27 April 2011: Mum’s the Word

Note: Sorry this is taking so long, but I've got more posts to get in here eventually!

Early to Bed, Early to Rise

Well, not so much of the “early to bed part”; but certainly I was up before the dawn of the new day!  I very reluctantly packed my suitcase and nearly started crying when locking the door of Silk Cottage behind me.  Never in my life have I known such peace as I found within its walls; a sense of “this is who I really am”.  I’m a small-village girl.  I like being on a first-name basis with the local women at the shop/café.  I like the ale in the pub.  I like being alone but not too alone.  I like being surrounded by flowers and greenery.  I like taking a long walk through the countryside.  I do not, however, like being chased by a momma sheep.  I like the feeling of coming home to a place I’ve never been before and that, more than anything, is what I will miss the most.   I found an integral part of myself here.  I hope I don’t lose it in the chaos that is my life in Iraq.

Bus Stop Sally

I dragged my suitcase (and let me tell you, I always overpack!) to the bus stop where I had been dropped off a week prior.  I was standing there, feeling like a know-it-all because I didn’t need directions or anything to get around and then…I needed directions.  A kindly lady stopped by while out on her morning walk and after she inquired as to my destination and I proudly stated “Moreton-in-Marsh”, she tut-tutted and said, “Dear, you are at the wrong stop”.  What the…?!  I thanked her nicely (my momma raised me with SOME manners, after all) and headed over to the new stop and a very few minutes later, I was on the bus and on my way.  Thank God for kindly ladies!

Mum!!!

I caught the train in Moreton-in-Marsh and sat glumly as with every mile I left a world I had come to cherish behind me.  As the scenery slowly changed from stunning countryside to charming towns to metropolitan cities, I couldn’t help but wish that I could come back again very, very soon.  At the same time, knowing that my mom was already waiting for me in London (I booked her a stay at the Yotel in Heathrow Airport since she was landing so very early and I wouldn’t be there until nearly lunchtime), well, that added a lot of sweet to the bitter.  The train pulled into Paddington Station and I bolted for the Heathrow Express.  Less than 30 minutes later, I was inside Heathrow Airport and making my way to Terminal 4 to pick up my mom.  I took the elevator to the upper floor where both the Yotel and a restaurant are located (we’d already arranged to meet in the restaurant).  I rounded the corner and there she was, sitting there with her beautiful sweet smile and my heart, which had been hurting all morning at leaving the Cotswolds behind, filled up with delight.  I don’t think I could have hugged her long enough to express how happy I was to not only see her in person, but to see her in London; a place I know she’d been longing to see all of her life.

Taxi

We had a quick bite at the restaurant.  I’m still laughing at the look on her face when I waved goodbye to a nice gentleman as he left and she said, “Do you know him?” and I replied, “I met him up at the counter” (I’d gone up to the counter to order our meal and we introduced ourselves to one another although his name escapes me now).  I’d gotten a lot less shy on this trip, that’s for sure!  After we finished, we made our way down to the lower level of the terminal where we caught the London Express back to Paddington Station (adventurous as I can sometimes be, I did not feel like subjecting my mom to the London Underground while loaded down with bags, etc).  I enjoyed so much watching her face as she looked out the window and I could almost see what she was thinking.  It was wonderful.  We arrived at Paddington Station and that’s when I realized that I’d forgotten to get more money out of the bank.  I realized this as we were standing in line for a taxi and so we asked the gentleman putting people into the taxis if he could get us one that would accept a credit card (with me thinking that it was going to cost oodles of pounds to get from Paddington Station to Lancaster Gate at Hyde Park).  We finally got into one and off we went.  And I need not have worried; the fare was very low compared to what I’d had in mind and it turns out that I had that much in cash on my person as it was.

The Conservatory Suite

We arrived at the London Elizabeth Hotel and were met at the front desk by a very nice and charming young lady.  She said that we had been upgraded to the Conservatory Suite and we were handed this really old fashioned key for the room.  The elevator was out-of-order; so up we walked to the next floor (thank goodness it wasn’t any higher!).  The room, upon first impressions, was beautiful.  I should mention here that the hotel is decorated to reflect the Edwardian (or early twentieth century) era and the building itself was likely built around then, if not earlier (Mom could probably be more certain about it than me).  We unpacked (well, Mom unpacked; my suitcase exploded in all directions as usual) and we rested for a little while.  I woke up to late sunshine on my face and woke Mom so that we could get ready for our first evening out on the town.   We dressed, headed out the door and flagged down a taxi.

All’s Well that Ends Well

My mom and I both love Shakespeare.  My very favorite is Hamlet (don’t ask me why, but I totally get the guy!).  I’m not sure what Mom’s favorite is (I think she might like the sonnets best of all, but you’d need to verify that with her to be sure).  Last month, I got online and was able to get front-row seats in the upper gallery of The Globe Theatre (where Shakespeare staged his new-to-his-generation plays) for the opening night of “All’s Well that Ends Well”.  As we barreled across London to the theatre (and had a great taxi driver who was more than happy to chat with Mom about this, that and the other thing), people were getting out and about for the evening.  With the Royal Wedding just a day and a half away, London is filling up fast!  Some people are already camped out and the party atmosphere is definitely getting started.  It’s going to be very fun to see how it all goes.  We arrived at the theatre, picked up our tickets and headed for our seats.  Now, this is where you’re going to get a very valuable piece of advice that you might not want to forget should you ever go to London and wish to see a Shakespeare play at the Globe Theatre: there are people standing there renting seat cushions and blankets as you pass from the visitor’s center into the Theatre (which is about 400 years old) itself.  These people are not there to scam you nor are they there for decoration.  They are there, my friend, to keep you from freezing your tushy off.  Maybe it was because we were in a hurry or maybe it was because we’re from the great state of Oregon and don’t need no freakin’ blankets to keep warm or a cushion for our behinds; in any case, it was a grave mistake on our part.  While the theatre itself is fascinating in its layout (Google it and you’ll see what I mean); its exposure to the elements leaves a lot to be desired!  So at intermission, I headed out in search of seat cushions and blankets.  And while the seat cushions were still readily available, the blankets, alas!, were not.  I ducked into the gift shop and found a blanket for 30 GBP (so about 48 USD).  Yes, I know.  I still haven’t recovered from the sticker shock of that one.  There was a huge line and no time to get a hot drink to warm Mom and I up (silly me was wearing a burgundy silk blouse and Mom was wearing a blouse and cardigan but we were both still freezing).  However, I felt somewhat victorious in that I arrived back at our seats on time and out of breath but with a blanket and some seat cushions as my trophies.

Cosmopolitan Meals

After the play ended (which, BTW, it was hilarious and highly entertaining!), Mom and I debated about where to go to get a bite to eat.  We settled on visiting one of the eateries inside the visitor’s center.  We were shown to a table which had a lovely view of London and the Thames River.  It was very noisy and filled with people but fun nevertheless.  I think Mom liked her dinner; I didn’t much care for mine but then again, I’m an extremely selective eater and can’t stand anything pretentious or with too strong of flavor.  Normally, this would have irked me; however, I was just happy being with my mom in this fantastic setting and watching the world that surrounded us. 

Home, James

After dinner, the restaurant staff called a taxi for us (as it was very late) and this is where we learned the difference between the black cabs of London and some chap who’s making some money by picking up fares for a friend.  Our driver had no idea where it was we wanted to go and even with a navigation system, kept going in circles.  I had a hard time holding back some snippy comments; but mindful that 1. My mom was with me and wouldn’t appreciate my brand of snippiness even if it was well-deserved and 2. Sometimes people just don’t know where to go in life and God knows I’m usually in that crowd, well, I just kept taking deep breaths and tried to help the guy along.  We finally found our hotel, paid him the outrageous fare, and headed upstairs to a well-deserved night’s sleep.  And there, dear friend, is where I say “sweet dreams” to you all.

26 April 2011: The Heart of England

Please note: I'm finally getting around to posting the blogs from the rest of the vacation.  Patience, Grasshopper.  :-)

The Last 24 Hours

Waking up this morning and realizing that today was my last full day in the Cotswolds meant that I needed to get up and get going!  With less than 24 hours left to enjoy the English countryside, I knew that today was the day for that hike I’d been promising myself (and putting off).  But first I needed a good breakfast!  So I walked into the village and popped into what was now my personal hangout: the village shop/café.  Jenny was in today and we had a lovely chat while I enjoyed a breakfast of pain au chocolat and orange juice.  After that, I set out on my hike on the first overcast day I’ve seen here.

Oh, My Thighs!

Iraq is flat in all directions.  The Cotswolds, by comparison, are not.  Once I located the beginning of the Heart of England Way public footpath and set off, I quickly discovered when one has not climbed a hill in, say for example, seven years, one’s thighs don’t waste any time in complaining.  Thank goodness I had my iPod with me!  I just focused on the music (The Beatles, since you asked so nicely) and kept climbing.  Apparently when I get back to Iraq, I will need to get on the treadmill and increase the incline…a lot!

I Love Ewe

There need to be some written rules for walking in the countryside.  Since apparently no one else has done so to date, let me start with a few:

1. Watch out for cow (or, in this case, sheep) pies.  You won’t like it if you don’t.
2. Take extra care when climbing over fence gates between fields; splinters are inevitable (although admittedly it is better to get one in your hand where you can see it as opposed to your bottom where you cannot!).
3. Public footpaths in the Cotswolds are different than those found in Oregon; in some cases, it may be just where a tractor recently ran across the field.  As long as you can find a round sticker with a yellow arrow pointing the way on the fence gate, you’re good.  If you cannot find the sticker, chase down the tractor and ask the farmer where the heck you need to go.
4. If you’re not used to taking long walks and are all alone, bring an iPod and make sure it has some songs on there that remind you of happy times.  It’s the country, so it’s safe to sing out loud; no one minds except for the sheep and perhaps a couple of cows.  And if they can’t appreciate “I Feel Fine”, well, that’s their loss.
5. Never, EVER, walk between a sheep and her lamb(s).  You will be sorry and your thighs which were previously grumbling will be crying out in agony as you run for your life to avoid getting head-butted by one pissed-off mama sheep.  On the other hand, it’s great cardio and can be an adventure to write home to the folks about later; that’s if, of course, you haven’t been head-butted from behind and can sit down without wincing.

Lost in Translation

Ah, it was a lovely walk (after being chased by the sheep, that is).  The sun came out now and again and filtered down through the trees here and there while a soft, cool flower-scented breeze blew almost continuously.  I walked across fields just outside of Blockley and then through a wood and then out into fields again on my way to Draycott and then back to Blockley.  Well, that was the plan anyway.  At some point, I lost my way and ended up on the Monarch’s Way public footpath (a 615-mile walk which follows the flight of Charles II after his loss at the Battle of Worchester in 1651.  Okay, I know what you’re thinking: so what’s the big deal?  Well, the big deal is that I wasn’t interested in walking 615 miles; my walk seemed like an ambitious enough project to my way of thinking (though I found out later that the Heart of England Way is actually a 100 mile walk).  So after wandering around for about an hour on Monarch’s Way, I finally came across an arboretum and falconry facility near Moreton-in-Marsh and was able to get the right directions back to the Heart of England Way.  I was getting a bit worried because I had reservations at the Great Western Arms pub for dinner and didn’t want to miss out on the regular Tuesday Steak Night.  It was about this time that the batteries in the camera and the camcorder decided to call it a day (my feet and thighs were of the same mind, by the way, but unfortunately I was out of fresh batteries for them so they had to suffer).

Ale Be There for You

I was only ten minutes late for my reservation at the pub (time sure flies when you’re barreling downhill and instead of your thighs grumbling, it’s your knees this time around begging you to slow down and take it easy).  I felt a little like a fish out of the water sitting at a table all alone while surrounded by couples at the other tables.  However, after three pints of the house ale, I truly didn’t care anymore and instead focused on enjoying my extremely delicious sirloin steak.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again here: the English way of cooking is right up my alley!  No spices, no strange (read: weird) ingredients…just simple and straightforward cooking.  I love it.  Of course, there are those English cooks who are trying to replicate French or cosmopolitan cooking; to my way of thinking, that’s like turning your back on a good thing.  Who would ever have a complaint about good, plain English food?!  Not me, that’s for sure.

Packing It In

With the day-long hike and dinner over with, it was time to return to Silk Cottage and get everything packed up for an early departure tomorrow morning.  With each minute that passed, I couldn’t help but feel sad for leaving such a beautiful and peaceful place.  It has been years (way too many years!) since I’ve been able to relax like this and feel at peace with the world and within myself.  And with that said, my friends, goodnight and God bless you.