Nottingham

It had been nearly three years since last we met. It was time. I visited my best friend from college, Lauren (aka Laurs), and her family (husband Chris and their three kids: Emma--5, Zoe--2.5, and Lukas--10 months) on a side trip from Paris on Friday, January 13-Sunday, January 15th. It was brief, but replete with quality conversations and laughter. I got to meet the two kids Laurs had birthed since our last visit, and even had my first real conversation with her husband. It has always felt odd not knowing the man my best friend married, especially since Laurs is such good friends with Jeff and me since we were all at SVU together 13 years ago. Bottom line: it was a wonderful visit and I love those Snows.

I had to. 

 All of these train rides had me wondering if there is a positive correlation between number of selfies and levels of boredom. I wasn't necessarily bored on the train--the scenery was exciting enough and all, but still--the question remains.

 The first thing I noticed was the name of this building--the Nottingham City Council is in Loxley House. Those of us who've read Sir Walter Scott's Ivanhoe appreciate the Robin Hood reference.

Mmmmm, fish and chips with mushy peas--I immediately thought of my grandparents who introduced me to the wonder of mushy peas as an 11 year old. 

 My new friend, 2.5 year old Zoe. And mushy-peas proof of consumption.

I could almost see Robin robbing. 

 One of my favorite families! And that baby Lukas--I wanted him to teach me how to sleep in an upright position for my next long flight, hahaha.

I slept in the attic playroom at the Snow house, and the skylight window afforded this sparkly scene of nighttime Nottingham. 

 And the woman of the hour: Lauren--Laurs--my best friend on the planet. These are our "we just talked about Trump for ten minutes" faces, or "we're sad to part so we'll resort to goofing off to get through it and leave on a laughing note." Both apply.

Here's a journal excerpt from my stay at the Snow house:

Saturday, January 14, 2017
It is so GOOD to be visiting Laurs and her family. She is a good person and such a dear friend. It makes me sad to think that I have no ideal when I'll be able to see her again. Sigh. This big big world. I love that we can always talk and have conversations that are both meaningful and real, with a side of laughter. Best friends are the best. And I adore her sweet kids. What a treat to be able to hang out with them and hug them and get to know them.

Laurs and I went on a nice 4 mile jog together this morning. I love running with a buddy! This afternoon we all went out on the town--to downtown Nottingham. It was fun! What a neat place. We walked around on cobbled streets and ate fish and chips with mushy peas. We walked past Nottingham Castle--I didn't even know there was a castle in Nottingham, in spite of the Robin Hood story. The castle was on winter hours so it was closing by the time we got to it, but that's ok. I didn't come here to be entertained, I came here to see some of my very favorite people! It was so nice to walk around talking. I have never really talked with Chris for more than a minute at a time, and I really enjoyed actually getting to know my best friend's husband a little bit.

After we got back from downtown this evening, all full of fish and chips, we watched movie together. Sweet Zoe and Emma took turns sitting on my lap and snuggling with me, little cuties.
Heart: melted.

 Train from Nottingham to London, on Sunday afternoon, and another train from London to Paris on Sunday night. 

These trains are all business, but I like trains better than planes any day. Speedy, but comfier, less strict, and without the threat of air turbulence.

 I was a little in awe of London St. Pancras Station, but also a little embarrassed/nervous to stop in the middle of the fast-moving, purposeful crowd to take a non-blurry picture. Being touristy with a friend feels fun and safe, but being touristy all alone feels vulnerable.

A dinner of good ole life-sustaining Marks & Spencer fridge food. 

I bought this white chocolate bar just because of its name. It was delicious. I saved a square or two for Jeff--my White One.

For those brave souls who like long-winded adventure stories lush in detail, read on.

My original plan on our transatlantic travels was to jump ship, as it were, in London and visit my dear ole friend in Nottingham for the weekend, but the process was complicated by a semi-unforseen snag. Explanation: our flight was from Seattle to London Heathrow, where we met a connecting flight to Paris Charles de Gaulle. I thought I'd just miss that connection to Paris, take the Chunnel train to meet Jeff in Paris after my visit, and catch our planned flight back to Seattle at the appointed time. My travel-savvy father advised me to inform the airline of my intentions so they didn't cancel my remaining flights when I missed the connection to Paris. When I arrived at Heathrow, I went through customs and while I was waiting for Laurs to pick me up, I ambled over to the ticket counter and made inquiries. I was aghast to discover that in skipping a flight, I would forfeit my ticket! One glance at my boarding pass for the connecting flight told me that I had 30 minutes to get back through security, find the right gate, and board the right plane before I was left behind and forced to purchase a new ticket home for an inflated last-minute rate. 

Hello, panic! I MOVED it over to the security line and waited my turn, unable to resist tapping my toe in anxiety. Miraculously, the line was relatively short and I was not selected for a search and pat-down (for once). When I was through security and all put back together, I scanned a board and was relieved to discover that the correct gate was quite close. I power walked over to it, straight up to the ticket desk and handed the guy my ticket. He looked at it, then up at me, then said "we have not started boarding for this flight yet." I looked around me and saw a crowded waiting area with Jeff sitting in the middle of it. I had made it! I sat down next to Jeff with a huff, a puff, and a groan.

One major stress down, another major stress to battle: Laurs had just finished the 2.5 hour drive from her house in Nottingham, parked at Heathrow, bundled her two year old and baby into the lobby, and was even NOW waiting for me, completely unaware that I would not be joining her. I had no cell phone service--just wifi--so I sent her a series of desperately apologetic messages over wifi, but received no replies. My anguish was acute. If only there had been more time, I could've waited in the front of the airport and explained the dilemma to her! Or better yet, I could've called her before she drove all that way with her two little kids! But alas, I was trapped at the gate--lassoed in by time tables and flight restrictions. Of course all of these emotions were intensified by a missed night's sleep, courtesy of the red-eye flight I had just taken. 

What did I do? I boarded the plane and flew to Paris, resolving to do my best to return to England as soon as possible. Once we were in the air, my exhaustion gripped me and I sat in a head-lolling stupor for the hour and twenty minute flight. Right when we got off the plane in Paris, however, it was back into action! Connect to free airport wifi--check. Send another couple of messages to Laurs--check. Scan for replies to my messages--zero. While I worked on damage control, Jeff researched transport back to London. It turned out that last minute trains are more expensive than last minute planes, and we booked a $110 flight from Paris to Birmingham the next morning. I sent Laurs a message with the details, then we picked up our backpacks and went through customs, bought train tickets, and drowsily rode four or five trains (getting rather confused in the middle there) before arriving at what appeared to be the stop closest to our hotel. 

Jeff was a champion. He navigated us up one side and down the other, then found our hotel and checked us in. We dumped our bags and then walked to Carrefour (like the Walmart of Europe) for provisions (aka, food). With baguette and cheese under our belts, everything seemed a whole lot brighter. I finally got through to Laurs and explained the situation. Everything was in place and real, horizontal sleep closed in around me at last.

But not for long, jet lag! Hah, no problem--I had to be up and out the door by 6am the next morning anyways, so jet lag's wakeup call was welcome. Yop and Extra for breakfast, toss my small backpack on my back, and I was ready to get on another couple of trains and planes! Jeff shepherded me to the airport train, then we parted ways. I must say that it was an incredibly lonesome feeling to watch my French-speaking safety net husband's face slip away as the train left the station. I was headed for England, but there was still a significant amount of France between me and Birmingham. To prep myself for possible French encounters, I played a guessing game with the train stops: I tried pronouncing the next stop's name correctly before the announcer said it. I got them right nearly 50% of the time--encouraging! Then I got off at the airport and had a spot of bother at the ticket barrier. I had to try speaking French to the official and I actually managed a coherent sentence, but his response left me in the DUST! I shamefully defaulted and "parle vous anglais'd" him. (I never would've had the courage to ask for English if I hadn't just heard the person in front of me do it and the official spoke English to him--Jeff has repeatedly drilled me in the fact that the French are most kind and helpful if you attempt to speak French instead of demanding English. I did my best, but the busy loud train station was no place to decode confusing fast French. The official ended up just letting me through the ticket barrier to get rid of me--he had much more pressing things to do than to explain what I did wrong! 

Shaken and shaky from that brush with bilingual-ity, I  moved onwards. The rest went relatively smoothly and I was able to gather my scattered wits as I sat watching the sun rise over Charles de Gaulle. One 85 minute flight later and I hit the ground running again. Find shuttle to train station: check. Purchase ticket to Birmingham New Street (the train hub): check. Train to Birmingham New Street: check. Purchase ticket to Nottingham: check. Board train: check. Get food and water: oops! I had eaten breakfast at 5am, and it was nearly 1pm. I was stranded on a speeding train with nary a drop of water for my tongue. Enter: the trolley. Bless that snack trolley girl and her overpriced water bottles! I bought one and it carried me through the hour-ish train ride to Nottingham. Rolling green fields bordered in classic British hedges flashed past the window. 

My arrival in Nottingham posed one last hurdle before I was hugging my best friend on the planet. Again, no international cell phone for me, and this time no free public wifi. I was deposited at the train station in Nottingham as promised, with no way to communicate! I riffled through the options Laurs had given me, and landed on the only possibility: I walked across the street to the Capital One building (where Lauren's husband works) and borrowed their phone to call Laurs. A few minutes later, we were reunited at LAST. I could've wept. It was a long journey. But some people are worth flying across oceans for.