Ireland

I just got back yesterday from my unforgettable trip to Ireland.  It's taken me until today to begin composing this blog post because I fell so much in love with Ireland that I'm having trouble finding the words that will be eloquent enough to describe the experience of being in such a beautiful place.  But here I offer my attempt.

Nadine and I left very early Sunday morning and took a taxi to the airport in Birmingham.  We flew a cheap, absolutely no-frills airline called Ryan Air.  (Nigel said they charge you to breathe.)  I wouldn't recommend this unless one is going somewhere for a weekend or is a kid who can live out of a backpack.  You can only have one small carry-on that has to pass the "cage test" of fitting into a small cage at the check-in counters.  Mine didn't fit (as much as I tried cramming it in) and had to be checked, and Nadine had her big suitcase since she wasn't coming back to my house before returning to Colorado, so I think for us it turned out just about as expensive as a "regular" airline.  Lesson learned.  But it did only take about 45 minutes before we had crossed the Irish Sea and landed in Dublin.

We checked in to our b&b which was a quaint and charming Victorian row house right near city center.  We wanted to be where we could just go out the front door and walk around the city, and as soon as we deposited our bags in our room, that's just what we did. 



The Liffey River

  The Liffey River divides the town into the south side and the north side.  It didn't take long for us to discover that there is an observable difference between the two sides of Dublin.  On the south side of the river are high-end stores, beautiful parks such as St. Stephen's Green, the famous Temple Bar area, lovely restaurants, charming pubs, expensive flats, street musicians, bustling tourists and people with money.  The north side, though also charming and interesting, is the gritty opposite of the south side.  Among the hard-working people hurrying to their jobs or whatever, homeless people live on the streets, beggars beg, hustlers hustle, drunks stumble about, young people engage in loud public arguing and you're always warned to "mind your handbags".  But the north side is also known for its famous writers the likes of James Joyce, George Bernard Shaw, WB Yeats, Samuel Beckett, Jonathan Swift, and Oscar Wilde.  I suppose the gritty side of life can be more inspiring for a writer to explore.  This is the side of the Liffey where we lived.  After one night in our hotel we asked to be moved to the other side of the building because the noises of buses passing every three minutes and intoxicated people hanging out on the sidewalk below made sleeping a challenge.  The friendly people working at the hotel accommodated us and our subsequent nights were quiet.  Don't get me wrong--we felt pretty safe on this side of the river.  We just saw a different side of Dublin life there, and observing differences is fascinating.  Nadine and I also found lots of humor in our situation.

As we made our way to touristy Temple Bar to check out the very expensive shops and pubs, we noticed the sea of green and yellow all around us.  The sidewalks were flooded with people wearing green-and-yellow athletic jerseys with some Gaelic words on them.  We learned that there was a semi-championship game of Gaelic football in town (don't call it soccer or football--Gaelic football is completely different) between the two rival Ciarrai (Kerry) and Maigh Eo (Mayo) teams.  Nadine and I were curious so we decided to try to get tickets and see what this game was all about.  When in Ireland,



Ciarrai fans

 after all!  After a lunch of Irish fish and chips (very different from English fish and chips because they fry up the whole fish, skin and all), we followed rowdy groups of green-and-yellow shirts up to the stadium and discovered looooong lines of people at the box office.  We decided not to wait.  But we did keep our eye on the score whenever we passed by a pub that was showing the game on telly--which was everywhere!  Ciarrai won.  Nadine was thrilled.



It's always Guinness time in Dublin!

 The next day we took a hop-on-hop-off double-decker narrated bus tour.  We saw all the sites of the city and learned a lot about Dublin's fascinating history.  These tours are a great, inexpensive way to get around an unfamiliar city where you can hop off at any of the sites you're interested in going to.  A couple of the places we hopped off at were Dublin Castle and the Guinness Storehouse (which absolutely everyone highly recommended).  We thought we would be touring the actual brewery which would have been really interesting, but that was not the case.  The brewery is in an old building across the street from the Guinness Storehouse which is really kind of a museum erected to honor Guinness.  It's huge and interesting and features an amazing 360-degree view of the city from the top of the building where I learned, by the way, that there is an actual little ritual and protocol to drinking a glass of Guinness.  The Guinness Storehouse is basically just a big money-making advertisement for Guinness. It was a so-so experience.  Though the Irish economy is in serious trouble, capitalism is alive and thriving at Guinness!  We liked the gift shop.

Later that afternoon we spent a very pleasant hour or so in St. Stephen's Green, the most beautiful city park I have ever seen.  We walked around the whole park, marveling at gardens and trees and ponds, and then sat on a bench and people-watched as the sun rained down its dappled light.  What a great way to get a picture of a tiny bit of Dublin life.  On the way home we passed house after house all with pretty little gardens.  Even in the shabbiest of houses or buildings, if there was a square foot of earth in front of it, there was a garden, and almost every window was adorned with window boxes of flowers dripping with floral color.  The Irish and British love their gardens.  Maybe it's my Irish/English/Scottish heritage that explains my love of gardens and gardening.  We stopped in Temple Bar and shared a dinner of a boxty and salad.  A boxty is a potato pancake filled with stuff (ours was chicken and mushrooms).  Yum!!

We wanted to see more of Ireland besides just Dublin, so we booked a two-day bus tour for Tuesday and Wednesday.  Unbeknownst to us, the company we booked through was a very popular one in Ireland that caters to a lot of young travelers who stay in hostels along their way.  So, there was a nice mix of ages on the bus, (though mostly young), and I found myself admiring the adventurousness of the young "hostelers".  (I was actually grateful that it wasn't one of those geezer bus tours!)  We had three different tour guides (drivers), and one of them made the long drive so much fun.  Besides educating us with facts, history, and legends of the places we were seeing, he told stories and sang off-color Irish folk songs--all in that wonderful Irish brogue.

Every postcard, painting, film, photograph we've all seen about the Irish countryside is an accurate depiction . . . but none of it can ever do it justice.  Only being there can.  It is that splendid.  Rolling hills in variegated hues of green dotted with sheep and cattle, multicolored patchwork sections of farm land separated by hedgerows, ancient stone churches and thatch-roofed country houses--all iconic Irish realities.  Pastoral, peaceful, idyllic.  And we were lucky enough to get to absorb it all so that it will always live in our mind's eye.

We also saw many, many long, low stone fences that snake through the landscape and seem to serve no purpose.  We learned that they were "famine fences".  The fences were built by thousands of Irish men and women during the potato famine of the 19th century when it is said that around a million Irish people died of hunger.  The fences that literally go nowhere were part of some work relief projects.  Suffice it to say that those fences are the haunting evidence left over from a sad Irish history.

We traveled around to the west coast where the Irish landscape meets the North Atlantic Ocean.  The narrow country lanes that our bus driver skillfully negotiated seemed incredibly impossible.  But they sure were pretty.  When we finally glimpsed the sea, my heart skipped a beat as it always does when I near the ocean . . . that's how much I love it.  Galway Bay is a quaint, romantic sight with still waters reflecting the blue Irish sky.  After a lunch stop there, we winded our way to the breathtaking Cliffs of Moher where we walked up a path and stood high above the crashing waves of the Atlantic Ocean.  The awe inspiring cliffs that rise out of the sea to heights of 390 feet to 702 feet are reportedly vying for the position of Eighth Wonder of the World.  I don't know who makes these decisions, but the Cliffs of Moher has my vote!  And what put the experience over the top was a girl sitting at the top of the path playing an Irish accordion.  Heavenly! 




The beautiful Cliffs of Moher

As we made our way to our hotel destination, we passed through the city of Trylee where they were having a huge competition called "The Rose of Trylee" which, evidently, had every single person in Ireland wildly enthralled.  The competition was an international beauty pageant in which girls of Irish descent from all over the world competed.  They were called "roses" (like the Sydney rose and the New York rose, etc.).  An Aussie won the competition.  Our bus driver was surprised that we had never heard of this very famous phenomonon.  Was it just us??

We spent that night in the sweetest, most picturesque little village of Annascaul.  We stayed in a thatched-roofed b&b.  (Some of the young ones stayed in the hostel next door.)  After dinner Nadine and I took a walk through the cozy little town even though it was raining and getting dark, the smell of wood smoke from fireplaces scenting the chilly night air.  It reminded me of the Oregon beach towns I loved as a teenager.  I was ready to move there straight away.  Sigh.

Wednesday morning, after chatting with fellow travelers from Australia, South Africa, New York, South America and Italy over a traditional Irish breakfast, we set off for Kilarney where we stopped and got to explore for about an hour or so.  Then it was on to the village of Blarney near the city of Cork to find Blarney Castle where we would kiss the Blarney Stone.  Blarney Castle is a medieval ruin that rises something like 90 feet above beautiful gardens and verdant countryside, a fairytale setting.  There is a whole legend about the Blarney Stone, but basically it is said that if you kiss the stone, you will be rewarded with the gift of gab.  To reach the Blarney Stone, you must climb 127 narrow old stone steps that spiral up to the top of the battlements.  The Blarney Stone is underneath one of the battlements, and to kiss it, you need to lie on your back, reach your arms over your head to hold on to two posts while a man is holding your legs, then scooch up closer to the battlement wall, lean your neck back to position your head underneath the Blarney Stone (with nothing but air between your head and the ground 90 feet below you), and kiss it.  I am proud to say that after much self-talk and contemplation, I did conquer my fear of heights and climbed up to the top.  I was terrified.  That was a huge accomplishment for someone who is as scared of heights as I am, but I did it!   I got as far as actually lieing down to scooch underneath the stone . . . but that's as far as it went.  There was no more scooching for me, and my lips did not make contact with that stone.  However, my friend Nadine did it!  She's gutsy, whereas I could not get the picture of me falling to my medieval death out of my head.  But I'm good with what I did accomplish.  Maybe next time I go to Ireland I'll actually kiss the Blarney Stone.  But probably not.

On our way back to Dublin we stopped at a couple of other Celtic ruins.  Though the ancient stone castle and monestary were amazing to behold, my eyes were drawn to the quiet pastoral surroundings haloed by the most vibrant rainbow I had ever seen.  How iconically Irish is that!  I just knew there was a pot of gold at the bottom of that rainbow.

On Thursday we took another tour south of Dublin through the magficant Wicklow Mountains to Glendalough (valley of two lakes).  We had a couple of hours to hike through beautiful Glendalough, passing through an old grave yard and monastic ruins in search of the two lakes.  We found one of the lakes, obscurred by thick fern growth and eerily beautiful woods.  It started to rain as we turned off to a woodsy path that Nadine was sure led to the second lake.  As we hiked the path, it started getting very steep and narrow with exposed tree roots and slippery rocks.  It was what I called a goat path, and as my fear of heights began once again rearing its ugly head, I tried persuading my fearless friend that this was not the correct way to the second lake.  But she was resolved that it was . . . until she saw the barbed wire fence ahead and decided that maybe it wasn't.  We made our way back down the goat path and determined that we needed to head back to the bus because there was no time to find the other lake.  Another thing to go back to when I return to Ireland.

The views along the way to the medieval town of Kilkenny were stunning.  The hilly landscape was flooded with the purples and yellows of wild flowers that grew in effortless abundance.  The low-growing purple flowers I liked to imagine were heather, like in Wuthering Heights.  It probably wasn't heather, but I liked thinking that it was.  And still there were the sheep and cattle.  I couldn't believe my eyes when we passed by a couple of cows that were sitting upright on their haunches like dogs!  A very strange and funny sight!  We also noticed large patches of coniferous orchards that we learned were planted by Norwegian companies who contracted with Ireland to plant their pine trees in the rich acidic soil of Ireland and then harvest them.  The agreement between Norway and Ireland is that for every ten pine trees planted, the Norwegians need to plant one oak tree to reforest Ireland's depleted oak forests.

We had a couple of hours to spend in Kilkenny.  That was cruel because we wanted more.  After we went shopping for a while I asked a lady passing by if she could recommend a place for lunch.  (You know it's always good to go where the locals go.)  She was so nice and actually walked us to where there was a tiny tea room downstairs from a pub.  It was warm and cozy with marble table tops that we found out was black Connemara marble that used to be mined in the area.  (Kilkenny is nicknamed the "Marble City".)  We chatted with the lady who sat at the table next to us who made us feel welcome.  We both fell in love with friendly, charming Kilkenny. 

When we got back to Dublin we packed up for our flight back to England the next day. Then we went to see a Noel Coward play at the theatre right across the street from our hotel.  Neither one of us had ever heard of the play called Hay Fever which is a farce that pokes fun at the old-moneyed establishment of the 1930's. We were tired, but we thought it was such a lovely novelty to see live theatre in Dublin!

We still had most of Friday to do some more exploring before we had to leave.  We decided to once again get out of the city, and we took a train south up the Dublin coast and got off in the upscale area of Killiney where Bono and Enya live.  We asked a nice couple who were taking a walk where the town was, and they told us there really wasn't one--(only astoundingly spendy homes)--and they suggested the next town over called Dalkey which we could either take the train to or walk to.  Even though we were short on time, we couldn't resist the urge to take a beautiful coastal walk to Daulkey.  It took almost an hour and was mostly an uphill climb, but passing by the palacial Italian villa-style homes snuggled up in unimaginably lush gardens and woods and backdropped by the Irish Sea was well worth the time.  As we found throughout Ireland, the people we passed were so friendly, uttering "Good morning, girls" and "Lovely morning, isn't it?"  An older gentleman walking his grandchild in a stroller talked with us as we walked along with him up the steep street past Bono's front gate.  He pointed out Enya's castle on a hill above and told us how reclusive she has become.  He turned into his daughter's magnificant estate, wishing us a fine day, and we continued on to Dalkey where we had a nice lunch and then caught the train back to Dublin.

We collected our luggage at our hotel and headed for the airport.  We boarded our Ryan Air plane (virutally a flying pub) and found out that the man sitting next to us was a construction contractor who framed the new construction on Bono's house!  Being the typical friendly Irishman, he bought drinks for Nadine and me (a water for her and diet Pepsi for me) when he found out we were all out of euros. Then he told us that actually, all airlines will take any kind of money during in-flight service.  Whether that was true or not, it was nice of him to treat us.

Our trip to Ireland was just an unforgettable experience.  We crammed everything we could into our five days.  I am sure that I will go back while I am in England.  And I might even fly Ryan Air again since it probably would only be for a weekend once school begins.  But I know I will go back to the Emerald Isle.

Nadine's Here!

The two essential things I need to take with me to Ireland tomorrow--my umbrella and my camera--I lost today.  Today started as a good day, and went kind of downhill from there.

My friend, Nadine (Mrs. Bay for you Steele kids), arrived yesterday!  Nigel was kind enough to drive all the way to Birmingham to pick her up early in the morning.  He sure has been putting a lot of mileage on his little Ford for these two Americans he just met!  When we got back to the apartment, the three of us had coffee--my not-bad instant coffee--chatting and laughing at Nigel's quirky sense of humor. 

Later Nadine and I were picked up by one of the teachers at my school for lunch at her lovely house which overlooked the Severn Valley.  (Actually, it's her mom's house.  It's pretty typical here that when young people get out of college they return to their parents' home to live for a while in order to save up enough money for a down payment on a house.  There usually is just no other option.  And parents I've met so far seem only too happy to help their grown children.)  We had a nice lunch, talked about school and gardens, and were driven back to the apartment, afterwhich we decided to take the bus to the mall (The Merry Hill Center).  I figured that's one of the places I would need to know how to get to on the bus, so we tried out the route.  It took about 30 minutes, but it was only one bus straight through.  That was good.  We walked through the mall a bit, stopped for a, um . . . typical . . . English supper, I bought myself a backpack for school and shopping, and then we headed back home.

Today I wanted to show Nadine where I would be teaching for the next four months, so we again headed for the bus stop.  While we were waiting, an elderly woman was talking to us about the uncharacteristically frigid winter the area had experienced for the past two years with "Artic" conditions and frozen pipes.  So, my friends and family, I have an image for you to ponder while you are driving in your nice warm cars in the months of October, November and December: me, at the bus stop, teeth chattering, huddled under my umbrella (oh, wait--I lost that . . . more later) at 6:30 in the morning.  Can you hear the violins?  But you know what?  It's still worth it.  This experience of living in another country--not just vacationing in a tourist destination--but living in the authentic culture of another country is worth it.  And I will keep reminding myself of that fact on those cold winter mornings at the bus stop.

Anyway, we made it to the school.  I was proud of myself that I did not get us lost.  My daughter will also be proud of her directionally challenged mom.  We looked at the school building surrounded by woods and wildflowers and a school garden and pond habitat.  We strolled through the quiet little lane next to the school and through the bustling little village of Sedgley.  It was quaint and pretty, and the people seemed friendly.

And this is where the day started to turn.  The stars just moved out of alignment or something.            

We wanted to go to a living history museum that absolutely everyone I've met here has urged me to see.  That part of the day was great, but I left my umbrella in the taxi we took from the last bus stop we were at, and it really looked like rain today, and I really, really am going to need an umbrella while I'm here.  Now  I will have to buy a new one--with very expensive British pounds.  Grrrr!  That was bad-luck-thing number one. 

 Anyway, the museum we went to is called the Black Country Museum, and it's in the town of Dudley.  This area in the West Midlands is called the Black Country because of the grime and smoke from the factories and coal mines during the Industrial Revolution of the 19th century.  It's said that Queen Victoria used to pull down the blinds on her carriage when she traveled through the area because of the dirty conditions.  So the marvelous Black Country Museum is a whole little village with actors posing as 19th century characters.  There's an old school house that is said to have been taken down from its original spot, and then erected in its present day location in the museum after workmen numbered each brick so that the school could be resurrected exactly the way it was.  Amazing!  Nadine and I got to sit in the classroom of the school with its long plank benches and desks and be "taught" by the schoolmaster who took us through a typical harsh Victorian school day.  Nadine was naughty and was made to stand before the class while the teacher whacked her hands with his cane.  (Don't worry, kids, it was play acting, and she wasn't really hurt.)  Oh, and we had the best fish and chips at a little chips place on the museum grounds and then went into a sweets shop for some rhubarb candies that were recommended to us called sucks (pronounced "sooks").  It was a great afternoon, though very cloudy and chilly.  Unfortunately, my camera batteries gave out.  Bad-luck-thing number two.

We got back on the bus that took us to the bus station where we would catch our final bus home.  (Again, I was proud of us for figuring out the right buses and routes.)   When we reached the station, we had to cross a road within this huge hub where the buses came and went, and, walking in one direction while looking in another direction, I tripped on something in the road and fell face forward right in the middle of the road with a bus coming toward me.  A little dazed, embarrassed and with a skinned knee, I quickly got up and we found our waiting spot.  Nadine was sweet and attentive; I was mortified.  Bad-luck-thing number three.

We finally got home after a long day and were making plans for our trip to Dublin tomorrow, when I discovered that my camera--my sweet little digital camera that my daughter gave me that I absolutely love--had a jammed lens and was not working.  Going to Dublin, Ireland tomorrow and no camera!  Bad-luck-thing number four. 

Even though I have no umbrella (which you need for Irish weather) and no camera (which you need for Irish scenery), I am so excited to go to Ireland for the first time in my life.  Nadine's first time, too.  We're going to have a fun five-day adventure.  I may end up soaking wet and have no documented proof that I was ever there, but I'm looking forward to it.  Erin go braugh!

A Lot to Learn!

Here are some things I've learned:

* Pubs are used as landmarks and references when you are given directions to any place.

* Streets aren't marked on every corner and intersection like in the US--names of streets are on signs
   low to the ground and you have to really look for them.  And I'm not even certain that people really
   know the names of streets.  When given directions (either by strangers or new acquaintances), I'm
   told to follow the "MAIN ROAD" (along with a pub reference).  Well for two days I looked for a
   street called "Main Road" or Main Street", only to realize that it doesn't exist; they're talking
   about THE main road, otherwise known as Stream Road, a name I've never once heard uttered but discovered on a sign during a walk.

* Caravanning is going on holiday with or in a "caravan" (what we would call trailer or RV).  There are
   "static" caravans that are stationary trailer homes people keep at the shore or whever one's favorite   
   holiday getaway spot happens to be, and mobile caravans (I think that's the correct name) that move.
   Never heard the word caravan so much in my life!  Apparently everyone does it!  I would if I lived
   here!

* The shouting to each other of the construction workers outside my kitchen window is not quite so
   annoying with the English accents!

* You must pay £1 (roughly $1.60) for shopping carts at grocery stores.  The carts are chained together.
   You simply slip your pound coin into a slot on the cart's handle, and the chain releases.  You get your
   pound back when you are finished with cart.

* One grocery store I went to had parking spaces reserved for "mothers with toddlers".  Sweet!

* Nescafe instant coffee isn't half bad!

* Cookies are called biscuits; potato chips are called crisps.

* It's important to know which way cars are coming from when crossing the street.  A couple of times
   I was almost a big ol' American splat on the road (the MAIN road) when I really had to take a
   second to get my bearings as to the direction from which the cars were coming at me!

* how to text . . . never done it before . . . was waiting for technology to come up with cell phone
   (called a "mobile" here) that can just read and transmit your thoughts . . . looks like I'm gonna
   have to keep practicing texting.


I took a lovely walk to Kingswinford today, finally finding my way to that first grocery store my friend Nigel took me to that I couldn't find my way back to for two days!  Victory!  Just went in to pick up a couple of things, but mainly wanted to know I could get there--only took 15 minutes. I struck up a conversation with the nicest lady who is a retired teacher.  Her name is Dink.  (I love it!) Her sister, Brenda, came along and the two of them gave me their numbers with an offer of help and friendship.  Amazing how friendly strangers are here!!  I spent some time strolling around the village and stopped at a little coffee shop and sat outside and had afternoon tea.  (Oh, who am I kidding--coffee, I had coffee.) 

I am writing this now, avoiding the task of learning how to operate the washing machine/dryer combo.  I suppose now is as good a time as any.  Wish me luck!

Transportation, Sight Seeing, and New Friends

So, the business of yesterday and today has been to figure out how I am going to get to work each day.  Car or bus . . . that is the question.  A reliable used car would set me back around £2000 (or $3300, give or take).  Then there's the astronomical cost of gas which translates to around $11 a gallon (yep, you heard me right) AND tax AND insurance AND car repairs should they arise.  Add to that the fact that I would have to learn to drive on the left side of the road while learning how to shift left-handed at the same time, navigating around all those round-abouts and virtually one-lane roads, and I think you can see where I'm going with this . . . to find the nearest bus stop.  Which I did. 

Yesterday Rachael's mom took me over to see the school for the first time.  Ken, the very nice building manager (and quite a character, I could tell) along with adorable Christine, the "cleaning lady", gave me the tour of the wee little Catholic primary school.  I got to see my classroom in which I deposited some stuff I brought from America.  All at once my anxiety level dissipated a bit, just by meeting some nice people who work there and by being in the school.  It seemed more real as I imagined the children's voices that would soon fill the corridors and classrooms of the now still school.

After having some lunch at a nice pub called The Swan, Rachael's mom had the brilliant idea of following bus #257 (for that is the line we figured I'd take) on its route to my school (at least part way before I would have to transfer to another bus).  And so we did, laughing at ourselves all the way.  We wanted to time it to see how long it would take for me to make my way in to work each morning.  The bus winded its way in and out of charming little neighborhoods on tiny narrow streets and around impossibly tight corners before a car inserted itself between us and the bus . . . and we lost our prey.  In thin air.  How dare it not go straight down the predictable street on which we were traveling, but instead turn into yet another precarious neighborhood lane!  Not to worry, Rachael's mom sort of figured out the general route of both the #257 and #1 bus lines, and she suggested we actually take a "dummy ride" on the bus route the following morning.  Which we did. 

Bright and early (well, not exactly bright--but early) this morning we caught the #257 bus a couple of blocks from my front door at 7:27 a.m. on the dot.  It was actually not a bad experience.  It was even a double-decker bus, so I can choose to sit topside when I'm in the mood for more of a view.  I could imagine myself riding along every day, getting to know the "regulars" enough to say good morning, maybe with a coffee in my hand, maybe grading papers or reading.  The #257 part of the route took about 30 minutes.  Not bad.  I was careful to take notice of landmarks along the way and calculate the exact time and place where I need to push the button that tells the busdriver to stop (with Rachael's mom's guidance, of course).  I took notes.  We reached the second leg of the route and crossed the road to catch the #1 bus.  We only had to wait a few minutes.  Not bad.  That part of the journey took about 15 minutes, so all in all, the bus ride to school will take about 45 minutes.  Not bad at all.  I think I can handle this.

The final bus stop is actually right near the school, so we popped in to see Ken who offered us a cup of coffee.  I found out that he makes cups of coffee or tea for all the teachers each morning.  Reminds me of Fred, one of our dear Steele parents, a Brit himself, who delivers hot tea to each teacher every afternoon.  I'm guessing that's an English thing, hospitality and a hot drink.

So, now that transportation to work had been sorted out (I would normally say "figured out", but here they say "sorted out"), another staff member, Eileen, who will be my T.A. (thank God!), came over and we went to lunch.  As we drove through woodsy lanes to our destination, Eileen asked if I had my camera with me because I would need it.  Luckily it was in my purse.  I was intrigued.  Finally we came to the most interesting little pub (lots of pubs here!) sort of out in the middle of nowhere.  It was called The Crooked House.  Now imagine a brick house that has had something heavy fall on top of it causing it to slant to one side like a crushed cardboard box.  That is what the Crooked House looks like.  From what I could gather, the dilapidated structure was shored up with some sort of engineering genius (or madness), but the integrity of the slant was maintained.  It has slanted windows, slanted floors, slanted doors, the entire building slants!  When I walked up to the front door, I felt as if I was slanting and found it difficult to keep my balance!  The structure actually plays tricks with your head.  When we were inside and seated, we watched with glee as other patrons made their way into the pub, walking unsteadily as if they'd had a pint or two already.  A family came in, and one of their little boys stood in the middle of the room and shouted, "Can someone tell me what's going on here?!"  After lunch we walked through a lovely park called Himley Park where families gathered and older people dressed all in white played croquet on the grounds of a huge estate turned into sort of an event center/museum.



One of the many canals in the area



My fabulous day ended with an invitation from yet another teacher at the school who took me on a little nature walk and yet another pub.  Again I found myself in sort of wooded countryside on a ribbon of country lane.  We turned into a parking lot off the side of the road--nothing else around except for the pub across the road.  Before we went to the pub, Jane suggested a walk along the canal.  Again, I was intrigued.  We were soon making our way along a path that followed a canal that flows through woods and wildflowers.  There are apparently lots of such canals in the area that once carried cargos from village to village.  In fact, there are boats that still carry coal to families that use coal to heat their homes.  Along the canal are several locks that raise and lower the water levels to allow boats or barges (Jane, forgive me if I have some facts wrong) to pass through the beautiful arched brick overpasses.  (When I can obtain a usb cord for my camera, I'll add photos.)  Along the waterway house boats are moored that people either live in or use for holiday getaways.  One such boat had a big barrel of flowers on its bow.  I thought it was such an unusual place to see flowers that I had to snap a picture.  The friendly owners of the boat came out, and we chatted.  The man told us that actually it was bad luck to have flowers on your boat because that meant there was a corpse on board being taken to a funeral.  He also told us some other interesting trivia about his boat and some folk sayings that I wish I had written down at the time.  They invited us--remarkably--inside the long narrow boat for a peek.  I had a walk-through.  Didn't see any corpses.



canal barge



After our lovely walk we headed back to the pub which sat right smack on the side of the road.  We had our ginger beers on a picnic table in front of the pub watching cars and bicycles whiz by on the curvy country lane.  As we got to know one another a little, I realized that I have met some very lovely people with whom I feel very comfortable.  I'm going to enjoy working at this school . . . especially now that I know how to get there!

Getting Settled and Sightseeing with Nigel



My new digs for the next five months

 My third day in England already!  It's Sunday, and I'm taking it a bit easy today--finishing unpacking, figuring out how things work in my cute little flat, taking a walk through the neighborhood, checking out how long a walk it is to the nearest stores.

After a long plane ride, Rachael's coworker, Nigel, picked me up from the airport in Birmingham on Friday.  When we got to Rachael's apartment, he carried my two heavy bags up three flights of stairs for me!  After a briefing on how to work the appliances, etc., we set out to the grocery store so I could buy a few things to tide me over until I can go shopping more "in depth".  We had a coffee (I ordered white as opposed to black), chatted and made plans for the next day.  Nigel fit my idea of a proper English gentleman to a tee!  He told me that he absolutely loves America and has been treated extraordinarly well by Americans, so it was apparant that he wanted to return the courtesies.  He genuinely is excited for me to have an awesome adventure here, and he has offered to help me in any way he can.  It's hard for me to ask for help, but I'll just have to get used to that here.  I have two British friends now--Rachael and Nigel!  Cool!

Yesterday, after I had a good night's sleep and felt human again, I was waiting for Nigel to come and pick me up for a day of exploring.  It was then that I made my first little faux pas.  I kept hearing a telephone ringing and thought it was from another apartment.  I poked my head out the French doors and heard the ringing from a distance but couldn't identify where it was coming from.  Finally, I remembered that Rachael's apartment has a buzz-in system at the front door, and I realized that the ringing was coming from that!  I pushed the button, and the voice--which I thought was Nigel's--said, "Hello, can I get in, please?"  To which I responded, "Why don't I just come down there?"  The voice then said, "I just have to be rung in for the post."  It took me a few seconds to realize that, oh, this was the mail man!!  Geez!  Was my face red!                                                                                                                                     

Nigel picked me up and we spent the day exploring three little towns (villages? hamlets?) called Much Wenlock, Ironbridge, and Bridgnorth.  How beautiful is the English countryside that we drove through!  Just like in the pictures I've seen.  The three towns we stopped in are charming and old, with narrow streets, inviting little alleyways winding in and out through buildings covered in window boxes filled with flowers, and serene rivers, parks and gardens.  I noticed that all the buildings (including where Rachael lives) are made of brick and stone.  I asked Nigel about that, and he said it was because England doesn't have access to lumber like we do in America so brick is much cheaper.  (I think it's the opposite in America, isn't it?  Brick is quite expensive.)  Anyway, all that brick lends a very charming feeling of antiquity and stability to this area.

In Bridgnorth I have to admit I behaved like a proper American tourist.  I stopped in one little shop that had lots and lots of hats, both new and vintage--you know, those fancy little "English" hats that one might wear to a high tea or to a royal wedding.  Well, camera in hand, I asked the proprietor if it would be alright for me to take a picture of the hats.  She laughed and obliged me, and we had quite a nice chat.  I left the store smiling all the way down the street because it was such a lovely feeling that I was making all these little connections with people I may never see again, but they were special to me.  In yet another shop, I actually took a picture of a sign on a step that read: "Please mind your step".  It was just typical of the "polite" signs you see here!  Call me nerdy, but I think it's the little things like that that many people pass right by that help define a culture.



My new friend, Nigel

 Nigel and I stopped in a REAL fish-and-chips shop in Bridgnorth, ordered REAL fish-and-chips wrapped in butcher paper, and ate them outside, standing on the sidewalk watching a little railway tram ascending and descending the route between "High Town" and "Low Town".  Later it was seeing an old, still-working steam train in (I think) Ironbridge, and finally back in Bridgnorth for some dinner.  It was a wonderful day with a wonderful and oh so accomodating new friend, and the weather was quite perfect.  There was even some sunshine that Nigel seemed to really crave!  (I told him about our Colorado sunshine and crystal blue skies.  He seemed envious.)       

I look forward to more days like yesterday that has left a permanent smile in my thoughts!

Washington D.C.



Rachael, Me, and Lauren in front of the White House



I'm not in England yet--I leave on Thursday!!  Rachael got in from England last night, so I'll have a few days to show her around town and school.  She's met most staff at school.  They were so warm and welcoming to her and showed her that humor is definately a part of our staff culture.  Rachael will fit in just fine.  She has already received a request from one staff member's five-year-old daughter, who is obsessed with princesses, that Rachael teach her to "talk like a princess" because she was delighted by Rachael's accent.  So, I guess there will be "English lessons" going on at Steele for the next few months!

Last week was an amazing week in Washington D.C. where Fulbright teachers from--get this--U.S.A., England, Scotland, Ireland, Czech Republic, Hungary, France, India and Mexico met for professional development, planning and advice sessions, a D.C. tour, walking around Georgetown, and getting to know our exchange partners. I'd never been in our nation's capitol before, and it was quite special to experience it for the first time not only through my eyes, but through the eyes of so many people from other countries.  I felt grateful and proud.  Though I am over-the-moon excited to go and live in England and attempt to assimilate (if even for the short time of five months), this whole experience has made me very reflective about how proud I am of my country--warts and all--and of my beautiful state of Colorado.

But, oh, what a wonder this world of ours is!  I listened all week, spellbound, to the other teachers and alums of the program describe--with equal pride of country--their parts of the world.  I enjoyed hearing all the various accents and lilting cadances, (much like the five-year-old princess) and picked up on the regional differences in dialects in each country and even differing regional terms.  For example, what we call dinner, Rachael calls tea, yet another British teacher from another region argued that tea is in the afternoon, and dinner is the evening meal.

On the last night of the conference, each country group represented their cultures with presentations ranging from skits to power points to dances and song.  India put on a fashion show featuring exquisite saris; Mexico danced boisterously; Czech Republic and Hungary also danced and showed power points ancient castles and verdant landscapes that made me want to go there; Scotland inspired us with poetry, while England sang camp songs and performed a rowdy reel.  I'm not quite sure what France was trying to do, but it involved people waiting for each other while smoking cigarettes, and when they met, there were kisses on cheeks and lots of "Bonjours".  They were apparently replaying their experience of trying to get their group together to come up with and rehearse a skit, relating the stereotype of the French having little concept of time.  It was hilarious!  Lastly, there were the Americans.  Earlier in the week we had discussed the concepts of the individualist society and the collectivist society.  In a collectivist society, people tend to think of the good of the group as opposed to the individual, whereas an individualist society honors the accomplishments, drive and will of the individual, and the "pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps-and-get-'er-done" attitude.  The U.S.A. tends toward the--you guessed it--individualist society, and that was perfectly demonstrated by the fact that the American group (the largest of the groups) never got together as a cohesive group with one idea, but rather splintered off into several groups, each with a different idea to present.  One teacher from Oregon read a Native American folktale while a Bostonian recited "The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere".  One group sang "Take Me Out to the Ballgame", and a proud mom presented a power point family album depicting "A Year in the Life of an American Family."  There were a couple of other planned presentations, but they sort of fizzled out because it was getting late.  But all in all, though disjointed and imperfect, the "individualistic" performances of Team U.S.A.  demonstrated that each slice of this American Pie is rich with the flavor of pride for its own unique culture.

As I flew back to Colorado Springs after my wonderful week in D.C., I reflected about how, since I was a little girl, I never imagined that I wouldn't see other parts of this earth and experience the way other people live.  It's taken me a while to get there, but I'm finally there and can't wait to begin my adventure of living and teaching and exploring abroad.  England, here I come!