Terror on the country lanes

Well, it turns out the most terrifying aspect of driving in Warwick is not remembering to stick to the left hand side, it is trying not to freak out that there IS no left hand side! These country roads are skinnier than *insert overly skinny person's name here* and a volvo station wagon is like a bloated duck in comparison...

So, after much internet and phone wrangling, I finally purchased ridiculously expensive but fully comprehensive car insurance on "my" very own boat, the 1990 station wagon of my dreams. You can see her picture below. I think I'm going to call her Isabel.

How did I celebrate my new found freedom? By promptly getting myself lost in the outskirts of Warwick! I had a map, a thoroughly useless artefact because I couldn't find my starting point on the map before I left, and when I finally found it while simultaneously poring over the map and enjoying a full English breakfast at the pub I stopped at, I had no idea where the pub was... bah!

However, a lovely older gentleman whose postal route used to take him by my home village gave me directions and repeated them several times to help them stick in my slippery little head. Unfortunately, another older gentleman soon proceeded to give me new (and opposite) directions, which I tried my best to block out. Apparently, if you sit outside with a map at a pub, there's no shortage of helpful older gentlemen. The second gentleman wasn't actually helpful except that he kept telling me how stunning my dimples were, which is helpful to my self-esteem, if nothing else.

I wish there was a way to telepathically thank strangers who have been incredibly helpful. Those directions were spot-on, and I soon found myself steering Isabel slowly back up the drive. Success!

London wins round one

If you'd like nothing more than for London to slap you in the face, get out at Euston station after having spent a few days in the countryside. From picking pears and apples in the orchard -- yes, in the orchard -- there is nothing quite like the shock of a people-crazed train station at rush hour.

Luckily, just like in the movies, the friend who was meeting me came out the tube entrance into the main hall and almost ran smack into me. Unlike in the movies, she was fifteen minutes late and in my state of generalized anxiety -- so many people! so many English people! -- and in recognition of the futility of my fervent wish that I was of an ethnicity that stood out, I positioned myself just where the tube exit was spewing the most people.

We did what city natives do, i.e. go to a museum but only to eat in the cafe, and enjoyed a cup of tea. Yes, my Englishness is coming out in spades. Soon I shall be writing "cuppa." There is nothing quite like a friendship that can survive years and years apart only to snap back into place like a rubber band in slow motion.

Later, I visited my favorite London couple, the Meeks! It is with much nostalgia and tender feeling that I walk the familiar route to Acfold Road. With its rooms and rooms of books, gas fireplace, and seriously comfortable sitting apparatuses, I can say that in addition to loving the witty, warm, and charming Meek family, I love their home. Besides, their name is Meek -- what's not to love?!

It appears that women in London seem to have confused leggings for pants as much as any woman in New York. Some things are impossible to escape, I guess.

The case of the limited personal space and the charming republican

I left the house with goodbye kisses from Willie and a guilt-inducing stare from the dog. Henry, after attempting without success to cajole me into giving him ideas for his English paper -- i.e. cheating -- finally stopped pouting and sent me off with a hug. At the airport, my mother asked if I had my passport, and then, seeing my face, admitted that, as a reminder, it was a bit late. Somehow we managed to get through three fights as we searched for the right parking terminal. Seriously, America, get your signage in order!

The flight itself was much more pleasurable than first impressions intimated it would be. The seat and space around the seat was ridiculously small, even for me -- and I'm only a couple of inches over five feet. I wondered if American airline companies had larger seats because sixty eight percent of Americans are overweight or obese, and if this was the first time a nation's obesity crisis had ever been invoked as a good thing.

On the plane I was seated beside a gentleman who soon proved to be my ideological near-opposite as well as a charming young man. Weird. I would never have guessed that I could so actively enjoy the company of someone who thought Obama was a terrible president, the worst since Jimmy Carter (who hates on Jimmy Carter? The man just negotiated the release of prisoners from North Korea, didn't he?). My first clue that our philosophies might diverge came when he asked me to describe the book I was reading, and I explained my Richard Dawkins obsession despite my criticisms of his near-dogmatism, and that the book I was reading was a long exposition of the evidence for evolution. When he asked me what my verdict was, I hesitantly ventured, "on evolution? um, yes, I believe in it." To be fair, I think he does too, but I didn't ask and the fact that he considered it possible I might say no tipped me off to our opposing world views. As crazy as I thought he was (he believed that income should never be taxed, only resources via VAT), I enjoyed his company completely. He was smart, funny, and honest. I may have to rethink my categorical rejection of all Republicans from my life!

I arrived in Warwick to a gray and damp day, and immediately felt at home. I'm back, baby!