Brief digression... TLC was wrong!

This might not have anything to do with my traveling adventures. Or maybe it has everything to do with them. I haven't decided yet. Either way, I want to share.

The other night as I was laying (or is it lying?) on a couch, trying to fall asleep when a thought popped into my head: TLC was wrong!

Those of you who know me and my taste in TV may be thinking that I'm referring to their song "No Scrubs." And fair enough, a life without that witty sitcom is a life I don't want to know. But that's not the bone I have to pick with the group.

As I layed there that song Waterfalls randomly came to me and I started singing to my myself... Don't go chasing waterfalls, just stick to the rivers and the lakes that you're used to... Those are the only lines I know so I just repeated those lines a couple times until it hit me.

Don't go chasing waterfalls, just stick to the rivers... Wait, no... No! That's bull! Chase waterfalls! Chase chase chase! Why should I stick to what I know--what I'm familiar with? I'm tired of lakes and rivers. I've never seen a waterfall and gosh dangit I just might want to go look for one! What are you gonna do about that, TLC?

Hmm, I think I just decided: everything.

Manchester to Newcastle: Feeling like a Puppy

My adventures in England started in the city of Manchester. On my first full day Annie and I decided our plan was to just explore… get lost on purpose, see what kind of interesting things we came across, and eventually find our way back.

 

So we hop on a bus headed towards the main part of town. Its one of those double decker buses that you see on TV. Actually the only time I ever see them is when for some reason I find myself watching one of those shows called something like “World’s Dumbest People 6” and the driver of one of them tries to go under an overpass much too low for the bus and tears the top half off...

 

We go to the top deck and I ride ready to hit the floor at the first sign of a low underpass.

 

After a few hours in the main square of the city, we end up going to a free museum and really enjoying it. If you didn't know, the barnacle has proportionally the biggest penis in the animal kingdom.

 

Anyway, after a few days in Manchester wecatch a bus to Newcastle--beautiful city, from what I saw. The mixture of modern and old fashion buildings was realy cool. We ended up in a free museum there too. From the fifth floor you could look out and see a beautiful view of the Tyne river and the 5 of six bridges that cross it. Really nice.

 

My descriptions don't do these cities justice. Maybe i can put some pictures on here too.

 

Anyway, now we're in York and will start exploring here in the morning.

 

It’s a great feeling being in somewhere new. Everything is different. The people, the stores, the streets and cars (they drive on the left side of the road and their steering wheels are on the right side of the car), the accent (although it’s weird to think that really, I’m the one with the foreign accent), the buildings, even the smell of the town as weird as that sounds.

 

Anyway as I ride on the buses and look out the window and am mesmerized by every little thing I see, I realize something: I feel like a puppy.

 

If you’ve ever been around a puppy, the first thing you’ll notice is how everything—literally everything—interests them. The world is new and exciting to them. That’s what I feel like here. It’s different in a way I can’t explain, but to me, the world I’m in is new and exciting. And everything is interesting.

 

So here’s my final thought for the day (as cheesy as it may sound): I think it’s a good idea, as we all ago about our normal lives, to make sure we find new, interesting and exciting things—and feel like puppies every now and then.

"I suggest you just stop talking"

“On behalf of our crew here on US Airways, Welcome to Manchester”

When the captain said those words it felt official. I had made it. I was finally in England. After a month of anticipation, my journey through Europe was about to begin. I deboarded and got in the long customs line.

I was excited as I waited, a little anxious too maybe. I observed other people walk up to their customs agent, answer a couple questions, have their passport stamped and be on their way. Easy enough, I thought. When I finally stepped up the questions started pouring in...

How long will you be in England? I’m not sure exactly, maybe 3-4 weeks.

How much money do you have on you? 50 dollars

Do you have a return ticket? Not yet

Do you have a debit card? Yes

With how much money on it? About 50 dollars right now

Why don’t you have a return ticket? Well I’m not sure when or from where I’ll be leaving. I’ll be doing some traveling.

But you only have 50 dollars? Yea, I’ll be getting some money in my account in the next couple days.

Do you have proof of that? Umm, no I don’t.

How do I know you won’t stay and work? Because I can’t stay. I have to go back. I just got a job in Memphis

And how will you eat and have shelter here? My friend Annie

Where does he live? She… and York

So your friend Andy lives in York? Annie… and yes

How do you know her? We met in Peru

When? Summer 2009

Do you have a phone number for her? Yea (I give it to her)

Ok, I’m gonna have to go talk to my boss. OK…

It was actually kind of impressive how fast she could fire off so many questions. Even though I was telling the truth, it made me feel like I was lying if I ever paused for a second to think before answering.

Ten minutes later she returns and we go through the same dance. She asks me how Annie and I met, what she does, what my intentions in Europe are, what are future career plans are, blah blah blah. I assume she had called Annie and was checking to see if our stories lined up.

Again she had to go “talk to her boss” At this point I’m looking at my surroundings, sizing up the probable speed and agility of the security guard, thinking “What would Jason Bourne do?” I refrain from doing what I conclude Jason Bourne would do and just take a seat. I wonder if the race card plays in England.

After another ten minutes go by she finally emerges again.

I’m not supposed to let you through. You don’t have enough money to get back and have no proof you’re not planning on coming here to stay and work… but it’s your lucky day. If you’re not gone in six months we’ll find you, she says as she stamps a special stamp in my passport and writes in it that I have to be gone in less than six months.

Never have I been so relieved. As she was writing the special instructions in my passport, I was dumb enough to open my mouth again

So if my plans happen to change somehow, should I contact you?

She glances up slowy with a face the says “do you want to get in or not?” What do you mean “if your plans happen to change?"

I shrug. I don’t know, if something comes up and my plans change, or…

Look, she interrupts, I suggest you just stop talking.

I heed her advice. She lets me through and points me to baggage claim.

Phew. Welcome to Manchester, indeed.