20 April 2011: From Dubai to Blockley

Dubai International Airport

This vacation officially started at midnight, 20 April.  At that moment, I was in the Dubai International Airport, wandering around the different shops.  Dubai is nothing if not a shopper’s paradise.  But since I dislike shopping; it’s not really for me.  However, I was in need of electrical adapters and a book to read and perhaps a bite to eat.  After a little while, I found the electrical adapters at a little travel shop and then I purchased Dan Brown’s new book “The Lost Symbol” at the bookstore on the premises.  I also stopped at the currency exchange and traded my AEDs for GBPs (note: going from 700+ AED to 120+ GBP is very discouraging…I like the bigger numbers, to be sure).  Now it was time to find something to eat.  And this is where I surprised myself.  I saw a Cold Stone Creamery…and passed it by.  I stood in line at McDonald’s…and then left.  I went to Starbuck’s, looked at everything…and walked away.  It is the first time in all the years in Dubai that I did not eat something at the airport.  I did, however, finally purchase a bottle of Coke and that was the moment they called my flight pre-boarding.  I stood in line and when I finally made it to the counter, the staff noticed my unopened bottle of Coke and told me I could not take it with me.  I made the case that it was unopened and asked very nicely if I couldn’t please just take it with me (because, oddly enough, I suddenly became VERY thirsty at this point and wanted that Coke more than anything).  I think they agreed not because I was right or because I wasn’t wearing the “Ugly American” hat but because there was a long line behind me.  So I proceeded to the enclosed seating area to await boarding and struck up a conversation with the woman next to me.  She was from the States (and I’m sorry, but although we introduced ourselves, I cannot for the life of me remember her name).  She’s a retired educator from Texas and moved to Dubai four months ago to be with her husband who has worked in Dubai for the past few years.  They were returning to the States to see their children and grandchildren for a visit.  We chatted about her adjustment to living in Dubai as an expat until it was time to board the flight. 

Nile

I’m always jealous when I have to walk past the business class section on the wide-body jets (first class being so exclusive, you see, that you never get to walk past their seats).  In any case, it is bad enough walking past business class with their seats that lay down flat and their divider screens, etc.  I nursed a small hope that the economy-plus seat I paid a little extra for would be worth it…and it was!  It had a footrest, a seat that rose up and down and was pretty comfortable.  Oh, I’m sure the business class folks would sniff derisively at it; but considering the alternative that waited in economy, I was pleased.  It was right next to the window as I had requested and there was only one other seat between me and the aisle.  I busied myself with getting situated (Coke stuffed into the seatback, purse set down on the floor, headphones out and at the ready, etc) and then my seatmate arrived.  His name is Nile (not Niles, like on “Frasier”, just Nile but he told me he answers to both since people always mess up his name).  He is an efficiency expert and travels around the world for his company.  It reminded me of the book I had read a long time ago, “Cheaper by the Dozen” (no, not the Steve Martin movie; this was a book written by two of the twelve children of an efficiency expert who died in the 1920’s).  So we talked for a while about his job and mine (with me thinking that he REALLY needs to come to Iraq and put his talents to the test!).  Nile hails from the Birmingham area of England and is a very nice person indeed.  He chuckled when I very quietly opened my bottle of Coke and took a swig before take-off.  We both agreed that the beverage cart takes way too long to make its way to us after takeoff.  Eventually, we both put on our headphones and started our entertainment systems and for the first time in recent memory, I FELL ASLEEP!  I’m pretty sure I was asleep before we even got out of the Gulf because the next thing I know, the lights were back on and breakfast was being served.  I looked out the window and sure enough, the sky was streaked with pink, blue, green, gold…all the colors of sunrise.  We were one hour out of London.  “Scrambled eggs or omelet?” the flight attendant queried and since my last choice of omelet led to the unpleasant discovery that it was a mushroom omelet (and not cheese as I’d assumed), I went with scrambled eggs…only to find them smushed right next to a big pile of, yes, mushrooms.  Bleh.  So I ate the apple pastry and the fruit salad and finished off my now-warm Coke.  Then Nile and I went back to talking and so deep was the conversation that when I felt a jolt that made me grab the armrests in a panic, he laughed and said, “I saw the ground coming up; should have told you, sorry” and I had to laugh with him.  I’m fine with taking off and flying through the air; but landings always make me very nervous.  We walked to the passport area together and that’s where we parted way since he got to go into the UK/EU lines and I had to stand in a very long Foreign Nationals line.

Yotel

I’d made the decision while waiting at the ticket counter in Dubai that I didn’t really have the energy to go banging around London for several hours after landing and before catching my train to the Cotswolds.  So I got online and reserved a room at the Heathrow Yotel.  After landing in London and then standing in a very long line of Foreign Nationals to get my passport stamped (which my interview went really fast compared to how most of them seemed to take), I headed to the baggage claim area and collected my giant suitcase.  I took the Heathrow Express train from the Terminal 5 station to the Terminals 1, 2 and 3 station where I transferred to the Heathrow Connect train which took me to the Terminal 4 station.  I got a little turned around trying to find the Yotel check-in area; but finally figured it out.  In the Arrivals hall, there are signs hanging down that say “Zone A”, “Zone C”, etc.  You have to go to “Zone E” and then take the lift (we’re in England now, folks; there’s no such thing as an elevator) to Floor 1 and then head for the Windsor restaurant and bar.  Hang a left and you’re there.  Since I still had an hour to go until check-in, I sat down at the “pay as you go” computer stations and paid 4 GBP to use the computer for 50 minutes.  And that’s when I discovered that my Facebook account was locked “for security purposes”.  Huh?  Well, it turns out that if you travel a lot and log into Facebook from various computers, the good people at Facebook decide there’s a problem with security and lock you out until you can assure them that it was you all along.  So most of the 50 minutes was spent getting Facebook unlocked again; after which, I grabbed my suitcase and went to check-in at the Yotel.  It was a very quick and easy process; you check in at the kiosk and it spits out your key card and receipt.  Pretty fun.  I found my “cabin”, which was the tiniest room I’ve ever been in.  Depending on the room you’re in, you either have to climb up into the bed or climb down onto it.  There is a shower as well as a desk that you can pull up from the wall and a folding chair to use at the desk.  It is about ¼ the size of my room in al-Taji; so that should give you some idea of how incredibly small it is.  But if you think about it, it’s just meant for short-term use anyway: a quick shower, a little nap, some online work.  Perfect.  There is a “galley” there that you can order from; so I ordered a bacon, sausage and egg Panini and a Coke (yes, I know, Coke is very bad for you but I’ve been in the mood for it lately; I do generally keep just to Sprite).  I hopped online (thank goodness it was wireless because silly me forgot to bring an internet cable) and surfed around some more.  Then I took a quick shower and then laid down for about an hour or so.  They have TVs stationed at the foot of the bed and one show that was on was called “Bridezillas” and was, of course, an American show.  And it made me cringe.  Well, all reality shows make me cringe, but this one was particularly bad.  I resolved right then and there to be on my very best behavior with everyone that I meet so that they don’t think that all Americans are like the people they see on TV.  Finally, it was time to go and see about getting over to London Paddington station.  I gathered my things together and headed out.   

Aga

Getting to the Underground station at Heathrow’s Terminal 4 station was very easy, actually.  Once I got there, however, confusion reigned.  I found Terminal 4 on the map and I found London Paddington on the map and in between was lines and lines of different colors and I could not see how I was to get from one place to another.  I had three hours to get from here to there; so there was a little bit of time for mistakes, but not much.  A feeling of panic started to rise to the surface but I reminded myself that a little over twenty years ago, I navigated NYC with no problem and I could do the same here.  And that’s when I noticed a window at the far end of the station that said “Tickets & Information”.  Information?!  Perfect!  So I went over quickly, tried very hard not to look like a clueless idiot, and asked the bored-looking woman at the window how to get to London Paddington.  “Five pounds for the ticket and you change at Earl’s Court” and that’s all she was going to tell me.  Okay, I told myself, you’ll figure it out at Earl’s Court; just get on the damn train already.  I hopped on the train, apologized to everyone for the giant suitcase in the way, and took my seat.  It was very warm in the train at first until it got outside and the breeze could be felt from the open window at the end of the car.  I very much enjoyed people-watching but did not strike up any conversations.  I was also occupied with looking out the window and pinching myself: I’m in England!  Really, really here at long last!  Earl’s Court was the ninth stop.  I got off the train (which, by the way, was the Piccadilly blue line) and needed to get on the District green line.  Trouble was, I couldn’t figure out which direction I was supposed to go in.  I appealed to one man and he directed me to take the eastbound train.  Grateful for his assistance, I hopped onto the eastbound train.  It was three stops later that I realized (by peering once more in puzzlement at the little map I’d picked up) that I was on the wrong train.  I was finding it hard to be a pleasant and happy American at that moment; however, I told myself that all I had to do was backtrack to Earl’s Court and try again.  So I got off the train and looked around and felt just as confused as ever.  And that’s when I met Aga.  She asked me if I needed any help and I gratefully answered in the affirmative.  It turns out that she knew of an even faster way of getting to Paddington and was going in that direction herself!  So we caught the Circle yellow line train and chatted as we traveled.  She moved to England about eight years ago from Holland and loves living in London.  Aga is short for some really long name that she assures me I would never be able to pronounce (she’s probably right about that!) and we had the nicest conversation.  The anxious feeling that had been gripping me dissipated away and I found myself feeling cheerful and happy again.  She got off the train at Notting Hill Gate (Paddington was only a couple of more stops away) and I felt an immense gratitude towards her.  It is so nice when people reach out and help others.  I must remember to be like that, too.       

Chris

Paddington Station is immense.  First of all, I haven’t seen a train station so full of people since the time I went to Grand Central Station in NYC.  It was a little overwhelming at first but then it was fun.  I love to watch people and in Paddington there were all kinds.  I had a little difficulty getting my pre-paid ticket out of the machine until the man repairing the machine next to me helped me out; hopefully he doesn’t think all Americans are as ditzy as me!  Since I had some time before my train was due to leave, I took out my video camera and started filming here and there.  And that’s when I realized that I had not charged up my battery!  So I filmed what I found interesting and then decided to save the rest of the battery for the train ride to the Cotswolds.  Of course, they have little stands selling Paddington Bears and there were a few coffee and sandwich stands.  I wandered over to the flower stand and gazed at all the beautiful flowers.  Iraq has given me a much greater appreciation for things that grow: flowers, grass, fruits and vegetables.  There was a bench nearby, so I sat down and reorganized my purse and suitcase while I waited for my train to begin boarding.  At last, the electronic board showed that it was time to go.  I had pre-paid for my ticket and had elected to reserve my seat.  It was a long walk past all of the cars to get to Coach A at the front of the train.  Once on board the train, there was a luggage storage area where I gratefully put that suitcase of mine and then I headed down to my seat.  When I stopped to see which row I was at, a man hopped up and asked if that was my seat.  Sure enough, it was: seat 29, right next to the window.  I had specifically requested a table seat, facing forward and with a power outlet (originally thinking to have my netbook in use, but now grateful because it meant that I could power up my camcorder and film the scenery at the same time!).  The man (who had not reserved a seat) took up a seat on the other side of the table and introduced himself as Chris.  Chris is a computer programmer who lives in the country, works from home most days, but goes down into London about two or three times a week.  He is married with a two-year old daughter; she is their reason for moving to the country rather than living in London or a nearby suburb.  He was very informative about the places I was filming as we passed through.  We had a really great conversation about life in England and he was able to point out the spires of Oxford as we went by (I would not have noticed them otherwise; they were pretty far off in the distance).  The English countryside is beautiful; it reminded me so much of home…all that green!  Eventually, Chris’ stop arrived; but before he left, he gave me his business card and asked me to stay in contact and that perhaps the next time I visit England (oh, and believe me, there WILL be a next time!), he and his wife would love to show me around.

Claire

As the train finally pulled into Moreton-in-Marsh, it passed by a field full of sheep and lambs.  I got off the train and went into the station to inquire where I might catch the bus to Blockley.  The man at the window, well, he was a bit curt: “Just round the car park, right?”  Um, okay.  That was helpful.  So I went to the parking lot and finally spotted the bus stop across the street.  Relieved, I headed over and joined a mother with her two teen daughters who were waiting for a bus to another village.  I didn’t talk with them as I had others; I was beginning to feel the effects of all the traveling.  On top of that, I was dying for another Coke (yes, I know!).  So I asked the woman if there was a little store nearby where I might get one and she gave me some pretty vague directions: “Round that corner, love, up the street to the left, go straight on, you’ll find it”.  Um, okay.  But my desire, nay, NEED for the Coke won the day between venturing off or staying put.  The woman assured me that I could catch the same bus at the Corn Exchange which was near the Tesco where the Cokes were to be found.  So off I went and…got lost.  And that’s when I met Claire.  She was walking into town from her home and when I asked her for directions to the Tesco, she said, “I’m heading that way, let’s walk together”.  Claire is a hairdresser who works in a neighboring village, Stow-on-the-Wold.  She’s spent her entire life in Moreton-in-Marsh, however.  She was very helpful when it came to crossing the street.  In the States, we are taught, “left-right-left”; well, in England, it is more like, “right-left-right-right-right” because I think that drivers don’t care if they run someone over.  It took forever to cross the street!  We finally did and went into the Tesco together.  I found a bottle of Coke and checked out the sandwiches (thinking that it might be a good idea to get something for dinner later).  I finally found a smoked ham and white cheddar on malted brown bread sandwich, paid for it and the Coke; then Claire and I went outside.  She commented on my pink hair.  Yes.  Pink.  I had it colored before I left al-Taji and the red I wanted is much more pink than red; especially in the sunlight.  She said if I wanted to do anything with it to come and see her.  I told her I’d definitely think about it.  We shook hands and then she headed off to her next errand and I had to face crossing the street again to the Corn Exchange where my bus stop was located.  Crossing a street isn’t so bad but when you’re lugging a suitcase behind you, it makes it a lot more challenging.    

Jerry

Having crossed the street and living to tell about it, I went and stood under the bus stop sign.  A man was already standing there waiting and we introduced ourselves.  His name is Jerry and he has spent most of his life in the Cotswolds.  I can’t remember if he told me what he does for a living or not because we started talking about Alzheimer’s disease; he lost both of his parents to it, just a few months apart.  I can appreciate how difficult that must have been for him; my grandmother had it as well and I hated seeing how it affected her in her declining years.  Alzheimer’s is the reason why I do puzzles of all sorts every chance I get.  Now if I could only take the same approach to other health-related issues!  But puzzles are interesting and dieting is NOT.  I’m just sayin’.  It’s not.  Jerry seemed to be a very nice man, but he had the same rheumy eyes that my ex-husband had/has; whether it is from age or excessive alcohol use, I can’t say for sure and I didn’t want to make a snap judgment.  He did tell me that if I want good meat, I need to go to the market on Tuesday.  I already knew this because the Great Western Arms pub in Blockley has a Steak Night every Tuesday for this very reason.  I thanked him for the information anyway and then his bus arrived.

Jan and Frank

I still had about twenty minutes for my bus to arrive.  I won’t mind telling you that I was seriously flagging at this point.  While I was waiting a man arrived and then three teens strolled up.  I just stood quietly and observed my surroundings.  Moreton-in-Marsh is a bustling village filled with tourists, locals and the buildings are amazing.  If I hadn’t been so tired and hadn’t been loaded down with a suitcase, etc, I would have caught a later bus and gone exploring.  The bus arrived and everyone boarded.  I was relieved that it was a flat-entry bus (no steps to climb).  I paid the fare (1.85 GBP) and found a seat.  One of the girls sat in the seat behind me and the others went to the back of the bus.  But in order to do so, they had to walk around Frank.  Frank is a four-year-old German Shepard mix (so you know right there that I fell in love with Frank).  He was lying on the floor of the bus and looked zonked out.  His owner, Jan, had taken him for a very long walk that morning and they decided to take the bus back to their village, Bourton-on-the-Water.  We had a lovely chat until her stop came up.

Alice

Alice was the girl sitting behind me on the bus.  She is seventeen and has lived in Blockley for the past fifteen years (her family moved from Oxford when she was two years old).  She’s a very nice girl, wonderful manners.  She asked where I was staying in Blockley and I told her that I was staying in the Silk Cottage.  She looked a little puzzled at that and asked me if there was postal address for it.  There was, but it was buried in my suitcase, oddly enough.    I told her I’m sure I’d find it once we arrived.  As the bus entered the village, I was completely charmed.  It has narrow, winding roads and beautiful gardens.  The buildings are all very old.  The bus dropped us off at the lower village green and Alice told me that if I needed any assistance, to take the road to the left which led to the shops, post office, etc and that anyone there would be happy to help.  I thanked her and she walked off.  I decided that before I dragged myself all around the village, I’d better find the actual address.  Having dug through the suitcase, I finally found it.  Not that it helped me out any, mind you, in terms of knowing where to head to.  A man was across the street, working in his garden, and so I headed over to ask him if he knew where I might find the address.  He was so kind in telling me to go “up to the brow of the hill, turn right and walk to the old silk mill”.  Okie dokie!  So I went up the hill, saw a street to the right, and went down another hill which switch-backed and there was the old silk mill.  Honestly, it looked like something out of a movie!  There was an archway between the mill itself and a row of cottages.  I saw someone at the window of the cottage looking out at me but didn’t peer back as I didn’t want to be rude.  Well, once I walked through the arch, here came Alice!  She saw me walking down towards the mill and didn’t realize that the cottage I was looking for was at the end of her row of cottages.  A young man was with her and then she called her “mum” outdoors to meet me.  I didn’t catch either of their names (I will later, though!); we just laughed about Alice not knowing that Silk Cottage was a neighboring property.  The young man offered to carry my bag for me, but I thanked him and told him it wasn’t necessary.  I wanted nothing more than to get into my cottage and flop down. 

Tomorrow: Silk Cottage and the village of Blockley.