June 7, 2008
UK Preface
Several of my coworkers became excited when it was announced that the European version of a conference we regularly attend here in the US would be held in Edinburgh this year. For them participation meant returning to a city they said nothing but positive things about. For me it would serve as a well-timed answer to the resurgence of a nagging feeling that I needed to skip the country again. Whether we would actually get to take advantage of the opportunity remained to be seen.As weeks disappeared from the calendar the excursion became more of a reality. Talk shifted from "If we go to Scotland" to "When we go". Later, both papers I co-authored were accepted by the conference. The trip was really going to happen.
I actually struggled quite a bit with this knowledge. I certainly did not want to waste the chance to explore somewhere new, but what did I actually know about the UK? Part of me then spoke up and said, "You know, you're not that far from London. That's a major world city you've never seen. When do you think you will be that close again?" I fought with that part and asked why it was pushing me there. It fought back and asked what was pushing me away. I'm still not sure which side won or why, but I realized that going was something I needed to do.
Family obligations eliminated the option of tacking days onto the end of the trip. I would have to fly early, but my objectives were vague and I had no idea how much time I would actually need. There was also an important date hanging out there to consider: the 10th. How did I actually want to spend my birthday this year?
The departure date stretched earlier into the week until it reached Sunday, a full seven days before my coworkers would arrive. Anything more than that seemed like pushing it. Half of the trip was arranged by the travel people at work. The rest fell to me. I would have to get myself to London and, through whatever route I chose, back to Edinburgh before the business portion of the trip kicked in.
Hours of research as I struggled to come up with a plan left me feeling overwhelmed and unsure. Some of the people I asked for suggestions were more helpful than others. In all of it I never felt like I accomplished anything, and at several points I remember thinking I just didn't want to do it anymore. I would ignore the trip altogether, then go back to repeat the research and frustration cycle. This process was drawn out so much that my last hotel wasn't actually booked until a week before I left. Only then were the last minute errands free to begin.
I walked out my door on Sunday with no more than what I could squeeze into my backpack. If all went well, a suitcase with the rest of my clothes would meet me in Edinburgh on Saturday. I felt exhausted instead of excited. I was nervous at the realization that running off alone to a foreign country I knew little about and nobody in was a big deal. The guidebook had been voted out of the backpack, the internet situation that would greet me was an unknown and, despite the time that had gone into research, I had no real plans to speak of when I got there.
Three plane tickets, a train pass and a scattering of hotels formed the weak skeleton of my trip. Hope that a great experience awaited me was the only thing I had to go on. As I boarded the plane all I could do was hope to God that it wouldn't be proven wrong.
Captured At:2251
June 8, 2008
Sometimes Getting There is the Hardest Part
The trip got off to an odd start. To my left the plane remained solid where a window should have been. To my right sat a young homosexual couple. The half beside me could have been a poster boy for "Gay Stereotypes" magazine. He also struck me as nervous, dependent, and in need of constant reassurance. He spent most of the trip asleep with his head on his partner's shoulder.
Inside I realized I was fighting the hardening of spirit that comes when being judgmental of others. In the struggle I began to wonder about the voids in this young man's life. Perhaps his male friend was the only person who had ever made them feel less empty. I was unexpectedly moved to sympathy considering this possibility. The need for love and companionship cannot be faulted. It is built into everybody. The problem comes when we go about fulfilling natural needs the wrong way.
I managed to crash the touch screen embedded into the seat. When it resumed normal function I chose to
let Buffett serenade me to
Our late arrival was a mere fraction of an hour before every restaurant in the airport closed down for the night. I exchanged money that would soon be of no use to me for a slice of pizza and a Powerade, then made my way to a quiet place to sit down and watch it rain over New York. Realizing that in a matter of hours the ten dollar bill remaining in my wallet may as well have come out of a Monopoly game was slightly disconcerting.
Delta's provision of free snacks and soda to make up for the
flight delay and lack of air conditioning moved the masses at Gate 5 to
life. From a distance I could hear some
of my fellow passengers laughing about the news report on how outrageous gas
prices were now that the national average had reached $4 a gallon. They apparently pay twice as much. I shook my head and buried it in my laptop
screen once again. For as much as we
grumble over here in
We boarded almost 2 hours late and were delayed again because of paperwork, last minute passengers being added to the flight and a busted fire extinguisher. When one of the stewardesses asked for our cooperation to help ensure an on time departure the entire passenger cabin erupted in laughter. After a pause she came back over the intercom. "Okay, we will not have an on time departure, but we will go as quickly as we can." The pilot was honest enough to inform us that even with everything fixed we would probably sit on the runway for another hour waiting for the weather system to clear out. When we finally taxied away from the gate we were 27 in line for takeoff.
At this point I was forced to accept reality. I no longer had any chance of making my
flight to
It didn't work out.
Captured At:2117
June 9, 2008
EDI Hello, Goodbye
Getting caught up in our own patch of the planet is pretty easy when immersed in our regular routines. Zooming out a bit and taking a more global perspective adds a whole other dimension to life that is pretty amazing to me. Take now, for example. As I lay here on my couch typing about the next phase of my trip, a young British Airways employee is sleeping soundly in Edinburgh with no idea a silly American she probably does not even remember is preparing to say kind words about her. I imagine this room stretched across an ocean and I am almost overwhelmed by its size. The world is a much bigger place than we generally consider.When I finally landed in Edinburgh I felt rather small and lost. I was standing on the plane waiting for the ground crew to figure out how to work the jetway as my flight to London, which I assumed to be on time, took off without me. The email lifeline I have come to rely so heavily on was out of service and I had nobody to ask "Okay, so what do I do now?" It was time to be an adult and fix things on my own.
After a few walks up and down the length of EDI to pose questions and recompose myself I had answers. I would have to fly into a different airport than planned if I wanted to arrive with any reasonable amount of daylight left, but I could get where I needed to be with only one extra step. All that remained was changing the ticket.
This is where my angel with British Air comes in. She recommended I talk to Delta - whose four hour delay had put me in the situation to begin with - because there would be a charge to switch the ticket. When I went back to her slightly defeated with the information that the counter was closed she looked at me for a moment before saying, "I tell you what I'll do. I may get in trouble for this, but I will switch the ticket for 30 pounds. I should be charging you 200."
Part of me was irritated at having to shell out more money to fix something which had been completely beyond my control, but I fought to hide any trace of that frustration as I pulled out the cash I needed and handed it to her. She had just cut me a break that amounted to over $300. I have no idea why she chose to help me out like that, but I literally thanked God for it.
Landing at Heathrow was less of a nightmare than I had been led to believe. Many of the natives commented on how nice this Terminal 5 was compared to the others, but I had no basis for comparison. Oddly enough, the first thing that jumped out at me was the sign for the ladies room. The graphic seemed a perfect depiction of the word "plumpy". Immediately I thought of the sister I left at home who would have seen it and decided she fit right in. Since she was not there to laugh at it too, I activated the camera phone and snapped a picture to share with her at some later time.
I then realized there would probably be many similar moments over the next two weeks. Every place I go I carry people with me. There was no question I would see something in my wanderings that would jump somebody to the forefront of my mind, and there was also no question that when it happened I would instinctively want to turn my head back to comment on it to somebody who was not there with me.
Pulling out the phone for the picture revealed that signal had returned to my treasured mobile device. From the Heathrow Express I composed a short email to let the key family and coworkers know I was one step closer to where I was supposed to have been three hours earlier. One of the responses I got back was a comment on how great it was that I had chosen take advantage of the opportunity to explore that had presented itself.
I didn't know it at the time, but after I returned home I would receive several remarks akin to Dad's email. People I barely knew were proud of me for having the courage to set out on my own like that. They were proud of me for being open to what I could gain from the experience, and they were proud of me for surviving it despite the challenges.
But I wasn't thinking about the opportunity anymore. After 24 hours I was tired of being in transit. I wanted to throw off the backpack and know we would be separated for a little while. I wanted a shower and a real bed. I wanted to be in physical motion instead of sitting as my container did the moving for me. My dreams at that instant were so close. Could the train not go any faster?
Captured At:1155
First Look
Alighting at Paddington Station felt almost like stepping into a new body. Any trace of weariness dissolved into confident satisfaction and the sense of excitement that had been conspicuously absent from the trip until that moment. I felt my eyes brighten with every drop of the building they soaked in. My steps became lighter to match. Much like a child walking through Disney's gates for the first time, one would have thought I had just set foot upon what I believed to be the most magical place in the world. The departure announcements were my fairy tale music. The tube was my Space Mountain. Even the realization that I was walking circles hoping to find the right road toward my hotel failed to dampen the mood.From the outside there was nothing special about my short-term home. Inside, the first thing I noticed was the smell - some combination of breakfast food, curry, and any Indian student I had ever encountered in college. An older couple stood waiting at the counter, I assume for the man who emerged from the back room to provide them with directions to nearby restaurants before checking me in. My exchange with him piqued their attention immediately. I quickly learned they were Americans with a neighbour back home in New Jersey who shares my last name. I smiled in agreement with the "small world" comment and wished them well.
I knew about the "mind the gap" announcements on the Tube before I left, but I was surprised to see a sign stating the same on the door to my hallway. Here I learned the hard way that "gap" was not limited to horizontal distance as I had assumed.
Hours later than originally planned I emerged from the hotel freshly showered and happily unburdened to see what little I could before the sun disappeared. The Tube carried me away once again and suggested that a theme for the trip might be exiting every station on exactly the opposite side of where I wanted to be. Even when going in the right direction I would somehow stray. "C'mon, Bec," I thought to myself. "How do you lose a giant Ferris wheel?"
Within moments I spotted it in the distance. I took one hurried picture - my first snapshot of London - and picked up the pace.
The ride itself, which provided a lovely view, was bittersweet. A chunk of my mind drifted far from the city leaving
the rest to snap pictures of a sunset-soaked skyline. I smiled to myself each time I picked out a
landmark from among the sea of buildings. Yup, there's Big Ben. Everybody
knows that. And that goofy looking thing
sticking out alone above everything else, that's the Post Office Tower. Go me!
Back on the ground I wondered what I was supposed to do with
myself next. It was rapidly getting dark
in this foreign town, but I could not resign myself to returning to the
hotel. So I did the only thing I could
think of: I walked.
Every place I passed seemed full of life. Crowds packed the restaurants, couples
snuggled on benches facing the last of the daylight, runners and bikers passed
me. Observing all of it made me feel
like an outsider and miss home. I
reminded myself that even back in the States I would not have been among those
reveling in the night. My life had
resembled nothing even remotely like that in years.
This aimless walk led me to a lighted tunnel. Inside a man sat on the ground strumming a
guitar and singing Bob Marley as if he had nothing to lose. I suspect he probably didn't.
Much later after my walk started I discovered an open area I
recognized. There in front of me, dimly
lit compared to its
Life was less abundant on the return. The
runners had disappeared, the benches were vacated and the restaurants were
slowly emptying out. That coin stayed
firmly clenched in my hand for most of the journey. Even now I have no idea why.
"Day 2:
But, she is out wandering and soaking in a new place. This is a good thing."
Captured At:2254
June 10, 2008
London for a Day
A couple days before I left one of my coworkers told me I was not allowed to go because it meant I would be gone for my birthday again. I informed her that absence had been a conscious decision. I spent one of my birthdays in a foreign country and had a great time. The next one I was home and not even my parents remembered it. I took myself out for ice cream and sat alone on my porch watching the day go by. I wasn't upset by this, I just decided that I could take myself out for ice cream anywhere. Why not go away?
Aside from being in London, I had no actual plans. I arrived with a mental list of things people had asked if I was going to do, things people told me I should do, and things that felt like they had personal significance. There was far more than I could ever hope to accomplish in the short time I had.
My first act of the day when I finally woke up would be finding a show to go to that night. I do not consider myself much of a theatre person, but I felt I was being pushed in that direction. At the last minute the question of if I was going to see a show came from several unconnected places, all seemingly out of the blue. When I mentioned this to my sister she was strongly in favor, especially if I had the chance to see Phantom like she has been telling me to for years.
Ticket in pocket, I took the tube back toward my hotel to wander around that area a little. I did not think I had gone far when I ran into a huge crowed of people lining the streets. As a policeman ushered the other pedestrians and I across the road I asked him what was going on. "Changing of the Guard," he replied. Given my track record, it is unsurprising that I would stumble into something like that without knowing it.
The ceremony lasted for over an hour. I know because I kept checking my watch out of boredom. It seemed like a lot of pomp for nothing, but perhaps that belief is because I did not understand the significance of what is built into the ritual. The best part was the mounted officer monitoring my area who would make cracks at the tourists getting out of line or the locals clearly disobeying his orders. "You're getting all of this for free," he said at one point. "Isn't this a great country?"
I put the crowd at Buckingham Palace behind me and entered a nearby park to detour through on my way to points somewhere east. When I found a sign I would follow it toward whatever landmark or location seemed most interesting at that moment. This method of exploration resulted in an odd loop around parts of the city that I am sure skipped me past many things I probably should have seen. I also returned to some of the places I had been the night before to capture pictures in the daylight.
Entire pieces of the city seemed designed specifically for socialization. None of the areas appeared unused, even in the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday. I looked at these pockets of humanity and wondered to myself, "When do these people work?" Meanwhile my family at Kennedy trickled into their offices to begin another day. They sent their birthday wishes; I sent thanks and low quality pictures in exchange as I bounced between landmarks. The contact was a welcome addition to my wanderings around the city and something without which I think I would have felt infinitely more alone.
The desire to spend a small bit of time in one place led me to the British Museum. It was only after I lowered my camera from a quick shot skyward that the mesh above registered as being familiar. The picture I had received from a friend years earlier of that triangle pattern had no context. One of the missing pieces finally filled itself in.
My visit also taught me that the Brits enjoy carving up old walls to hang on newer, less spectacular ones. I tried to imagine the collectors packing everything up for shipment and I wondered how they found a bag big enough to hold all that loot. "You know what the difference between archaeologists and grave robbers is, right?" I had once been asked. This, too, I now understood.
With the next steps everything took a downturn. Literally. The staircase winding between levels became a mountain of pain. My left knee screamed out in protest at any movement I attempted to make, especially if I put weight on it to lower myself a step. By the time I exited the building my normal quick and confident stride had been reduced to a weak hobble. I sought out a pharmacy, then a train station, then the theatre. Those hours sitting still seemed almost too perfectly timed.
Back at the hotel another theme for the trip began: Battles with ice and the hotel receptionists I would request it from.
"Do you have any ice?"
"There is a machine right over there."
"Do you have a little bag I could put it in?"
"We have cups."
"A cup isn't really going to work. I hurt my knee and I need to put ice on it."
"We have cups." The concept of customer service was clearly lacking.
Given no other option, I filled up two, made sure to mind the gap in the hallway and took great pleasure in shedding my sneakers. I discovered that the cups holding my precious ice had been individually wrapped in something close to a plastic bag and I did my best to work around the holes they contained. The ritual of ice and aspirin began.
Unlike the day before I sent no summary email home. The lowness I felt was not something I wanted to share. I did not want to alarm anyone with the news that I had managed to injure myself on the first day. I did not even want to think about my plans for departure in the morning. I wanted the distance and the comfort of a deep sleep.
But that sleep did not come easily. The air unit was humming too loudly outside, my head was cloudy inside and, try as I might, I could not stop mentally singing bars of "Think of Me".
Captured At:1205
June 11, 2008
The Paradise of Dead Philosophies
One of my quirks - and I will admit I have no idea where it comes from - is that I don't move into hotel rooms. Although they are supposed to be home on the road, I operate on the same philosophy as I do when staying with friends or relatives and leave as few traces of my presence as possible. The first night is always a little strange. By the second I usually feel more comfortable and welcome the familiarity of the place. Just as that sense set in, it was time to leave London.While "planning" the trip I was asked several times about whether I would see Stonehenge. I debated this option and came to two conclusions. First, being limited to the schedules of public transport was not the ideal way to experience this landmark. Second, I could not muster up any sort of excitement about seeing giant rocks this time around. My opportunity to commune with the stones would have to wait.
Another early piece of input I had received was that I simply must make a stop at Oxford or Cambridge during my wandering. The coworker who made the suggestion said these cities were both good examples of traditional England and worth visiting. Of the two, he favored the latter.
My next hotel reservation was in Wales. A stop in Cambridge would not get me any closer to that waypoint. Oxford was in the right direction, but I had a nervous feeling about it. My knee was also now a huge source of uncertainty. How well was it going to hold up? How far out of my way was I really comfortable going?
I chose not to let fear win, but I could not see it that way as the day unfolded. My attention held focus on facts like my inability to wake up on time or that the Tube system continued proving itself smarter than I was. Regardless, I managed to find a train going my way and left London behind.
The Oxford station is a bit out of the way from anywhere else a visitor might want to wander. At least that's the story the map told me when I arrived there. I had no idea where I was going, what I was looking for, or even what most of the landmarks on the map actually were. As I followed the crowd I again found myself wondering "What was I thinking when I decided this would be a good idea?"
My first discovery was an open air market. Vendors offered everything from fruit to flowers, t-shirts to toothbrushes. Most paid no mind to the obvious tourist. Others shot glances of skepticism that anyone could have such interest in a cluster of tents.
The signs positioned around the city for guidance would prove to be about as helpful to me as the Cheshire Cat had been to Alice. They would point in one direction only to disappear without warning when I needed them most. This circumstance combined with my own lack of focus created a rather frustrating walk.
Oxford has a reputation for being an academic mecca and there was no mistaking that I had found my way to a college town. The time of year being what it was, students in graduation robes decorated the streets like extras in a Harry Potter film. One young man lazily carried a bottle of champagne which he occasionally sipped as he walked past the Radcliffe Camera with a pair of friends. Others entered crosswalks with their families, everyone smiling and proud. Absorbing these scenes and pausing to consider where I was flooded me with a sense of self-defeat. For the first time in my life I felt ashamed of my academic upbringing. I revere true intelligence above most other attributes and I felt like I had missed my own mark; like my lack of direction had left me unable to do anything but settle. What reason would there ever be for anyone to take me seriously?
The college kids were not the only ones I took notice of. I saw uniformed primary school students on the streets and watched others playing soccer for gym class. One young goalie cleared the ball and sent his shoe spiraling into the air with it. The remainder of the players carried on as if nothing had happened. It was all clearly a very different world from anything I had ever known. I envied them.
On the river near the schoolyard an unskilled family tried to navigate their boat downstream. I watched from the bridge as they crashed into a cluster of empties and attempted to break free. Another family zipped past effortlessly. Had I not been crippled and alone I think playing on the water would have been fun. Again I felt like I was missing out.
Somewhere in all of this I passed the one destination I intentionally set course for. I wandered far enough out of the central part of the city to discover residential areas with few people or cars. It is here that I found my park. The expanse of grass called out and invited me to stop for a spell. It ended up being the best thing I had done all day. I lay on the ground under a cool blue sky, wrote a little, and asked for help to reset a troubled mind. I have no idea how long I stayed there.
When I got up again the instructions were clear. If I found what I had been looking for, I could stop for a bit. Otherwise I was supposed to return to the train station and leave.
The Botanical Gardens proved to be exactly where I thought I had passed them. I made the stop in honor of my mother because I know it is somewhere she would have gone given the opportunity. They reminded me a lot of home and the gardens she had tended to with such care. I could picture her digging in the dirt or talking with the neighbours who passed by on summer evenings and stopped just to admire her work. These memories provided a second sense of peace in a city whose only desire seemed to be to rip me apart from the inside out.
The signs failed to help me again on the return to the train station. My internal navigation mechanism knew the exact route, but I did not pay enough attention to it and found myself looping back to roads I knew I should have taken the first time I saw them. I wandered and took more pictures of things I knew nothing about. I loved the way the streets moved and the look of the buildings that lined them. I smiled at the rows of cliché red busses outside what I assumed were sites of interest. I also looked sadly upward at people enjoying what claimed to be the best view of the city - something I had been unable to experience because I knew that somewhere on the climb my knee would fail me. There was still too much of my trip left to be careless with it.
The timing of my arrival at the train station was near perfect for somebody who had no idea of the schedules. It further confirmed that my directions to leave the park had been correct. My hesitation in visiting Oxford in the first place had also proved to be spot on. I will always remember the children and the boats and the park. I will smile about them when I do, all the while reliving the feelings of inadequacy they gave rise to.
I hope I don't get lost in it when it happens. I hope I let the full story of that stop carry through, and I hope the memory of a mother's love will again be enough to soothe the self-doubt. There are far more important things in life than the places I visit in my head.
Captured At:1245
Rebirth
There is a story I once read, probably in high school, where the event most focused on was the main character's shower following an interaction with a stranger. Our teacher emphasized that this cleansing had not been some banal ritual to prepare for an evening out. It was instead a symbolic shedding of the grime of one's life to become new and somehow better.This scene sprang to mind as I toweled my hair dry in a chic Cardiff hotel room. The modern decor radiated a spirit of rejuvenation throughout its triangular footprint which confirmed my initial impression of the city. Within seconds of exiting the train station that afternoon I felt certain this new place would not disappoint me. The desire to immediately commence wandering was defeated not by the light drizzle, but by an inexplicable urge for what would become my own metaphorical baptism. Any weight I had been carrying since the previous evening seemed to disappear as the dirt from London and Oxford circled down the drain.
Perhaps the most freeing part of Cardiff was that I knew absolutely nothing about the place. It is here and for this reason that I came to appreciate hotel receptionists. Mine that evening was more than happy to chat with me and offer his suggestions for a good place to walk around. The cab driver, on the other hand, had little interest in addressing my inquiries about Welsh rain and how much worse I could expect to get that night.
In kinder weather I'm sure Cardiff Bay is lovely. Under the cool grey skies that greeted me it looked sleepy and worn, but I was grateful for the absence of a large crowd. I watched families and small groups of friends investigate a monument for lost sailors as I sat quietly nearby trying to find the right camera settings to make it my first statue picture. Remaining faithful to my charge felt less satisfying than usual. Steps and self-timers just don't laugh back at your quirks the way people do.
My natural disinterest in food coupled with being solo made dinner my greatest challenge of the day. I walked indecisive circles around the rows of restaurants and continued walking circles even after I chose one. This act went on until I either built up enough courage or found enough shame at my stupidity to go inside. I'm really not sure which it was.
I sat alone at an outside table upstairs waiting for my chicken sandwich. The fruity drink in my glass was a poor substitute for the hot chocolate I wanted, but I had to concede that it would be fantastic if blended with some good rum. The place was a nice change from the on-the-go eating I had engaged in for the better part of four days. Any sense of rushing around was gone. Unfortunately the cold made for poor company. By the end of the meal my knee would barely function. I had no choice but to return to my hotel.
The guys at the desk had a slightly better grasp on the concept of icing an injury. This time I actually received a bag. Granted it was a shopping bag complete with enough ice to keep a six pack cool, but the service was an improvement over London. Their attempt to talk me into coming back down for a drink or to chat for a bit was flattering. If I were a different person, perhaps I would have. It seems my trust of others still only goes so far and, to a degree, I'm poorer for it.
The oversized bag turned out to be a Godsend. My body had been craving ice water for days and nothing I had offered seemed to satisfy it. In addition to soothing my knee the chilled contents became a source of more fluid than I could drink.
That night I sent another update back to The States.
"Day 4
Today I played with the trains and saw some of the countryside. After a stop in Oxford for a few hours I am now in Cardiff. There is something appealing about being somewhere that until this trip I had never actually heard of. I liked the place from my first step out of the train station. The people have been great so far and seem amazed I would choose to visit Wales en route back to Edinburgh.
The Welsh language as written looks like somebody's scrabble game threw up. I have yet to hear it spoken. My hotel room looks more contemporary than anything I will probably ever own."
I then fell into the most comfortable bed I have ever experienced. For the first time since my final trip preparations began I felt relaxed and at peace. I thanked God for getting me through a trying day and for giving my knee enough strength to hold on without causing extreme pain as often as it logically should have. It was encouraging to know that even when everything stacked up against me I didn't have to face it alone. I was going to make it back to Scotland, and I was going to be better for every hobble it took to get there.
Captured At:2348
June 12, 2008
Unashamed Tourist
Thursday morning carried all of the peace I had drifted off to sleep with. There wasn't even a trace of rushing in the usual morning routine. Breakfast in London each day had consisted of a small box of cereal I'd grab from the kitchen area as I made my way back to the room the night before. Just about anything would have been a step up. I got one, enjoying something much closer to a real breakfast as I sat at a table alone and began considering my plans for the day.The fusing of old world and modern day that existed when I walked outside was a thrill. Cars zipped past like any road I've ever seen in America, but the castle at the end of it added something different. There was history on these streets - a whole other way of life I would never experience. It was incredible.
My knee's aversion to stairs ruled out fully exploring the castle. All I really figured I would do was wander the grounds outside a little, but the ticket made no differentiation. As far as Castell Caerdydd was concerned, I was part of their noon tour. It was still a bit cool outside, but the grey and drizzly conditions I had experienced the night before were gone. It would be a nice day to walk.
The man checking tickets inside the gate provided all of the instructions for when and where to meet my group. We ended up in conversation for several minutes and I expressed my awe at the fact that they have stuff there older than my country. He insisted that the history belongs to everybody. I suppose there is some truth to that idea. Cultures always fuse or branch off to form new incarnations; when traced backward we all have to flow together somewhere.
I'm not sure what motivated me to attempt the tour, but I found myself moving toward the marshaling area at the prescribed time. The tour guide, Trevor, started things off in Welsh. I would later ask another employee of the castle exactly how one is supposed to pronounce "Cymraeg." Apparently it's very similar to a popular Toyota.
If it wasn't obvious to my group before the tour began that I was an American, they probably had no doubt by the end. Upon noticing that the dining room table didn't have enough chairs for the entire family I inquired as to where the children ate. Nobody else seemed to care about this detail, but I grew up in a family where we always had dinner together. A table that couldn't accommodate everyone seemed useless.
Another unique feature of the table was the hole in the middle. Trevor opened the floor for ideas about its existence.
"How many of you think it was for an umbrella?"
I was probably the only one to raise my hand. He looked at me and pointed out that we were inside. There was no weather.
"Well you told us earlier that the castle leaked, so maybe they needed one inside." My response - one he admitted he'd never heard before - had clearly caught him off guard, but he couldn't claim I hadn't been paying attention. Point: Bec.
With the tour concluded and Trevor glad to be rid of me, I found another employee to take my picture on the grounds before moving on.
The walk to the National Museum took me past the castle perimeter and through an unexpected park. Inside I viewed paintings from artists I was surprised to have heard of, including one of Monet's Waterlillies. Unsure if cameras were supposed to be used in the gallery, I discretely took one with the phone to email a coworker back home. I would later be scolded in another area of the museum for attempting a picture of the human evolution display with a real camera. Skulls from each period were mounted on a black wall inside a large glass case, and each was illuminated by a deep orange or purple light. It was creepy to be sure, but the effect was spectacular.
And if my museum visit in London had taught me that Brits love old rocks, this visit taught me that the Welsh just can't seem to get enough porcelain.
Any other lessons from the museum would have to wait until another time. I had a train to catch and a ways to hobble if I wanted to make it. As I stood on the platform waiting I realized how sorry I was to be leaving already. The difference between this stop and every other immediately became obvious. It was the people. The interactions I had there had truly lifted my spirits. I didn't feel anywhere near as alone as I had stranded in a foreign airport, during those first moments wincing in London, or on that near-disastrous stroll through Oxford. I'd somehow managed to look past the shadow within to find my humanity again, and in doing so the whole world had changed. It was a beautiful thing.
Captured At:1232
The Fighter Remains
Being honest with myself I recognized that I wasn't anywhere near as excited about going back into England as I had been to leave it. The next stop on the journey was chosen for no reason other than to ensure that the northward motion required to get me back to Edinburgh on time took place. There was no sense of anticipation associated with the leg, and this absence allowed the true pain and weariness I was feeling to become more pronounced. I longed for a familiar face and a tight hug and some sort of reassurance that it really would all be okay.Combining iPod and homework had become the customary way to pass time on these train rides. I chose the playlist for a new album I'd been given and tried to motivate myself to attack the textbook chapters. My attempts proved unsuccessful. Any semblance of concentration disappeared once I started to soak in the rural panorama passing by my window.
Knowledge of our return to England came when I noticed the signs at our stops no longer included Welsh. One in particular presented temptation in promoting itself as the stop for a castle - Craven Arms, or something to that effect. Common sense prevailed, and as we pulled away from the station I wondered about the stories I would have gained had my sense of adventure not been handicapped.
I couldn't explain why, but the more I absorbed the landscape the stronger it seemed the place called out to me. It was beautiful. I noticed how this checkerboard of green plots was divided by strategic lines of bushes instead of fences. I pictured walking the roads and teasing the sheep. I wondered what it would be like to explore a little town instead of a bustling city; what the people would be like and how it would feel to be in a place much closer to my natural environment.
But even those questions couldn't explain the tug I felt. This foreign scene before my eyes rendered within me an aching familiarity I was powerless to combat. Even the music seemed to wander in concordance with the train's physical motion and my own internal one. The Monet conversation loosely forming with the soundtrack's provider seemed an open opportunity to share what words could only hope to describe.
"On another note, I'd like to paint a picture of my own. I'm on the train to Manchester, iPod singing this particular playlist to me for the very first time. The remote sensing book is resting on the tray table but it cannot hold my attention. I am mesmerized by the English countryside. The feeling flooding me as I soak in the moment is something both awed and longing, ready to burst forth from me in tears of immense joy or pain - no telling which - if I will only let my guard down to allow it.
The effect is amplified by the sounds caressing my ears. They somehow seem all too appropriate and I wonder what this song is that will now always carry me back to the overwhelming emotion that struck me on this foreign train.
The next words are familiar though I shouldn't have known them. There's only one reason I do and, although I could never verbally explain what or how, I find I understand.
In the clearing stands a boxer..."
Captured At:1818
The Low Point
I remained on the train another hour or two before we finally approached Deansgate Station. It was smaller than most I had encountered on the trip, yet I got no less lost trying to find my way out than I had leaving the Tube. This new set of streets seemed deserted for the 5 o'clock hour; something that probably should have made me nervous. It didn't. The entire focus of my lackluster mental processes was on reaching the hotel.My temporary residence in Manchester was supposedly a five minute walk away from where I exited, but it felt like more. I suspect the chill played a role. It appeared the longer I was away and the further north I ventured, the greyer the skies and the worse the weather. In the mood of the moment something about that pairing felt fitting.
Inside and again warm I laughed a little to myself as I walked from the reception desk to the elevator. In my hand I carried the first actual key for a hotel room I had ever been given. It seemed such a foreign object when the girl slid it across the desk that I was actually confused to see it! For a moment I had to consider times gone by and the sort of commonplace things I had never experienced in my life.
The lock clicked happily and allowed me entrance to a disappointing teal-accented room. It was really no worse than many other places I have stayed, but Cardiff had spoiled me terribly the night before. There would be no soft marshmallow to sink into. And where was the thermostat? It was freezing! Again I took a shower upon arrival in a new city, this time purely for warmth. And unlike the day before when I couldn't wait to look around - even if it meant doing so in the rain - I dragged my feet at the thought of leaving. I'm not sure what actually motivated me out the door.
The girl at the desk had no real suggestions on places to walk around. This lack of direction provided little inspiration, as did becoming reacquainted with the cold when I went out the door. I started close to "home" discovering Roman ruins; considering their history again gave me pause. It seemed so strange to imagine them whole and without the city built around them. My mind simply couldn't bend that direction.
In that first quarter mile, cold and tired and unsure why I was even bothering, I captured what would become one of my favorite shots of the entire trip.
Within the rest of the mile I fulfilled the prophecy of the power substation. I fought the laughter it brought and replenished my weary soul with the joy that followed as I captured the image, sent it to those who would soon join me, and began receiving their responses.
I wandered further and found myself in Chinatown. Dinner was now a necessity and there seemed as good a place to have it as any. I was pleased to discover that entering a restaurant and taking a table for one came much easier the second time around. The waiter seemed far more intimidated than I was.
After dinner all I could think about were sleep and another round of ice and aspirin. In the time I was away the receptionist morphed from a girl around my age into an elderly gentleman with white hair and a gruff demeanor. I received a puzzled look when I asked how to control the heat in the room and one even more dumbfounded at the request for ice in a bag. He huffed off toward the restaurant and came back minutes later with a slightly smaller shopping bag than the guys in Cardiff had provided. I thanked him but he didn't seem to notice. I think he was just glad to be rid of me.
Really, it only made me laugh more when the elevator doors closed. I never would have expected such a simple request to cause the sort of bewilderment I kept receiving. It had become a game of sorts, and in those moments the discomfort that drove the interactions was worth it.
That night I reflected on a day that had carried me all over the map both physically and emotionally.
"Day 5
I wonder if centuries in the future people will be touring the mansions of today and marveling at the display of opulence the same way that the people of today do with yesterday's palaces. I want a castle when I grow up. All that visiting them does is reaffirm how cool I think they are.
I spent three and a half hours trying to pull my attention away from the English countryside passing by the window so I could get some studying done. My attempts were only marginally successful. I wanted to be out there wandering the bright green fields and maybe even playing with the numerous sheep dotting the landscape.
I fought the urge to jump off the train and go on a random castle hunt when I saw a sign for one at a stop in Shroppshire, but I did not fight the urge to photograph that power substation in Manchester. I may have to reevaluate my decision making process..."
The email drifted home, the remnants of the ice found the sink, prayers were offered, and I crawled onto an unyielding bed for another night of rest. I was no more excited with my present location than before, but I knew it was temporary. Two days more and I would have company. That thought alone made the grey clouds worth surviving.
Captured At:2115
March 21, 2010
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.
Captured At:1403