The square in the center of Nottingham.
So for both of these reasons, I've decided to largely excise the more boring details of my trip (the eight hour flight next to the man who looked like an Indian mash up between Patton Oswald and a business-suit-wearing teddy bear; and the four hour layover in Amsterdam where I managed to sleep for 30 minutes spooning not one but two metal arm rests of a deserted airport bench); I've decided to excise these details and share just a few anecdotes that have stuck with me from this past week.
Anecdote #1, or, For my fellow Americans who have also not had to put a 6-gear car into reverse before
I picked up my rental car at the Birmingham airport. I'm blanking on the make and model, suffice it to say it's a bright red miniature diesel SUV with a total of six quiet gears. Upon picking up the car, I more or less hadn't slept for a good 22 hours or so, making my 80-minute drive to Nottingham something of a dangerous journey.
Finally, I wound my way into Nottingham, which sat like a maze of old-and-new architecture below iron gray clouds and a faint but fat rainbow. Relieved to be off the freeway, I pulled my vehicle over and parked behind a black hatchback. It took all of thirty seconds to realize that I still had several hundred feet to go before reaching my apartment, and so I put the car into what I thought was reverse but was actually first, and my acceleration nudged me one foot closer to the hatchback. I studied the clutch to ensure I was reading it correctly, and yes, reverse was shown as being in the same direction as first gear, only further out. So I gave it another go and came just short of kissing bumpers with the next car up.
At this point, exhausted and a bit loopy, I stepped outside of the car for a bit of ice-cold air and weighed my options. As far as I could see it, sleeping in the car for a few hours and hoping the hatchback was gone when I woke seemed my best bet. It was then that two blonde girls sporting cigarettes and thick lipstick materialized near the hatchback and, relieved, I gave them a big Yankee smile. They gave faint smiles back, but by the time they finished their cigarettes and climbed into their hatchback, it was fairly obvious I'd creeped them out considerably.
And yes, I have since figured out how to put my clutch into reverse.
Anecdote #2, or, Details of my apartment
I'm staying in temporary housing in the town of Nottingham, in the Eastern Midlands of England. My apartment is fairly nice - I have a fridge, freezer, full bathroom, bedroom, and washer and drier. My washer and drier is an two-in-one unit and is located in the kitchen, which means it washes very little laundry at one time and is about as effective at drying my clothes as it is at fixing a Sunday roast. One of the oddities of British apartments is that all of my appliances have their own wall switches, meaning that my stove, fridge, washing machine etc. won't work unless the wall switch is turned on. This is also true for my bathroom fan, which looks to be about 50 years old and is labeled by its wall switch, menacingly, as "ISOLATOR." It growls like a V8 and has the throbbing red eye of a Cylon.
The fire blanket of unknown efficacy.
Probably my favorite feature of my apartment though is the Fire Blanket. This is a substitute for the apartment-sized fire extinguishers that I've ever owned, and I assume that the idea is that if a kitchen fire breaks out, you simply smother it with the blanket. I haven't taken the Fire Blanket out of its casing - I'm paranoid it'll switch some sort of building-wide fire alarm or something - and I honestly have no idea if it would be more or less effective than a traditional fire extinguisher. Still, I can't help but imagine an English mother tucking in her darling little English fire to bed with his favorite blanket and wishing him goodnight.
Anecdote #3, or, Not really an anecdote but a note about the bells
As I write this, I hear the bells chime the hour from the market square. They're about ten minutes off, but the bells are heavy and deep and beautiful and I love them more than anything else here so far.
Anecdote #4, or, On using the term "period"
I signed up for a bank account yesterday which was full too many weird moments to document here without going (even more so) overly long. The strangest moment came when I was attempting to recite my email address, which starts with "mr.", which I described as "M-R-period," to which I received a very strange look indeed. It took a couple back and forths to realize that what I was describing is called, in England, "a full stop." Though I didn't confirm it, I have a sneaking suspicion that the term "period" is used primarily to describe notable eras and menstruation.
Anecdote #5, or, A reason to go to the mall
The last thing I'd like to share is that the Victoria Mall, which is maybe a 10-15 minute walk from my apartment, has on its second floor an open air market. Here you can find produce vendors, butchers, and hawkers of inexpensive soft service ice cream. It's a far cry from what I'm used to in American - and especially Californian - malls, but I find it delightful. It provides a compelling reason to thrust yourself into the throbbing artery of commerce each day or two, and also, who doesn't like taking home fruits in waxy brown paper sacks?
One of the stalls at the Victoria Market Centre.
In the back of the market is a little all-day breakfast diner called 'The Frothy Coffee." It served probably one of the more disappointing English Breakfasts I've had so far (the "toast" was cold white bread skinned with a bit of margarine). The titular Frothy Coffee, however, was divine in that particular way only certain cheap fares can be. A frothy coffee is is simply freshly steamed milk poured over a tablespoon of dehydrated French Roast, and is one pound per cup. It is warm and smooth and has that burned nicotine flavor of Folders, and throughout the Frothy Coffee, you can spot tables full of couples over sixty holding tired looking shopping sacks and wearing beige foam mustaches.
Next to the bells from the market square, its one of my favorite details of Nottingham so far.
Good to hear from you Bobby. Hope all is well.
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