End Of Part Two, Part Two (Part Two)

The place where my thoughts pour forth.

It’s been a while since I have attempted to bring to a conclusion the musings on my USAdventure . I have found it tough to bring forth the words and summing up is difficult to do unless you are Greek brain box Euclid or one of those number inclined people.

Attempting to put three months of thoughts gleaned in the US into a decent number of paragraphs is, quite unexpectedly, not to mention perplexingly, a challenge.

The days really did – as is customary with rollercoaster rides – have plenty of ups and downs. I completed the full set of times: the happy times, some sad times, the odd worrying time and many hilarious times. There was the time I ate a bit of dog food – which tasted for want of a better word, sideways –  saw tumbleweeds and cheesy films galore,  said hello to a new cat and waved goodbye to a sadly passed on cat.  The signature trademark of lots of books was predictably in evidence and then to top it all off, strangely I did not get any jet lag on my return whatsoever.

So what more can I add to all my previous posts from the US?  Well, three months over in another country, another continent, has certainly taught me a few things, not least of all how easy it is to book a ticket and just go.  The world is a frighteningly small place these days and there are copious experiences to be had, so many in fact that I failed to record them except for in my head…which is now my third favourite place to live.

 

End Of Part Two, Part Two (Part One)

It turns out I’m not the only one who reads the phone book…

As flights go, things were pretty standard. Uncomfortable stilted chatting to the person in the next seat – who was amazed that her back pack didn’t fit under the seat, when it usually does – sleeping for forty minutes and then spending three hours worrying at the debilitating neck pain followed by spotting the football stadiums as we came upon London and into land for the smoothest landing I have ever not felt.

After disembarking from my winged chariot like some sort of scruffy Norse God, I was brought down to Earth for a second time by the passport lady asking me where I’d flown from.

Which saw me changing my story several times, as sleep deprivation had left me as deeply confused about anything logical.  I wondered if I would have to live in the airport and wait for Tom Hanks to make a film about me but said lady ruined my chances of fame and stardom by letting me back into the green fielded and white-ish cliffs of Dover land.

That’s when it all – somewhat predictably – fell apart.  First there was the catching of the bus, well all the buses were full but if I transferred down a terminal I could get one in an hour and a half’s time.  I did so and after a three hour wait…followed by motorway queues, a broken bus door, rush hour and then traffic for the Leicester City match (a 4-1 win against Derby will have pleased my travelling companion who had joined me off the same plane to get home) I finally made it to the city nearest home.

It’s worth pointing out I got the express three-hour service from Heathrow which took four hours fifteen minutes, add on all of the waiting and I spent a healthy seven and a half hours suffering.  By this time my phone credit had run out and I had established that in November my bank card had expired so I couldn’t check out the times of trains and buses leaving Nottingham.

 

End Of Part Two, Part One

Wool, ewe won’t baalieve the shear amazement when I saw the herd flocking for the new issue of Sheep! I particularly like the exclamation mark, making the magazine seem jaunty as opposed to dyed in the wool seriousness.

It’s full circle as I have returned to England but I didn’t really notice the closing to of said shape until the airport started to become ghostly.

I’m getting my thoughts muddled up already though so I will begin at the beginning, which was the end of my original journey, so really I will start at the end, the other end that is…depending on which ends point of view, you may be considering yourself.

Climbing to whatever thousand feet it is in these cases, I threw myself into a book in order to not ruminate to deeply on leaving the US or Christina, Penny and the family.  The book – A Christmas present from Nottingham based goodest friend Tom – called the Disaster Artist will have a review coming up soon so stand by for that.

The guy next to me probably couldn’t work out if I was crying with laughter or the other as we flew into Minneapolis, which was snow-covered but still couldn’t shake that depressing look of a bored tortoise.

So there I am, by now reaching hour seven of my wait for my nine hour wait for a seven and a half hour flight to London.  That’s when it really occurs that it is I am at degree 360 of the curved thing I mentioned earlier. I couldn’t read or sit any longer, food had been eaten, I’d even been asked three times in five minutes by the angry lady in the bookshop if I needed help – to which I was tempted to reply Don’t you know who I am? and mention the blog and seem all high brow but didn’t because I am nice and didn’t want to get beaten up.

 

All Good in the ‘hood

As I look to be heading back from my adventure here in the US, tomorrow, it’s only appropriate to post this which I found in my drafts sadly neglected – it’s from about two months ago…and as the weather is disagreeable today with all the ice, I am treating you to some accompanying Google images from the days of better weather.  I will endeavour to catch up with you all in a couple of days after the inevitable jet lag wears off until then,

Living in the midst of an American family can be tough for a solitary chap like myself.  I’m used to the silence of my own self imposed isolation, so to come into a family full of exuberant people all doing things and being rowdy can be a bit of a challenge.  So after getting a coffee, served to me by that immortal cheerleader Claire Bennet from the moderately entertaining TV show Heroes, I decided it was high time to take myself off for a walk and reflect for a bit.

For all your coffee needs, ‘cuda’s just off Van Giesen is the way to go!

So there I was, all excitement and giddiness at the freedom I had – not to mention confidence – in pottering and navigating around my adopted ‘hood.  Although a grid system is infinitely better than the haphazard English way of sticking streets in willy-nilly,  It was really quite a heady experience to be randomly venturing around a new place.

 

The Tri-Cities Mid-Columbia Telephone Directory

Hilarious reading!

As a man who keeps his promises, when he remembers them, here’s my review of the Tri-Cities Mid Columbia Telephone Directory as promised from my first vlog.

I think it was the action packed cover of the helmeted man in his water vehicle going a bit fast that made me pick up this book and it certainly is just that.

As you can see from my professionally rendered technology portrait – or photo-graph to the new fangled amongst you would know it – I am having an exceedingly amusing time finding the delightfully named residents of the Tri-Cities (of which there are quite a few).

All humour – apart from my elbows – aside, what I am seen cosily clutching is much more than a weighty snigger fest, it is, like so much else in life, a social document of the here and now and one that is a source of endless fascination for me…and I’m not even that much of a numbers person.

Holding this weighty tome, I consider this to be a fascinating insight into the here and now of a place, a community and more interestingly the individual character.  I like to pick a random person’s number and muse upon their life, or find a business and then look for them as I jaunt around town and see how prosperous they seem.

 

Thanksgiven

I wrote this on Thanksgiving Thursday but was to lazy/full to post back then:

It’d be more than slightly remiss of me to not include a post this year about Thanksgiving, now that I have experienced my first one.  Having eschewed American TV, except for the odd cartoon and Doctor Who, I have avoided all the Thanksgiving and Christmas build up, so when led to believe that Wednesday would be a manic shopping day I braced myself for many trolley cart impacts and possible gouging and fighting over the last packet of stuffing.

That didn’t happen, in fact it was a fairly low-key bit of shopping which admittedly disappointed me, for I was looking forward to doing some rugby tackling of old ladies in order to get the last bits of food on offer and other such dramatic things that would amuse you all.  Alas I have to leave you dissatisfied on that front, at least until the big Christmas shop.

Well the big day arrived and there was much to do, I had a shower so I would resemble some sort of a human being and then proceeded to get in Christina’s way as she prepared food in an orderly and impressively unruffled manner.  After a short break for a coffee run – where we had just missed a car exploding – it was back for more in the way-ness and some excessive gravy stirring.

 

Return to Richland

Today I discovered that writing a blog post with American pancakes on the side, is a lot better than not.

Travelling is a mixture of dull and exciting times…unless you are a fan of dullness when it just becomes one high octane trip for you.  My dull part was waking up half an hour into the flight from Heathrow, only to find we were still on the runway and my exciting bit, nay, exhilarating in fact was to fly through the rain clouds and enter a vast amphitheatre of cloud cathedral structures.  It is easy to imagine why people back in preflight days thought there were civilizations atop these fluffy white cotton wool boats of the sky.

Through searching the ‘net I came up with a an actual tribe that did (kind of) live on the clouds.  The Chachapoya people – also known as the Warriors of the Cloud, were an Andean culture, which were over run by the Incas just before the Spanish conquest began.  They were called Cloud warriors because they lived in so-called cloud forests, that have low-level cloud cover throughout the year.  and they fought a bit too.