Well I couldn’t have picked a better week to show up in Starkville…unbeknownst to me until I stepped into the local Book Mart on Main Street, Starkville is hosting the first ever Johnny Cash Festival which kicks off today! Miss Barbara and Miss Jimmy (that’s right, Jimmy is her first name) at the Book Mart kindly filled me in on the unprecedented event which is officially labeled the ‘Johnny Cash Flower Pickin’ Festival’ in honour of the Man in Black’s notorious one-night stay in the Starkville City jail after he’d been found inebriated ‘pickin’ flowers’ (so he claimed) in someone’s garden following a gig he’d played here in 1965. Ironically enough, I already knew the story, seeing as how just that morning I’d perused Wikipedia (dependable resource that it is) in search of local facts and figures, and happened upon this humourous anecdote. As I drove into town I noticed a sign for the Dark Horse Tavern, which is where Cash had played that night, and only a block away, the city jail…incidently where my friend Josh works as a jailor. Only in Mississippi!
If you’re just starting to realise why this college town’s name seems familiar to you, and it’s not because you follow NCAA football, then it might be because Mr. Cash’s stay in the slammer inspired the tune “Starkville City Jail” which you may also know was performed at the San Quentin State Prison. Here for your enjoyment are the lyrics:
Well, I left my motel room, down at the Starkville Motel,The town had gone to sleep and I was feelin' fairly well.I strolled along the sidewalk 'neath the sweet magnolia trees;I was whistlin', pickin' flowers, swayin' in the southern breeze.I found myself surrounded; one policeman said: "That's him.Come along, wild flower child. Don't you know that it's two a.m."They're bound to get you.'Cause they got a curfew.And you go to the Starkville City jail.Well, they threw me in the car and started driving into town;I said: "What the hell did I do?" He said: "Shut up and sit down."Well, they emptied out my pockets, took my pills and guitar picks.I said: "Wait, my name is..." "Awe shut up." Well, I sure was in a fix.The sergeant put me in a cell, then he went home for the night;I said: "Come back here, you so and so; I ain't bein' treated right."Well, they're bound to get you, cause they got a curfew,And you go to the Starkville City Jail.I started pacin' back and forth, and now and then I'd yell,And kick my forty dollar shoes against the steel floor of my cell.I'd walk awhile and kick awhile, and all night nobody came.Then I sadly remembered that they didn't even take my name.At 8 a.m. they let me out. I said: "Gimme them things of mine!"They gave me a sneer and a guitar pick, and a yellow dandelion.They're bound to get you, 'cause they got a curfew,And you go to the Starkville City Jail.
--by Johnny Cash
At first I wondered if this festival was a big deal in the minds of locals more than anything, but when I stopped in at the local Chamber of Commerce to find out more, the woman who’s dark and generous hands enveloped my skinny l’il white palm, and who’s name (Latasha) seemed to somehow compliment her red lacquered nails, informed me that the festival had garnered the media’s attention not just in neighbouring Tenessee, but in New York and London as well. When I sat down to lunch with the local paper I read that festival organisers were expecting upwards of 20, 000 people to show up for the event! And when I jumped online to google the festival a flurry of articles arrived at my fingertips. Check out this article by the BBC: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/6992589.stm
What’s the real big deal about this whole thing? Well first off, of course the music should be amazing, with members of the Cash family showing up to perform and other renowned artists taking to the stage of Main Street, USA tomorrow. But the highlight of the weekend is the official pardoning of Johnny Cash which will take place at 8:05 pm Central time and will no doubt draw quite a crowd…after which I will leave tired, happy, and eager to upload photos.
Oh, and here’s the real great part about all this: from the ages of 10-12 I wore a lot of black…so much so that my mom started calling me Johnny Cash. I didn’t know who Johnny Cash was or why he wore black, but I had already started reading ‘Vogue’ and instinctively knew that black was classic. Mom’s response to that: “Not on a 10-year old.”
Catch ya on the flip side of the Cash Festival...
Friday, November 02, 2007
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
On the Road Again...
Glad to see you’ve reached the JLaur Files! After many months away from the blogosphere I’m returning once again only to leave once more. This time I’m off to Mississippi where I’ll be hanging out in the college town of Starkville for the month of November. I’m currently in Vancouver, so settle in with a latte or a Dynamite roll, and I’ll share a few pre-departure thoughts (and reexamine my packing list) before I check in and find my gate…
For serious Westcoast adventurers who confidently assume that the following will assist them in their travels anywhere across the globe, think again, because the requisite anti-malaria medication, puffy North Face vest, Gortex footwear, bag of trail mix, and Lonely Planet guidebook that should (almost) never be left at home, will do you no good in the Deep South. Considering a major hike to break in your new boots from MEC before you head out? No need…you won’t walk far enough to develop a blister before someone offers you a lift. Contemplating a detailed itinerary for your journey? Throw it out the window…you can’t plan it, but I can almost guarantee that any number of folk will insist you join them for their mama’s chicken fried steak, a Sunday church service, or the Big Game (college football if you’re confused). Got that? Now scratch the typical travel items and routine preparations off your list and carefully read the following advice.
Dietary Planning: Prior to travel in the Deep South, be sure to consume mass quantities of salads and sushi. Let their freshness seep into your soon-to-be clogged arteries because before you know it you’ll be staring straight into the eye of a deep-fried catfish surrounded by hush puppies, wondering whether or not the only veggies you’ll encounter during your trip will come in the form of ‘slaw…coleslaw that is!
Learn the Lingo: First off, I know you’re wondering what exactly ‘hush puppies’ are, so here’s the first definition for your southern lexicon: hush puppy “a savoury, deep-fried ball of cornmeal (about the size of a TimBit for you Canadians) often served up with catfish and ‘slaw, and washed down with sweet tea.” From culinary vocab to football jargon, age-old idioms to cultural forms of address, familiarize yourself with the lingua franca and you’ll have a much easier time interpreting the local vernacular. Want to avoid sounding like a total foreigner? Widen your vowels and avoid ‘eh’ as an expression of choice. Stay tuned to this blog for a growing list of southern colloquialisms and definitions that I’ll be collecting throughout the month.
Dress for the Occasion: Wanna look like a local? Check out the local university’s campus store and walk out sporting the school’s colours. Nothing exudes local pride more than the home team’s logo, colours, or motto. Take caution, however, when traveling further afield lest you wind up in rival territory decked out in another school’s colours. For those of you most comfortable in skate shoes and flip flops, emo style or surfer gear, be forewarned that running shoes and golf shirts reign supreme in the south, but note that no one will mind if you pack your Lulu Lemon pants or Chucks…maybe just avoid wearing them to church…
Football Frenzy: College football in the southern United States is taken just as seriously as, if not more so than, religion (at least by some). Long-standing rivalries, spirited fight songs, classic marching bands, traditional (and not-so-traditional) tailgate parties and die-hard football fanatics all packed into one pulsing stadium could probably cause even the most intense Canadian hockey fans’ jaws to drop and eyes to pop! Check out ESPN’s recent feature entitled “Southern Living: A Weekend in the Life of the SEC” (Southeastern Conference) http://sports.espn.go.com/ncf/notebook?page=sec/weekend for a taste of football frenzy both on and off the field.
Grab a Guidebook…If You Can Find One: If you’ve been scanning the shelves of your local bookstore for the ubiquitous blue spine of a Lonely Planet guidebook that reads ‘Mississippi’ in bold, white lettering, your search ends here. Why? Because Lonely Planet has never (to my knowledge) published a guidebook on Mississippi. Known for sending its writers to the most obscure points on the map, LP is trusted the world over by both beginner and seasoned travelers looking to avoid the tourist traps. Of course I was not surprised that, for obvious reasons, Lonely Planet has omitted Sierra Leone, Sudan, and Chechnya from its vast collection of travel guides. Also excluded, but for reasons less obvious to those who’ve never visited (especially in the dead of winter): North Dakota and Saskatchewan. And while Mississippi may not be the most majestic of states or contain the most enticing of attractions, I was surprised to find that Lonely Planet did not credit the Magnolia state’s rich history, southern hospitality, and musical legacy as worth writing about. I did find another publisher who felt differently, (Insiders’ Guide) and has published a book entitled, “Off the Beaten Path: Mississippi (6th Edition)”, by Marlo Carter Kirkpatrick, but tracking down a copy in Vancouver has proven to be impossible. Barnes & Noble has a copy in its Jackson, MS store, however, so I may have to procure one after I’ve arrived in Dixie.
Bringing it Home: Aside from leaving extra room in one’s bags to bring back souvenirs like pickled okra and bbq sauce, my favourite way to give folks back home a taste of the south is through photographic imagery. That said, there is no telling how many memory cards or rolls of film it might take to do just that, so adopt the southern spirit of shooting everything that moves and keep a sharp eye! (Okay, that was just a jab at a stereotype…don’t get all politically correct and sensitive on me now…this is just the beginning!)
All right, well I think that’s all the travel prep I can muster up! If you’re up for more from Mississippi, then join me for the ride…this is your final boarding call. Y’ALL COME BACK NOW, Y’HEAR?!
For serious Westcoast adventurers who confidently assume that the following will assist them in their travels anywhere across the globe, think again, because the requisite anti-malaria medication, puffy North Face vest, Gortex footwear, bag of trail mix, and Lonely Planet guidebook that should (almost) never be left at home, will do you no good in the Deep South. Considering a major hike to break in your new boots from MEC before you head out? No need…you won’t walk far enough to develop a blister before someone offers you a lift. Contemplating a detailed itinerary for your journey? Throw it out the window…you can’t plan it, but I can almost guarantee that any number of folk will insist you join them for their mama’s chicken fried steak, a Sunday church service, or the Big Game (college football if you’re confused). Got that? Now scratch the typical travel items and routine preparations off your list and carefully read the following advice.
Dietary Planning: Prior to travel in the Deep South, be sure to consume mass quantities of salads and sushi. Let their freshness seep into your soon-to-be clogged arteries because before you know it you’ll be staring straight into the eye of a deep-fried catfish surrounded by hush puppies, wondering whether or not the only veggies you’ll encounter during your trip will come in the form of ‘slaw…coleslaw that is!
Learn the Lingo: First off, I know you’re wondering what exactly ‘hush puppies’ are, so here’s the first definition for your southern lexicon: hush puppy “a savoury, deep-fried ball of cornmeal (about the size of a TimBit for you Canadians) often served up with catfish and ‘slaw, and washed down with sweet tea.” From culinary vocab to football jargon, age-old idioms to cultural forms of address, familiarize yourself with the lingua franca and you’ll have a much easier time interpreting the local vernacular. Want to avoid sounding like a total foreigner? Widen your vowels and avoid ‘eh’ as an expression of choice. Stay tuned to this blog for a growing list of southern colloquialisms and definitions that I’ll be collecting throughout the month.
Dress for the Occasion: Wanna look like a local? Check out the local university’s campus store and walk out sporting the school’s colours. Nothing exudes local pride more than the home team’s logo, colours, or motto. Take caution, however, when traveling further afield lest you wind up in rival territory decked out in another school’s colours. For those of you most comfortable in skate shoes and flip flops, emo style or surfer gear, be forewarned that running shoes and golf shirts reign supreme in the south, but note that no one will mind if you pack your Lulu Lemon pants or Chucks…maybe just avoid wearing them to church…
Football Frenzy: College football in the southern United States is taken just as seriously as, if not more so than, religion (at least by some). Long-standing rivalries, spirited fight songs, classic marching bands, traditional (and not-so-traditional) tailgate parties and die-hard football fanatics all packed into one pulsing stadium could probably cause even the most intense Canadian hockey fans’ jaws to drop and eyes to pop! Check out ESPN’s recent feature entitled “Southern Living: A Weekend in the Life of the SEC” (Southeastern Conference) http://sports.espn.go.com/ncf/notebook?page=sec/weekend for a taste of football frenzy both on and off the field.
Grab a Guidebook…If You Can Find One: If you’ve been scanning the shelves of your local bookstore for the ubiquitous blue spine of a Lonely Planet guidebook that reads ‘Mississippi’ in bold, white lettering, your search ends here. Why? Because Lonely Planet has never (to my knowledge) published a guidebook on Mississippi. Known for sending its writers to the most obscure points on the map, LP is trusted the world over by both beginner and seasoned travelers looking to avoid the tourist traps. Of course I was not surprised that, for obvious reasons, Lonely Planet has omitted Sierra Leone, Sudan, and Chechnya from its vast collection of travel guides. Also excluded, but for reasons less obvious to those who’ve never visited (especially in the dead of winter): North Dakota and Saskatchewan. And while Mississippi may not be the most majestic of states or contain the most enticing of attractions, I was surprised to find that Lonely Planet did not credit the Magnolia state’s rich history, southern hospitality, and musical legacy as worth writing about. I did find another publisher who felt differently, (Insiders’ Guide) and has published a book entitled, “Off the Beaten Path: Mississippi (6th Edition)”, by Marlo Carter Kirkpatrick, but tracking down a copy in Vancouver has proven to be impossible. Barnes & Noble has a copy in its Jackson, MS store, however, so I may have to procure one after I’ve arrived in Dixie.
Bringing it Home: Aside from leaving extra room in one’s bags to bring back souvenirs like pickled okra and bbq sauce, my favourite way to give folks back home a taste of the south is through photographic imagery. That said, there is no telling how many memory cards or rolls of film it might take to do just that, so adopt the southern spirit of shooting everything that moves and keep a sharp eye! (Okay, that was just a jab at a stereotype…don’t get all politically correct and sensitive on me now…this is just the beginning!)
All right, well I think that’s all the travel prep I can muster up! If you’re up for more from Mississippi, then join me for the ride…this is your final boarding call. Y’ALL COME BACK NOW, Y’HEAR?!
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Year Anniversary
Wow, I just realised after I posted that last blog, that it's been just over a year since I booked my ticke and started my blog site. I remember the exact moments and where I was...the whole thing seems so surreal looking back on it now. But it always does when a part of your life takes place outside of the normal routine. So yeah, 29 (now 30) entries to sum up 16 weeks worth of travel! Not bad I'd say...although finishing my last entry over six months after the fact isn't exactly impressive!
I'm sure I'll continue this blog for future trips, but as of now I think I'll just post sporadic entries that relate to the production of my Morocco/Spain-based photographs for school, work etc. Not that anyone's still reading...but it'll be fun to look back on one day.
Anyway, it's 2:30am and I have class in 6 hours. I think I'll finally be able to sleep now!
Luego!
I'm sure I'll continue this blog for future trips, but as of now I think I'll just post sporadic entries that relate to the production of my Morocco/Spain-based photographs for school, work etc. Not that anyone's still reading...but it'll be fun to look back on one day.
Anyway, it's 2:30am and I have class in 6 hours. I think I'll finally be able to sleep now!
Luego!
Sensibly Senseless
I'm sitting here in Vancouver at 1:05 am desperately not wanting to go to bed I'm exhausted and have had a really terrible day and don't want to lie in bed thinking about it. It has taken THIS to propel me to my blog site in order to compose the last edition of my Morocco/Spain blog.
So now I'm here bleary-eyed and really just wishing I could huck my computer against a wall. But I won't. And that's really only because the music it's randomly selected to play is so nice. Songs from the new Pride & Prejuidice and Sense & Sensibility soundtracks. How fitting for this entry, because I spent the last of my days overseas in Jane Austen country right in the heart of Devon. Oh, see there we go, I can't crush my computer into a bajillion pieces, it's playing the song "Devonshire"...lol...
Mom and I flew from Malaga into Gatwick (I know, I know...every Brit kept telling me what a nightmare it would be but after Morocco...wow...smooth sailing...except that our bags didn't arrive for an HOUR) or wait, was it Stanstead...sigh...it's really been too long. Heck, maybe it was Luton. Nope, that was on the way there. But the great part was that when I went to buy a bus ticket to London, the GUY SOLD ME A TICKET IN ENGLISH for the SAME AMOUNT that had been POSTED ONLINE! To be non-scammed and in English to boot! I told the ticket guy that he'd literally just made my day because of it. He wasn't too amused. He was just doing his job.
We parted ways once we arrived in London's Central Station. She left me bawling my eyes out with over a hundred lbs. of luggage that I somehow managed to lug onto the bus. But I wasn't crying because of the bags...actually after three weeks of traveling with mom I'd become quite attached to having her around again. I'd been miserably sick throughout the entire time and like mom always told me growing up, "When you're in a foreign country and you're sick, it doesn't matter how old you are, you just want your mom". And she was there and now she was leaving. We'd bonded a lot over camel farts and bad Spanish food. We'd argued over whether or not she'd have to wear a traditional kaftan at a Moroccan wedding (I said yes, she said no but wore it for a little while) or if she could show her arms in Marrakech (I said no, but she won that one). I laughed when she refused to use certain roach-infested squatty potties and she got a chuckle out of my frustration with cold showers (I preferred the hammam to the cold hostel trickle). What more could a mother/daughter ask for???!!!! And so there I stood hovering over my bags, sniveling like a toddler...I should have sucked my thumb...it would have completed the sight for locals who stared in mock sympathy.
My computer is now playing Arabic pop...oh wait...now we're onto Michael Buble.
Those final steps onto the bus to Bristol were one of the most relieving I think I'd experienced within the whole realm of public transportation over the last four months. All because I got my very own seat. I made so stinkin' sure that my carry-on bags were going to take up the WHOLE FREAKIN' thing. A couple people tried to sit next to me but I did what all travel weary travellers do: I pretended to sleep. What a farce! When the bus filled up and pulled away, I conveniently 'woke up!'
And for the next few glorious hours we passed beautiful, grassy, unpolluted fields full of hedgerows and lacking in garbage heaps. Windsor Castle loomed, sheep frolicked, tractors uh, tractored. Just like they're supposed to do in pastoral England.
Mandee was the best sight for sore eyes...a friend my age, from HOME. HOME. And she was driving on the other side of the road which totally threw me because other than that fact, I really could have thought it was like old times back home. But it wasn't and I was going to be staying with her outside of Bristol while she was at a conference for a couple days. After that we'd head back to Dawlish where she lived.
We stayed at this Christian retreat centre called Hillhouse where the next day I experienced my first hot shower with blow-your-brains-out water pressure. I just about died. The water pressure was so strong that it hurt and I was in pain. I couldn't handle it and had to convince myself that THIS FELT GOOD. I was supposed to LIKE THIS! One of the other highlights was carpet. Real, live plush carpet. And outside, there was grass. Real, live grass.
I took a walk the day after I got there and spent three hours photographing an old church graveyard, (was reminded of 'Elegy Written in a Country Church-Yard' by Thomas Gray) making faces at cows, and dozing in a field near alongside one of these great Public Footpaths that they have there. When I got back Mandee could tell that something was wrong and I just burst into tears (do ya sense a theme here??!!!). Through my sobs somehow I conveyed the fact that my walk had been the first time I'd been alone in four months except for on a squatty potty. I felt like someone was going to steal the moment from me or not let me be alone again and I was so frightened that I'd tasted something I wasn't going to have again. And that was the beginning of my readjustment to western life. Later on when I returned to Vernon I struggled with not being afraid of men that I didn't know. I was so leery of them and always wondered how they were going to accost me THIS time. It took a few weeks before I realised that the guy who passed me on the street would not make some lewd remark and that the gentleman ahead of me really had no ulterior motive when holding the door open for me.
Dawlish and the rest of Devon enchanted me. It was really one of the most beautiful places I'd ever visited. It was so peaceful, so quiet. Culinary highlights included a traditional pub dinner (roast and all the fixings) at the Swan's Nest, (where Mandee met Sam, her fiancee, on their blind date) clotted cream tea in Teignmouth (tried to replicate this concoction at Mandee's bridal shower this summer...not even CLOSE to a Devonshire cream tea!) which was really the most divine experience EVER, and a luncheon with the four British ladies who'd 'adopted' me on the ferry from Tangier to Tarifa. I had a blast with Laura, Jackie, Pauline, and Elaine...they wined me and dined me again and we talked about the Royals and Jackie showed me a couple of hats from her collection. I love hats...I want to go to a British wedding just so I can wear a hat!!! I had brought the women scarves from Morocco because they hadn't really bought anything on their not-so-pleasant experience in Tangier, and it was such a blessing just to see them so excited about such a small token of gratitude. They'd done so much for me and I'll never forget them. I'll always tell my kids about the "Four British Ladies at the Port at Tangier"!
Mandee also took me to the school and church where she worked and I met this amazing girl, Lydia, who is a beautiful artist and wants to go to art school. We really hit it off and it was such a blessing just to pour into her life even after I'd returned home. We visited Mandee's future inlaws, which was a blast, and we also spent a day in Dartmoore and at Powderham castle. I'd never visited a castle before and I'd also never really known what a moore was. All of the sudden "Hound of the Baskervilles" made sense! I loved being up on the moore and can't wait to return one day! The Dartmoore ponies, skinny roads, and beautiful pastures made me ache to stay in the countryside. Above all, some quality time spent with Mandee was the best part of my time in England...walking and talking along the Public Foothpaths made me feel like we'd stepped back into a Jane Austen novel (take your pick they're all the same! ha ha, just joking). The seaside in Dawlish, fish and chips (the REAL THING!!!) and the general quaintness of it all took my breath away...and believe me, you wouldn't have wanted cod-smelling breath to linger.
Mandee and I finished off our busy 5 days with a final drive to London Heathrow. It was a great last chance to talk until she came to Vernon for the summer, and we made a point of stopping at Stonehenge on the way. Impressive except for the stupid fence in the way!!! We didn't want to pay to go in, so Mandee hoisted me up so I could shoot a few photos over the fence!
The last few hours of my flight were insane. I could NOT sit still for the life of me! I knew that Laura and Jaclyn who had dropped me off would be waiting for me at the arrival gates and couldn't WAIT to bust off that plane. I literally RAN for the customs lineups so that I could get in line fast. I swear coming down that escalator in the Vancouver Int'l airport with the totem poles and native art and Beautiful BC parphenalia is one of the most relieving experiences anyone with a Canadian passport can have. You seriously want to kiss the ground and then get up and shout to all those in the 'other countries' line up how great it is to be Canadian and aren't they jealous!? I pretty much jumped up and gave the customs officer a big kiss I was so happy to be on CDN ground! And coming through those double sliding automatic doors...wow... Laur, Jaclyn and I started screaming...my cart was swerving, all hundred and five pounds falling off every which way, and Laura was ducking under the barriers before I knew it. We were all squealing and jumping up and down. Sigh...home.
And real home came four days later when I arrived in Vernon squealing once again as I burst through the doors of my house. That evening, mom, dad, Jacqui and I were finally, after four months, over a dozen flights, and five countries later, all under the same roof. And that deserves a final freakin' AMEN.
So now I'm here bleary-eyed and really just wishing I could huck my computer against a wall. But I won't. And that's really only because the music it's randomly selected to play is so nice. Songs from the new Pride & Prejuidice and Sense & Sensibility soundtracks. How fitting for this entry, because I spent the last of my days overseas in Jane Austen country right in the heart of Devon. Oh, see there we go, I can't crush my computer into a bajillion pieces, it's playing the song "Devonshire"...lol...
Mom and I flew from Malaga into Gatwick (I know, I know...every Brit kept telling me what a nightmare it would be but after Morocco...wow...smooth sailing...except that our bags didn't arrive for an HOUR) or wait, was it Stanstead...sigh...it's really been too long. Heck, maybe it was Luton. Nope, that was on the way there. But the great part was that when I went to buy a bus ticket to London, the GUY SOLD ME A TICKET IN ENGLISH for the SAME AMOUNT that had been POSTED ONLINE! To be non-scammed and in English to boot! I told the ticket guy that he'd literally just made my day because of it. He wasn't too amused. He was just doing his job.
We parted ways once we arrived in London's Central Station. She left me bawling my eyes out with over a hundred lbs. of luggage that I somehow managed to lug onto the bus. But I wasn't crying because of the bags...actually after three weeks of traveling with mom I'd become quite attached to having her around again. I'd been miserably sick throughout the entire time and like mom always told me growing up, "When you're in a foreign country and you're sick, it doesn't matter how old you are, you just want your mom". And she was there and now she was leaving. We'd bonded a lot over camel farts and bad Spanish food. We'd argued over whether or not she'd have to wear a traditional kaftan at a Moroccan wedding (I said yes, she said no but wore it for a little while) or if she could show her arms in Marrakech (I said no, but she won that one). I laughed when she refused to use certain roach-infested squatty potties and she got a chuckle out of my frustration with cold showers (I preferred the hammam to the cold hostel trickle). What more could a mother/daughter ask for???!!!! And so there I stood hovering over my bags, sniveling like a toddler...I should have sucked my thumb...it would have completed the sight for locals who stared in mock sympathy.
My computer is now playing Arabic pop...oh wait...now we're onto Michael Buble.
Those final steps onto the bus to Bristol were one of the most relieving I think I'd experienced within the whole realm of public transportation over the last four months. All because I got my very own seat. I made so stinkin' sure that my carry-on bags were going to take up the WHOLE FREAKIN' thing. A couple people tried to sit next to me but I did what all travel weary travellers do: I pretended to sleep. What a farce! When the bus filled up and pulled away, I conveniently 'woke up!'
And for the next few glorious hours we passed beautiful, grassy, unpolluted fields full of hedgerows and lacking in garbage heaps. Windsor Castle loomed, sheep frolicked, tractors uh, tractored. Just like they're supposed to do in pastoral England.
Mandee was the best sight for sore eyes...a friend my age, from HOME. HOME. And she was driving on the other side of the road which totally threw me because other than that fact, I really could have thought it was like old times back home. But it wasn't and I was going to be staying with her outside of Bristol while she was at a conference for a couple days. After that we'd head back to Dawlish where she lived.
We stayed at this Christian retreat centre called Hillhouse where the next day I experienced my first hot shower with blow-your-brains-out water pressure. I just about died. The water pressure was so strong that it hurt and I was in pain. I couldn't handle it and had to convince myself that THIS FELT GOOD. I was supposed to LIKE THIS! One of the other highlights was carpet. Real, live plush carpet. And outside, there was grass. Real, live grass.
I took a walk the day after I got there and spent three hours photographing an old church graveyard, (was reminded of 'Elegy Written in a Country Church-Yard' by Thomas Gray) making faces at cows, and dozing in a field near alongside one of these great Public Footpaths that they have there. When I got back Mandee could tell that something was wrong and I just burst into tears (do ya sense a theme here??!!!). Through my sobs somehow I conveyed the fact that my walk had been the first time I'd been alone in four months except for on a squatty potty. I felt like someone was going to steal the moment from me or not let me be alone again and I was so frightened that I'd tasted something I wasn't going to have again. And that was the beginning of my readjustment to western life. Later on when I returned to Vernon I struggled with not being afraid of men that I didn't know. I was so leery of them and always wondered how they were going to accost me THIS time. It took a few weeks before I realised that the guy who passed me on the street would not make some lewd remark and that the gentleman ahead of me really had no ulterior motive when holding the door open for me.
Dawlish and the rest of Devon enchanted me. It was really one of the most beautiful places I'd ever visited. It was so peaceful, so quiet. Culinary highlights included a traditional pub dinner (roast and all the fixings) at the Swan's Nest, (where Mandee met Sam, her fiancee, on their blind date) clotted cream tea in Teignmouth (tried to replicate this concoction at Mandee's bridal shower this summer...not even CLOSE to a Devonshire cream tea!) which was really the most divine experience EVER, and a luncheon with the four British ladies who'd 'adopted' me on the ferry from Tangier to Tarifa. I had a blast with Laura, Jackie, Pauline, and Elaine...they wined me and dined me again and we talked about the Royals and Jackie showed me a couple of hats from her collection. I love hats...I want to go to a British wedding just so I can wear a hat!!! I had brought the women scarves from Morocco because they hadn't really bought anything on their not-so-pleasant experience in Tangier, and it was such a blessing just to see them so excited about such a small token of gratitude. They'd done so much for me and I'll never forget them. I'll always tell my kids about the "Four British Ladies at the Port at Tangier"!
Mandee also took me to the school and church where she worked and I met this amazing girl, Lydia, who is a beautiful artist and wants to go to art school. We really hit it off and it was such a blessing just to pour into her life even after I'd returned home. We visited Mandee's future inlaws, which was a blast, and we also spent a day in Dartmoore and at Powderham castle. I'd never visited a castle before and I'd also never really known what a moore was. All of the sudden "Hound of the Baskervilles" made sense! I loved being up on the moore and can't wait to return one day! The Dartmoore ponies, skinny roads, and beautiful pastures made me ache to stay in the countryside. Above all, some quality time spent with Mandee was the best part of my time in England...walking and talking along the Public Foothpaths made me feel like we'd stepped back into a Jane Austen novel (take your pick they're all the same! ha ha, just joking). The seaside in Dawlish, fish and chips (the REAL THING!!!) and the general quaintness of it all took my breath away...and believe me, you wouldn't have wanted cod-smelling breath to linger.
Mandee and I finished off our busy 5 days with a final drive to London Heathrow. It was a great last chance to talk until she came to Vernon for the summer, and we made a point of stopping at Stonehenge on the way. Impressive except for the stupid fence in the way!!! We didn't want to pay to go in, so Mandee hoisted me up so I could shoot a few photos over the fence!
The last few hours of my flight were insane. I could NOT sit still for the life of me! I knew that Laura and Jaclyn who had dropped me off would be waiting for me at the arrival gates and couldn't WAIT to bust off that plane. I literally RAN for the customs lineups so that I could get in line fast. I swear coming down that escalator in the Vancouver Int'l airport with the totem poles and native art and Beautiful BC parphenalia is one of the most relieving experiences anyone with a Canadian passport can have. You seriously want to kiss the ground and then get up and shout to all those in the 'other countries' line up how great it is to be Canadian and aren't they jealous!? I pretty much jumped up and gave the customs officer a big kiss I was so happy to be on CDN ground! And coming through those double sliding automatic doors...wow... Laur, Jaclyn and I started screaming...my cart was swerving, all hundred and five pounds falling off every which way, and Laura was ducking under the barriers before I knew it. We were all squealing and jumping up and down. Sigh...home.
And real home came four days later when I arrived in Vernon squealing once again as I burst through the doors of my house. That evening, mom, dad, Jacqui and I were finally, after four months, over a dozen flights, and five countries later, all under the same roof. And that deserves a final freakin' AMEN.
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