Winter Vacation: Exploring Gloucestershire
 
After Christmas, we had Cathy and Rob’s party to prepare for, so we headed off to the nearby small city of Stroud to do our grocery shopping. One of the few regrets I have about this trip is that I was never able to capture an image of the “Toad Crossing - Please Drive With Caution” sign that was in the middle of town on a busy street. I did, however, manage to snap some pix of some of the British ales that were for sale at Sainsbury’s, sporting some outstanding names and labels, as you can see! “Old Peculier,” I’m sorry to say, was not in focus.
 
 
I enjoy grocery shopping (probably because I like to eat), and it’s even more fun to cruise around in a supermarket in a different country, to see the different things that they have on hand that we don’t. For example, they sell some herbs like cilantro (coriander, they call it) and basil growing in plastic pots, protected with a cellophane wrapper. And they have ready-made pork pies for sale, and different kinds of snack foods than we have— although Kettle potato chips are making big inroads. The cheese section is about ten times the size of a cheese section in the vast majority of American stores, of which I was highly in favor. They sell different kinds of canned soups—like cream of broccoli and Stilton, and butternut squash—and this store sold a lot of heat-and-serve Indian appetizers, too, along with a number of staples used in Indian cooking.
 
So we loaded up on wine, beer, sparkling fruit juices, and ingredients for finger foods, then headed home to start preparing. Cathy had come up with a cornucopia of tasty little treats, like ratatouille served in little pastry cups; small squares of dark pumpernickel topped with smoked salmon, cream cheese mixed with creme fraiche, and capers; chilled prawns with a smoked oyster dip; goat cheese topped with red onion marmalade, also served in little pastry cups; and puff pastries filled with sausage. We did what we could the night before, then popped awake early Monday morning to prepare the rest.
 
Lovely people from around the village came and we had a ball chatting with all of them. Many of them were interested in the current struggle around health care in America. “What would happen,” one guest asked, “if someone got appendicitis and didn’t have health insurance?” “Well,” I said, “people have been known to get turned away from hospital after hospital. Some uninsured people have died because they wouldn’t go to the hospital when they became gravely ill, fearing the expense.” “Good heavens!” she exclaimed. Because she was so polite, she didn’t say anything else, but in her inflection, I could hear all kinds of unspoken thoughts: “But America is a civilized country! And a wealthy one!” Well, wealthy, yes. Civilized, I’m really starting to wonder these days. They found it even more impossible to understand why some lawmakers, who have cushy, Cadillac insurance (paid for by taxpayers), would want to deny it to taxpayers. And they really couldn’t figure out the animosity of those who have no health insurance to the plan to get them some. You’d have to live here, I guess. Although, I really don’t understand any of those things myself. So I couldn’t explain them.
 
At the end of the party, Rob’s best friend from school, whom he had met the first day of school when they were both ten years old, came to visit from farther away with his family. Chris is an Anglican pastor at a nearby town, and his wife Sue is an aromatherapist. Their son is at school at Cambridge and sings in the choir, which travels all over the world, and he had brought along with him a charming young woman he’s dating, also at Cambridge, studying English Literature. Chris and Sue’s daughter was also at university studying (or “reading,” as they say in the UK) psychology.  
 
The longer we were there, the more the old George Bernard Shaw witticism, “England and America are two countries separated by a common language,” came to mind. I told a story in this company which involved biscuits, realizing only after I told my story that biscuits are what they call cookies. The menu I had described (involving corned beef and spinach) probably sounded disgusting at worst and odd at best . Don’t ever tell wait-staff that you’re “stuffed” after a big meal, or you’ll shock the hell out of them. And be sure to call “bangs” fringe. The term “fanny pack” is considered extremely vulgar. And if you ask for the bathroom, you will often be directed to a room with a bath, but no commode. That’s “the loo.” Elevators are “lifts,” apartments are “flats.” And everything is either “lovely” or “brilliant.” We got into the swing of “lovely” right away but I think I would need to spend at least a year in England before I wouldn’t feel like a complete poseur exclaiming, “brilliant!” after anything besides a particularly canny chess move.
 
And then, of course, there was the Free Willy flap.
 
We went to Cheltenham the next day, a beautiful small city where Cathy teaches harp at a girl’s boarding school (a public school, they call it; what we call private, they call public.) It was pouring down rain, so we splashed around under umbrellas. I picked up a pair of super cute ankle boots, and Cathy looked for some dressy garments that she could wear while playing in various orchestras. After we were done shopping, we had lunch at a cozy wine bar. It had floor-to-ceiling windows in the upstairs, which were fogged up from the wintry weather outside and the toasty air inside. Twinkly lights were arranged with some greenery in the windows for the holidays, giving the place an even cozier feel. We ate in the basement in front of a roaring fire.
 
The following day, we went to a fantastic luncheon in a nearby town, given by one of Rob’s former colleagues at work and his wife. We had met Janet and Joe on several occasions during previous visits and always enjoyed their company. Janet is an incredible cook, they have great taste in wine, and they have a fondness for serving crisp, cold, delicious champagne. Soon after our luncheon, they were going to be spending a month in India. In fact, one of the fascinating things about being in a country like the UK or Europe is that people tend to travel quite a bit. There are so many countries and different cultures and languages nearby that I think the residents there, at least a lot of them, become very comfortable with the idea of experiencing different cultures. Most of the people we visited with in England had either lived, worked, or traveled extensively all over the world, in Europe, Asia, Africa, and New Zealand.  
 
The next day, we packed up and headed out for our New Year’s celebrations. We were having a pub lunch with two of Cathy’s dearest and closest friends, friends we had heard so much about over the years, we had started to feel as if we’d already met, and then continuing on to The Knowle for New Year’s Eve. Cathy had met the owners of The Knowle about twenty years ago when she was playing the harp for tea at the downtown London Hotel Meridien. They asked her if she could play for their New Year’s Eve dinner, which she did for several years, until she got tired of working while everyone around her, including Rob, was partying. So, ever since then, Rob and Cathy have been traveling to Kent to celebrate the incoming New Year with their good friends Michael and Lynn.
 
I’ll tell you all about it in my next post!
 
 
Above, top photo:  Sure looks like a Whomping Willow to me!
 
 
Friday, January 22, 2010