Rails to Ride

It may or may not be obvious to you yet that each entry on this blog has had a song as its title. Music is super important to me, especially since about 2004 when I had an enlightenment as to what actual good music is (to me, of course… I certainly realize that music as art is subjective to the consumer). But it’s only been recently that I’ve developed a liking for the Beatles.

A little late to the party, huh?

Oh well. All that matters is that you get there eventually.

And so while my main purpose for being in Liverpool was to support my football club, I wasn’t going to pass up on the opportunity to spend some time on visiting some of the important places to arguably the most important thing that’s ever happened to music.

I purchased a ticket for my first guided tour while over here, climbed onto the bus for the Magical Mystery Tour which greeted its passengers with the appropriate tune, and took off for a delightful two-hour adventure. The tour guide Dale had a passion for the Beatles, Merseypop, and most clearly his hometown of Liverpool. His stated goal at the beginning of the tour was for his passengers to earn an appreciation for his city, and he certainly accomplished that.

Have you ever considered the lyrics to Penny Lane?

I certainly haven’t because with few exceptions, I for some reason don’t pay much attention to lyrics period. I enjoy them and sing along, but I don’t get pensive about the words. So here’s the thing with Penny Lane: it’s literally just about the places on a street that was along a bus route McCartney took frequently. A song about ordinary things. Just as so many of their songs are, and yet, they made them extraordinary.

Truly incredible talent.

Another group from present-day Liverpool that perhaps doesn’t have as much incredible talent is Everton Football Club.

When NBC purchased the rights to Premier League coverage in the US, I was excited and followed along for the first year, but I knew I needed a team to support if it were going to keep my interest as I wanted. The team couldn’t be one of the current giants, but I didn’t want them to suck either. And that’s how I ended up with Everton.

And so that’s why this journey that I am on absolutely had to include a visit to Goodison Park.

I won’t waste too much of your time on this, but I almost didn’t go on Saturday. There is a lot of drama around the club right now as it is underperforming compared to the team’s rich history, and it seemed as if the ground could be a tinderbox waiting to boil over on this day. The board of directors have through the press waged a fight against the ardently loyal supporters which makes absolute zero sense, but thankfully it was a peaceful evening despite the outcome on the pitch going the wrong way.

The team is moving away from this historic ground in a couple year’s time, so I am thankful that I got to experience the Grand Old Lady in person. Football has become my favorite sport, and just like I may not be Sooner born or Sooner bred as Oklahoma’s fight song goes, I am an adopted Evertonian son for sure. And so that’s why I teared up and had the biggest goosebumps when Z Cars rang out and the Blue Boys took the pitch.

Even in the midst of this tempest the club is currently in, it was a magical afternoon for me for which I will always be thankful.

With the post-match traffic, my Uber ride back to the hotel took a while, but that ended up being just fine because it gave me more time to chat with the driver.

Each of the drivers I had in Liverpool were great, and I thoroughly enjoyed getting to talk to them. Even the one who thought that I was Canadian.

CANADIAN, y’all.

One of them upon finding out I was from Alabama (I have no idea where to say I am from presently apparently as I have said one of Tennessee, Alabama, Florida, or some combination thereof each time I’ve been asked) asked if I wanted to listen to some music from Alabama.

“I would absolutely love to know what you think music from Alabama is,” I responded.

Alas, he said was just going to ask the car to come up with what it thought was music from Alabama, and so I was certainly expecting to hear Mountain Music or Dixieland Delight start up. Instead, we got a song from the second volume of some old Black spirituals! It was fantastic.

“This makes me want to ask, and I hope it’s not inappropriate, but what is the big deal with the Confederate Flag? I’ve just seen it in Dukes of Hazard, so I didn’t know it was a problem.”

Woah. It got deep fast, but I quite appreciated him asking. I will never fault anyone for being inquisitive about sensitive subjects, and I think we had a good, if incredibly unexpected, discussion.

But it was the driver back from the Everton game that I enjoyed the most.

He doesn’t really like football. He thinks the money is too ridiculous, and that working-class folks make these millionaires out to be heroes when the players, in his opinion, couldn’t possibly care any about them. He also has lived near the ground and shared some horrific experiences he’s had on match days involving his car along with some verbal abuse.

It didn’t feel like the place for persuasion, so I just listened and told him I could appreciate his feelings. And I think he quite respected that the football fan didn’t try to convince him they were invalid.

When I told him why I was over here, he excitedly told me to look forward to other places, especially Italy where he lived for several years before moving to Liverpool.

“I have to be honest with you,” he said. “I didn’t realize it for a few years, but you know why Italians are so happy? It’s the sun, mate. Everyone here is [he looks at me in the mirror and changes his expression to a grumpy one] just so unpleasant seeming. Don’t get me wrong, I have lots of friends here and I love living here, but it’s just like, you can’t even say good morning to anyone. I wake up and I’m excited for a new day, and I say good morning to them and they just look angry. It’s the sun, mate.”

I won’t use this space to besmear a group of people, but I will say this: I can see how the weather around here would have that kind of impact on you! The past couple days have had some thankfully sunny intervals, and I am now no longer convinced that I could live somewhere like the Pacific Northwest. Combine the clouds with a 4 p.m. sunset time and… sheesh.

I blame no one for not saying good morning.

And that’s why the title to this blog wasn’t Here Comes the Sun.

I’ve always thought that Carter’s Court, developed by my grandfather and great uncle, in my hometown of Franklin, Tennessee, was a great concept. I’ve thought the same of the Village in Gatlinburg. Obviously Old World-inspired, narrow corridors lined with shops and restaurants.

And so it was with great joy that I caught my first lengthy train ride — the 35-minute journey to Hemel Hempstead didn’t count — and headed north to York last week.

Let me just get this out of the way so there is no doubt how I feel about York. If you ever get the chance, GO. Go, go, go. It is so worth a visit.

First off though, some thoughts on train travel.

It is such an incredible shame that rail is not more utilized in America. The drive from London to York would take… WHAT?! 65 hours?! Oh… wait just a second. That’s the walking directions. Okay, whew. Let me switch that to driving, bear with me. It would take four hours by car. By train, it took half of that. And you don’t have to do anything but sit there and watch the scenery roll by.

In addition to being fast, it is also comfortable and affordable, and on each trip that I have taken, it’s not been crowded at all. People may argue America is too spread out for rail to be practical, but if you view Europe as a singular body made up of its individual countries (i.e. states), then how different is it really? If nothing else, regional rail should absolutely be a thing in America.

But I’ll digress for now.

When you leave the train station upon arriving in York and head towards the city centre (I’m going to start spelling it colour before you know it, too), the first thing that should catch your attention is that the old city walls are still in tact, portions of which date all the way back to Roman times when the original barriers were erected in 71.

Ha. 71. And I thought I was seeing some old stuff when I visited St. Augustine before I left the States.

The walk to my Airbnb for my way-too-brief stay in York was best described in a single word as quintessential. After crossing the river into York proper, I was immediately walking along cobblestone streets, taking turns down narrow passageways where the history seemed to reach out and grab you.

What is it I’ve been saying, simply incredible?

Well… simply incredible.

I finally felt like I was experiencing that for which I came over here. Don’t get me wrong, London was cool, but this was the stuff that really excited me.

I’m sure if I was visiting in the summer, I might have felt differently as I know the crowds are much larger, but this felt perfect with pretty much all the shops closing at 5 and the pubs staying open into the wee hours. The toughest part about finding something good to eat was deciding how in the world you would narrow down the choices. For breakfast, I’d walk down to the grocery the night before to pick up some eggs and then get up that morning for a quick walk to the bakery to pick up a fresh pastry or two.

That is the experience I desire the most. Feeling like I’m totally immersing myself into these cultures by doing the simple day-to-day things we all do.

One thing I finally did in York was try my first cider (while also enjoying one of the best burgers I’ve ever had), and it was absolutely delicious.

I’m just thankful the server didn’t make fun of me for the way I pronounced it when I ordered it. I absolutely should have known it would be like moot as opposed to like mount with the N but alas. Of course, their tagline *is* “mispronounced since 1947” so at least I’m not alone!

Obviously there was some sightseeing involved also. The York Minster was hands down the highlight in that regard.

If all you did was look at the impressive medieval stained glass, you could spend hours there, and in fact the Great East Window — which dates back to 1408 — is largest expanse of such glass in the world.

I took a ton of photos here, finally pulling out the compact camera I brought with me, only to discover one problem: I never purchased an SD card reader so there they sit on the camera, unable to be transferred to my computer. Eh, I’ll get to it, so for now, you’ll just have to believe my words when I say the entire cathedral was impressive.

I could have stayed in York for much longer than the three nights I was there, but alas, I had to catch my next train to travel west across the country to Liverpool where I’m currently stationed.

My plans for the next week or so are to stay here for a couple more nights, head back south to Bath for a quick visit, and then it’s on to see how much of three years of French I took in high school stuck as I head to Paris on Friday.

What more could I need than to be able to ask where the library is (où est la bibliothèque) and order a ham sandwich (je voudrais un sandwich de jambon)?

I’m all set.

Greetings from York!

My time in London came to a close on Saturday, and if the lack of entries didn’t give it away, I have to say I was growing tired of being there. It was never my plan to stay in London for 12 days, and I was quite glad to board the train to leave.

In the end it worked out okay because my original travel plans took me to the southern coast of the country so I could end up in Southampton to watch a former student-athlete that I covered play there, but that game was canceled because of a cup game his team was playing at their home gym. With the rail strikes going on, it would have been difficult to get to Brighton and then on to Southampton anyways.

I hated having to cancel my stays in Brighton (my Southampton hotel was, alas, non-refundable), and it was interesting communicating with the hotelier there and hearing his perspective on the industrial action. As one might imagine, the hospitality folks aren’t necessarily thrilled when the transportation folks aren’t working, and so I really appreciated that he refunded to me what he could when I would have completely understood if he hadn’t.

But let’s back up to the final days in London. First off, let’s broach the subject of food.

Most of you that I heard from were aghast that I went to PF Chang’s. And I get it.

What then is your reaction to my going to the same Mexican restaurant three times?

Look, I am no exaggerating when I tell you that Wahaca is absolutely, positively, without a doubt the best Mexican food I have ever eaten. Period. Full stop. I’m not claiming it’s the best Mexican food ever because I haven’t eaten all the Mexican food ever, but oh my goodness gracious it was amazing. I had the best server the first time I went, and she had to stop herself about halfway through the menu from making any further recommendations. I have no doubt she could have continued.

My favorite thing I had was a sweet potato bravas, and I could bathe in the jalapeño aioli they drizzle it in while using a drinking straw to suck up the smoky hibiscus dip that accompanies it. Two of the most delightfully tasting things I’ve ever had.

Anyways.

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I visited the Natural History Museum early in the week, and apparently I was museumed out because I was over it in about 30 minutes. It would be a fantastic place to take young children, but I didn’t enjoy it. That doesn’t mean it wouldn’t have been great if it had been the first place I went to. I just didn’t care for it on this day.

I tell you a place I did care for was Westminster Abbey. It is absolutely on the Cannot Miss list. The combination of historical and spiritual significance weighed heavy — not in a burdensome way — as you toured the grounds. Though it was one of the “smaller” places I went to, I would return numerous times because there was simply no way to fully appreciate the ornate grandeur that accompanied your every step in one visit.

And while yes, I did seem like I was complaining about my extended time in London, I am viewing that negative — loosely used there, of course — as a positive since it will help me in planning as I go deeper into this journey. Instead of spending so much time in the bigger places, maybe I’ll spend just a night or two and then find a smaller place outside of town to use a home base. If there’s something I missed, I can always go for a day trip or something.

While yes, I want to see the sights, my travels’ primary focus is to experience other places.

That finally started for me when I boarded the train to Hemel Hempstead to watch Seth Swalve’s basketball team play.

It was a national cup semifinal game, and the gym was sold out and loud and raucous. A bunch of locals crammed into this tight space cheering on their basketball team reminded me exactly why I love sport so much. It felt so pure, and it also showed me a tangential reminder that sport transcends across all of humanity.

I have been given so many reminders of this, that so much of life isn’t actually unique at all. We have so many common experiences that cut across cultural lines and whatever other lines we’ve artificially created to differentiate ourselves. This should be so obvious, yet it is still striking to me, even when here in the UK where it just really isn’t all the different from the US, right?

I wish everyone could open their eyes — and their hearts — and see that we’re all on this planet together. All striving for the same things, and just because we go about accomplishing life in different ways, no one subsection of folks is better or worse than the other.

I greatly enjoyed getting to hang out with Seth, and I had to text Coach Lennie Acuff while on the train leaving town the next day to tell him how much I appreciated that what he built at UAH was so much more than a successful program but rather it was and indeed remains a family. I picked up so many younger brothers through his teams, and I’m glad to count Seth among those.

From Hemel Hempstead I swung back to London to head north to York and arrived here yesterday.

I am already in love.

Yes, it’s a touristy area, but it’s so much smaller than London. I’ll have more to say later, but I know that I am going to wish my stay here was longer.

Yes, Oasis, it is indeed gettin’ better.

After using New Year’s Day to rest and recover, I woke up on Monday morning feeling still a little off but definitely ready to get back after it. Between the panic attack after the midnight celebrations and the trip over here earlier, I think I was just spent in all the ways, and taking that day to just do nothing was a huge boost.

I’m thankful now for the rail strikes that led me to change my plans, giving me double the time in London than I had originally planned for. If I had been limited to the original six days, I think I would have felt a pressure to push through it to maximize my time, but knowing that I have 12 instead, I felt like I could afford a day to myself in the hotel.

I was originally supposed to go to Brighton yesterday and then head over to Southampton this weekend to watch Seth Swalve play, but it all worked out because the rail strikes spooked me from wanting to travel and Seth’s game got postponed and his team is playing at home closer to here on Sunday. I did want to visit Brighton and will try to fit it an at some point, but I also had no interest in being in Southampton otherwise and would have been quite peeved being there for two nights for no reason.

Pardon me, I’m rambling. Those of you who know me well are probably surprised it took this many entries before I started doing that.

So, Monday. After realizing the error of my ways for booking after lunch tickets for the British Museum last week, I booked a 10:15 entry at the National Gallery for Monday. I can’t stress to you enough to listen to the experts and go out early. I occasionally had an entire room of amazing art all to myself. It was fantastic.

Seeing the works of art by names like Raphael, Monet, and van Gogh was honestly indescribable. I’ve never really considered myself an art fan, not even close really, but if you can’t appreciate the talent and works that have remained awe-inspiring through the generations, you ain’t living.

I’ve really just never spent much time admiring such pieces, but afforded the opportunity, the level of impressiveness only increased in my eyes. Take the Monet that’s pictured there. A still shot captured by brush that says more to me than any photograph could. A story told better than any moving pictures ever would.

Just incredible.

Just incredible. That’s something I keep saying over and over in my head. Any which way my eyes drift, they catch something else that is just so striking. Take leaving the National Gallery for example. You walk out to Trafalgar Square, and with the sunshine and blue sky, it was so picturesque, this view of a place I never really was quite sure I’d ever visit.

With the holidays now in the rearview, the crowds have thinned out somewhat. Obviously London is never going to be not busy, but there is a noticeable difference from the morning crowd at breakfast at the hotel where there was a wait last week to the amount of people you might bump into roaming the high-traffic areas at night. And I’m so here for it.

So I have really enjoyed just walking around the past couple of nights with nothing in particular to do. Monday night I went back to Piccadilly Circus and roamed around there, and last night I spent time nearby in the Leicester Square area before finally venturing over to the Tower of London, which I will definitely go check out during the daytime eventually.

And now a confession about something from the past couple of nights.

A repellence to the travel gods and goddesses.

I ate at PF Chang’s last evening.

I am so sorry.

I saw it on the map while looking for where dinner might be, and I just couldn’t look away. And so that’s where I ended up. I’ve admitted this transgression to a couple folks already, and they both asked me if the menu was the same. Yes, yes it was. Identical. Nary a difference. And it tasted so good.

I am SO sorry.

But I’ll end this with a yang to that yin and tell you that British sausage rolls are the most amazing thing ever.

Monday night I just slipped into the Blue Boar Pub near the hotel, and when I saw a sausage roll on the menu, I knew I needed to look no further. A couple years ago when Everton was playing in Orlando, my friends and myself visiting a pub there where I first experience this food delicacy. There it was a sausage rolled up in an open-ended pastry, and I liked them so much that upon my arrival home, I purchased a spice grinder to be able to make my own which included making my own sausage.

See, it’s not like a breakfast sausage or like a bratwurst or anything like that. It’s pork with its own special blend of spices, formed by hand into a log-type shape. In Orlando, they were bite-sized. At the Blue Boar, it was encased in the flakiest pouch of pastry, somewhat larger than say a Hot Pocket.

It. Was. Incredible.

I could have eaten 10 of them.

I know, I know. I need to be more adventurous and try something more interesting than that or fish and chips. Hey, I’m here until around the 20th. Give it time, huh?

But PF Chang’s?

I am so, so sorry. (But not really.)

“This is one of those things that you do once to say you did it, but you never do again, right?”

I’m not one to get into the jollies of New Year’s Eve. To me, it’s just another night like any other. It’s no more special than the calendar switching from Sunday to Monday or from June to July. And while I tolerate them for sports and concerts, I’m not particularly fond of crowds.

But I’m in one of those places that you just associate with New Year’s Eve, and with the city throwing its first celebration since the pandemic, I felt like I couldn’t miss out on the party in one form or fashion. My first thought was to go around the corner and watch the fireworks with a decent view down Victoria Street, but it was being used as an entrance for the folks with tickets to the official viewing areas and felt like a place to not just loiter.

So with that in mind, I started the brief 10-minute walk down to Lambeth Bridge which I had seen noted as a good place to view the fireworks if you didn’t have a ticket.

Apparently I was not the only person who noted that fact.

I arrived at the bridge around 10:45 or so, and it was already packed. There was a steady stream of folks both coming and going down the middle of the bridge, but I found an opening just at the start of it, past some trees that would have otherwise blocked the view of the London Eye from where the fireworks would originate, and decided to perch up there.

This was fine for about 30 minutes, but when an entire family of about seven or eight folks filled into the “space” next to me — there was room for maybe two of them, three tops — I started to become a little nervous about how much more the crowd might grow as midnight neared.

By 11:30, it was insane. And would only get worse. I’m honestly getting anxious just thinking about it now as I write. Eventually, the crowd was so dense that you could not move. And I mean that literally. Shuffling your feet was impossible. Forget moving your arms.

I looked to the young couple next to me — the young couple that I was pressed up against, rather — and posited my aforementioned questioned. They laughed nervously and agreed with me.

It got to the point where Big Ben couldn’t chime out those 12 tolls fast enough.

Because of course there seemed to be a path to somewhere to some folks, a gentleman and his friends approached us trying to pass a little later. After looking the opposite way to see what I might be able to do to allow them to go by, I shrugged my shoulders at their efforts.

“I think if you do a little dancer’s move, a pirouette, we might be able to get through mate.”

Ah yes, because I am certainly quite ballerina-like.

A half whirl-about was all I could muster, but it proved to be enough, and surprisingly they did indeed make it through.

My nerves were through the roof at this point, and I had to resort to playing a game on my phone to calm me down. There’s no way this is worth it, I told myself.

Finally, the year changed from 2022 to 2023, and the London Eye exploded, setting off an impressive 10-minute display.

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During a lull from our vantage point, my new friends wished me a happy new year, and I returned the greeting before the show began again in earnest. It occurred to me then that these were the first real people I’ve had a conversation with since I’ve been here. I’m quite introverted so that’s no problem to me, but I also rather enjoyed our interactions.

Have you seen the video from San Diego in 2012 when they accidentally set off all their fireworks at once? That’s what the finale looked like to me. Perhaps a bit of an exaggeration, but it was incredible.

Thankfully, the mass of humanity quite calmly then dispersed, and for the first time in nearly three quarters of an hour, I felt like I could breathe again.

Now look, I’m not here to sugarcoat anything. I want to be totally honest about my experiences. The good and the bad. So I don’t mind telling you that when I returned to the hotel, a delayed panic attack set in. It’s only the second time I’ve experienced something like that, but it made me very appreciative for the first so that I knew what was happening. I was also very appreciative for sudoku on my phone and for an old British gameshow on the telly called Bullseye, a curious game that involved at least three different dart boards with trivia questions mixed in.

Those two things helped me pass the hours until finally I was calm enough to sleep.

There were moments, yet again, where I questioned the whole sanity of this trip. I nearly pulled up Virgin Atlantic’s website to find a flight home. But that’s what this journey is all about it, isn’t it? It was never going to be easy. Nothing worth doing is, as the cliche goes. This is a whole different experience for me. There are bound to be moments of discomfort.

And so after making it through New Year’s Day, I sit here today on Monday feeling grateful. I know a situation to not put myself into again (though admittedly I would have not gone down to that bridge had I known that the crowd would be that bad). I also have recognized that I probably will like to limit the amount of time I spend in the biggest cities going forward. That’s one of the reasons why I haven’t planned this out day-by-day for the next three months. I want the flexibility to adapt to what I like and what I don’t like it.

Today has by far been the best I’ve felt so far. That panic attack was scary, but it’s in the past.

I made it.

And no, to answer my question I posed to my forced-upon-me friends, I never have to do that ever again.

I think I have finally recovered from however many hours I went without sleep Tuesday and Wednesday. I think.

After writing the first entry to this blog on Thursday, I took the tube to Oxford Circus and wandered around there, stopping to have a late lunch where I was disappointed that the popular Christmas side dish pigs in blankets were unavailable thus causing me to settle once again for fish & chips as nothing else was catching my eye.

The streets are still adorned with their Christmas decorations, and it made the walk back to hotel through Piccadilly Circus feel quite magical, especially as the sun faded in the mid-afternoon — the sunset that day was 3:59!

After walking out of Whole Foods where I acquired an incredibly way too expensive bottle of shampoo (not because shampoo is overpriced here; this would be an expensive bottle anywhere… I simply had grown tired of looking after two stops), I stumbled upon a gathering crowd next to the Shaftesbury Memorial. I joined in to see what the fuss was all about, and much to my delight we were treated to a performance by a group of street performers, showing off some incredible dance moves.

My walk back carried me along the east boundary of St. James’s Park past the Horse Guards Parade and where I caught what I thought was a beautiful sky behind the Guards Memorial.

This memorial honors Guardsmen who died in World War I, and those statues — which are life-size — were forged from guns that were captured during the fighting. After being in the middle of the large crowds that I expected (and didn’t see really only my first day), it was nice to be able to stand here and reflect in relative solitude.

My third day here in London started off on a bit of a nerve-racking note.

After breakfast, I returned to my room to get ready for the day, but my stomach was nearly instantly unsettled. Feeling like everything was catching up to me, I decided to take a nap to see if I would feel up for my scheduled booking at the British Museum in the early afternoon. This is where I have to give massive kudos to anyone who is able to take that flight, hit the ground running, and carry on the rest of their trip with no problem.

I woke up and still felt not great, but I needed to at least get out to get some drinks and crackers (I decided I wasn’t going to attempt to eat much of anything the rest of the day). I don’t think the first train I took could have possibly been bumpier, and there were a couple moments where I was concerned about what might happen on the next bump.

But I survived.

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I am not lying when I say that I could just hang out in the Underground for large periods of the day and be perfectly content. It’s great people watching, and there are so many aspects that are to me quite visually appealing.

The line to get into the museum was long and wrapped around the block, but it moved quickly. Honestly, I wish it had moved more slowly and that they permitted fewer folks inside at one time, because it was quite overwhelming attempting to check out the first couple rooms with such a massive crowd. So when they tell you to go to places first thing in the morning, listen to them.

That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy myself, but I didn’t stay nearly as long as I would have liked and will try to go back earlier on another day.

By far my favorite thing at the museum that I saw was in a room just before the exit. It was empty but also colorful so I obviously stepped in to check it out.

In the center of the room stands a statue of the young Egyptian leader that dates back to around 1330 BC, while the walls in the room are decorated by street art painted by 26-year-old graffiti artist Nofal O. The juxtaposition of the ancient and the modern presented so simply melded together wonderfully. It made dealing with the significant crowds so worthwhile.

I alluded to this earlier, but I’m not going to lie. By the time I walked out of the museum and headed for the grocery, I was done. It all just caught up to me, and if I could have sat down and taken a nap on the sidewalk, I think I would have. So I went to the store, grabbed the items I needed, and came back to the hotel where I just stayed in bed for the rest of the day.

I certainly notice a difference this morning, which is a good thing because obviously I’m not going to be in London on New Year’s Eve and just be in my hotel room at midnight. While the official celebration at the London Eye is ticketed and has long been sold out, the cordoned off area comes right up to the street the hotel is on, so I figure if nothing else, I should surely be able to see some of the fireworks from here.

Regardless, I’ll let you folks back home know what 2023 is like since I’ll be there way before you.

If you go back and read the introductory post to this blog, you’ll notice I said there would be other pre-journey posts. Well… you can just ignore that.

So, on Monday, I loaded up my rental car with the two bags — a large backpack and a smaller one — that I’m living out of for the next three months, and headed to Miami to catch my flight out of MIA to London-Heathrow on Virgin Atlantic. Despite it being the holiday season, everything went smooth shy of the outrageous price the gas stations close to the rental return were charging. I guess the Strategic Petroleum Reserve releases didn’t get to them… (and that my friends should be my only semi-political remark here).

The farthest destination I’ve ever flown to that I can recall (we went to California when I was quite young) is Denver from Atlanta, so the flight to London was longer than that by about four hours.

I had booked a seat in Premium Economy, as the seats appeared to be as comfy as those I’ve experienced in First Class on domestic Delta flights. See, I’m a portly gentleman, and so I like to have space, both for myself and — most importantly — for whoever might have the honor of sitting next to myself, especially on a seven-hour flight. The second point was fine. We had plenty of room between us. But there is no way that the actual area of the place where your butt goes was as described. No way at all.

To be clear, I wasn’t immensely uncomfortable. It just wasn’t as spacious as I imagined.

Other than that, the rest of the flight was terrific. We had two meal services, and I really enjoyed both the tortellini that I had for dinner and the, of course, full English breakfast. I have no idea how I passed the time other than with a couple games on my phone. I never watched the latest season of Jack Ryan like I intended. Didn’t even ever pull the headphones out. And yet, the time went by so fast, because before I knew it, we touched down at Heathrow.

I might have teared up a little bit. Thanks, Dad, for the emotional genes.

If you haven’t heard, there are all types of industrial actions (read strikes) going on over here, and on the day our flight arrived, the border force was striking, leading to a bit of nervousness about how long it might take to actually get past the line in the airport marking officially being in the UK. Thank goodness for the e-gates at passport control. It was a breeze. I scanned the passport. The machine creepily scanned my face, wasn’t fazed by the beard trim and slight haircut I had before leaving the States, and permitted me entrance into my first foreign country that wasn’t Jamaica or the Bahamas.

Finding the Underground wasn’t too difficult as the signage in the airport is quite good, though — and more on this later — the Brits do use a version of an arrow that absolutely throws me for a loop. I found the place for the train I needed, waited maybe two minutes, and then away I went headed for Central London.

The train slowly filled up on subsequent stops, but I was horrified because apparently despite open seats being available when they got on, two folks sat immediately next to me at two of the earlier stops. So there we were, crammed into three seats in a relatively open car. I couldn’t help but laugh. And squeeze in as much as possible.

Between the great directions from Google Maps and the signage in the car along with the frequent announcements, the trip couldn’t have been easier logistically. Even though my experience with public transport is incredibly limited, all the information I had made me confident, and that feeling allowed me to just enjoy the ride.

The only hiccup on the hour or so journey was changing lines at Gloucester Road. Remember the arrow I mentioned earlier? I can’t describe it and will try to take a picture of one because there’s one in my hotel too that throws me for a loop, but I ended up wandering for a good bit before I finally found the platform I needed for the line to complete the trip. The station was practically empty, so I had no problem laughing at myself. Loudly. It really was quite funny. I mean, it’s an arrow! How hard can it be? For me, apparently, quite difficult.

While the Piccadilly line train became quite full, the change onto the Circle line yielded a far less crowded situation, and I was quite thankful for that, even if the remainder of the journey was just four more stops.

At last, I reached the St. James’s Park Station, and when I walked out of those doors… I was just beaming. It was the same exact experience that I had when coming out from underneath New York City. It just looked like London. Whatever that means to you, that’s what it looked like. I promise.

After dropping off my bag at the hotel, I needed to kill seven more hours before being able to check in. Seven hours in London? Plenty to do, of course. But I didn’t sleep on the plane. I was crotchety. And it was cold. And wet. So I ended up just wandering around, somewhat aimlessly, in the same general area checking my watch often to see if somehow it was magically 3 pm yet.

There, had to get all the negativity out of the way first.

Big Ben is about five minutes walking from the hotel, so naturally I went there first, mouth agape as I walked past Westminster Abbey and caught a glimpse of it. It’s just a clock, I reckon, but it’s a clock I’ve wanted to see for about 37 years. And much to my delight, it was now pushing 9 am, so I of course stuck around to hear it ring out the hour. Just incredible.

From there, I walked back past the hotel, and to St. James’s Park, and I then made my way to Buckingham Palace. On a whim, I looked to see if there was a Changing of the Guard scheduled for the day, and sure there was one slated for 11 am, so I grabbed a spot at the fence and waited. In the rain. And the wind. Only to have a police officer with a very deadly looking gun come around about 10:15 to tell everyone there wouldn’t be a ceremony today.

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Great. Now how I am going to waste this next 45 minutes.

I walked back through the park and back down to Parliament Square. I decided I could kill a big chunk of time eating, so I outside a restaurant for it to open… only to for some reason decide that no, I wasn’t going to eat here. I don’t know, so don’t ask.

After peeking my head into a few different pubs after coming back to the area around the hotel, I finally picked one where I enjoyed some type of lovely pink strawberry gin drink and, of course, fish and chips. One problem: I ate way too fast. My plan to waste time was ruined.

Look, all I wanted at this point was my bed. I just wanted to sleep. So badly. Kudos to anyone who can land here and make the most of their first day. I could not.

I went back to admire the Abbey some more, but I finally said I’m just going to the hotel to wait, walking back and questioning if this whole thing even makes sense. Cursing myself for such a dumb idea. The enjoyment of the architecture was only short-lived… obviously.

But it’s not a dumb idea. I was just grouchy and sleep-deprived. This trip is going to be a life-changing experience. It simply cannot be anything other than that. So as I trudged up to my room — which is amazing and will probably get its own post — I just took a deep breath, told myself to relax, and smiled. It was a forced smile, but a smile nonetheless.

I’m a little mad because I walked nearly 7 miles and don’t feel like I accomplished anything, but I’m here for two weeks now (more on that later also) so I’m in no rush. Today will be a very laid back day, probably around Oxford Circus before coming back here to plan out the next several days in earnest. It might be dumb, but that’s how I’ve approached this whole adventure: I’ve sketched out a general idea of the cities I’m going to, but I’m not planning anything in the city until I get there.

One last note if I might. One of the things I’ve been most excited about is being around different cultures, and my gosh, this is by far the most cosmopolitan place I have ever been. It is incredible. While standing outside of Buckingham yesterday, at one point the tongues of at least three different nations surrounded me. I just stood there and listened while also taking a subtle peek every now and then to see if context clues would tell me what they might be saying. What I took with me when I walked away from that is though our words might be different, there is a universality to ourselves, all of us on this planet. It came in the form on this day of smiles, bright eyes, and laughter, perhaps made even more striking considering the damp grayness that surrounded us.

No translation was needed to see everyone was having a good time, traveling to destinations away from home, experiencing something together as one group. No factions existed.

It was bliss.