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Re: Welcome back Liesel
--- Michael Cade <michael.cade.liv1 at statefarm_com>
wrote:
> So Liesel,
>
> Tell us how the trip was.
hmmmmm. loaded request...
the trip was five long, lazy, lingering days. drizzle,
damp, downpour perfect for dreaming in a hotel bed
with no one or thing to wake you. ah but sunlight 2
days, one for portobello market. the other for a row
boat excursion in hyde park (in which my companion and
i reliezed we cannot row to save our lives).
met another listee there, mr. mark van hornsveld --
one of the loveliest creatures on earth (as are all
listees). we kept each other company and walked a
dozen miles of back alleys and main streets, found our
way back to the hotel quite by accident one evening
while strolling, determined we already knew the city
like the palm of our hands. saw the british museum (a
must see, amazing), the national gallery, tralfagar(?)
square, piccadily circus, leicester square,
parliament...big ben...parliament...(sorry had to do
that), westminster abbey. the great quandary of the
trip (aside from what to eat: belgian, african,
indonesian, italian. didn't have fish and chips or
tea the entire trip) was how is it that their museums
are free, but westminster abbey costs $10 to get into?
backwards.
i won't write what i wrote on my postcards. i was
accused of trying to start another war -- though i
will say it had something to do with the
attractiveness of the brits vs. that of their
architecture.
i found the most charming cafe in nottinghill...cafe
rouge. perfect for sitting with a steaming latte and
baguette to write postcards. every trip you find
someplace you want to return to, if you ever find
yourself back again. this is it. the staff speaks
french in low tones, the tables are small and close
together, you can sit and let the british and french
accents mingle in the back of your mind while you
write. loved it.
the flight home i got bumped up to business class and
then bumped up again to first class. i felt like
white trash in nordstrom's, all bug eyed and smiling
like a fool. my mother likes to tell the story of my
first transatlantic flight, how i wrote her a letter
in which i waxed melodramatic about the food and how
impressed i was you got an eye mask and toothbrush.
as i sat, in the seat that was more comfortable than
my hotel room bed(and might i add caddy corner to the
most delicious british 40-something, it seems i may
have been wrong about goodlooks in england), and wrote
in my journal of the extravagances of first class, i
realized in many ways i have changed very little since
i was 16.
the best part of the trip had nothing to do with
england, though. it started as my plane was taking
off from philadelphia: eyes closed, knuckles white,
fingers clutching the arm rests for dear life, i
remembered something i had forgotten for years. i'm
not going to tell you what it was. but it was like an
old friend calling you up out of the blue. the entire
trip triggered tiny memories, even while creating new
ones, things i had not thought of for years. perhaps
it is that when you are away from the everyday, from
the tasks and 'to-do' lists that there is room, time,
for these things to come knocking, as i wrote recently
to a friend, as though to say hello again, remember
me?
regards,
liesel
=====
for a small girl, barbara sure has a got a big crush.
the kind that makes you want to break stuff
and blame it on a man you don't know --
--fountains of wayne
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