These are villages that were not designed with cars in mind. How refreshing. These villages are made for feet, not tires.
Abysmal American pop music plays in the background, tainting the atmosphere of this otherwise lovely cafe.
"I'm so upset that Loo-loo's... La-loo's? ... Lucy's? eh. That cafe I liked so much last time I was here closed. They played great music. And had internet. The coffee here is good, but I just... American pop? Must they really?"
Our two days in Bristol were mixed. We bpoarded our bus from Oxford at 9:35 on Tuesday morning. Boy strained his neck, trying to see out both windows at the same time.
"Why didn't you tell me Oxford was this dope?" he moaned.
We passed through Chippenham and the same thing happened.
We passed through Bath, and Boy started drooling.
"All those old buildings!" he exclaimed in ecstatic disbelief.
"Bristol's good too, no worries," I tried to comfort Boy as the bus left Bath behind.
But as we drew near to Bristol, I began to realize that my memory had sugarcoated it somehow. There were hardly any old churches or quaint row houses. There were glass sky scrapers and industrial buildings pumping pillars of smoke into pillars of smoke.
Why did I think this place was so great? Because when I was here three years ago, Bristol was in the middle of its harbour festival. Because I'd come with Eddie from Uganda and Jeremy from Kenya and six other people from all over Europe. Because I couldn't look in any direction without seeing alcohol and cheese. Because it pissed rain all over everyone and I had to hide in tunnels and parking lots full of funky graffiti.
"Maybe it gets better?" I said timidly to Boy's disappointed face.
"I hope so..."
"Wow, see that building? That building is pretty!" I pointed out the one vaguely interesting structure on the street in desperation.
 |
| One of the interesting streets |
 |
| another interesting street... |
"We'll figure it out, I guess."
We walked from the bus station to downtown and sat in Queen's Park. Boy went off to grab a picnic lunch at a nearby Tesco Express and I brainstormed solutions to my blunder. By the time Boy returned with chorizo, cheese and tomatoes (toms, in the UK. They can't be bothered to say "tomatoes"), I had a plan.
"How about we stay in Bristol tonight with Spela and Craig and then take a day trip to Bath tomorrow? We can spend all day wandering around, you can see your old buildings, and then we can spend tomorrow night with Yien and Teh and leave for Pembrokeshire the next day. How's that sound?"
Boy thought for a moment.
"Okay, let's do it."
We met Spela at the Full Moon Pub at seven o'clock. Right off the bat, I knew I was going to like this lady (she's from Slovenia, duh). She studied theatre in university. She loves to paint and thinks we're all artists. She wants to become a yoga teacher. She dreams of going to Nepal.
We may or may not have been sisters in a past life...
We went to another pub for a final drink and then made our way to the gay district of Bristol, where Spela lives with her boyfriend Craig in a two hundred year old clock tower. There are spiral stairs and a gorgeous rooftop to wander out on and more dysfunctional but adorable quirks than I had straight out of homeschooling. After much deliberation, we decided to order in our dinner, and spent the rest of the evening chatting about Slovenia, England the US and the fortuitousness of Tuesdays.
Tuesday morning, Spela walked us alongside the riverbank, leading the way to her favorite cafe.
A cafe that is not her favorite because of the coffee (although my latte was quite good). A cafe that is not her favorite because of the pastries (although they looked sublime).
A cafe that is her favorite because of this little guys --
Who always seems to be running underfoot and pouncing up on unsuspecting laps.
The bus to Bath takes over an hour, but the train takes a grand total of 12 minutes. So we were able to snuggle baby chewbacca, drink our coffee and make it to Bath by 11:30.
The rest of the day was spent wandering through the city with our jaws hanging open in wonder and delight. Getting rained on every now and then. Sneaking a bottle of wine into the park to drink when no one was looking. Watching street musicians entertain on tight ropes.
 |
| This is a section in the middle of one of the main squares that's full of bean bags and super cozy chairs. Just for people to relax without having to go into a cafe. |
 |
| So many layers... |
We laughed at how British people feel about cake.
Boy
was in heaven. He probably could have spent a week walking through
Bath's winding alleyways and cobbled streets. Slowly strolling under the
cover of his umbrella and popping in and out of cafes and antique
shops.
We
caught our train back to Bristol at six o'clock, mourning the fact that
a) we could not just stay in Bath and b) we could not just stay with
Spela and Craig (they were only able to host us for one night). A host
way the hell up north in Bristol had agreed to host us on Wednesday
night, so we picked up our bags from the two hundred year old
clocktower, sadly said goodbye to Spela (and the clocktower) and boarded
a bus bound for way the hell up north.
We
arrived around nine o'clock and our host, Yien, met us at the stop and
led us to her very modern looking home that she shared with her
boyfriend, Teh. Boy and I screwed up royally right off the bat when we
entered her living room with our shoes still on.
"Umm... sorry... could you please leave the shoes here?" Yien motioned to the mudroom.
"Oh, yeah. Of course. So sorry," I said, blushing with embarrassment and untying my boots.
Of
course. She's from Malaysia. Of COURSE I can't wear shoes in her house.
But still... I wish she'd warned me before I dirtied up her living
room... Oops.
Yien
prepared a Chinese herbal soup with mushrooms, rice and a very spicy
Malaysian vegetable dish. Boy and I stood in the kitchen and chatted
with her as she cooked, our offers to help politely rejected.
Conversation was stilted and slow. I felt just the tiniest bit in the
way.
Why don't I feel comfortable here? Is it just because I felt SO good with Spela and Craig that this is awkward
for me? They had so much energy and were so curious and funny and
open... it would have been impossible to not feel at home. But here?
This
is when I wish I had my own place. My own home where I don't need to
worry about whether or not I feel at home with someone else.
We
chatted about travel with Yien at dinner. We complemented her cooking
(and exclaimed over its spiciness). Teh came home and showed us youtube
videos of a Malaysian sport that someone combines volleyball and soccer
(you have to hit the ball over the net with your feet).
It
wasn't the best couchsurfing experience ever, but it was pleasant. We
didn't really connect, but we got along just fine. Midnight rolled
around, and Boy and I decided it was time to turn in, so we bid Teh and
Yien goodnight and walked up the stairs to our room.
We
spent the first few minutes getting ready for bed. Unpacking our
monster bags, setting our electronics to charge, getting comfortable. I
noticed that the bed seemed a little loud, but thought that it
definitely couldn't be loud enough to hear in the rest of the house --
especially with the door closed. So Boy and I turned off the light, got
cozy, and joked around quietly in our stupid Gru/Borat accent. Privacy
is a precious commodity on the road, and we were simply enjoying the
moment of being together with no one else there.
*knock, knock, knock*
"Umm.... yes?" Boy answered. I pulled the duvet over my head.
This isn't going to be good...
"Can you guys stop the noise?" Yien's voice sounded strained through the door.
"What noise?" Boy asked, honestly confused.
"The...
please don't make me say it..." Yien struggled through her
embarrassment. "The sound of the bed. We have neighbors. They are
pensioners."
"Okay..." Boy tried to think of something to say. "We're sorry if we were loud, but we weren't doing anything..."
"We
were sitting right underneath. We can hear the bed. Please -- this is
embarrassing enough. Let's just all get a good sleep," she said through
the door.
"I'm sorry," I finally piped up. "We weren't having sex, Yien."
"Let's just all go to sleep."
I
felt sick to my stomach. I lifted my head to move the pillow and the
bed moved with it. I readjusted the blanket and the bed moved. I
stretched out my foot and the bed moved.
"Everything makes this bed move!" I whispered my frustration to Boy. "How do they not know this?"
I could hear the sound of the shower running.
"What should we do?" Boy asked.
"I don't know. I want to confront her -- to talk about this -- but that's probably the last thing she wants. With her culture and all."
I sat on the side of the bed and shivered.
This
has never happened to me before. Sure, I've had awful experiences with
hosts, but I've never been the one who's made a host feel disrespected.
And I don't know how to leap this cultural gap to reach any sort of
understanding.
The water stopped running. I waited until I heard the bathroom door open and then I stepped out.
"I'm
so sorry, Yien. I just want you to know that disrespecting you was the
last thing we wanted. We had no idea that sound traveled like that in
this house. And we weren't doing anything. We were just joking
around. But I'm so sorry that you felt uncomfortable in your home.
That's not what we wanted and we feel terrible about it."
"It's okay," Yien smiled. "Let's just forget about it and go to bed."
Wow... she does NOT want to talk about this.
"Okay. Goodnight."
I didn't sleep. My stomach was in knots, churning and turning all that frustration and helplessness.
Did she even TRY to understand our side of the story?
We
got a late start the next day. I didn't want to go downstairs and face
the smile that hid my host's discomfort. So Boy went downstairs first. I
overheard pleasantries for a few moments, then the tone in Boy's voice
become more serious. I overheard things like,
"We really weren't doing anything..."
and
"We're all adults. You can just admit what you were doing."
I feel so deliberately misunderstood.
Boy
tried to reach out to her by saying things like, "I understand that you
have neighbors and that noise wasn't a good thing for them. I'm sorry
that they might have been kept up. If we had known the walls were thin,
we would have just gone straight to sleep without the joking."
I
came downstairs, had a coffee, talked a little bit about Yien's change
of career, and then we took the bus back to Bristol Coach Station.
What a horrible night. And it could have all been averted if they had just told us the walls were thin. That's it.
"What can we learn from this?" I asked Boy on our bus ride to Pembrokeshire.
"Always check how loud the bed is..." he huffed. "I don't know... I don't feel like we did anything wrong..."
"Me
neither. Gosh. I have such a hard time understanding cultures that
struggle with addressing embarrassment like this. Is it racist to say
that I just don't want to couchsurf with people who grew up with and
ascribe to an honor culture? I'm sure they'd be great friends or
colleagues... but I don't feel at all comfortable in their homes. I'm
not saying that the culture itself is wrong... I just don't feel good in
it. I know that so much of couchsurfing is about opening ourselves up
to new cultures and worldviews, but I don't know if this kind of
worldview is good for me, personally. I already struggled through so
much shame about my body, my sexuality, my relationships -- I don't want
to deliberately put myself in places where I end up... like this. Like I
am now. With my stomach in knots."
What a horrible, stupid situation. And so unnecessary. So entirely unnecessary.
Boy and I had a quiet bus ride to Pembrokeshire.
No comments:
Post a Comment