We returned yesterday from a lovely trip to Belgium.
We felt inspired a take a holiday getaway over our three-day weekend, and Belgium--with plenty of beer, chocolate, waffles, and mussels--seemed just the ticket. Wanting to avoid that...morning-of-travel-early-wake-up-and-drive, we decided to stay Thursday night in a London hotel, in order to be fresh and rested for the following morning's train ride. After work and a frenzied packing tornado at home, we kissed Lego goodbye and hit the road (For those of you who are worried as you read this, thinking, "HOW could they LEAVE that sweet little black puppy?! He has the fuzziest little face anyone could ever wish to kiss!" Do not be alarmed, dear concerned reader. He was lovingly entrusted to our neighbor friends whose love and care for their own puppy-child rivals our own. Also, said puppy, Venus, is Legs' girlfriend and they like to spend time together when one set of parents travels).
As we drove into the sunset towards London, the weather was perfect, the car was full of petrol, and we'd had a lovely cannelloni dinner, courtesy of my darling husband. So, happy and ready for adventure, we parked at Epping station and rode the tube to the hotel. En route, we noted with pleasure that our hotel was only about a block from the international train terminal; we fell into a contented, pleased-with-ourselves sort of sleep in our modest hotel room.
The following day came with London-waking-up-on-a-Friday-morning sounds, and with them, we excitedly (and a little groggily) bid London adieu. (Actually, this reminds me of a funny thing I've noticed about travelling here: customs is never the same, trip to trip. Some countries require a full passport check and landing card every time you cross the border. Others seem not to care two figs whether you have a passport or not. (Belgium is a good example of the latter--they cared a maximum of one fig. Apparently, since we had to show our documentation to French customs--as we were travelling THROUGH France into Belgium--Belgium doesn't feel the need to see the passports. "Well, if they're good enough for France, they're good enough for us!") But I digress...
Our decision to take the Eurostar high-speed train was made for the following reasons:
1) It was fast and cheap--just over two hours.
2) It would give us the third passport stamp style that we needed to collect all three: plane, train, boat. Our collections are now complete.
3) We think trains are neat.
After finding our seats and settling in, I promptly fell asleep. I think Travis maybe read a magazine, but I'm not really sure, since I basically just woke up in Brussels.
The weather in Belgium was rainy and chilly and drizzly-grey, but our spirits were NOT dampened! We bought an umbrella at the train station (we forgot ours) and cheerfully headed into the "ten minute walk" with our crisp, new Brussels map. The rain continued, but we persevered, enjoying the quirky sights; at every little bend and hill, we expected the historic market square to burst into view, beautiful and breathtaking. But somehow, while we saw many lovely shops and statues, we never came to the square for which we were searching.
At some point, we saw some interesting Gothic buildings down an alleyway, and Travis wanted to go look at them, but I insisted that we first find The Square. If we found The Square, then we could later venture out into the many alleys, nooks and crannies in order to look at all the random Gothic buildings the city had to offer. By the time we reached the far side of Brussels, we realized we must have missed something, so we consulted our map. Yes, of course those "Gothic buildings" were actually the corner of The Square. Oops. In the end, The Square was really beautiful.
After all this exhausting walking-around, we felt it was time for our first sampling of Belgian lunch. We chose our restaurant from three or four in a row (that honestly looked EXACTLY the same) and had a delightful meal of garlic butter drizzled mussels with parsley puree. This was accompanied by a Brussels salad (which had an increadible warm bacon dressing). We felt refreshed and ready to continue our tramping through the city.
We perused a museum or two, and learned much about Mannequin Pis, the small statue of a boy, peeing into a fountain. This small boy is much more than a chuckle-inducing absurdity to the Belgian people (We learned all about this in the museum); he is a symbol of the people's freedom. He wears patriotic clothing at different times of year, and has over 700 "outfits" stored and displayed at the Brussels museum. He also makes people laugh because he's peeing--definitely a good tourist combo. We went to see the little tyke, and--fortunately for us--there is a delicious waffle shop just around the corner from his fountain.
This was our first experience with the truly Belgian waffle, and though we did not have high hopes (I mean, it's a waffle, right? How great could it be?) Well, I'll tell you: it can be AMAZING. Banish your preconceived notions about waffles--keep the waffley, criss-cross pattern, but forget the dry, crusty texture. The true Belgian waffle is not circular, it's a sloppy rectangle. The inside of a Belgian waffle is gooey and sweet, hot and slightly chewy. The outside of a Belgian waffle is soft, with ever-so-slight a crisp to the outer crust. There is a taffy-like browned sugar substance at the corners and edges. It burns your tongue and your lips, but you don't care because it's so delicious. They are sold in the Belgian streets like hot dogs in NYC--and the smell! Let me just tell you that it's fantastic. The good news about all this is that we had the joy of such an enjoyable experience; the bad news is that I will never be able to eat at IHOP again.
With mouths still burning from melted sugar, we caught a cab to the art and history museum, took a look (it was cool--big architecture and arches and old buildings, etc.) and headed to our B&B, previously booked online. This is when things got interesting.
When we pulled to the side of the road, I looked out the cab windows to a third-world country. We were clearly not in the better part of Brussels, and when we found the building number, it was fixed to a solid iron door. I rang the bell for #38, and the door unlocked for us. We wound our way through a scary little alley, to an open courtyard. Through open French doors, three greasy men were sitting on the floor around laptops. They looked up at us and without prompt, one of them--the ringleader--said, "You're in the right place."
This did not give us comfort. The ringleader led us upstairs, approached a room, changed his mind, and said, "No, there," pointing to the door opposite. We anxiously glanced at each other and entered the room to which he indicated. The ringleader encouraged us to look at the bathroom--to make sure it was satisfactory, he said--which we did. "Go inside--please make sure." [At this point in the story, dear readers, I was quite certain that Travis--who was closer to the bathroom--was going to be clubbed by a junior member of the B&B mafia.] Travis checked the bathroom, declared it to be very nice, and politely thanked the ringleader for his help. When he finally left us alone (after informing us that we would be required to pay in cash), we closed the door and turned to each other. "We're going to die," I said.
It is times like this that I am thankful for my cool-headed husband. "We're not going to die, Carrie. I'm going to die; you are going to be sold into sex-slavery."
We considered leaving, but to be honest, neither of us wanted to go past the billy goats gruff downstairs. Instead, I prepared for bed by tucking our passports and debit card into my sock, in preparation for rapid departure, if necessary. [I am not joking about that.] Thank goodness the room was clean and presentable, as though someone had put much care and thought into decorating. We woke up and went to breakfast with some trepidation. We stood just inside our door and took a deep breath before we headed down to eat.
At this point, the whole story changes. There was a lovely woman preparing crepes in the kitchen area, a beautiful spread of bread and cheese and jams and jellies, tea and coffee, omelets and fruit was set up on a pretty table. The downstairs was filled with travellers from all over the world (we sat next to a really nice Italian woman who chatted with us while we ate. Also, we got some great ideas about visiting Italy later this year). There were children and daylight and people smiling and laughing. [Actually, it really reminded me of Bearenstein Bears book about strangers. In the first part, the apples were rotten and wormy, the people were angry and mean. THEN! The apples were bright red and friendly again. The man on the street had balloons and the people were smiling! If you haven't read this book, I am sorry for confusing you, but more sorry that you haven't read this book; I hope you'll take the time to do so--it's quite a good life lesson.]
We paid, then left our Italian friend, thanked the chef, and headed back to the train station to catch our commuter to Brugge.
Upon reaching rainy, windy Brugge, we walked from the station to the town center (with much less difficulty this time). There are beautifully manicured paths and stone trails for walking and biking in Brugge which lead a wanderer to cool little courtyards, large stone churches, museums, chocolate shops, and all manner of food stops. We checked out a few cool museums and walked through the alternating rain and bright sunshine. We stopped into about a hundred chocolate shops and sampled various delicacies. We saw a really nice bronze statue-man who performed on one of the more popular street corners. I took a picture of him (he posed for me!) and following the shot he pointed at me, beckoned me with his finger curling, and pointed at his cheek, indicating that the price of such a photo was a kiss. The crowd thought it was funny, and he was insistent, so I obliged. When I blushingly returned to Travis, however, he was laughing and pointing at my face, which was covered, lips to nose with bronze oil-paint!
Shortly thereafter we found our Brugge hotel--which was everything we needed and more. It was luxurious and offered all the little indulgences I needed following our harrowing night previous. The bathroom was well-stocked with L'Occitaine French bath products (in my favorite scent, no less!), and the minibar was packed with tiny, rip-off products--just the way I want them! The bedding was soft and perfect white (and smelled like lemons), there was a bathtub and a separate shower, all of which was separate from the toilet. The whole beautiful place was exactly what I needed!
With no idea where to eat dinner (and feeling quite peckish, despite our ample waffle and chocolate sampling earlier in the afternoon), we asked the hotel concierge for advice. We were looking for a quiet, friendly place with exceptional food. He immediately recommended a restaurant across the square, Brasserie Raymond. With little to lose and high hopes, we traipsed with our slightly soggy, crinkled map to the little spot. We were seated immediately, and enjoyed a perfect dinner.
I love eating in Europe at restaurants, since the diner never feels rushed by the waitstaff. In fact, our kind waitress offered many helpful suggestions for beer, wine, and local food specialties. I ordered a life-changing steak--it could be cut with the side of my fork! It was so tender--utterly delicious, with a warm pepper cream sauce. Served with crispy pommes frites and fresh greens. Delightful! Travis had one of the specials; guinea fowl with sweet bread over wide fresh pasta--killer good. He enjoyed a local brew or two and when I asked if there was a local red wine, the aforementioned kind waitress apologetically told me their wine came from France. Ummm...okay! Sounds good to me! It was perfect. Delicious bread and olives rounded it all off beautifully.
We woke up to an absolutely stunning breakfast room--three kinds of flaky pastry, three or four breads, a cheese and meat plate with brie and smoked salmon, prosciutto, hazelnut spread, sausage, eggs, bacon, cereal, a dozen teas, coffee...I was glad to finally get something to eat on this trip...!
At this point, I must inform you of the sad part of our trip. Unfortunately, when we called the hot air balloon company to make sure the flight was still going to run as planned over Brugge, they informed me that due to rain and wind, it would be cancelled. I would be fully refunded, of course, but no magical flight over the countryside at sunrise. I expressed my disappointment gently, and told him that I was sorry for his loss, since this weekend is a significant one in Europe (due to the bank holiday). The balloon man was quiet for a moment and said, "I appreciate your saying you're sorry for me--most people are only sorry for themselves."
With no hot air balloon ride, we found ourselves with more time than we'd planned, and really more time than we needed, so we called Eurostar to see if there was any possibility of changing our train to an earlier one, in order to get me home at a reasonable hour to sleep before work Monday. We were very coldly informed that it was not possible.
The morning was a slow, lazy one. We didn't have anything left that we HAD to do (Waffles? Check. Chocolate? Check. Mussels? Check. Beer? Check.) so we strolled through the streets, visited a park, watched the horse-drawn carriages...we stopped for tea when it started to rain, but the neighbors at the next table had a giant pot of fragrant mussels, so we ordered some as well. We ate a leisurely afternoon lunch and watched the people walking by in the rain, then beautiful sunshine. Brilliant.
We meandered back to the train station on beautifully paved, lovely walking paths through a wooded park area. We had the nicest conversation--loved chatting and laughing and pointing things out to each other.
The local train took us back to Brussels to head home, but since we gave ourselves time, we ended up at the large station early enough to have one final good-bye waffle; Travis even branched out and ordered his with whipped cream and berries.
As we were finishing our delectable final waffles, Travis saw the train departures sign and suggested we try--once more--to get seats on the train leaving one hour before ours. We headed to the check-in desk and asked the gentleman whether there were any last-minute seats unbooked on the boarding (getting ready to depart) train. He stated that it was normally out of the question for the non-flexible tickets we had booked (aka, the cheap seats), "But my manager called this afternoon and said I could make an exception, just for you." And with that, he stamped our tickets, guided us through customs (this time: England (including landing cards), Belgium, and France), and we were on the train, one hour ahead of schedule in order to get me home safe and sound for sleep.
This is nearly the end of the story. But for those of you, dear readers, who are concerned about Lego--not to worry; we picked him up from the neighbors, gave him lots of petting and ear-scratching, then kissed him goodnight as we all went to sleep.
Tuesday, 30 August 2011
Thursday, 28 April 2011
We've Moved In, We're Settled(ish), Now on to Other Adventures!
To anyone who hasn't completly given up on me: I'm back on the blog. I would like to tell you all that the recent months-long lapse has been for a very good reason or that I've been so terribly busy that I've simply been unable to write. But that, dear readers, simply isn't true.
In reality, I am just a lazy bum.
So, in an effort to win you back, I offer a few updates to our lives here in England: Firstly, you should know that though you may have heard rumors about Lego being quite sick, he is now doing very well. He was hospitalized a time or two for his little digestive system, but it seems to have worked itself out and he is quite happily eating and pooping normally now. (Isn't that a relief to you all?!)
Travis has moved offices--he is now just up the street from RAF Lakenheath at RAF Feltwell, where he runs the BMET shop and prepares equipment for Lakenheath's medical deployments. As you can imagine, with Korea, Egypt, and Lybia going crazy, Travis has a lot of work on his hands.
Carrie is still working in the Emergency Department, switching night/day shift every three months (currently on nights). Turns out that nightshifts are a LOT more fun if one switches her internal sleep-clock on her days off, thus maximizing normal-people-awake-hours-with-one's-husband. Also, with Summer months approaching, things are much more pleasant, weather-wise. The sun is out for many more hours, and it's not freezing, freezing, freezing cold all the time. So in general, things are moving in the right direction here!
Now, added to the above good news is this: we are now living in a house with running hot water (gasp!) and central heating! It's amazing! I always wondered what those funny metal thigns on the wall were supposed to do--they're called "radiators" and they produce HEAT!
All jokes aside, the house is fantastic. We had a little trouble getting the king-sized bed up the townhouse stairs into the master bedroom, but--mind-over-matter--Travis and I were able to push-you-pull-me the giant marshmellow up (though I think I have permanent nerve damage to my fingertips from grabbing and pulling the edge of the heavy mattress). Fortunately, the boxsprings are split into two twin-sized parts, so they went up quite easily.
The American couch was much too large to fit up the twisty stairs into the livingroom (or "lounge" at is it referred to here), so my genius husband bypassed the stairs and lifted it through the large French doors (after removing the balcony railing--which had been previously bolted into the exterior wall of our house).
We received all our household goods; all the dishes, furniture, wall decor, clothes, cooking items, tools, books...all the things we'd done without for the first 6 months of our living in England! After installing a few power converter/transformer boxes throughout the house so to avoid buying all-new appliances, things really started to come together.
We ordered some custom wardrobes for the master bedroom (no closets in British houses), and waited patiently as they were constructed in a warehouse somewhere, then scheduled the delivery and installation date. We we thrilled! We would have a place to hang our clothes that is not a shower curtain rod! And really, since the wardrobes aren't THAT complicated--it's only one straight wall after all--the construction guys who are here to put them together should be able to do them in a snap. Sure, they'd be there during the day, when those of us who work nightshift would be trying to sleep, but it couldn't possibly be too noisy, could it? I mean, the shelves and bits have already been measured and cut; they only need to be put together like IKEA furniture, right?
My first clue that this would not be the case was when the construction fellow first arrived and started carrying boxes up to the master bedroom. Following the first box or two came a power drill. Then a shop-vac, then a table saw. Literally, a table saw.
The gentleman who put the wardrobes together was very friendly and self-sufficient, but needless to say, there was not a lot of sleep happening for the two full days of wardrobe construction/installation. My neighbors actually texted to make sure I was alright, since it sounded like someone was deconstructing the house, they said. My coworkers also appreciated my lack of sleep, saying something about how friendly and enjoyable I was...or something like that.
Installation noise aside, the wardrobes are fantastic, and we love the style, color, and finish. Pics coming soon.
Bottom line is this: my kitchen is small, but wonderful, the diningroom has already proven its worth with guests and dinner parties, the bedroom is perfect, the livingroom--er, excuse me, lounge--is comfortable and great for TV, thanks to Travis and his couch lifting abilites. The guestroom is ready to be finished, now that we can move the clothes into the newly-finished wardrobes, and all is right in our little world, in our little home.
In reality, I am just a lazy bum.
So, in an effort to win you back, I offer a few updates to our lives here in England: Firstly, you should know that though you may have heard rumors about Lego being quite sick, he is now doing very well. He was hospitalized a time or two for his little digestive system, but it seems to have worked itself out and he is quite happily eating and pooping normally now. (Isn't that a relief to you all?!)
Travis has moved offices--he is now just up the street from RAF Lakenheath at RAF Feltwell, where he runs the BMET shop and prepares equipment for Lakenheath's medical deployments. As you can imagine, with Korea, Egypt, and Lybia going crazy, Travis has a lot of work on his hands.
Carrie is still working in the Emergency Department, switching night/day shift every three months (currently on nights). Turns out that nightshifts are a LOT more fun if one switches her internal sleep-clock on her days off, thus maximizing normal-people-awake-hours-with-one's-husband. Also, with Summer months approaching, things are much more pleasant, weather-wise. The sun is out for many more hours, and it's not freezing, freezing, freezing cold all the time. So in general, things are moving in the right direction here!
Now, added to the above good news is this: we are now living in a house with running hot water (gasp!) and central heating! It's amazing! I always wondered what those funny metal thigns on the wall were supposed to do--they're called "radiators" and they produce HEAT!
All jokes aside, the house is fantastic. We had a little trouble getting the king-sized bed up the townhouse stairs into the master bedroom, but--mind-over-matter--Travis and I were able to push-you-pull-me the giant marshmellow up (though I think I have permanent nerve damage to my fingertips from grabbing and pulling the edge of the heavy mattress). Fortunately, the boxsprings are split into two twin-sized parts, so they went up quite easily.
The American couch was much too large to fit up the twisty stairs into the livingroom (or "lounge" at is it referred to here), so my genius husband bypassed the stairs and lifted it through the large French doors (after removing the balcony railing--which had been previously bolted into the exterior wall of our house).
We received all our household goods; all the dishes, furniture, wall decor, clothes, cooking items, tools, books...all the things we'd done without for the first 6 months of our living in England! After installing a few power converter/transformer boxes throughout the house so to avoid buying all-new appliances, things really started to come together.
We ordered some custom wardrobes for the master bedroom (no closets in British houses), and waited patiently as they were constructed in a warehouse somewhere, then scheduled the delivery and installation date. We we thrilled! We would have a place to hang our clothes that is not a shower curtain rod! And really, since the wardrobes aren't THAT complicated--it's only one straight wall after all--the construction guys who are here to put them together should be able to do them in a snap. Sure, they'd be there during the day, when those of us who work nightshift would be trying to sleep, but it couldn't possibly be too noisy, could it? I mean, the shelves and bits have already been measured and cut; they only need to be put together like IKEA furniture, right?
My first clue that this would not be the case was when the construction fellow first arrived and started carrying boxes up to the master bedroom. Following the first box or two came a power drill. Then a shop-vac, then a table saw. Literally, a table saw.
The gentleman who put the wardrobes together was very friendly and self-sufficient, but needless to say, there was not a lot of sleep happening for the two full days of wardrobe construction/installation. My neighbors actually texted to make sure I was alright, since it sounded like someone was deconstructing the house, they said. My coworkers also appreciated my lack of sleep, saying something about how friendly and enjoyable I was...or something like that.
Installation noise aside, the wardrobes are fantastic, and we love the style, color, and finish. Pics coming soon.
Bottom line is this: my kitchen is small, but wonderful, the diningroom has already proven its worth with guests and dinner parties, the bedroom is perfect, the livingroom--er, excuse me, lounge--is comfortable and great for TV, thanks to Travis and his couch lifting abilites. The guestroom is ready to be finished, now that we can move the clothes into the newly-finished wardrobes, and all is right in our little world, in our little home.
Monday, 14 February 2011
Well, Folks....It's FINALLY Happening!
After months of waiting, getting our hopes up, and having said hopes dashed into the dirt (and spat upon)...we are finally moving into our new house. I must be honest with you, I began to doubt whether it would ever happen, but things are finally falling into place.
We did our first walk-through of the (nearly) completed property on Friday and...wow, it is really a spectacular sight! The builders are laying the carpet and turf today, but otherwise, she's ready for us to move in! As soon as the bank transfers the money into the solicitor's [translation: lawyer to you yanks] account, we will pick up the keys and move in. That creates a lovely, warm, happy feeling in my soul.
An interesting phenomenon to note:
The last time we walked through the same model/floorplan for this house was in September. Since then, our brains have been busy imagining and picturing our new house. During last week's walk-through, we were amazed at how drastically the builders changed the proportions of the rooms (okay, okay...it's POSSIBLE that our imaginations are not exactly 100% accurate)! The living room is twice the size I was picturing it. The bedroom is half as long as I'd remembered. The kitchen is much better sized (and way less WHITE. Plus, I have a gas stovetop--who knew?!). The front entryway is miniscule. The study--being the only room was could see from our stalker positions in the middle of the night with a flashlight--is the only room that looks remotely as we'd expected!
The good thing about all of this is that the house is better--much better--than I'd remembered. Even the rooms that are smaller than I thought are great, the layout is smooth and useable, and the whole thing is very "us." We could not be happier!
We did our first walk-through of the (nearly) completed property on Friday and...wow, it is really a spectacular sight! The builders are laying the carpet and turf today, but otherwise, she's ready for us to move in! As soon as the bank transfers the money into the solicitor's [translation: lawyer to you yanks] account, we will pick up the keys and move in. That creates a lovely, warm, happy feeling in my soul.
An interesting phenomenon to note:
The last time we walked through the same model/floorplan for this house was in September. Since then, our brains have been busy imagining and picturing our new house. During last week's walk-through, we were amazed at how drastically the builders changed the proportions of the rooms (okay, okay...it's POSSIBLE that our imaginations are not exactly 100% accurate)! The living room is twice the size I was picturing it. The bedroom is half as long as I'd remembered. The kitchen is much better sized (and way less WHITE. Plus, I have a gas stovetop--who knew?!). The front entryway is miniscule. The study--being the only room was could see from our stalker positions in the middle of the night with a flashlight--is the only room that looks remotely as we'd expected!
The good thing about all of this is that the house is better--much better--than I'd remembered. Even the rooms that are smaller than I thought are great, the layout is smooth and useable, and the whole thing is very "us." We could not be happier!
Wednesday, 1 December 2010
Our House in Bury St Edmunds
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.
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.
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.....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)