A Gap in the Grey

The skies over Manchester were just as dreary when I awoke the next morning, and my room every bit as cold and unenthusiastic as when I had first arrived.  With the steam of a warm shower trapped beneath my clothes I went in search of the lobby's free wireless connection to plan my escape.  I had done all of the research into train schedules before I left the States to ensure that my plan was reasonable, but if an earlier departure was possible, I would take it.  All I had to do was find a way to kill a few hours and I would be gone.

My first diversion came in the form of the Museum of Science and Industry - a rather uninspiring cluster of brick buildings housing trains and textiles, water wheels and antiquated machinery.  I felt I was walking in circles as I attempted to find something capable of holding my attention.  Even the few people around offered little to watch.  I had one section of the museum remaining before I could claim I had seen (and would likely forget) everything: the Air and Space Hall.

Area 5 looked like every other aeronautics exhibit I had been to, and with an aviation loving father and a fighter pilot ex-boyfriend it felt like I had plenty for comparison.  Planes parked on the ground, gliders hung from the ceiling, random pictures of planes in action...no real surprises.  But what happened to the "space" part of the hall?   

I finally found the exhibit in an upstairs area somewhat out of the way.  This collection of pictures and text adorning the walls had one only piece of space-age hardware among it.  I stood in front of the case a moment feeling disappointed.  It seemed so sad and lonely there; hardly the sort of thing that I could see motivating anybody to make rockets or space exploration their life.  I realized then how much I took for granted living in Launch Central, USA and being part of a nation with a program actively brining mankind closer to the cosmos.  The space program was one of the things that set my nation apart from so many of the rest and I again felt incredibly proud to be part of it.

That reminder was the best thing I would get out of about 18 hours in a city that never truly interested me.  In some ways the entire stop felt like a test.  I fought the clouds to search for something worth taking away; I found reason for laughter at my lowest point and sustaining thoughts of friends when feeling utterly alone; I walked in without enthusiasm and walked out with gratitude.  I won't say my spirits were significantly changed between stepping off a train one evening and onto a different one the next afternoon, but ultimately I think I passed.  And while I don't know that I'd ever go back that way again or recommend such a stop to anybody else, I see it as further proof that there are no accidents.  Even when I wasn't thrilled about being there, I was still right where I needed to be.  There's something truly beautiful in that.