Saturday, August 3
Our house was as good as it was going to get. The real necessities of the redecorating were done, or done enough, and the rest could wait until our return. We spent the first part of our day of departure setting out towels for our exchange family, picking up grocery basics and preparing a simple welcome meal. Then we packed. We’ve traveled enough now to know the routine, so we can work mostly in silence from our lists.
Art’s son Jason took us to the airport. We were expecting a security hassle, but there were only five couples ahead of us at the ticket counter and the security check and boarding processes were a breeze - quite different from our departure for Washington DC on September 23, 2001.
The British Airlines plane had four seating sections. First class was futuristic looking; passengers were able to lie down, with devices that looked like oversized oriental fans providing individual privacy. Our seats were in steerage – as is usually the case when we travel, the seats were narrow and legroom inadequate.
Art says, “After traveling in 1999 on Air Canada, I expected decent seating, but it was just as tight, if not tighter, than US carriers. The food was comparable with how US airlines used to be – in other words, better than they are now – but the drink cart came by only twice during the nine-hour flight, and they only brought tea by after dinner.”
Art often measures quality in terms of food. I’m more inclined to use time in the air and sleep as a gauge. We flew the polar route, so traveling east we had only about two hours of darkness on the entire route. I was impressed, however, by the fact that the plane left and arrived exactly on time – with only one flight per day, they didn’t have to share the plane with preceding flights and accumulate delays.
Sunday, August 4
England time is eight hours ahead of ours, so it was 11:30 am when we arrived at Heathrow in our middle of the night. Passage through customs and the airport was surprisingly uneventful. Outside of Terminal 4, we looked for the half-hourly bus to Oxford. We found one bus, waiting in an otherwise empty group of pickup lanes. We approached the driver to confirm he was going our way. We understand fine the “classic” British accent, heard in ads and the media, which I believe is called the Queen’s English. The bus driver’s speech I recognized as English, but I had no idea what he was saying. Art recognized “Oxford” and asked again. Three repetitions later we finally understood him and boarded the bus. After a couple of airport stops, we headed for Oxford, about an hour’s drive in traffic.
The Oxford bus station was as far as I’d gotten us with my careful planning. We looked around for a taxi, saw none, asked a driver, and were directed to the taxi stand across a cobblestone square. Art was approached by a young fellow, who looked like a college student, asking for bus fare to get home. Art offered US change, which was refused. We found out later that the bus fare ruse is common for panhandlers.
The taxi driver was a UK Indian who spoke perfect English. I had driving instructions to the house from Peter, our host, but the right-turn road in the village was misnamed in the instructions. So we had to ask at a gas station for directions to the house. We picked up the key from the neighbor.
By the time we arrived at our home at 49 Plane Tree Way, a 15-foot-wide townhouse on six stairway-connected levels, it was 1:30 pm in England, 5:30 am in Seattle. We were wiped out from lack of sleep and jet lag. There was no microwave, garbage disposal or dishwasher. The water pressure in the bathroom cold water faucet was higher than in the hot water faucet. The cold and hot water came from separate spigots, so warm water for hand washing was an issue. The phone had no dial tone. We couldn’t find a key to the garage padlock.
We walked a mile into the village for groceries. The “Supermarket” was little larger than a country store at home, and the selection was limited. We shopped the narrow aisles intently, and loaded our few groceries into my backpack. I considered our car-less state. We could call our house in Brier when our exchange partners woke up to see if, by chance, the key to the garage was somewhere we hadn’t looked rather than with them, on their keychains, in Brier. We could rent a car. We could go without a car entirely and use only public transportation. We walked home in sullen, exhausted silence. I expected a fight of some kind, but fortunately Art and I both kept our mouths shut.
As I closed the front door, I found another set of keys on a hook behind the door. I tried the keys on the garage lock. One of them fit. Art said, “I’m glad you found those. I was about to pack it in.” Lack of sleep and unfamiliar surroundings can do that.
We prepared a simple pasta meal left for us by our hosts. By 5:30 pm we were too tired to do anything but go to bed.
I woke up after a hard sleep. Art was awake also. The clock by the bedside said 8:30. The sky was gray. I decided to go back to sleep for a while. Art got up. The next time I awoke it was 10:30. Art was getting back into bed. Here’s his story.
“Being as it was 8:30, I wanted to get a good start on the day. The shower connection was not a heavy stream of water, but a fine trickle. I fought with it for several minutes before I got it to work. After showering and cleaning up, I went down and fixed myself some toast and coffee for breakfast. With all the noise I was making, I couldn’t understand why Linda was not getting up and getting ready to hit the road. When a neighbor pulled in with a noisy exhaust, I checked it out. Then I noticed that the street lights were on, and it was getting darker. Perhaps it was going to rain or thunderstorm. After another cup of coffee, I was ready to go wake Linda up, when I saw that it was even darker yet. So I turned on the TV and saw that it was evening shows. I realized that, instead of sleeping fifteen hours, I had slept only three. Laughing at myself, I went back to bed.”
I read aloud to Art for about 20 minutes. Then we turned off the light and slept until 5:30 am UK time. When we woke up, we were in sync with the English sun.