Unexpected Adventures -- Brighton, England

"I like the word 'indolence'. It makes my laziness seem classy."

~Bernard Williams 

 Lucy lounges to my left. Oscar reclines to my right. Violet, Harry and Charlotte kneel in the kitchen, busily creating lego, cardboard, hot glue, paper masterpieces.

I don't know if I've ever come across a mother with more patience. I would be pulling out hair at this point, and it might not be mine.

Interacting with children teaches us so much about ourselves. I adore kids -- their creative energy, their willfulness, their naive notions and their cheekiness. I also appreciate how relentlessly they test the world and the people around them. Amongst many other things, they test my ingenuity, my ability to be in multiple places at the same time, my eardrums, and my patience. I haven't the fortitude in any of these areas to properly care for children of my own, but I have just the right amount to help care for the children of others.

Harry has recently (as of yesterday afternoon) developed a fondness for tools, and has commenced the draft work of several ambitious projects. His fondness of sharp metal objects is so complete that he would prefer to skip ahead to the exciting part where he cuts things, willy-nilly. This skipping ahead does not amuse Charlotte, and it takes all of her persuasive powers to keep the precocious ten year old boy working with a pen and not hacking away at his cardboard with a craft knife.

"Fingers out of the way! Your finger was hanging over the edge of the ruler. Don't leave the knife on the floor."

"All I need to do is glue a little bit down here."

"Mummy, I've almost burnt myself. It only hurt a specky bit. Mummy!"

Violet has joined in the fray. I feel sorry for Mummy. I would offer to help out, but I feel like another pair of hands in the miasma of crafty paraphernalia would not be the best thing for "Mummy" at this particular moment.

Yesterday was spent with Anne, Bob, three of their four boys and Pascaline in Brighton. We left Lacey Green at about 10:30 and spent a good two hours in the car. I switched between napping and listening to the hilarious antics that generally occur on roadtrips with a family of three boys and two witty parents. I was thrilled to visiting Brighton, as I'd heard only fantastic things about the city from a fellow yoga teacher during our training in Spain two summers ago.

 It felt strange to be traveling on highways with four lanes after all the country roads in Ireland and Wales. Almost extravagant, actually. It also felt strange arriving at the pier and seeing this:

McDonald's in the foreground and Pizza Hut in the background. Like Starbucks and Britney Spears, these are parts of American culture I can't seem to escape, regardless of where I run off to. The area was more commercial than any of us had really anticipated.

Fishing off the pier. This was also somewhat bizarre for a Colorado girl in whose mind "fishing" conjures up images of rippling brooks, bubbling streams, glacier lakes, and winding rivers.

I think Anne might have shown more enthusiasm than any of her boys, although they were reluctant to part with their fishing rods to let their mother partake in the afternoon's festivities. Not to be deterred, Anne created a makeshift rod of her own and had better luck than some of her sons. Serves the parsimonious little dudes right.

Pascaline and I sat on the pier as the boys fished, soaking up sun and chatting idly with Anne. After a picnic of meat and cheese and veggies, we abandoned the family to their fishing fun and walked into Brighton city center.

We didn't realize we'd be walking so long before things started looking less grossly commercial and more artistic and independent and... well, pleasant. 

 "Zis is not nice at all," Pascaline commented as we crossed another unimpressive street.

"I hope that this isn't all of it."

"No, zere must be somesing more. Maybe it is we did not take za good way."

"No... all the buses are heading towards the center. I think we're going the right way. We'll just keep walking and perhaps it'll get better, yes?"

"Zere must be more zan zis. No, no, no. Zis is, whoa, zis is not nice at all."

Palm trees. I was not expecting to see palm trees in England.

And then we found the nice bits.

The Queen's pavilion. We didn't go inside because there was an entrance fee, but had a bit of fun wandering about the gardens and popping in and out of the museum.

 The very nice bits.

So we enjoyed the nice bits, walking in and out of peculiar craft shops and chocolate hotels until we'd worked up quite the hankering for cold cider. However, the problem with traveling on a budget is that when you want to splurge (and buy yourself one drink), you do so deliberately, laboriously, particularly. You think so long and hard about where you'll go and what you'll order and exactly how much you can afford to spend that by the time you finally decide (assuming you actually do decide), you're inevitably disappointed. But even though I know all this, I still operate under the idealistic hope that the perfect situation is right around the next corner. If you've got three drinks you're allowed to buy for yourself in every country, you make those three drinks out count, right? So we talked about how much we wanted cider and we walked.

"Zis one?"

"No, I would like to sit outside. You?"

"Yes, outside would be better, no?"

"It's too sunny to sit inside with a drink."

"Yes, yes, I sink zat zis is za best."

So we walked and we talked about cider and how much we wanted it.

We passed bar after bar.

"What do you sink of zis one?"

"Nah, too expensive."

"It is expensive, no?"

"Way too much for me."

"And for me."

"Here?"

"What do you sink?"

"Uhh... should we just keep walking and see if there's something down the street? If there isn't anything better we can always come back to this pub."

"Yes, zis is a good plan."

We finally settled on the Black Lion, a small pub near the ocean that had outdoor seating. The bartender was cold, Pascaline's cider was lukewarm and mine was heinously expensive.

Moral of the story -- see a decent pub? Buy your damn drink and don't make such a fuss.

Strongbow on tap! Challenge accomplished.

Pascaline with her half pint of nasty cider. You'll notice that she's still smiling.

After the cider disappointment, we decided to treat ourselves to ice cream. It was pleasant, but after the champagne ice cream we'd shared in Princes Risborough, I'm afraid we're entirely ruined. The creamy homemade hazelnut ice cream of Brighton left us quite unimpressed. 

 "The ice cream in Princes Risborough was better..." I said as I glumly stabbed at our single scoop with the complimentary plastic spoon.

"Mmh, mmh, mmh," Pascaline agreed. "We should have saved zat for last. Now nosing will taste so good."

Bob and Anne and the boys met up with us after their fishing (four fish and one crab were caught. All were thrown back into the ocean, so the family's dream of fresh caught barbecued mackerel was about as achievable as my dream of the perfect pub). We sat for a few minutes in front of Cloud 9 and then headed down the street for a quick bite to eat before we clamored into the car for the two hour drive back to Buckinghamshire.

It was an unexpected adventure.

I love the unexpected adventures with congenial families in foreign countries. Especially when they involve car rides where I can stare out the window, cute shops, ice cream, heavenly cooking stores, fish, museums, ocean, conversations that are half french and half English, and walking.

Have I mentioned yet how much I love walking? Even if it is only walking through the "Zis is, whoa, zis is not nice at all," section of town.

Preconceptions: None today...

Challenges: Strongbow on tap! Now I just need some gin from a London micro-distillery and I'll have my three alcohol challenges finished.

General observations: I don't think many people in England know what graham crackers are. I think those are American goodies. As are our fat, fluffy pancakes and our sole use of streaky bacon.