Jerusalem To England - The Countryside

I lay atop the roof of the Hostel in Old Jerusalem for about 3 hours dozing in and out of sleep. It was a beautiful night with breezy winds, stars, and a partial moon. About 30 or so young backpackers slept squeezed in between 3 open sections. It was peaceful and quiet.

Around 2:30 am I grabbed my stuff to meet a shared mini bus to the airport. The driver showed up right on time at 2:45 am just inside Jaffa gate. As we drove around Jerusalem picking up other airport passengers at 3 in the morning. I couldn’t believe how many young people were out on the streets. It was Friday and I suppose the clubs had just closed. Seeing young partyers is one thing but there were also lots of Orthodox Jews dressed like someone from 1850’s Poland wandering all over the place. Some were alone, some in small groups. What were they doing on the streets at 3 am? It was surreal.

I got to the airport in good time. I had a budget ticket on Pegasus airlines based out of Istanbul. Security was a breeze and everything went smoothly. From there it was a plane change in Istanbul with a flight to London Stansted. After almost a month on the road I needed a place to relax. I decided to take Debbie up on her open invitation to visit in the English countryside.

It took 14 hours total with shuttle, planes, and a train but everything was on time. It had been 4 years since I had last seen Debbie. She picked me up at the train station in Peterborough. Jake, her dog, remembered me.

Deb lives a world away from Israel in one of the many story book country villages of England. Lots of the homes and structures were built starting around the 17^th century but the village history begins far earlier. Narrow streets with tightly built homes of stone brick topped with slate roofs fill a shallow farmland valley. The fields are thick with green as spring pushes into early summer. Now is a great time to be in England with long days, mild to warm temps, and usually not much rain.

Deb lives on a property with a Victorian brick stone home. Her father, 81, and grandmother, 99, live in two separate yet connected houses, townhome style. Deb and her Spanish boyfriend live in a small complex of structures down by the garden. I’m staying in a room on the second floor of her father’s house.

I’ve been in England now for a few days and it’s been absolutely lovely. Deb has been great. I’ve been getting a bit spoiled as she’s been fixing all my meals, taking me on walks with her dog, and introducing me to the local pubs. She’s also directed me to a local forest with miles of crushed stone paths that are excellent for running.

Yesterday Deb’s boyfriend Esteban didn’t bother going to sleep at 6 am when he got home. He was interested in checking out a market auction and asked in his thick Castilian accent if I wanted to go. Although it was Tuesday morning it might have well been Friday night for him. Deb and I joined.

The market was pretty interesting. It was partly farmers market, flea market, and auction selling produce, livestock, practical goods, and misc. There were all kinds of small lots of birds and farm animals. It seemed to be geared towards the small farmer and general public. There were a number of antique/vintage dealers that interested me. Deb loaded up with produce that was priced really cheap. Around 11 am Esteban wanted a pint so we headed to the pub on premises. I don’t drink in the morning but I couldn’t allow Esteban to drink alone.

Esteban is a hard working Spanish man with a heart of gold who speaks fair English smothered by his Castilian dialect. One must listen carefully with full attention to follow the flow of conversation not only disguised by vocal inflection but subtle cultural differences as well. With each ale communication difficulties increase but Esteban’s whit for humor expands via mannerisms and expression.

After two pints it’s back to the car with a large sack of potatoes costing 4 pound ($6.75). I carry them while Esteban rolls a cigarette and Deb runs back to get the car to beat the 2 hour limit before a camera snaps a shot and mails a ticket. In England, cameras are always watching.

Back in the village Esteban insists on another pint at the local pub. When it came time for a 4^th I apologized that I needed to pass. It wasn’t even 2 pm yet.

Right now it feels really nice to be England. The countryside is especially attractive to me right now. It’s been three years since I’ve been in the country. The air is fresh and everything is so green. The architecture, pubs, village walks, gardens, quirky English ways, and familiarity from past visits make me feel very comfortable here. I find the Brits to be very easy for Americans to get on with and the differences between cultures complement one another very well. After all, England did once rule America.