About 30 hours after returning from Ibiza, I was on a plane to England.
Because I’m crazy.
“I thought you hated London,” my mom said after I told her I’d landed safely. I really don’t like to use the word hate. It’s such an ugly word. I prefer to describe my first visit to London with a reluctant, I… didn’t love it. So, how did I find myself flying back to Gatwick so soon?
I visited England and Spain for the first time this past May. My 3-week vacation started in London because it was cheaper to fly there from the states than to Girona and I thought, what the hell, I want to see Big Ben and shit. For any of you other hopefuls anticipating to see the clock tower (or hear it chime), you might want to wait until 2020 when repairs are supposed to end and it will be unveiled to the world again. But fear not if you’ve already booked that ticket, because London does have a lot more going for it like, rich history and culture, free museums, a queen, etcetera and so forth. Just keep in mind that your Oyster Card doesn’t work for the train to Stansted (even if it scans and looks like it does – you better ask someone where to buy that paper train ticket or cough up 5 times the cost in fees – trust me).
ANYWAY, I met some great people between London and Spain with whom I’ve kept in touch one way or another. Travelling solo is an amazing way to meet people if you’re open to it. What’s crazy to me is in all the time I spent last year hoping to cultivate a new friendship by trying new things and regularly visiting places I adored in my home city, I instead found someone half-way around the world at a café in a city in which neither of us lived. My thought process has left me to conclude that if I had made the connection I was looking for in Houston, then I might still be there unwilling to budge and you all wouldn’t have this wonderful blog to follow.
My new acquaintance resonated with my situation and planning to live abroad. We’d kept in touch via e-mail and her encouraging words helped make the whole thing a little less scary. We were hoping to meet again in Madrid, but it didn’t work out that way. So, I was happily surprised when she extended an invitation to visit her in Alfriston. Girl, let me get on this price checking stat! I found a decently priced roundtrip flight and booked it. Ibiza was booked later and at the time I was more concerned with cheap than sleep.
She planned the meetup and places to visit during my stay and I was happy to not have to think about it. I love planning, but I’ve been doing so much of it I think I’ve exhausted myself. My only goals were to relax and not take the wrong train. Did you know trains in England split, by the way? Ha, yep. Not anything I would have thought to ask, so a huge shout-out to the woman from the station who informed me to sit in the rear.
I don’t quite recall how it started, but I wound up getting a history lesson from two other customers at the café in Lewes while waiting for my friend. Thomas Paine, author of Common Sense, apparently, was a bit of a troublemaker around town before he made his way to America. Virginia Woolf took her last breath in Lewes before finally succumbing to the darkest depths of depression. Queen Anne of Cleves received a home there through her annulment with King Henry VIII, but ultimately, she never visited the property. And lastly, Guy Fawkes Night (remember, remember, the fifth of November) brings spectators and participants from around the country to the annual bonfire celebration in Lewes. The women sharing these stories told them in so much detail while I shamefully sat there recounting to myself what little American history I knew. My friend didn’t take long to arrive and whisked me back to the present.
It was so good to see her again in the flesh. We took a quick tour around Lewes, had lunch and headed to Alfriston to enjoy the rest of the evening comfy cozy with a fire, cuddling doggies and a homecooked dinner.
The next day was spent gallivanting around Brighton. The weather held up just enough for us to enjoy pockets of sunshine as we popped in and out of shops and cafes. We walked out over the English Channel on Brighton Palace Pier where violent winds sent waves crashing over each other and carried mist across my face. Ten-year-old Kat would have liked to stand in the splash zones for the full effect, but grown up Kat worried about getting wet in the cold and healthcare costs without insurance.
We picked up some goods for dinner at M&S and took in another early evening in Alfriston which I rather liked, and don’t think I told her how sexy it was she didn’t want to be out until fucking midnight like everyone does here.
The next morning we dined on tea and toast and I had my first proper scone with clotted cream and jam. Isn’t this presentation adorable?! 
We spent the time I had left in England walking around her neighborhood. Immediately, I found 2 very old music books at the local bookstore I decided to walk away from to fully consider the decision of flying with that extra weight. We then followed a path down by the Cuckmere River where it was slightly overflowing from the previous evening’s rain and admired the cascading water pooling near the trail and the lush hills in the distance. Our leisurely stroll took us to a trendy resale shop where she bought a dress that looked like it was made for her. Then back to the bookstore where I bought the books I didn’t need.
