One of the 5,000 things I'm working on at the moment...

Patience and fortitude, or "This is how I roll"

My Warwickshire Stagecoach Bus Pass. I'm a "Mega Rider," apparently.

As a New Yorker, I am no stranger to public transport. Contrary to what you see on "Sex & the City," public transport is the most reliable and often the quickest way of getting round the City. Like most New Yorkers I know, I happily sold my car, and lived on the subway. 

Public transport in England is another matter altogether.

The 2:07 PM bus to Warwick whizzed through Barford early today. I knew it would.  Even though the bus schedule (timetable), pinned up near the Joseph Arch pub states clearly and distinctly "Every hour on the hour at 7 minutes past," it really anybody's guess what time the bus will actually arrive! My routine journeys to Stratford-upon-Avon or Warwick (in the opposite direction) are life lessons in patience and fortitude.

The trip to Stratford, an easy, mindless 10 minute journey by car, becomes a half hour expedition, a daily act of faith, and a test of patience. Patience with the buses that arrive late, and depart early, if they come at all. I comfort myself with the thought that I am somehow being more 'green' and helping the environment...

What I should confess is that this sorry state of affairs is completely and utterly my choice.

In an effort to make this new life easier and more accessible for me, the D.E.B. traded in his sexy Subaru for a sensible, automatic Saab. Without having a stick-shift (gear-box) to contend with, went his line of thinking, I would feel more at ease behind the wheel. Not so. I am terrified. The Saab seems as big as a tank when I look at it. That, and the thought of taking to the road (and roundabouts) with the hordes of fierce English drivers, all going far too fast on the opposite of the road is more than my mind and bravery can take!

 

Of course, this should not be, given that I actually learned to drive in England in the first place! I know, it makes no sense at all. While I was living in England as a grad student, I learned to drive. I needed to. I was a temp after all. And a temp without wheels is, well, pretty useless. And unemployable. So I learned to drive. I paid a dear amount of my non-existent money to not one, but two, different driving instructors. I screwed my courage to the sticking place, bit the bullet and took the British Driving Test. And I failed it, three times. One the first attempt I did not even make it out of the parking lot, but failed instantly, before the test even started by stalling the car, twice, before we could even get going. Needless to say, by the time I did pass the test, I was an immensely proficient and confident driver. Even now, I know in my heart I could do a three-point turn on a dime! And I can reverse park into a parking space, blindfolded. I had a British drivers license years before I ever bothered to even think of driving in America. (By contrast the American driving test is a joke! It is so ridiculously simple, a toddler could pass it.) Why then, am I paralyzed with fear thought of driving here again. Why then, am I relegating myself to the mercy and whim of Warwickshire's finest bus drivers? I don't know.

The excuse I give to the D.E.B. is that he needs the car more than I do, and that I'm used to public transport. We'll see how long that holds up once the weather takes a turn toward winter. 

The excuse I give myself is that I'd drive, if we had a smaller car. I'd feel more in control, and less overwhelmed. And less afraid. Well, there is it finally. I'm afraid. Maybe now that I've got that out, I can face that fear and do something about it.

More of Barford...

One of the two red post boxes in the Village 

Local attractions and entertainment

The Granville - our local pub

Our street, with its two names posted

More Barford flora

Our other local pub, the Joseph Arch

First impressions - Tuesday, 26 August 2008

Tuesday, 26 Aug 2008

Barford, Warwickshire

My first full day in Barford.

Beautiful rural village in the heart of Warwickshire - my beloved "Shakespeare Country."

Serpentine country lanes slinking through lush, emerald green fields. Roadsides lined with delicate, white morning-glories, red poppies, and nearly black boysenberries.

Lucy and I walked a mile about the village this morning, and wandered up to "Middle Watchbury Farm." There, the City Princess Puppy had her first experience of barnyard animals. She delighted in all the new smells: freshly-tilled earth, hay, sheep, and pigs. She was completely fascinated by the pigs in their pen. And she gleefully chased chickens across the barn yard.

The weather -- what I call "English perfect" - warm, overcast, grey with a breeze, and sudden bursts of sunlight. Perfect running weather, perfect weather for writing, perfect weather for a moody girl like me.

I am living the life I imagined, as Thoreau once said, and I think I have come home... 

Our street: Wellesbourne Road

Wellesbourne Road and Bridge Street -- one street, two names

Our mini-roundabout

My new home: Barford, Warwickshire

Barford is a tiny, idyllic village in the heart of rural Warwickshire. Warwickshire is known as "Shakespeare Country," and Stratford-upon-Avon is about 7 miles from Barford. Barford is a typical, old, quaint "two pubs, one church" English village. It is lush and green, full of beautiful cedar and holly trees, and surrounded and embraced by rolling, pastures and fields.