, and a gallery with exhibitions dedicated to the work of Charles Darwin. It was really interesting and if Simon B. hadn’t felt poorly, we may have stayed longer.

As a quick side tour, we stopped at the Kirkstall Abbey and walked around the almost 900 year old ruins. There was a Shakespeare festival happening in the cloisters, so we weren’t allowed to enter that bit of the monastery, but most other bits were open. It was crazy walking around something that old. It’s what I love most about Europe, that things like that exist. I guess that the abbey grounds are a public park, and are used for occasional events such as the annual Kirkstall Festival and the Kirkstall Fantasia open-air concerts. We were lucky that it was a nice day and it was gorgeous walking around a bit of history in the semi-sunshine. (And yes, anything that isn’t some sort of precipitation is considered nice weather here. )

My last night in town we went to Headingley, home of the cricket field where the Ashes (cricket matches between England and Australia) were to begin on the following Saturday, and visited a pub and met up with some Lithuanian CSers. They were siblings and the brother was attending Uni in Leeds and the sister was just visiting. I can’t remember their names, but she insisted that I come visit her in Lithuania while I’m over here. She was so sweet and spoke so highly of her town that I just might.

The next day I packed up my stuff, said goodbye to Simon B. and hopped a train to Newcastle upon Tyne. I was going to stay with Martin and his wife Julia and I couldn’t wait to spend my next 24 hours in a city on a river!

Sheffield

I have to be to Broughton, Cumbria by Aug. 8, so decided to work my way from Liverpool up to the Lake District via Sheffield, Leeds and Newcastle. I had chosen Sheffield as my first stop because I had seen the Peak District from a train a couple of weeks back and wanted to return to it’s beauty.

I left on Sat., Aug. 1 on a 2 hour train to Sheffield from Liverpool. It was about 3:30 when Pete, my couchsurfing host, picked me up at the train station and we drove back to his house. Once I had dropped off my bag and freshened up, we got back in the car and took a”run’, meaning a drive, up through the hills to Chatsworth House, a gorgeous royal property of incredible size. It turns out that Kathleen Kennedy, JFK’s sister, was married to the Marquess of Hartington and is buried there. Who knew? I guess that they married in 1944, but he died that same year and she died in a plane crash 4 years later. Tragic.

After we drove around and saw loads of deer, sheep and cascading hills we drove to a lovely pub overlooking the bluffs and had a lovely chat. I found out that it was Pete’s birthday, so treated him to the meal, much to his dismay. I guess he isn’t one for a fuss, but I did it anyway. Englishmen are sometimes so polite it cracks me up.

Being that it was his birthday, Pete was to meet a few of his friends, all guys, at a local pub for some drinks. I didn’t want to intrude on a man’s night out, but Pete insisted and since I’m never one to pass up beer, I tagged along. We walked the few blocks to the Lescar Hotel and bought a couple of beers and made our way to the back of the pub to find Pete’s friends. Meeting at the pub is part of the culture here. I love it that every neighborhood has a pub where you can find the same men just about every night nipping in for an ale after work. I mentioned it to an English guy the other day and he said that if the weather was better, maybe there would be some other tradition here, but meeting at the pub is always the cheapest, warmest option.

The night started out a little awkward, with the guys talking amongst themselves and occasionally asking me questions about America. As the night progressed however, and we started drinking more and becoming more comfortable we were able to talk more freely and I had a great time. His friends were funny and very sweet and enjoyed discussing  closed circuit TV and the introduction of i.d. cards here. I have to admit that I only recently became aware of what these things even are but it perturbed me that these men were willing to give up their privacy and personal rights in order to be “protected”. I really believe that at the end of the night they were all at least thinking about what I was saying and not so positive anymore that giving up their rights is a good thing.

Sunday Pete had plans for a birthday lunch that had been reserved beforehand and there hadn’t been any room for me, so I just wandered around town. He had given me a map, so once we walked around the Botanical Gardens near his house and parted ways, I walked towards downtown Sheffield. I stumbled upon a classic car show and took a few pics before my camera died. I was still tired from the night before and assumed that because it was Sunday there wouldn’t be too much to do in town. So I ended up sitting in the Peace Gardens and just people watching, occasionally getting up to stretch my legs and look around a little. I walked around the cathedral, which wasn’t that impressive, then walked down an interesting looking alley that led me to a major road and unsightly traffic, so I just walked back up to the Peace Gardens and got out my book. It was getting near dinner time, so I headed back to Pete’s because I hoped he’d want to have dinner together. It turned out that he was still at the pub, but that we could do dinner with this friends a little later. So he and his friends John and Sarah picked me up and we grabbed Chinese and went back to their house to watch Top Gear and just relax. We had all had busy days and weekends, so we didn’t do a lot of talking but it was nice to meet more people and be welcomed into their home.

I  had been planning on leaving Monday morning to head to Leeds, but because my camera died and I hadn’t really gotten to see too much of Sheffield, I asked Pete if I could stay another night and he agreed to let me. So Monday I got up and out around 10:30 and vowed to see more of Sheffield. I went up in the Sheffield Wheel, a gigantic ferris wheel similar to the London Eye, toured Town Hall, walked through a couple of galleries and theaters, and a museum or two then met Pete at his work for a ride home and dinner. He made a great shepherd’s pie with lamb and carrots and mushrooms and I had bought cake rolls for dessert. All in all, it was a great last night in town.

Someone Pete knew from Sheffield was driving up to Leeds Tues evening for a pub-quiz night, so I arranged to go with her to keep her company and to get a ride to Leeds of course! She wasn’t leaving until 7 p.m., so I spent the day packing, walking around a nearby cemetery and getting my hair cut and writing this blog post.

I’m reading Bill Bryson’s Notes from a Small Island while traveling around GB and sometimes I feel a little like him. Like when I was doing the Town Hall tour with 2 older gentlemen and an elderly lady. I could imagine Bill’s comments about one of the men, who was wearing a khaki vest, sturdy shoes and carrying an umbrella. Definitely someone I would imagine BB mentioning as a “walker.” I also feel like mentioning that Sheffield is a lovely town for an afternoon but if you like hiking and whatnot, stay longer to take advantage of the scenery. I definitely intend on coming back before I return to the states. 🙂

UK, 1, USA, 0

I’ve been feeling a little down since I’ve been here in the UK which can probably be mostly attributed to the fact that it rains a whole hell of a lot and I rarely get to see a warm, sunny day.

So I went to the Dr. today to see about getting some happy pills, or as some people call them, anti-depressants. I spoke to a Dr. over the phone and he suggested I go into the surgery to have something prescribed, as what I am usually on isn’t available in England as anything more than a drug to help people quite smoking. I simply had to go to the Surgery where my friend, Simon, is registered, fill out some paperwork as a temporary resident, make an appt, see a Dr., then get the prescription filled at a pharmacy. The whole process took only a couple of days. I saw the Dr. at 9:40 a.m. and had my prescription in my hand by 10:05. The whole thing cost me about $10. Seriously. What a great country! Can the American health care system run like this? If so, sign me up!

A Weekend in Cambridge

I left my 2 1/2 weeks in rural Essex and sped off to Cambridge. I was happy to be done working and living in the country and looking forward to socializing with some couchsurfers and being in a proper city again. Two young, German WWOOFers had spent the last few days at Wendy’s while I was there and gave me a ride to Cambridge. We parked in a Park ‘n’ Ride car park to save time trying to find parking once we got into town and took a double-decker bus. I had all of my luggage, so Markus and Patrik went and sat upstairs while I stayed down and sat next to a few pensioners (retirees) from rural Essex and Liverpool that were also spending the weekend in town. They heard my accent and asked me a loads of questions about the US and how long I was to stay in “their country.” I noticed a lot of people phrase it like that here.  Either “this country” or “my country.” I imagine they say it both out of pride and the understanding that there are many other countries to visit while in Europe that might have nicer weather. 🙂

We arrived in town around 11 on Thursday, July 16 and parted ways so that I could find somewhere to put my luggage until Britta picked me around 6 or 7 that evening. I figured I was going to be there until Monday morning so took my time and grabbed some lunch, then sat in a large park, Parker’s Piece,  and ate and read my book.  I had grabbed a map at the car park, so leisurely looked to see where I was and where I could possibly go on such a nice day.

I left my bags at the train station, the only place I could find to do so, and went off exploring. I just knew that I had to get back to the train station by 6 to get my stuff, so I walked towards the center of the city to stroll and enjoy the architecture. I ended up going to King’s and Clare Colleges. There was heavy construction at King’s, so one could only see the chapel. It was a little disappointing, but still beautiful. Then I wandered over to Clare and walked through their gorgeous, manicured gardens. There was a path that led to the river bank, so I sat for awhile and watched a few dozen punters. There were a lot people in their late teens, early-20s, so  I was hoping to see some of them fall in, but no such luck.

At 6 I headed back to the train station to get my bags and meet my host Britta. After picking me up she took me to The Boathouse, a lovely pub with outdoor seating on the river. When we got there the deck outside was full and there were no good seats overlooking the river.  So we just sat at the nicest looking table and had our beers and I finally was able to eat a cheese burger with fries, something I’d been craving for weeks. After we had been there about an hour or so Mark, my host for the next evening, arrived. By then people had left so we moved down and were able to sit at a table right on the river. It was great and I saw swans, fish and ducks. I think Britta and Mark thought I was odd for being so excited about seeing wildlife, but what can I say? I’m easily entertained. After we had been there another hour or so, we were joined by Marya, an American by way of India. After the virtual seclusion and boredom of Dunmow it was so lovely to meet new people and be out.

After everyone bought a round and we were all sufficiently “greased” and the bar was closing, we drove south to Britta’s. She is from Germany and works for a family in Audley End, near Saffron Walden in Essex. She cares for the horses and children when they’re home on weekends from school.  Her flat is converted stables and were really nice. She was kind enough to let me sleep in her bed while she curled up on a sleeping mat on the floor with her sleeping bag. It was fantastic to sleep on a real bed after being on a mattress on the floor at Wendy’s. I think I had the best night sleep that I’d had in weeks.

The next day we had a lovely breakfast of eggs from the farm where Britta lives, then she took me to the station and I made my way back into Cambridge. It was an overcast, rainy day so I decided to do the whole museum thing before I met up with Mark, my host for that night. Cambridge was celebrating its 800th anniversary, as well as Darwin’s birthday and the anniversary of the publication of On the Origin of Species so most of the museums and such had some sort of tribute to Darwin.  I started at the Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, then went next door to the Sedgwick Museum of Earth Sciences. They were both fascinating and free, which made me happy. The Sedgwick was jam packed and not really anything I was into, but the Arch and Anthro Museum was great. (I sometimes wish that I had gone to school and studied anthropology. I think other cultures and societies are fascinating. I just watched a BBC series episode about people of the South Pacific Islands and the island of Anuta.) While I was wandering through the museum, I got a text from Mark so we met up and went to the Fitzwilliam Museum, with its collection of art and antiquities and another Darwin exhibit. We only had about 90 minutes before it closed, so I ran up to the Darwin exhibit, where I was enthralled and captivated. I am not really familiar with Darwinism, but his work and theories and what it has shown us about the world around us is undeniably educational. It was very thought provoking and was the basis for the conversation I had with Mark after we left and went to the pub.

Mark lives in Ely, about  a 15-minute train ride north from Cambridge. He was going to make a Turkish dish, but after we had gone to the store and got back to his, it was almost 11 pm, so he just made a quick Indian and we talked while drinking a couple bottles of wine.  Our conversation ran the gamut from books to romance to food to travel. It was quite late and I was quite drunk when we decided it was bed time and I passed out on the air mat in his lounge. I slept quite well until the sun came out around 4 or so and I was wide awake. I kind of dozed on and off until about 10 or so when Mark came down and said that he had to be to Cambridge to meet his girlfriend around noonish but that I should go check out the Ely Cathedral before we left town.

It was easy to do a quick tour of the cathedral because it was on the smaller side and, though interesting, there are a lot of churches and cathedrals in England and I think they’re all pretty similar. I know people will argue with me and I may be wrong, but a) I’m not a Christian and so am not really fascinated with their houses of worship, and b) while architecturally lovely to behold they pretty much all look the same after awhile. So after my quick tour, we walked to the train station and and I saw Ely for the last time. I was headed back to Cambridge to meet with Alex and Lou, my last hosts for my tour of Cambridge.

You might be wondering why I had 3 hosts for 3 different nights. Well, I had originally planned to get to Cambridge on the Friday and stay until Monday morning. However, Wendy, my Dunmow WWOOF host, had decided that she wanted to leave on her holiday camping trip on Thurs, so I had to contact Mark and see if I could stay the Thurs and Friday. He initially said yes, but then realized that he had a new housemate and didn’t want her first night to be spent with some stranger on the floor of her new home’s lounge. So Mark suggested that I stay with Britta, whom I had asked before to host me but she said she had studying to do and while would love to, probably should not.  However, figuring it would be only one night she graciously accommodated me. Confused yet?

By the time I got to Alex and Lou’s on Sat, I was extremely tired of traveling and living out of a suitcase and just wanted to go “home” to Liverpool. I really just wanted to take a nap and relax Sat., but couldn’t really while couchsurfing, so once I met my hosts and found out that they were having a lazy Saturday afternoon cleaning and running errands, I decided to grab my things and go to the nearest park and read and nap. It worked out magnificently because I’d been gone a few hours and was just waking from my nap when A & L called me and said they were in town and would I like to meet up. So I found them and we decided that a great way to spend a sunny Saturday afternoon/eve was to go punting on the River Cam. They went all out and bought wine, hummus, bread and strawberries. Alex was a great punter, as was Lou and when the river was wider and there weren’t as many people, I took my turn. I was a little nervous at first, but after a few minutes when I didn’t fall in, I was fine. It was kind of scary standing on a boat with other punters coming at you, many of them as inexperienced as myself.

After punting, we went back and had dinner at A and L’s and then went to bed early. It had been a long weekend so far and I was exhausted. The next day was overcast, so I just walked around the botanic garden and decided to leave Cambridge Sunday rather than Monday. I was tired of traveling and living out of my duffel bag. It was time to go back to Liverpool. 🙂

Art House

There’s not a lot to do here in Dunmow, so I often take myself out walking. I usually take Smokey, Wendy’s dog, but sometimes I just want to explore without having to worry about cleaning up dog poo.

Today I went down the B184, aka Dunmow Road, and Keeres Green. I had originally only intended to walk to the convenience shop to buy something chocolate while Wendy was napping, but decided once I’d bought my Kinder Bueno that I should probably do some walking while it was dry. I just headed down the road, thinking maybe I would walk down to the pub, the Axe and Compasses, to have a pint. I had been there on Monday night and met with Tristan, an Aussie working in the area whom I had discovered via, you guessed it, couchsurfing. It was a quaint little pub and one I hope to visit again before I leave the area next week. However, once I started down that road, I was tired of walking so close to traffic and decided to turn down the first interesting road that came up on my right (the side of the road I had been walking on.  And if I had only walked a little further, to the left was Drury Ln! Maybe next walk I’ll look for the Muffin Man.)

So I started down this sidewalk-less side road hoping that there would be fewer cars and more sights. I like to explore while walking and recently discovered an abandoned dairy farm and a gorgeous building used as a rental hall of sorts.  I usually don’t bring my camera while out walking, so no pics of the farm or rental hall, but maybe before I leave I’ll go back and snap some. I did have my camera on this outing however and decided to give a lesson on houses in England.

There are many different houses here, just like in America, they’re just called different things. For instance they have terraced houses, semi-detached houses and  detached homes. A detached home is exactly as it sounds. It’s a free standing house. A terraced house is akin to row houses in America, but supposedly they’re a wee bit fancier. A semi-detached house, or semi, is 2 houses side by side connected by a wall. What we refer to as a townhouse or duplex in the states.

The coolest thing that I’ve seen a lot of here in Essex are thatched cottages. Here in England, wheat straw is traditionally used and is grown specifically for thatching for roofs and if done by a skilled thatcher can last 50-60 years! Another popular material is water reed which accounts for almost half of the thatching material here and is mostly imported from Turkey and Eastern Europe. Thatch is fastened together in bundles with a diameter of about two feet. These are then laid on the roof with the butt end facing out and secured to the roof beams, after which they are pegged in place with wooden rods. The thatcher adds the layers on top of each other, finishing with a layer to secure the ridgeline of the roof. This method means thatch roofs are easy to repair, can endure heavy winds and rain and only need a stable supporting structure.

I hope you enjoy my real estate tour. Man, I love the English countryside!