Wales - Day 2 (Part 1)

6:45 am came abruptly as the smoke alarm jolted us out of our slumber. A dazed Rick struggled to find a light switch and was just about to hop onto our bed to try and deactivate the blaring Boop...OMG Boop...Bloody heck Boop, when it suddenly stopped as oddly as it had began. Chan groaned and yanked the duvet over his head, and Rick slumped back onto the bed and we were all wondering what the hell had just hit us.

“So much for sleeping in,” I said remaining under the warm covers. “We need to call the front desk and complain.”

Funny thing is last night when we checked in the gal gave us a card and said they have a goodnight guarantee. I pictured a bunch of marketing guys trying to come up with promotional ideas for the Premier Inn. After ditching the “if your towels smell like burnt paper, you get an extra facecloth for free” and the “if the hand soap is so small it washes down the drain before you had chance to wipe your knees” then some young buckshot blurts out the “you sleep or we’re in deep” concept and voila brochures are printed by the thousands. Then along came the Robbins-Teather clan (more Teather than Robbins, when it comes to outspokenness, really) Anyway, pretty sure they are going to rethink their policy after Rick was done with the manager. The offer of a free breakfast was not enough to pacify this bleary-eyed your policy is your policy customer and a refund on my credit card was promptly issued.

When Rick returned and told us how the conversation with the suited fellow went, I actually felt sorry for the employee. He was probably thinking, cool, gotta job managing a brand new hotel. What could customers possibly complain about?

“It most certainly was not the phone that woke us up,” clarified Rick when the manager struggled with the concept that a fire alarm would engage without well, a fire (smoke actually). And Rick continued, “Does the phone sound like this?” And in his loudest voice (and anyone that knows Rick knows what loud truly means) made the sound of the alarm that snapped us out of bed. “Boop...Boop...Boop!” he called out in the hotel lobby at 7 am. Nope, free breakfast was not gonna cut it.

Back to the drawing board, buckshot.

Wales - Day 1 (Part 2)

Bristol was disappointing. It was more modern than we had expected. Not a quaint and historical English town that we tend to gravitate towards. Although, we stopped at a Premier Inn to check out the rooms, the price was good at 65 pounds but were just weren’t feeling excited and decided to move on. We had Bath in mind, but navigating through England, as we have learned is tricky. Streets are not clearly marked and one streets turns into another in a flash. So instead of heading south to Bath, we ended up heading north, from where we first came into Bristol and in a fit of frustration for missing the signs, Rick made the call to carry on to Cardiff. We were heading there anyway.

Getting to Cardiff didn’t involve taking a ferry after all. Instead we crossed a long bridge that curved like a smile along the bay. Once in the city we found another Premier Inn just on the outskirts. They were all booked up but they did have rooms at their downtown location, which opened only two weeks ago. I like the sound of that. No old and lumpy mattresses to endure. I am sadly the Princess and the Pea when it comes to sleeping on a less than comfortable bed. Before going ahead and booking the first place that was available, we decided to get some supper at the restaurant next door and boot up Channing’s computer to search for other options. After a couple of phone calls, we liked the Premier Inn even more as the other places were charging upwards of 90 pounds per night.

Trying to land a parking spot on the downtown street, however, entailed circling the block at least 3 times while incorporating cutting over a curb, travelling in a bus lane, pulling into a spot that is marked for taxi’s only, and Rick telling “Buddy” to get off his tail, before scoring a space in front of the hotel. Keep in mind that there was a parking lot that was easily accessible from the hotel but that would have cost us 10 pounds and the street parking was free overnight and about 3 pounds for half a day. What can I say? Rick is thrifty.

We hit the sack early and hoped for bit of a sleep in as our plan for Tuesday was to get to the Dr. Who exhibition when it opened at 10 am.

Wales - Day 1

If there was ever a time to puke, now would be it. We are on the M25 heading to Wales for a few days for half term break. Not sure what the speed limit is but haven’t seen a sign. I’m trying not to feel frantic but this is Rick’s first time behind the wheel, our first time in a car, here in the UK, on the other side, you know. Rick doesn’t show any signs of nervousness, with Chan as his co-pilot and me, well, twirling my hair in the back. Chan scans the map and he and Rick discuss the route. I try to take in the scenery but my eyes keep returning to the road as other cars dodge in front or speed past us on the left. The right, I mean the right.
“Oh, look the hills of Kent,” Rick chimes. “I figure if you can drive on the 401, you can do the M25. Well, Chan, we will have to rent a car in Germany and do the Autobahn.”

Boy replies, “Yes, we are so doing that. Rent a Beemer. No speed limit. Sweet”!
Yep, puking is most certainly in order.
Chan cranks the stereo and Lily Allen sings out.
“Too loud, Chan,” I snap. “Let’s have quiet time for a bit.”
“It doesn’t take long to get up to 75,” Rick notes. “Now is that miles or kilometres? Only problem with going 70 is that it uses more gas and we’re already down.” For heaven’s sake, I thought, we’ve only been on the road 15 minutes. “Where does the A22 go, Chan?” Chan scans the map but a road sign pops up and says Eastbourne and Tunbridge Wells. A van cuts across. “Hey, thanks buddy!” Rick says to him.

The landscape is quite hilly here with farms scattered along the way. I remember as a girl flying over England and the patchwork quilt of light and darker greens and how neatly the pieces fit together. “This guy in the McNichol’s van keeps passing me then slowing down, “Rick says bringing me back to today’s journey. “Drivers are the same everywhere.”

Other than the fact that things are dryer and greener, we could be somewhere in Ontario. It looks very much like driving on the 401 near Colborne. The unusual makes of cars and the signs to Gatwick remind me, however, that we are in fact in England, after all.

“There’s the cut off to Leatherhead, Chan,” Rick pipes up. “Check this town - Dorking, I love it. I wonder what they do there for fun?” he adds.

“Dorking around,” Chan replies.

“I bet you a bunch of dorks live there,” Rick jokes.

Gee, am I glad I have to sit in the back seat while the two dorks in the front seat battle it out for King Dork.

“The J12 for the M3,” Rick thoughts turn to where we really should be going instead of Dorkville. “Do you see that on the map, Chan?” Then a vehicle zooms past us and 2 seconds later a sports car with blue flashing lights pursues. A police car is on a mission and we still can’t see any speed limit signs.

I feel myself starting to step down a couple of rungs on the ladder, but Chan struggles to find Basingstoke on our map when Rick calls it out. “Find Basingstoke or Richmond,” the driver requests as an exit approaches and the tension rises and directions are needed from his trusty navigator.

Instead Chan blurts, “Bracknell, Bracknell, Bracknell!” which is not the highway number Rick needs. But we still scoot off the M25 towards Staines and end up on the M3 West which is exactly what we want. Then Rick lectures Chan and tells him that repeating the town doesn’t help. He needs to listen to what Rick was asking and we cruise along the M3. The rental car tends to veer to the left and sometimes Rick rides the line and comes awfully close to the vehicles that pass on this side. “Easy, Rick.” a hesitant co-pilot warns.

We manage to navigate towards Bracknell, Bracknell, Bracknell and Rick yells out, “Bagshot! Owww, that’s gotta hurt!” Now I see why the Brits give their towns such crazy names. It’s to amuse the men in the world. As we pass through Bracknell forest, Rick shifts gears and brags, “We got the hang of this. We are in Bracknell forest, honey. Hope you are taking this all in. Chances are we’ll never be here again.” Does this mean I’ll have to live without Dorking, Bagshot, and Bracknell, Bracknell, Bracknell? Pity!

The wipers smear across the windshield. “Rain in England? No!” says Chan in a sarcastic tone, and he calls out the A329 to Rick as we zoom in the roundabout.

“What do you think, honey, just like I’ve been driving around England all my life, eh?” Rain comes harder now. And Rick continues, “Well, it’s nice to be in a car and we don’t have to get out and catch a bus or train. We are here and it’s nice and dry.”

Rick speeds up and passes “the world’s oldest woman” and a sign says Bristol 81 and the driver informs us that “it will be right on this highway so we can just settle in”.

Every so often I have to remind myself that we are in England, really living in England. Rick points out the ponies in a field. “I wanna ride the pony,” I tell him and Chan tucks the map away and plugs into his Ipod.
“Bristol’s supposed to be a real nice place,” Rick tells me.

“Oh, good,” I reply.

We come upon a monstrous wind generator which had Ecotricity written on its massive concrete base. Huge blades rotated slowly, scooping through the air. Chan noticed a bird flying towards the blades and he was sure it was just about to get dinged. Oops, nope, okay and he retracts his head back from the window feeling relieved that the bird avoided being creamed.

A lovely expanse of countryside opens up. “This is nice. No houses. Just countryside,” remarks Rick. “So honey, do you want to stay overnight downtown Bristol or do you want to carry on to Cardiff?” and I ask how much farther away Cardiff is from Bristol. Only about 20-30 miles, he tells me. We decide to check out Bristol first. Going to Cardiff, from what Rick understood, most likely involved a ferry and we don’t want to do that in the dark. Rick hums and yawns and I can tell he is happy to be on the road.

“Looks a little like home around here, eh, hon?” Rick asks me. “Kind of like Cobourg.” I agree saying I just wrote about that and I try to think less about puking and more about the sights along the way.

Character Development

Well, it’s Wednesday evening and we just finished having a traditional English meal of fish, chips and peas. Chan is working on homework, listening to music, and most likely checking Facebook and Rick is telling us about his encounters with his most interesting students. Today, in fact, one of his most hum, hum needy students actually brought him a Dr. Phil book that he is reading in an attempt to understand why Rick “didn’t like him”. He actually went through all of the points that would identify if he was in fact an annoying individual and he tried to convince Mr. Teather that he did not meet the criteria. Bad choice, young man, is all I can say. Very bad choice.

So, I have also been thinking about doing some short stories around characters that I encounter on the trains. There is no shortage of strange and wonderful things that happen during my morning commute and here's a sample.

There’s the silent business type that avoids eye contact with fellow passengers and either buries his or her head into the Metro newspaper or their Blackberry. They are quiet and reserved and even if there is a ruckus of impatient travellers pushing and cursing at one another because of overcrowding, they never flinch. They are like robots, really. Must check email, must read news, must get off train and head to office, must not stop. Exterminate, exterminate. If only they were as engaging as The Doctor.

Then there are the groomers. These are ladies that enjoy making a public display of themselves by either doing their makeup (now I am not just talking powdering their noses either, they are applying the entire gamut) and/or their hair. I have to say that when I women sits next to me and she pulls out her makeup bag busting with an assortment of powders, blushes, mascaras, lipstick, and oversized brushes, I start to squirm. I often wonder how it makes a man feel, if it makes me squeamish.

The third type of passenger that sticks out to me is the cell phone junkie. Their biggest fear is leaving their phones idle in their hands for an extended period of time. They have to call someone, anyone, to say someone or nothing and no matter how personal the conversation may become, fellow passengers will have the pleasure of listening to it. Why just the other day, I had to endure a woman explaining to the doctor how she yes indeed does clean her ears out, and another giving full names to a client (hope one of them wasn’t on that train), and yet another talking about her custody battle and her visits to the lawyers. Why, oh, why do you want a train full of strangers hearing these things?

So traveller four is the music enthusiast. The difference with these avid music fans on the trains from say maybe you or me, is that they assume that the rest of the world enjoys the same kind of stuff they are listening too. So much so that they have to play it at a volume that gives other commuters no choice but to listen to it line by line, bar by bar, chord by chord, bloody friggen beat by beat.

Interestingly enough, I think I have a solution for this dilemma. What if I made like I really dug the song that was blaring from the music enthusiast's head and I just got up and started boogying? Man, I wish I brought the taps shoes. Would the silent business type stop scanning the Blackberry? Would the Avon lady lay down her mascara? And would the cell phone junkie tell their caller to call back?

Into a Groove

Well, it is the middle of January and it is hard to believe that it is winter. No snow, the birds are chirping, and the streets smell of dirt. It seems so odd not to be battling sub-zero temperatures and mounds of snow. I have to say that although I do miss the sunshine (which we really don’t get a lot of) I don’t miss Canadian winters. They are so wearing. Boots on, undershirt, t shirt, turtleneck, sweater, double up on the socks, and ensure little skin as possible is exposed. I would feel like Randy in the Christmas Story. And that was just to take the garbage out!
Rick often jokes about how green things are here and just the other day said, “It’s time to cut the grass again.” Well, obviously, it is too wet to do that but the concept alone that the grass continues to grow even in January is very amusing to us. People still have flower pots at their doorsteps and hanging baskets on porches. The market sells bulbs of hyacinth and primrose and English Ivy continues to thrive along fences.

Apart from the differences in weather, we seem to be adjusting nicely to our new life. Rick comes home less freaked out than he did in those crazy early months as a new teacher. He laughs and jokes more than when he first started his job and he tells some terrific stories of his antics at the school with students. His new year’s motto is “Don’t get mad, get even.” And for those of you that know Rick well, he is brilliant at that!

Now that I am working, I have established a routine, which is always important to one’s mental health, as far as I am concerned. Having a purpose for the day is what helps me spring out of bed. I was feeling so incredibly lonesome and isolated without a job. This time alone, however, was a very positive experience in that it made me appreciate the work that I do every day. Not that I didn’t before when I was working for the school board. It is just that this is so different. Working in another country and in the private sector with so many different cultures is such a treat. It has been a mind altering experience for me. It is also a confidence booster in that I have been able to take my past experiences and skills acquired in my life so far and apply them somewhere else and be successful. I know I shouldn’t doubt my abilities, but hey, who doesn’t have pangs of anxiety over making a huge leap outta the comfort zone and into unchartered territory?

Well, Chan maybe. He’s a star, really. No complaints from him. As I have shared with you before, this transition has been practically seamless for him. I admire his keen sense of self at such an early age. I wish I had that at 15. His friends are great boys and stop by to meet him as they head off to Bluewater (one of England’s largest shopping malls) to hang out or see a movie, go for a workout at the local fitness club, or head to a party only minutes away from our house. He loves having his independence and this is due to the fact that the bus is at our doorstep and he can come and go without having to rely on us to taxi him around.

This has also meant that Rick and I finally have more time as a couple. How nice is that?! Just today we headed out to Greenwich to see an exhibition on the history of the sun at the Planetarium. We took our time because we could and had a lovely stroll through the park and talked about couple junk. With the house being maintenance free and so easy to clean, and Chan doing Chan stuff, we have time to enjoy some touring and sight-seeing and focus on us.

My Story on BBC

Dear friends and family,

I have recently entered a writing contest with BBC called "My Story". There will be several winners and five will get a book deal.

Here is the link to my entry. I would appreciate it if after reading it you would indicate that you like it (if you do in fact like it). I am hoping this will increase my exposure and set my story out from the many that have been submitted and perhaps it will be featured on their home page. Please feel free to pass this link along to your friends or family. If you don't have any luck with this link, the website is www.bbc.co.uk/mystory and it is under the topic of Discovery and was posted on December 15, 2009.

I hope you enjoy "My Story" called "Stranger in a Familiar Land".

http://www.bbc.co.uk/apps/ifl/apps/vision/opinion/log2results?L2REndPage=/mystory/stories/discovery/168974/%3Fi_like_this%3D1;&source=/mystory/stories/::vapp::gallery::168974&axis=ilikethis&title=/cgi-perl/apps/ifl/queryengine.pl/mystory&max_choice=1&L2REndPage-non-js=&choice=1

Home Away from Home

Having just returned from a few days visiting my family in Solihull, I realize that our little place is feeling more like home. Rick has added some nice touches and has made himself a desk (really a must for a teacher and all of his paperwork and marking), a coat rack, and most recently a terrific pot holder in our tiny kitchen. With limited cupboard and drawer space having somewhere else to place the pots really was a must. It was a bit of a jigsaw puzzle making sure that things would fit back in their places of origin. Did they really go there to begin with? It is hard to decide whether to make this place a home given that we are here for a short time or simply a place to live.

A natural course of evolution seems to occur, however, and you see a mat that would look great in the bathroom, or sheets that match nicely with the duvet, or a lamp that would cozy up a dark corner. Suddenly the house you are renting becomes the home you are living in. And is that such a bad thing after all? Isn’t it nice to feel a sense of comfort and belonging? It doesn’t mean that I don’t still long for my rambling country home in Douro. I can’t help but think of what Rick said when he was travelling in the 80's though. “Home is where your pack is,” he has told me. Having moved a lot as a child, I wasn’t sure I wanted to think about living out of a pack. Being more grounded and permanent was much more appealing to me as an adult.

Did he mean then that I shouldn’t become attached to my home away from home? But getting back to our recent return to Dartford after our holiday travels suddenly brought something to light. My packs rest here now. And my pack could rest somewhere else in the future. Not that I am rushing off to our next adventure. But I do see what he means and I think it also has something to do with contentment which in our day and age is not an easy thing to achieve.

So when we walked in the door with our luggage in hand, that familiar smell of home was apparent, and I was eager to hang my coat on the rack, pull up to desk and check my email, and tuck our things away in the drawers.