I would like to take a moment to discuss our current living situation in Bury St Edmunds. We absolutely love the town--it's old and historic with lovely architecture and cute little shops and restaurants. My favorite little French place is "downtown" in the square, and we recently ate at a new lovely Italian place. Tesco--the best grocery store in the world--is just around the corner, and the famous gardens are just down the street. The town is 30-40 minutes from work, but the commute is pleasant and scenic.
Our HOUSE, however, leaves a little something to be desired. By "something", I mean "heat." It is regularly 25-30 degress F outside, and it's been snowing since Thanksgiving, but houses here are primarily heated by hot water radiators. This would be just fine, except that the pump that circulates hot water through the house is not in good working order. (That is to say that the "pump that SHOULD BE circulating hot water...")
This means that there is not only no working hot water in any of our sinks (the shower has a separate pump and works fine), but there is also no heat function in our radiators. They are purely decorative. Don't get me wrong, as radiators go, they are as attractive as any I've seen, but I would prefer they actually provide one microscump* of warmth.
Due to the lack of hot water to our sinks, we boil hot water in the tea kettle for washing dishes, we brush our teeth and wash our faces with freezing cold water. This is delightful, let me assure you.
We felt ourselves quite clever when we purchased a space heater, which effectively warms one room.
"Perfect!" we exclaimed to each other.
"We are only in one room at a time, after all--this will keep us warm during the frosty, frozen weeks until we move into our new house with lovely, amazing, wondrous gas heating."
It was a wonderful solution until I began working the nightshift, at which point I began sleeping during the day, whilst Travis continued to sleep normally during the night. I, of course spend my nights off in our living room while Travis is sleeping upstairs in the bedroom. We have begun fighting over the heater. We may need to buy a SECOND space heater, in order to heat both the bedroom and the livingroom, in order to preserve our marriage.
...Waiting--rather impatiently--to move into our glorious new house...soon, soon.
*Very technical term--measure of heat.
Wednesday, 1 December 2010
Best Restaurant Experience Yet
My delightful husband took me to a terrific dinner the evening after my PT test, in light of my hard workouts, strict diet, and er--very slightly elevated stress level during the preceeding weeks. We went to a local Italian restaurant in Bury St. Edmunds, where we are currently living in our temporary house.
We shared a delicious pizza and pasta combo; the atmosphere was lovely and the waiter prompt and polite. All in all, we were carefree and relaxed, and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.
When the waiter brought the check at the end of our meal, he expressed surprise at Travis' handing him a British "chip and pin" debit card. (We were required to start a British checking account for the house purchase, but most U.S. military personnel do not, as it's a bit of a hassle.)
Travis gently asked the British waiter to shed some light on an ongoing debate, "Sir, could you tell that we were Americans when you approached our table? Or did you only realize that we were from the U.S. when we spoke?"
The waiter replied that he only knew we were not locals when he heard our accents--that we did not, in his estimation look any different from the local customers. "As a general rule," he continued, "It's very easy to spot Americans from across the room--they have a sort of confidence about them." He continued to describe the American affect, pausing to emphasize a particular brand of egotism.
"There are a few American military bases not far from here, actually, and when the U.S. Air Force chaps come in--[at this point he puffed out his chest as though to show a cocky, muscle-bound Kronk-like figure]--"they're so loud--they shout across the room and swagger about...."
He must've described the "U.S. Air Force members" for 45 seconds or so before he noticed either Travis' haricut or the look on our faces as we attempted to maintain a sort of polite interest in his observations.
He paused for a moment and said, "You're not Air Force, are you?"
We laughed and told him that we both are, as it happens. The poor waiter was thoroughly embarassed and immediately began a stream of apologies, but we were all laughing within a few moments; we told him we knew the sort of military personnel about whom he spoke.
All in all, a lovely dinner and a lovely time at the restaurant...we chuckled about it most of the night, and I still think he was a terrific waiter!
We shared a delicious pizza and pasta combo; the atmosphere was lovely and the waiter prompt and polite. All in all, we were carefree and relaxed, and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.
When the waiter brought the check at the end of our meal, he expressed surprise at Travis' handing him a British "chip and pin" debit card. (We were required to start a British checking account for the house purchase, but most U.S. military personnel do not, as it's a bit of a hassle.)
Travis gently asked the British waiter to shed some light on an ongoing debate, "Sir, could you tell that we were Americans when you approached our table? Or did you only realize that we were from the U.S. when we spoke?"
The waiter replied that he only knew we were not locals when he heard our accents--that we did not, in his estimation look any different from the local customers. "As a general rule," he continued, "It's very easy to spot Americans from across the room--they have a sort of confidence about them." He continued to describe the American affect, pausing to emphasize a particular brand of egotism.
"There are a few American military bases not far from here, actually, and when the U.S. Air Force chaps come in--[at this point he puffed out his chest as though to show a cocky, muscle-bound Kronk-like figure]--"they're so loud--they shout across the room and swagger about...."
He must've described the "U.S. Air Force members" for 45 seconds or so before he noticed either Travis' haricut or the look on our faces as we attempted to maintain a sort of polite interest in his observations.
He paused for a moment and said, "You're not Air Force, are you?"
We laughed and told him that we both are, as it happens. The poor waiter was thoroughly embarassed and immediately began a stream of apologies, but we were all laughing within a few moments; we told him we knew the sort of military personnel about whom he spoke.
All in all, a lovely dinner and a lovely time at the restaurant...we chuckled about it most of the night, and I still think he was a terrific waiter!
Wednesday, 13 October 2010
Olfactory Fatigue...Unfortunately Only in my Dreams
The little town in which we currently reside has a sugar beet canning factory in it. It's about three blocks from our rental home, across the street from Tesco (the grocery store, my favorite place in the world).
This week, the entire town reeks of beets. Now, for those of you who know not of my beet aversion, let me say this: I'm not fond of beets. Actually, I detest them. They are gorss. Travis does not seem to mind (He says, "it smells like...dirty bread.") Lego is similiarly uninterested.
I, however, see the town and everything in it in a sort of reddish-purple haze. Our beige car looks maroon, our grass looks burgundy, Lego has taken on a sort of cabernet hue. I cannot stop thinking about beets. They are everywhere, and I think of beet pickles, steamed beets, chilled beets, beet roots, beet sandwhiches, beet salad, and beet soup (and also watermelon pickles, because I associate them with beets...both were gross things that Mom used to eat out of a jar from the fridge during my formative years). All food sort of tastes like beets (my Red Bull has never had such a beety flavor), and the stench of beets is permiating my skin. As I type this, I am eating a cheddar rice cake and a mozzerella string cheese stick...both taste like yucky, icky, gross, purple, stinky, horrible, squishy, staining, gritty, grainy, DISGUSTING beets!!!
On a more positive note, we exchanged contracts on the new house yesterday! We have paid our downpayment and the lawyers have switched signed contracts...the mortgage is set and we're just waiting for them to finish the building now! The best part about the move will be the lovely new little village to which we'll be moving--quiet, calm, peaceful, and best of all...NO BEETS!!
This week, the entire town reeks of beets. Now, for those of you who know not of my beet aversion, let me say this: I'm not fond of beets. Actually, I detest them. They are gorss. Travis does not seem to mind (He says, "it smells like...dirty bread.") Lego is similiarly uninterested.
I, however, see the town and everything in it in a sort of reddish-purple haze. Our beige car looks maroon, our grass looks burgundy, Lego has taken on a sort of cabernet hue. I cannot stop thinking about beets. They are everywhere, and I think of beet pickles, steamed beets, chilled beets, beet roots, beet sandwhiches, beet salad, and beet soup (and also watermelon pickles, because I associate them with beets...both were gross things that Mom used to eat out of a jar from the fridge during my formative years). All food sort of tastes like beets (my Red Bull has never had such a beety flavor), and the stench of beets is permiating my skin. As I type this, I am eating a cheddar rice cake and a mozzerella string cheese stick...both taste like yucky, icky, gross, purple, stinky, horrible, squishy, staining, gritty, grainy, DISGUSTING beets!!!
On a more positive note, we exchanged contracts on the new house yesterday! We have paid our downpayment and the lawyers have switched signed contracts...the mortgage is set and we're just waiting for them to finish the building now! The best part about the move will be the lovely new little village to which we'll be moving--quiet, calm, peaceful, and best of all...NO BEETS!!
Monday, 11 October 2010
The Deliciousness of British Food...really.
Travis and I don't see each other much these days, due to our crazy conflicting work schedules. I work night shift on a Panama rotation (work two, off two, work three, off two, work two, off three etc.) and Travis works 8 hour shifts Monday through Friday. With our 30 minute commute, this results in us meeting each other--by which I mean "driving past each other" in Tuddinham village on my way home, his way to work. Then, we pass each other again at the pig farm on my way back into work, on his way home. When we see each other in time (and it's not too dark to recognize each other's cars) we flash our lights at each other as though to say "I love you" in headlight-morse-code.
This last weekend, however, was one of those rare, lovely times, when we were both not working at the same time. Now, I'm still on a night sleep schedule and he's still on days, but if we stretch a little, we can be only slightly sleep deprived while we spend about 10 hours together. We had the most beautiful, lovely Italian dinner together (we tasted a new kind of goat cheese on baguette that was so delicious it literally brought tears to my eyes) and saw a movie, we went running (at midnight, since our sleep cycles get all messed up during these times off) and spent the weekend in general appreciation of each other and our time together.
On to more universally interesting things:
I am really getting into cooking the British way. I realize that this may sound terrifying--if you believe all the garbage about how gross British food is (I think that is one of those things where people say, "Don't try these delicious, er, HORRIBLE chocolate cakes...they're TERRIBLE. You won't like them," in order to keep others from partaking in deliciousness). British folks really know how to do sausage RIGHT. Travis and I had pasta with marinara sauce and Apple Pork sausages...it changed my life.
I've ranted and raved about the grocery stores much before, I'm sure, but honestly, shopping here is a whole different experience than at home.
Tesco is my favorite place in the world--it's the general, in every town grocery store, but it is my favorite part about England so far. Most of the store is "prepared foods," but not like you think of them in the States. They're all from within the UK (so nothing could have travelled for more than about 8 hours, max) and they're all prepared fresh (and deliciously), so that if you would like to feed your family something tasty and relatively good for them, you can buy a little Tupperware container of mashed potatoes (but actually really GOOD, fresh mashed potatoes) and a little baggie of mixed vegetables (but actually fresh, green, the-ones-you'd-pick vegitables) and a couple steaks, all for about 8 pounds (or $12). Then you have a great dinner for the energy it takes to steam pre-trimmed veggies and broil a ribeye, not do all the prep work! There's a whole different attitude about dinners and how much work should be involved in making regular ol, everyday meals. There are isles of prepared foods and sides (from many cultures and countries), so it's easy to vary our diet without having to learn how to make Vietnamese food. In fact, I have come to trust even their pre-cooked desserts. I can BUY a pie at the grocery store for the equivalent of about 4 bucks--that is actually good. It's not the same as eating a pie that Laura just made, but it is a good quality pie--certainly as good as a restaurant or friend who doesn't make pies with quite the dedication that the Boehlkes do. :)
However, for special occasions (or when one feels like spending a lot of time and energy cooking a great meal), the selection of produce, meats, cheeses, breads, etc., is increadible. We've been eating the most amazing food, for pretty cheap, and without me pulling my hair out because I have to start a meal from scratch after 14 hours of work on my feet in the hospital. It's a good system, that's all I'm saying.
Travis got Lego a new stuffed toy--his last one, George (the Giraffe) had zero ears, no horns or eyes, one leg, and his face was torn open...it was time. The new one (Toni the Tiger) is very large. I'm not 100% sure that Travis didn't get it in the child toy section of the store, it's nearly as big as Lego! However, Lego fell in love with Toni. He drags her everywhere he goes, though with some difficulty, as her legs are ropes that are anchored into her body, and she weighs quite a lot. Lego will attempt to jump onto the couch with Toni in tow, which he usually cannot do. Then he will try to jump on the couch, reach down, and pull her up with him. She's too heavy. Then he will jump down to Toni, pull her up, and puuuuuuuuuuuush with his nose and straaaaaaaaaaain with his neck until Toni is safely on the couch, where he follows. It's an adorable, exhausting process.
The house process is coming to an end!! We were originally scheduled to close on the deal last Friday, but searches and paperwork held things up a bit...we should be official house-owners tomorrow or Wednesday-I'll keep you posted!
Thursday, 23 September 2010
A Few Thoughts for Today
Hello, dear family and friends!
There are not a lot of new things going on at the moment, but I thought I might share some thoughts about my work here. But first: a few facts which, together, equal a funny party story.
Brits call the clothing worn betwixt waist and ankles "trousers."
To the British, "pants” is a shortened version of the word "underpants."
To the British, "pants” is a shortened version of the word "underpants."
The word "khaki," when pronounced by an Englishman sounds like "cocky." When an American says "khaki," it sounds to a Brit like "cacky," their word meaning "poopy."
Thus, when an American says he (or she of course) is wearing khaki pants to the party, it sounds to the Brit as though she will be arriving in poopy underwear.
Work is…different, in a refreshing, pleasant way. I work two or three days, then get two or three days off; it’s a traditional shift-work schedule, and while I get a lot of time off, I work a lot of 12+ hour shifts, which is quite tiring after the third day of work. However, I have a great shift of folks who work with me, and I really enjoy the patient care aspect of the work here. I do a lot of stitches, IVs, wound care, ortho/casting, and other urgent care sorts of things. Not too many true emergencies, but we do have at least one unconscious drunk guy per weekend who needs to be picked up in an ambulance and sobered up, so that’s always a good time…!
We have a four bed ER—we see about 30 patients per day…it’s slow—I’m not going to lie to you—but because it’s small, we don’t have any students, residents, etc, and we get to do all the sutures and other cool things that need to be done. It’s a good kind of work.
I’m deeply entrenched in home decorating and painting—the British version of Home Depot is the greatest place ever!! I love to browse at paint colors (and Martha Stewart’s recommended schemes) until I’m no longer able to distinguish any color—it’s my version of online gambling; I’m totally addicted! My current favorite colors are putty/grey/beige and gentle pastel sage green. I’m pretty excited about it!
The weather here is amazing when compared to San Antonio! It’s cool most days, a little dark and grey, but crisp and lovely. Some days are sunny and clear, but still not hot or humid, and I must say, it’s perfect. You will all have to come visit me, because I like it here so much that I may not ever leave...!
Tuesday, 7 September 2010
Week Four--Has it Been that Long Already?!
It has been a little while since I've updated here, but that is because we moved into our little rental house in Bury and we don't have internet set up there yet. Also, Travis and I both started working, so we've been pretty busy and distracted. Most importantly, however, we've been distracted and stressed because we BOUGHT a HOUSE. Well, I should say we are buying a house, because we are still in mortgage-paperwork-land, but it's still very exciting and terrifying.
This house was actually the first house we viewed and we have loved it from the very beginning. We viewed dozens of properties in the last few weeks, and none of them compared to that first, beautiful, perfect house. It's brand new--actually, won't be completed until November--it's in Mildenhall (about 8 minutes away from our work), it's a three-story townhouse with plenty of bedrooms (GUESTrooms!! Come visit us; we'll be settled and open for business in November!). Because it's new, we have a lot of input regarding fixtures and carpet, tiling etc., so all in all, it's just absolutely perfect.
To be honest, we were shocked by how well it all played out: we made a low-ball offer in order to start negotiations on the low end of things, and the builders accepted it. The estate agent with whom we've been working was shocked that it all worked out so quickly and easily--she had helped sell almost 100 homes in the development, but turns out we (accidentally) made our offer at just the right moment, when the developers/builders were trying to make a quota. We worked in a few perks in negotiations--afore mentioned carpets and turf/grass, appliances, etc., and we've been busy checking in with them every few days to see how the construction is progressing. I'm pretty sure that every carpenter on the job will be on a first-name basis with me by November. ("Thanks for the doughnuts, Ma'am; Yes, we're working as fast as we can.")
While we're waiting for housing details to close, we're working away at the hospital--I'm working 12-hour shifts in the ER and Travis is working M-F in the BMET shop. The not-great part about that is that we only really get every other weekend together, but the good news is that one of us is generally home to hang out with Lego, run errands--and check in on the house, of course! ("No, Sir--explaining how much your dog will appreciate your new yard will NOT speed things up. We're working as fast as we can.")
So overall, I think it's fair to say that we are settling in quite nicely...we have a British car and a British mortgage pending. We have British cell phones and British cookies on the shelf of our British rental house while we wait--patiently!--on our British home to be finished. ("I can't wait to be done with this job.")
This house was actually the first house we viewed and we have loved it from the very beginning. We viewed dozens of properties in the last few weeks, and none of them compared to that first, beautiful, perfect house. It's brand new--actually, won't be completed until November--it's in Mildenhall (about 8 minutes away from our work), it's a three-story townhouse with plenty of bedrooms (GUESTrooms!! Come visit us; we'll be settled and open for business in November!). Because it's new, we have a lot of input regarding fixtures and carpet, tiling etc., so all in all, it's just absolutely perfect.
To be honest, we were shocked by how well it all played out: we made a low-ball offer in order to start negotiations on the low end of things, and the builders accepted it. The estate agent with whom we've been working was shocked that it all worked out so quickly and easily--she had helped sell almost 100 homes in the development, but turns out we (accidentally) made our offer at just the right moment, when the developers/builders were trying to make a quota. We worked in a few perks in negotiations--afore mentioned carpets and turf/grass, appliances, etc., and we've been busy checking in with them every few days to see how the construction is progressing. I'm pretty sure that every carpenter on the job will be on a first-name basis with me by November. ("Thanks for the doughnuts, Ma'am; Yes, we're working as fast as we can.")
While we're waiting for housing details to close, we're working away at the hospital--I'm working 12-hour shifts in the ER and Travis is working M-F in the BMET shop. The not-great part about that is that we only really get every other weekend together, but the good news is that one of us is generally home to hang out with Lego, run errands--and check in on the house, of course! ("No, Sir--explaining how much your dog will appreciate your new yard will NOT speed things up. We're working as fast as we can.")
So overall, I think it's fair to say that we are settling in quite nicely...we have a British car and a British mortgage pending. We have British cell phones and British cookies on the shelf of our British rental house while we wait--patiently!--on our British home to be finished. ("I can't wait to be done with this job.")
Sunday, 29 August 2010
Blog Comments
To those of you who may have been trying to make comments at the end of any of these posts, I'm very sorry I accidentally set up my profile in such a way to block reader comments. Steve brought it to my attention and now I have fixed the problem, so you are all welcome to leave any comment you wish. :) Cheers!
House Hunt
The last few days have been a blur of house viewings. Some of you, dear readers, will wonder to yourselves, "Why are they viewing houses? Didn't they already find a place to live?"
Yes--we do have a short term rental lined up (we'll move in on Tuesday) but we have been viewing houses to purchase since we had some in-processing days assigned to us. We have looked at old houses, and brand new houses, attractive houses, and horribly disgusting houses. Many of them made us wonder aloud to each other once safely sealed back into our car, "Why on this earth would someone put paisley carpet in her livingroom?"
We've viewed houses in Mildenhall (the little village just outside of Lakenheath) and Bury St. Edmunds which we love but is a little far. Friday we saw 6 different properties and to be honest, although I wasn't crazy about any of them, they all started to look exactly the same.
There is one house that I have absolutely fallen in love with--it's a beautiful three story townhouse in Mildenhall. We have one more hopeful house to view tomorrow night, so we'll have to see what happens in the next few weeks with this international house buying stuff. Should be interesting, especially considering the dual nature of the house choosing process.
We are looking for a house that serves two imporant and distinct purposes: it must be a place that Travis and Lego and I can comfortably, happily inhabit for the next 3.5 years. Perhaps more importantly though, it must be the sort of house with long-term American rental appeal. If we choose to let* it out for a few years after we leave England, it will be easiest for us to use the military network for marketing and managing the property. This means we'd most likely be letting to an Americn couple/family, and the house should be a) close to the base(s) and b) have the general features that make Americans choose one rental over another (ie more than two bedrooms, more than one bathroom, rooms larger than 6x6 etc.) British houses are very small and cramped; it's difficult for incoming Americans to adjust to a drastically different house style than what they're used to. "American" style houses let much more easily here than older style English ones.
[*that's "rent" to you Yanks.]
A new friend and I drove down to IKEA in London yesterday to get a few things for outfitting the horrible little rental that we will soon be occupying. We plan to have the Air Force hold on to our household items until we move into our purchased home (hopefully this fall) so we won'y have any sheets, blankets, dishes etc. and the only clothes we have are the ones brought over in suitecases from Texas.
We needed exactly two plates, two bowls, two drinking glasses, one large frying pan with cover, and a set of silverware. (We are preparing to put down a sizable down payment for our new house and wastefullness is not tolerated in our family these days--buying the entire set of silverware was a splurge that I can only attribute to my low blood sugar at the time...probably because I hadn't had breakfast in an attempt at frugality.)
IKEA was, as always, a lovely experience, and we found all the things we required. As a matter of fact, I was able to find the same set of dishes which Travis and I use as our actual daily plates, which were packed up during the move. I bought two additional matching drinking glasses etc, so that rather than having one random tiny set of dishes that don't match anything else, I can simply add our newly purchased set of two into our larger set when it arrives and is unpacked into our new home. That made me feel pretty good about myself...!
We are missing all of you and though we are having a wonderful time, we're feeling a bit alone in our little corner of the world. Will probably be much better when we start actual work next week and we get to know the other Air Force people around. Talk to you soon!
Yes--we do have a short term rental lined up (we'll move in on Tuesday) but we have been viewing houses to purchase since we had some in-processing days assigned to us. We have looked at old houses, and brand new houses, attractive houses, and horribly disgusting houses. Many of them made us wonder aloud to each other once safely sealed back into our car, "Why on this earth would someone put paisley carpet in her livingroom?"
We've viewed houses in Mildenhall (the little village just outside of Lakenheath) and Bury St. Edmunds which we love but is a little far. Friday we saw 6 different properties and to be honest, although I wasn't crazy about any of them, they all started to look exactly the same.
There is one house that I have absolutely fallen in love with--it's a beautiful three story townhouse in Mildenhall. We have one more hopeful house to view tomorrow night, so we'll have to see what happens in the next few weeks with this international house buying stuff. Should be interesting, especially considering the dual nature of the house choosing process.
We are looking for a house that serves two imporant and distinct purposes: it must be a place that Travis and Lego and I can comfortably, happily inhabit for the next 3.5 years. Perhaps more importantly though, it must be the sort of house with long-term American rental appeal. If we choose to let* it out for a few years after we leave England, it will be easiest for us to use the military network for marketing and managing the property. This means we'd most likely be letting to an Americn couple/family, and the house should be a) close to the base(s) and b) have the general features that make Americans choose one rental over another (ie more than two bedrooms, more than one bathroom, rooms larger than 6x6 etc.) British houses are very small and cramped; it's difficult for incoming Americans to adjust to a drastically different house style than what they're used to. "American" style houses let much more easily here than older style English ones.
[*that's "rent" to you Yanks.]
A new friend and I drove down to IKEA in London yesterday to get a few things for outfitting the horrible little rental that we will soon be occupying. We plan to have the Air Force hold on to our household items until we move into our purchased home (hopefully this fall) so we won'y have any sheets, blankets, dishes etc. and the only clothes we have are the ones brought over in suitecases from Texas.
We needed exactly two plates, two bowls, two drinking glasses, one large frying pan with cover, and a set of silverware. (We are preparing to put down a sizable down payment for our new house and wastefullness is not tolerated in our family these days--buying the entire set of silverware was a splurge that I can only attribute to my low blood sugar at the time...probably because I hadn't had breakfast in an attempt at frugality.)
IKEA was, as always, a lovely experience, and we found all the things we required. As a matter of fact, I was able to find the same set of dishes which Travis and I use as our actual daily plates, which were packed up during the move. I bought two additional matching drinking glasses etc, so that rather than having one random tiny set of dishes that don't match anything else, I can simply add our newly purchased set of two into our larger set when it arrives and is unpacked into our new home. That made me feel pretty good about myself...!
We are missing all of you and though we are having a wonderful time, we're feeling a bit alone in our little corner of the world. Will probably be much better when we start actual work next week and we get to know the other Air Force people around. Talk to you soon!
Tuesday, 24 August 2010
Automobile Drama
Yesterday, we found a car--that's right, we are now no longer British car renters. We own a righthanded car. The story is not pretty, but here it is:
We knew we would eventually need a second car, even after my Corolla arrives and is legally converted to British standards (headlights and mandatory fog lights etc), so we decided to try to save ourselves a little moolah and buy a cheap, get-you-from-here-to-there kind of car. No specific requirements, except that we were hoping to be able to use said beater car to haul the tandem bicycle from here to there, if need be, and we weren't willing to pay much for it.
We looked at cars on base--sold by military people to military people, usually upon the occasion of leaving the country. They tend to be inexpensive, as their owners must be rid of them quickly before they PCS out of the base. We saw a few that met our criteria, but two or three of them had already left the country with no forwarding information--not helpful. We were running out of time on our rental agreement and would have to either renew or return the car, so yesterday--on the day the rental car was due--we took a last-ditch drive around the villages which surround the base, hoping to see cars on the side of the road for sale.
This was wildly successful--we saw numerous cars and called numerous owners, deciding that--barring any red flags--we would buy the car we could resonably purchase the fastest. We reached a human being when we called the owner of a dark green Volvo hatchback and prompty met him for brief test drive. The owner was kind enough to recognize the pouring rain, and chilly weather; he had the car running and all heated up in anticipation of our arrival. Travis liked the handling, I liked the color, and--voila!--we decided we had to have it. At only 695 pounds it was within our budget and has plenty of room in the back for Lego to ride in style.
The only problem was payment. How were we supposed to pay this gentleman 695 pounds, since only very few British ATMs will accept an American card and those that do will only give so much at one time, not to mention the limit set by our bank on withdrawls from ATMs? We may have looked shady, but we drove in the rain, from ATM to ATM, collecting as much as we could on each of our cards until we had the money (in small denominations--we surely looked like drug dealers) and returned to our Volvo.
The owner handed us the keys and paperwork; we handed him a wad of cash, and he was off. We thought ourselves so lucky--we still had half an hour before the rental was due and it was only just around the block! We'd saved ourselves the hassle and expense of renting the car for another week--how savvy and smart we are!!
We realized only after the new car wouldn't start--still in the pouring rain--that the previous owner was perhaps not only being thoughtful when he uh, warmed up the car for us. The battery (and perhaps the alternator/starting mechanism/engine) was shot. Not even a rumble--dead as a doornail. A kind van-driving motorist jumpstarted the Volvo and we dropped off the rental, feeling rather ill.
Ten minutes into the drive back to base, we realized there was no fuel in our new little gem--below "E." Knowing we could get petrol on base, we wanted to get only a small amount off base. Shortly after finding the local station and buying one liter of regular unleaded (it's 3 times more expensive off base than on--we get a greatly reduced rate), we were again headed towards the base when it occured to us that we had forgotten the Garmin Nuvi in our rental car's glovebox. Still pouring, pouring, pouring rain.
We drove onto the base after a long ordeal getting the Nuvi back--hungry, crabby, and feeling like gullible, stupid Americans. We had just bought the worst lemon in the history of the world. It was probably a stolen vehicle, being pawned off to us for drug money. We discussed how little information we had about the seller. How we'd paid in cash. How the car would probably shudder to a stop at any given moment, at which point, the local police would arrest us for car theft and we wouldn't have a leg to stand on.
When we rolled into the base auto shop, it was 10 minutes before they closed for the day, and they wouldn't look at it. We sighed and headed home, defeated and foolish.
This morning, we crossed our fingers and hoped she would start. Holding our breath, Travis turned the key. VROOM! She roared to life!! Hallelujah! We drove her to the auto shop across base, waiting for her to die at any moment. She somehow made it the 5-6 blocks, and the auto folks took a look at her. After an hour or two of diagnostic testing (during which we ate a DELICIOUS meal of caprise salad, filled pasta from Germany, toasted bread dipped in balsalmic and olive oil, and olives shipped directly from Italy filled with soft cheese) the mechanics announced that there was nothing wrong with the Volvo except the battery--they charged it up and tested it (perfectly fine, only needed the charge) and the whole thing cost us 5 bucks. Whew! The car is worth twice what we paid for it, according to the mechanics and online surveys.
We are geniuses after all!! We are so savvy and smart!
I've included some pictures of the base, for your viewing pleasure. You can see the entrance to the base:
...and the hospital:
...and the street to the hospital. Very green and leafy :)
We knew we would eventually need a second car, even after my Corolla arrives and is legally converted to British standards (headlights and mandatory fog lights etc), so we decided to try to save ourselves a little moolah and buy a cheap, get-you-from-here-to-there kind of car. No specific requirements, except that we were hoping to be able to use said beater car to haul the tandem bicycle from here to there, if need be, and we weren't willing to pay much for it.
We looked at cars on base--sold by military people to military people, usually upon the occasion of leaving the country. They tend to be inexpensive, as their owners must be rid of them quickly before they PCS out of the base. We saw a few that met our criteria, but two or three of them had already left the country with no forwarding information--not helpful. We were running out of time on our rental agreement and would have to either renew or return the car, so yesterday--on the day the rental car was due--we took a last-ditch drive around the villages which surround the base, hoping to see cars on the side of the road for sale.
This was wildly successful--we saw numerous cars and called numerous owners, deciding that--barring any red flags--we would buy the car we could resonably purchase the fastest. We reached a human being when we called the owner of a dark green Volvo hatchback and prompty met him for brief test drive. The owner was kind enough to recognize the pouring rain, and chilly weather; he had the car running and all heated up in anticipation of our arrival. Travis liked the handling, I liked the color, and--voila!--we decided we had to have it. At only 695 pounds it was within our budget and has plenty of room in the back for Lego to ride in style.
The only problem was payment. How were we supposed to pay this gentleman 695 pounds, since only very few British ATMs will accept an American card and those that do will only give so much at one time, not to mention the limit set by our bank on withdrawls from ATMs? We may have looked shady, but we drove in the rain, from ATM to ATM, collecting as much as we could on each of our cards until we had the money (in small denominations--we surely looked like drug dealers) and returned to our Volvo.
The owner handed us the keys and paperwork; we handed him a wad of cash, and he was off. We thought ourselves so lucky--we still had half an hour before the rental was due and it was only just around the block! We'd saved ourselves the hassle and expense of renting the car for another week--how savvy and smart we are!!
We realized only after the new car wouldn't start--still in the pouring rain--that the previous owner was perhaps not only being thoughtful when he uh, warmed up the car for us. The battery (and perhaps the alternator/starting mechanism/engine) was shot. Not even a rumble--dead as a doornail. A kind van-driving motorist jumpstarted the Volvo and we dropped off the rental, feeling rather ill.
Ten minutes into the drive back to base, we realized there was no fuel in our new little gem--below "E." Knowing we could get petrol on base, we wanted to get only a small amount off base. Shortly after finding the local station and buying one liter of regular unleaded (it's 3 times more expensive off base than on--we get a greatly reduced rate), we were again headed towards the base when it occured to us that we had forgotten the Garmin Nuvi in our rental car's glovebox. Still pouring, pouring, pouring rain.
We drove onto the base after a long ordeal getting the Nuvi back--hungry, crabby, and feeling like gullible, stupid Americans. We had just bought the worst lemon in the history of the world. It was probably a stolen vehicle, being pawned off to us for drug money. We discussed how little information we had about the seller. How we'd paid in cash. How the car would probably shudder to a stop at any given moment, at which point, the local police would arrest us for car theft and we wouldn't have a leg to stand on.
When we rolled into the base auto shop, it was 10 minutes before they closed for the day, and they wouldn't look at it. We sighed and headed home, defeated and foolish.
This morning, we crossed our fingers and hoped she would start. Holding our breath, Travis turned the key. VROOM! She roared to life!! Hallelujah! We drove her to the auto shop across base, waiting for her to die at any moment. She somehow made it the 5-6 blocks, and the auto folks took a look at her. After an hour or two of diagnostic testing (during which we ate a DELICIOUS meal of caprise salad, filled pasta from Germany, toasted bread dipped in balsalmic and olive oil, and olives shipped directly from Italy filled with soft cheese) the mechanics announced that there was nothing wrong with the Volvo except the battery--they charged it up and tested it (perfectly fine, only needed the charge) and the whole thing cost us 5 bucks. Whew! The car is worth twice what we paid for it, according to the mechanics and online surveys.
We are geniuses after all!! We are so savvy and smart!
Saturday, 21 August 2010
Bury St Edmunds
We've found a house! Well...sort of.
We have a lovely little temporary house in Bury St. Edmunds (about 20 minutes Southeast of the base) which will do very nicely until we find the house of our dreams (and budget) to buy. We have a short lease on the current little home; we're hoping to find The House and close on it in the next 3-4 months. In the meantime, we'll be in lovely Bury!
I haven't any pictures of the house yet--we won't move in until the 31st--but we did go to view the house and check out the town and the commute again, so I did get a few shots of our day out. We started out the day at the Abbey Gardens--where there are beautiful ruins of a very very old cathedral scattered about the modern park. The interesting thing about the park is that unlike American historical monuments, people can climb about on the crumbling old bits of building. There are no little ropes or barriers or signs telling tourists not to let their children use the remaining rock formations as a jungle gym! People take their children and pets and picnics and it's altogether a very pleasant place.
The gardens themselves are very well-maintained, and there is now a "modern"* Abbey, playgorounds, duck pond, walking trails, all with little stone ruin-clumps scattered througout(*by which I mean post 7th-century!)
For more details on the park/gardens, click here: http://www.stedmundsbury.gov.uk/sebc/play/abbeygardens.cfm
After reading on a parkbench for a while and watching lovely British families push their prams and scold their children, we decided that sitting in the sun had taken a lot out of us. We knew it was time for some food.
We headed up about a block to the town square, where we found a very agreeable little French restaurant where I promptly ordered a latte to help me survive until we could look at a menu. It arrived with little sugar-clumps and made me very happy.
When we tried to order lunch from the very nice little French woman--with a VERY thick French accent--she informed us that she was so sorry, but she was not serving lunch; the restaurant serves only breakfast until noon on weekdays. This enamoured us to the town and to the restaurant and to this particular watiress forever.
We ordered the "Petit Dejeuner Anglais" with scrambled eggs, mushrooms, grilled tomatoes, bacon, seasoned sausages, and beans...and with a side of French crusty bread and toast.
We sat and ate, looking out the window at all the shoppers walking by...it was altogether a lovely meal.
We viewed the house, decided to let it for the time being, and returned to the base, happy and full.
Now, we must get to work finding a car--we can't keep renting at L50 per week!
We have a lovely little temporary house in Bury St. Edmunds (about 20 minutes Southeast of the base) which will do very nicely until we find the house of our dreams (and budget) to buy. We have a short lease on the current little home; we're hoping to find The House and close on it in the next 3-4 months. In the meantime, we'll be in lovely Bury!
I haven't any pictures of the house yet--we won't move in until the 31st--but we did go to view the house and check out the town and the commute again, so I did get a few shots of our day out. We started out the day at the Abbey Gardens--where there are beautiful ruins of a very very old cathedral scattered about the modern park. The interesting thing about the park is that unlike American historical monuments, people can climb about on the crumbling old bits of building. There are no little ropes or barriers or signs telling tourists not to let their children use the remaining rock formations as a jungle gym! People take their children and pets and picnics and it's altogether a very pleasant place.
For more details on the park/gardens, click here: http://www.stedmundsbury.gov.uk/sebc/play/abbeygardens.cfm
After reading on a parkbench for a while and watching lovely British families push their prams and scold their children, we decided that sitting in the sun had taken a lot out of us. We knew it was time for some food.
When we tried to order lunch from the very nice little French woman--with a VERY thick French accent--she informed us that she was so sorry, but she was not serving lunch; the restaurant serves only breakfast until noon on weekdays. This enamoured us to the town and to the restaurant and to this particular watiress forever.
We sat and ate, looking out the window at all the shoppers walking by...it was altogether a lovely meal.
Now, we must get to work finding a car--we can't keep renting at L50 per week!
Tuesday, 17 August 2010
Week 1, "Jetlagged-Amazingness"
We have not yet been here a full week, but an awful lot has happened since our flight here...firstly and most importantly, Lego is doing very well; he is happy and settling into British life nicely--thanks for asking.
We checked into our new duty sections on Friday morning after sleeping a solid 10 hours at the end of our travel day.
Carrie says: "I'm super excited about working in the Emergecy Room here--it's a 4 bed unit (very small by AF standards) but people seem nice and all were polite and very welcoming. Travis' unit seems great, too; they invited us to a game night Saturday and we've been able to get to know a lot of nice folks who will be working with him."
Travis says: "Hi." [Travis is a little cranky because he is still a little jetlagged, even as I write this. He requires a regular nap in the afternoon in order to make it through the evening.]
We are both very excited and happy to be here, and we've seen a lot of cool things, not only in the local area (more on that later), but also in this Wing of the AF. Perhaps San Antonio was wearing on us more heavily than we'd realized, because everything here seems more fun, more cool, and generally a better experience than Texas. The base is lovely--very green and in the middle of farm country, the weather is everything we could ask for and more--cool and drizzly with occasional sunny warm periods, though the air is fresh and clean and very British.
We've explored some of the local area--Saturday we went south about 20 minutes to Bury St. Edmunds--our best friend, Bob the taxi driver from the airport was kind enough to take us--and we visited the charming town centre and Abbey Gardens...and saw some British ducks quacking and splashing in a very English manner. Then a new friend generously donated her Sunday to take us to Newmarket (a town Southwest of the base) the birthplace of horseracing (the horse belonging to the King of Saudi Arabia is rumored to be stabled there). We had a lovely lunch in the local pub and looked at some very British houses; the best part of the day was certainly when we walked by an open gate, through which 50 elderly, all-white-wearing Brits were playing Bocci!
We rented a car--yep, a righty. Travis and I have both learned the basics of navigating on very narrow, curvy roads, and on the wrong damn side of the street. (As a point of interest, we were told several times that there are two reasons Brits drive on the left: 1) Old school folks kept their swords in their right hands, so driving on the left meant they could keep their weapons between themselves and any passing foes. 2) Europeans in general all drove in sort of the middle of the road (avoiding the side of the road muck and refuse) until Napoleon Bonaparte decided that enough was enough. He arbitrarily decided that the French would drive on the right--in order to avoid collisions--and the Brits, naturally, could not follow suit with the French in any way, so they drive on the left as a matter of principle.)
A few things we've noticed:
*"Unlimited" does not ever mean unlimited as it is known in the States. Here, they mean "unlimited" up to a certain limit. You must ask what that limit is. This refers to internet usage, cell phone minutes/texts etc. (This is because of the Fair Usage Policy which is part of the generally more socialist nature of this country.)
*We were surprised how the "same language" doesn't necessarily translate into the same road signs. Yield is posted here as "Give Way," and Detour as "Diversion." Yes, we can understand these messages, but it does cause one to give a second look.
*Our taxi driver Bob told us that there are only two 4-way stops in the UK: one on Mildenhall Airbase, and one on Lakenheath Airbase (both American bases, of course). The Brits use roundabouts instead, and some of them drive around said roundabouts at alarming speeds and with less focus on the other drivers than you'd prefer they use.
Most of the Air Force people here say things like, "yeah, the base isn't that bad" or "this isn't a bad assignment," and though we may lose our naive, childlike wonder at everything around us, we are convinced that they are all a bunch of idiots who don't appreciate how great this place is...This is such a lovely change from the politics of Lackland and the heat of San Antonio that we have nothing but breathless anticipation for the future!
We checked into our new duty sections on Friday morning after sleeping a solid 10 hours at the end of our travel day.
Carrie says: "I'm super excited about working in the Emergecy Room here--it's a 4 bed unit (very small by AF standards) but people seem nice and all were polite and very welcoming. Travis' unit seems great, too; they invited us to a game night Saturday and we've been able to get to know a lot of nice folks who will be working with him."
Travis says: "Hi." [Travis is a little cranky because he is still a little jetlagged, even as I write this. He requires a regular nap in the afternoon in order to make it through the evening.]
We are both very excited and happy to be here, and we've seen a lot of cool things, not only in the local area (more on that later), but also in this Wing of the AF. Perhaps San Antonio was wearing on us more heavily than we'd realized, because everything here seems more fun, more cool, and generally a better experience than Texas. The base is lovely--very green and in the middle of farm country, the weather is everything we could ask for and more--cool and drizzly with occasional sunny warm periods, though the air is fresh and clean and very British.
We've explored some of the local area--Saturday we went south about 20 minutes to Bury St. Edmunds--our best friend, Bob the taxi driver from the airport was kind enough to take us--and we visited the charming town centre and Abbey Gardens...and saw some British ducks quacking and splashing in a very English manner. Then a new friend generously donated her Sunday to take us to Newmarket (a town Southwest of the base) the birthplace of horseracing (the horse belonging to the King of Saudi Arabia is rumored to be stabled there). We had a lovely lunch in the local pub and looked at some very British houses; the best part of the day was certainly when we walked by an open gate, through which 50 elderly, all-white-wearing Brits were playing Bocci!
We rented a car--yep, a righty. Travis and I have both learned the basics of navigating on very narrow, curvy roads, and on the wrong damn side of the street. (As a point of interest, we were told several times that there are two reasons Brits drive on the left: 1) Old school folks kept their swords in their right hands, so driving on the left meant they could keep their weapons between themselves and any passing foes. 2) Europeans in general all drove in sort of the middle of the road (avoiding the side of the road muck and refuse) until Napoleon Bonaparte decided that enough was enough. He arbitrarily decided that the French would drive on the right--in order to avoid collisions--and the Brits, naturally, could not follow suit with the French in any way, so they drive on the left as a matter of principle.)
A few things we've noticed:
*"Unlimited" does not ever mean unlimited as it is known in the States. Here, they mean "unlimited" up to a certain limit. You must ask what that limit is. This refers to internet usage, cell phone minutes/texts etc. (This is because of the Fair Usage Policy which is part of the generally more socialist nature of this country.)
*We were surprised how the "same language" doesn't necessarily translate into the same road signs. Yield is posted here as "Give Way," and Detour as "Diversion." Yes, we can understand these messages, but it does cause one to give a second look.
*Our taxi driver Bob told us that there are only two 4-way stops in the UK: one on Mildenhall Airbase, and one on Lakenheath Airbase (both American bases, of course). The Brits use roundabouts instead, and some of them drive around said roundabouts at alarming speeds and with less focus on the other drivers than you'd prefer they use.
Most of the Air Force people here say things like, "yeah, the base isn't that bad" or "this isn't a bad assignment," and though we may lose our naive, childlike wonder at everything around us, we are convinced that they are all a bunch of idiots who don't appreciate how great this place is...This is such a lovely change from the politics of Lackland and the heat of San Antonio that we have nothing but breathless anticipation for the future!
Saturday, 14 August 2010
Travel Day
Our adventure has begun!! We left San Antonio on August 11th, and after months of preparation, paperwork, vet visits, frantic e-mails to England customs personnel, and more paperwork, we left Lego at the San Antonio Airport cargo drop-point. That particular part of the trip was made especially difficult by the staff working at said cargo drop-point--it seemed to both Travis and me that they had never heard of an animal being shipped overseas before, that this was their first foray into live cargo. They did not request specific paperwork that we knew to be required at the customs checkpoint in Houston; I suggested that it would be needed and they vaguely muttered that yes, probably wouldn't hurt.
Knowing that Lego would not go through any sort of customs screening until his layover in Houston, I was uneasy, thinking that if there were a problem during his paperwork review, Travis and I would be unavailable to correct it or provide additional documentation, as we would already be in the middle of our own transAtlantic flight! Nevertheless, we boarded our flight and hoped for the best.
Our flight was uneventful; we landed in London Heathrow at 0640 on the 12th and breezed through customs and baggage pickup. The base had sent a taxi to retrieve us and the very kind driver, Bob, was waiting just past the securtity point to take us to the Animal Reception Centre down the street in order to pick up Lego. Since Legs was scheduled to arrive on the flight after ours at 0930, Bob was kind enough to take us to a nearby cafe, where we shared our first British meal--fried eggs and bacon and sausage on fried bread...with chips, of course. We chatted (well, Bob chatted--in detail, about every person he had ever driven in his long and accomplished career as a taxi driver) until we returned to the Animal Reception Centre with high hopes of picking up our little black dog.
These hopes would soon be dashed, however, as the flight which Lego was supposed to take had been delayed, and would not arrive until 1330. The especially alarming bit of news however, was that the personnel at Heathrow saw that four dogs had been manifested on the flight, and that Lego was not among them. It appeared, they said, that Lego's paperwork had not cleared, and he was still in Houston. The staff at Houston, however, said they did not have any little one-eyed, black puppies in animal waiting area, and with that, Continental Airlines lost our dog.
The best thing to do, we were told, was to wait for the 1330 flight. Perhaps Lego had been put on the flight without anyone noticing...? (At this point, Travis and Bob and I began grumbling that FedEx packages were tracked much better than live animals) Bob was able to rearrange his afternoon schedule, and he very patiently agreed to wait with us to find out if Lego was on the afteroon flight. He also took us to a British grocery store in order to get some British currancy at the ATM, and Hobnob cookies, which are quite possibly the most delicious things on this planet.
After waiting several hours, we checked in with the Animal Reception Centre at about 1400. The staff told me that they did not yet have information about whether Lego was on the flight or not. Houston still could not find him, and the pet travel "agency" which Continental required us to hire *in order to fly Lego could not confirm whether Lego's paperwork had cleared US Customs. *By "hire," I mean that we had to pay them exorbitant amounts of money and they did...nothing.
It took 2.5 hours after the flight landed for news to get to us that Lego had indeed been on the flight--he was safe and sound, fed and watered, and we only needed to wait a few more hours for customs to clear his paperwork. We left the airport at 1730, after having waited for Legs for 9.5 hours, longer than our total flying time. At this time, we hit stop-and-go London afternoon traffic.
We arrived on the base in our little temporary housing unit, starving (Hobnobs can only take you so far) and exhausted. Thankfully, our Air Force sponsors are very thoughtful people and they had brought us basic food supplies in preparation for our arrival. We ate turkey sandwhiches and milk and promptly fell asleep, all three of us.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.....
Knowing that Lego would not go through any sort of customs screening until his layover in Houston, I was uneasy, thinking that if there were a problem during his paperwork review, Travis and I would be unavailable to correct it or provide additional documentation, as we would already be in the middle of our own transAtlantic flight! Nevertheless, we boarded our flight and hoped for the best.
Our flight was uneventful; we landed in London Heathrow at 0640 on the 12th and breezed through customs and baggage pickup. The base had sent a taxi to retrieve us and the very kind driver, Bob, was waiting just past the securtity point to take us to the Animal Reception Centre down the street in order to pick up Lego. Since Legs was scheduled to arrive on the flight after ours at 0930, Bob was kind enough to take us to a nearby cafe, where we shared our first British meal--fried eggs and bacon and sausage on fried bread...with chips, of course. We chatted (well, Bob chatted--in detail, about every person he had ever driven in his long and accomplished career as a taxi driver) until we returned to the Animal Reception Centre with high hopes of picking up our little black dog.
These hopes would soon be dashed, however, as the flight which Lego was supposed to take had been delayed, and would not arrive until 1330. The especially alarming bit of news however, was that the personnel at Heathrow saw that four dogs had been manifested on the flight, and that Lego was not among them. It appeared, they said, that Lego's paperwork had not cleared, and he was still in Houston. The staff at Houston, however, said they did not have any little one-eyed, black puppies in animal waiting area, and with that, Continental Airlines lost our dog.
The best thing to do, we were told, was to wait for the 1330 flight. Perhaps Lego had been put on the flight without anyone noticing...? (At this point, Travis and Bob and I began grumbling that FedEx packages were tracked much better than live animals) Bob was able to rearrange his afternoon schedule, and he very patiently agreed to wait with us to find out if Lego was on the afteroon flight. He also took us to a British grocery store in order to get some British currancy at the ATM, and Hobnob cookies, which are quite possibly the most delicious things on this planet.
After waiting several hours, we checked in with the Animal Reception Centre at about 1400. The staff told me that they did not yet have information about whether Lego was on the flight or not. Houston still could not find him, and the pet travel "agency" which Continental required us to hire *in order to fly Lego could not confirm whether Lego's paperwork had cleared US Customs. *By "hire," I mean that we had to pay them exorbitant amounts of money and they did...nothing.
It took 2.5 hours after the flight landed for news to get to us that Lego had indeed been on the flight--he was safe and sound, fed and watered, and we only needed to wait a few more hours for customs to clear his paperwork. We left the airport at 1730, after having waited for Legs for 9.5 hours, longer than our total flying time. At this time, we hit stop-and-go London afternoon traffic.
We arrived on the base in our little temporary housing unit, starving (Hobnobs can only take you so far) and exhausted. Thankfully, our Air Force sponsors are very thoughtful people and they had brought us basic food supplies in preparation for our arrival. We ate turkey sandwhiches and milk and promptly fell asleep, all three of us.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.....
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