Monday, March 09, 2015


So...Blogget now has a passport!  And it's been used.

Ever since I was a teenager and read the books of James Herriot, I've wanted to visit Yorkshire.  It just so happens that my new love lives there.  But I needed to see him and know him to make that connection for sure.  So, I planned a trip.

Let's pause here.  My fella needs a consistent nickname here, in the tradition of this blog.  A dear friend of mine has dubbed him  "BB" for "British Bloke."  He is many things to me, but for now, we'll stick with that.  BB.

I can tell you that 10 hours on a flight is difficult, but not insurmountable! Especially with a nice, shiny new jet, like the one that delivered me to the UK.  The one coming back wasn't quite so comfortable, but that's okay.  I don't think I would have been happy to be leaving even if I was flying first class.

Getting off the plane, going through the questions at immigration, and finding my way to the Heathrow Express was hectic. It wasn't until I exited that train in Paddington Station that it began to sink in where I was.  I stared at the big neon sign promoting the Paddington Bear Store and realized...yes, this is where the story started.  This is IT.  I needed to exchange some money and get the currency of the land.  I needed to go to the Information Desk and ask the nice old man with the pleasant accent where this lost American woman could find the train to King's Cross.  THE King's Cross.  Home of Platform 9 3/4.

I did a lot of asking that day!  Navigating trains is not what I'm used to, at all.  It's commonplace there and a new world to me.  I do believe I made that obvious to most people who ran across me that day!

After visiting Platform 9 3/4:

I caught my train to Bradford, where I would finally meet BB.  Where I'd know if I could truly let my heart go to him, trust him with it all.  Battered and abused as it is, would he still want it at the end of this trek?

I watched out the window for two hours, as London came into view then slipped away.  I watched the neighborhood slipping past and thought, this is where people live who get to say, "I live in London." As it gave way to the countryside and smaller towns, we slid into one train station after another.  Passengers exited and entered.  All ages, all walks of life.  My stop was the very last one, so I was able to watch many people and places come and go.  As I looked at the ancient walls and buildings I passed, I thought of one thing.

I'm in England. I've just crossed the Atlantic Ocean. I'm 4,689 miles from home.  On my own.  My own adventure.

It had taken many months of solitary thought to realize how much of "me" I'd suppressed and pushed aside, sacrificing my self and my interests for those of another.  I had started to let my individuality slip away, and it took being treated as one of the crowd to put the brakes on that.  I had been fighting my way back and planning that trip was an expression of ME.  I was even eschewing most of the common tourist sights to explore things specific to my own interests.  Time to be just me and do something for just me.

To be on that plane, and then on that train, was liberating in a way I struggle to describe.  It was just me, alone, on my own, making my way, and doing what I wanted, for a change.

Finally, we reached my destination.  Bradford, Yorkshire, UK.  It was time to find him.  You have to understand that we are geeky peas in a pod.  He's often said he's my Doctor, come to whisk me away in the TARDIS, and I am his River Song.

I exited the train and walked along the platform, looking as far ahead as possible.  No sign of him.  I made my way to the exit queues.  I stood in line, impatiently, as a large group ahead of me worked out that you can't insert your exit ticket and push the gate at the same time.  Each one of them.


I was hauling a large suitcase, so I skipped the escalator and went to the lift.  Er...elevator.  I got used to calling it a lift there.  As the doors closed, I leaned my tired head against the cool metal of the wall.

The doors opened and someone was standing in the doorway.  He looked up and we locked eyes.

"Hello, Sweetie."  He smiled at me.

I threw my arms around him, overjoyed.  He kissed me.  He was dressed as the 11th Doctor.  My Doctor had arrived, to whisk me away.

As we walked to my nearby hotel, he kept looking at me and saying, "I can't believe you are here!"  I could hardly believe it myself, truly!  I'd made it.  I was in Yorkshire, and I was by his side.

After I freshened up, we went for a walk around town.  We visited a store of handmade Bradford things.  We stopped in at the comic book store, where I met the proprietor and won a comic book in a drawing.  Superheroes for me!

By then the jet lag was hitting me.  Time for a rest.

Next post...Halifax and beyond!

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