lisap

No metaphor or cliché suitably describes the amount of rain that descended upon northern England today, but an illustration might. Conjure up a cobbled street in Newcastle with a slight dip in it, picture a puddle in there, envision two minutes of furious deluge, then notice that the puddle has increased exponentially and cars negotiating it creep through with water licking the tops of their wheels. Been there, saw that, ran through it, took a shower fully dressed.

We woke to windy, wet weather, devoured a hearty breakfast prepared by our extraordinary hostess, Allison, whom we adore, and we embarked on our soggy adventure. Stop one: the train station (where I was pelted with pennies by a South Shields ruffian when I stole a wireless signal in that fine establishment.) About twelve stops on the metro brings you to the city center of Newcastle, a lovely place that seems to be the center of a battle between overindustrialization and preservation of the past.

Because we wandered through English towns as travelers, observers, residents and anthropologists, we gleaned much about the English as a rule. Here is that observation: The English love to shop, adore nerdy, collectible toy shops (there are more of these than customary toy shops), and they love to drink and smoke. On July 1, the pubs go smoke free, and I fully expect riots to ensure, but today the world’s smokiest, black-lung producing pubs developed into divine little sanctuaries for drenched and dripping creatures.

During tiny, fleeting respites from the downpour, Katherine, Michelle and I ran from store to mall to grocery heaven to mall to the shops to the train again. In that time, we picked up souvenirs, took a few funny photos with public statues, had tea with scones (no cream, unfortunately), meandered through the marvelous Mark’s and Spencer’s grocery section, drank and ate chips at a bar across the street, until drenched and uncomfortable in our moist, clammy clothes before deciding the day was bust. Ambling our way back to the metro station, we realized the sun radiated upon us, ran to two more shops before we rode the metro back home.

Our first stop was the library: closed, and closed again tomorrow. Second stop, Marks and Spencers in South Shields for snacks, since the three of us aren’t eating bad food at our main house anymore. We purchased cheeses, marinated artichokes, olives, crackers, bread and chocolates. Alison made us a proper English dinner tonight: less proper for me, I suppose since I don’t eat mince… but my pasta (peppers and onions aside) was lovely, as was the cheesecake dessert! Stomachs satisfied, we insisted that Allison come out to the pub for a drink, and she did.

Writing masses of tales and praises about Allison’s staggering generosity and thoughtfulness, would probably be a righteous mission, but I don’t want to post stories of her personal life online, so make sure you ask me about her. She is truly lovely: a noble soul.

A piece of advice for the South Shields traveler: survey the surface for slugs and snails. They grace the gardens, the walls, the ground upon which you tread, and you will feel terrible to hear an unwarranted crunch beneath your oblivious foot. Also, if you touch one of these gastropods on the tiny tip of his eyeball, his whole face will retract into his neck, and this will look freaky.