With the Camerons

It was raining when I left Heathrow with the Camerons, of course. I can't think of anything that the English have apologized to me most for, which is funny because it's the thing I was most expecting. I told them I brought rain with me to Albuquerque, so I might as well bring rain to England too.

As I mentioned before, I. and V. Cameron were friends with my parents when we were over here in the 80s. Over the years, they kept in contact—mostly through Christmas newsletters. Before I flew to England, I read over a stack of these newsletters to get to know the Camerons a little better before I met them. I. spent most of his life at sea one way or another (once even as captain of a cruise ship), so I. and V. had many seafaring adventures. V., an artist, wrote about the beautiful places they'd been to, including Scotland, where they lived for a few years. I was excited to get to know these well-traveled folks, and I was able to amaze them with my knowledge of their children's names and such.

Driving home from the airport with the Camerons was my first experience with British roads. It was a little strange to sit in the front left seat and not be driving, but I got used to it quickly. The stranger thing was how small all the cars and trucks were, and how narrow and winding some of the roads got to be. One of the country roads we went on was only wide enough for one lane, though there were little pockets of wider spaces where one car could wait for another to pass by the other direction. I'm sure the roads are narrow because most of them were made by horse-driven vehicles hundreds of years before. Just evidence of how old everything is here; the roads themselves may be narrow, but history cuts a huge swath through everything.

The Camerons have a lovely little house in the country, with farming fields all around and a river in the distance that V. said was clogged with sailboats during the peak of summer. There were so many things I wanted to take a closer look at in their little village, especially an old church and a bright red telephone booth. The most fascinating thing about seeing the village and the Camerons' house was that, in a strange way, England was exactly how I imagined it would be. Smaller houses, old churches, gravestones blackened and worn, moss and scrubby bushes, flowers hanging from windowboxes, sharp-peaked rooftops . . . things that I'd seen in various BBC movies and TV shows and never quite believed. It's not contrived, really; it's really like that over here. That amazed me.

I stayed awake as long as I could, thinking that it would be better for me to crash in the evening so I'd sleep all night instead of crash at midday and wake up bright and fresh at two in the morning. I made it until about 5:00 pm, keeping myself busy showering, exploring the Camerons' beautiful garden (that's what the first pic is), and making friends with their dog and two cats, and then we had dinner and I went upstairs to bed.

Fifteen hours later I woke up, feeling much better. This was the view from my bed.


By then it was Friday, which felt strange. Time had collapsed, mashing Wednesday and Thursday together.

I went to Tesco with V. in the morning. That was a rather strange experience; I was still feeling surreal about being in a different country and hearing the different sound of voices, and the grocery store was a huge panorama of the same kind of fare that you'd find in the US (mostly), but presented and packaged very differently. I felt a little like the man in The Little Old Man Who Could Not Read. I hadn't realized it before, but I do depend quite a lot on the shapes of the packaging to tell me what a thing is at the store. Fortunately, I can read and English is my native language, so I'm not totally lost in grocery stores here. Just takes me a little longer.

Tesco, I found out, is regarded a bit like WalMart is in the US. It's become a bit of an "everything" store that likes to take over. It's success is based on low prices, like WalMart, and some British people turn their noses up at it just like some do to WalMart in the States (including me, admittedly). Sainsbury's is supposed to be higher brow as far as grocery stores go, and since my current ride for grocery shopping goes to Sainsbury's, I've joined the snobs and go there too.

Later we went to the center of Ipswich. I. and V. told me not to worry, they knew Ipswich was ugly, but Bury St. Edmunds was much prettier. I was nonplussed by these apologies, because Ipswich (at least the part I saw) was amazing. It was raining, so everything was a little darker, but somehow that enhanced the look of it, gave everything a polished sheen. The dark gray and black cobblestones shone against dark cherry wood, white, or colorful facades of buildings. There were beautiful decorative moldings, posts, and box windows, evidence everywhere of craftsmen from ages long past. At the very center of town the roads were closed to cars, but there were dozens of people walking around, in and out of shops, even in the rain.

Just before we headed home, we stopped at McDonald's. The Camerons told me that they'd had exchange students from a couple different countries stay with them, and the one thing they were very familiar with was McDonald's. It's apparently the common tongue; the great equalizer, gastronomically. I actually hadn't had McDonald's for a long time, but I enjoyed my Big Mac with chips. Still need to get a genuine fish and chips meal.

I. and V. told me about the Ipswich Ward and life with the Air Force back when my parents were there. They took me out for a drive near the old base, which was closed down a year or two after my dad was transferred to Albuquerque. They told me how sad they were to see all their American friends go. The buildings stood vacant for ten or fifteen years and have only in the last few years been remodeled for use as part of a new residential area. It was neat to think that, as we drove by the old AFB housing and I wondered whether I had lived in any of these little houses, I have a tiny piece in this area's history. We drove through a forest area near the base where a UFO is supposed to have landed. "Your dad didn't tell you about that?" said Bro. Cameron. (Nope, he sure didn't.) We would have walked around the forest a bit, but it rained pretty heavily the whole time.

It went by so fast. The next morning the Camerons were heading to Scotland to see their grandson's ordination to the priesthood, so we all got up early and I. and V. dropped me off at my flat in Beyton. We exchanged hugs and promises to see each other again before I went back home.

Figuring things out on my own has been the hardest part about this whole trip, but I've been amazed by and grateful for the kindness I've received from so many people here, beginning with the Camerons. I've always had someone looking after me. Finding friends here has been my favorite part of coming to England, by far.