Merseyside -- Liverpool, England

We arrived in Liverpool Monday evening around 8 pm. After a brief bout of intense confusion and miscommunication, we managed to find our bus station and set off towards the home of our Polish host, Joanna. We arrived at around 8:30, and a very energetic Joanna welcomed us briefly, gave us the key, and then immediately left for a party. 

"What just happened?" I looked at Boy, bewildered and bemused. 

"I don't know. That was pretty bizarre.... " 

Joanna hadn't given us the internet password before she'd blown out the door, so we couldn't do anything online. She hadn't shown us how the TV worked or invited us to have any of her tea (which is an incredibly un-British thing to do). She hadn't even shown us how to unlock her uniquely difficult door and there was nary a strip of toilet paper in the bathroom. We couldn't leave for long, because she'd left us with the only key to the apartment and said she was coming back in an hour or two. 

So we walked past multiple pubs towards a nearby Tesco. En route, we overheard some spectacularly abysmal karaoke and were warned by a local, "You don't want to go in there..." We purchased some wine, cheese and chorizo and had ourselves a picnic on Joanna's white leather couch whilst listening to an episode of "This American Life." 

We're safe... we're comfortable... we're grateful for the accommodation... but this is a bit weird. She's hardly said five words to us, and we're in her home. And I doubt we'll see much of her tomorrow... 

I fell asleep on the couch and Boy (who is a better person than me) took the loveseat. Curled himself up into a little ball and consoled himself with how awesome his morning stretch would be.

The next morning (after Boy's glorious twenty minute stretch) we walked a few miles into Liverpool and Joanna left for work. She'd promised to meet us in town at 9 pm for drinks, and we said we'd be glad to hang out.

Shirts don't tend to last long when the sun emerges from behind walls of clouds in England...

Seagulls seem about as prominent as pigeons in English cities. When Boy and I picnic, we have to be wary of circling seagulls and charging puppies.

Unfortunately, cars have to be wary of seagulls as well.

Had no idea that Mr. Jung was so fascinated by Liverpool. But he had a lot to say about this "dirty, sooty city." JUNG'S DREAM

Home of the Beatles

Boy and I both get so frustrated by modern architecture coexisting so poorly with all the gorgeous historical buildings. We fantasize seeing what places like Liverpool looked like pre World Wars

We spent the afternoon walking in and out of Liverpool's free museums. Our favorite (by far) was the Maritime Museum. It tells the story of the Lusitania and Liverpool's struggle during WWI. It tells the story of the slave trade, and how the bustling city of Liverpool was responsible for 1.5 million Africans taken from their homeland and transported across the Atlantic Ocean to a life of unfathomable, yet commonplace, misery.

Liverpool Cathedral. Boy and I could have sat on the pews, utterly mesmerized, all evening. But we were kicked out at 6:00 pm by a guard who was very eager to get home.

You walk through churches like these and wonder where the wealth to build them came from. The sale of human beings? Perhaps.

We watched the sunset from the banks of the Mersey River. We held each other (for purposes of warmth and affection) and discussed the joys and the challenges of traveling. How grateful we are to be able to watch the sunset over the River Mersey, but how desperate I am to share a cup of chai with my friend Sara. How exciting it is to stay with strangers, but how much I miss running into Sandra and Brevin at Main Street Bagels. How the stress of not knowing where we're going to sleep in a couple of weeks insidiously finds its way into every moment of my day. I can't get through an entire cup of coffee without wondering, "will I have a place to sleep next week?"

I'm slowly growing into a healthier way of managing these thoughts. Not attaching too much emotion to them. The thoughts are present, but they're not causing as much anxiety as they used to. They're thoughts that I acknowledge, analyze and accept. Mentally, at least.

Boy is good for me.

"It'll work out, Aimee. It'll be fine," says my eternal optimist

"I know it will."

I wish the rest of me would FEEL that it'll be fine, though. I have a major disconnect between brain, mind and body. I know I'll be okay. If worst comes to worst, we spend a hundred pounds on a hostel or hotel. That's not the end of the world. Not even close. 

So why does my body tell me it's the end of the world? Why do I have this nagging fear, this knot in my stomach?

Because this is hard for me. For the last five years of on again off again travel, I've had hosts booked months in advance. During my first trip, I had the entire year of travel entirely planned before I even left the country. I became much more relaxed during my second trip and only booked a few months in advance. I gave myself the same kind of challenge in Mexico. Challenge myself to be more relaxed. 

Sounds ridiculous. Like working hard to be lazy.

I'm ridiculous. 

But this is me. Someone who, after years of being a home-free vagabond, still struggles with embracing spontaneity and invasive uncertainty. 

This is me. I'm working on the same thing I've been working on for years now. But life is generous. Life is very, very generous. And life will keep giving me this lesson until I learn it. 

Until I can find that connection between my brain saying, "it'll be okay" and my body saying, "EVERYTHING IS GOING TO HELL!" 

It's nice to travel with Boy. To have another brain telling my anxious body that everything is not, in fact, going to hell. 

Joanna texted us at 8:15, letting us know that she was just going to change clothes and then she'd drive into town to meet us.

"That's great, see you soon," we texted back.

9:00 rolled around.

"Where would you like to meet?" we texted our host.

9:30. Nothing.

"Would you still like to meet for a drink?" we wrote Joanna, mightily confused and a wee bit annoyed. "If not, we can take the bus back to your home. As long as someone is there to let us in."

9:45.

"No one is home," Joanna texted.

"Gosh, this is frustrating," I vented to Boy. "What do we do? It's dark. We can't take a bus home because we don't have the key and no one is home with the key. We can't meet Joanna because we don't know where she is..."

"Well, we were looking forward to hanging out. Is there anywhere we could meet you?" we texted.

10:00.

"Maybe come by Alma de Cuba in 20 minutes? 15 minutes?"

"Okay, we'll be there." we replied.

Joanna had gone to a sort of "after wedding" party of two of her friends.

Which is fine. I mean, that's great. I just wish she had communicated that with us. Then we would have taken the bus home and met her there at 8:15 when she was getting ready to go out... 

We left Joanna's the next morning at eight o'clock, still feeling mightily confused.

"I mean, it was by no means a bad experience. It was just... a..." I fumbled to describe what had just happened. "I don't know why we were there. I'm thankful she hosted us, but I'm not sure why she did."