My wife and I endured 6 1/2 hours in an Airbus 330 to visit my brother here in England. It is definitely worth the torture of air travel to be here. ( but then again, 3 weeks off work is almost always worth six hours in a sardine can).
To a North American, it feels… well… Quaint. I love the accents (we’re in the Manchester area), the flowers, the narrow roads, the hedges. There’s something indefinably different about the scenery; a field is not “just” a field. They get home milk delivery, in those new-fangled, environmentally friendly,100% recyclable, glass bottles.
My daughter lives in Victoria, and after driving there for half an hour, we all agreed that Victoria drivers would not have a prayer in Toronto. Well, I also think Toronto drivers would not stand a prayer here, driving the roads in and around the towns in the Manchester area. It’s like watching a spontaneous ballet; everyone goes every direction, and no one seems to get hurt. I can’t even hear the music, let alone take part in the dance! And we haven’t even been to a big town yet.
Now it’s after lunch, and once again jet lag seems to be catching up. Or old age; for one reason or another I seem to need a nap. Tomorrow we’re off to France, the old fashioned way. Everyone wonders if we’re taking the Chunnel, and why on earth would you take a ferry anyway. Well, we’re on vacation, and there’s not much to see in a twenty mile long tunnel…