Five (and counting)

I recently hit a milestone worth sharing–my fifth year in England. It was on the 26th of May in 2008 that I boarded an overnight flight to London, 61 pounds of luggage in hand. Within hours of landing I was settling in to my first “foreign” residence—an apartment hotel in the Barbican section of London—and then going about doing the necessary things to begin life in another country: getting an Oyster card (the equivalent of a Metro card), buying a mobile phone, opening a bank account and getting a debit card, and figuring out how to get to the office the next day. There was no time to waste: my new work life was set to begin on the 28^th!

I am amazed that five years have passed. Then again, when I think about where I’ve travelled, whom I’ve met, and what I’ve accomplished, well, it’s been five years crammed with wonderful things. I thought I’d stop to think about each of the five years and my fondest memories of them—no research, just what’s off the top of my head. Here goes.

2008 was the year I met some wonderful people who I am happy to call friends. Having worked on a few projects with the England-based team I’d already known quite a few people who were to then become my colleagues, and some of them I counted as friends too—it made the transition far easier, I think. In the first several months of being here I met the women who are now affectionately known as The Pizza Club—Leah, Taron, and Claire along with former and now once again office mate Kelly. We’ve done so much together, but our quest for good pizza is probably the thing that keeps us meeting up regularly. And among us in the last five years we’ve been to three weddings—our own—all here in England.

It was also the year that I realised that I could—would—travel to places I’d not have imagined I’d go to when I lived in America: Kenya in 2008, and in later years Morocco, Sri Lanka, and Vietnam. There was something about being in Europe that made faraway places seem more approachable.  My eyes were opened to a larger world, and my new friends—including my dashing sailor—influenced quite a bit of my travel plans; outside of a solo trip to Kenya I was experiencing these places with them.

It was no doubt the year I fell in love with what has become my new home. On weekends I’d often get up early and take a bike ride down Portobello Road, or walk across one of the many bridges, take in the view, and pinch myself that I lived in London. It didn’t seem real, and yet I’d managed to put it all together and get oriented at work, find a flat, make some friends, and settle. In the first year I’d no assurance I’d be staying—I had a one-year work contract and a storage room full of furniture in New Jersey for when I returned—and so I was determined to experience it all and enjoy it in 12 months. In the summer when it’s light out until 9:30 pm I would find myself looking for something to do in the 4+ hours after work so as not to waste the day—museums, walks, neighbourhoods, shops, anything to make the days full. (Thankfully I’ve settled down now and realise I didn’t have to always be doing something, LOL.)

And it was the year I invited visitors and proudly showed them around London—or sometimes it was them showing me! I’d purposely chosen a two-bedroom furnished flat to accommodate guests and encouraged them all to come to England while I kept the place—probably just for a year as it was far more than I should have been spending in rent.  And what a treat to have friends and family come. I was still learning about what to see and do in London, and it was great to be exploring some of it for the first time. I still have some favourites—Covent Garden, the British Museum, Tower Bridge, Bloomsbury.

Mirepoix the Cat made her way across to England in November that year; I had to leave her behind while she waited out the six-month quarantine period in America to assure the UK that she did not have rabies, which is practically non-existent here. I remember so clearly the day the service brought her to my door and I opened the carrier—she slinked out, low to the ground, and walked slowly around the perimeter of the room, once, then again. I picked her up to show her where the litter tray was—in another room—and then put her back down and she promptly hopped up on the couch and stared straight ahead, giving me no notice. She barely moved from there day and night. On her third day she’d forgiven me for leaving her behind and making her take the arduous journey in climate-controlled cargo, and finally leaped up on the bed to settle in for the night with me, just like old times.

A short year—just seven months—but 2008 was packed with wonderful things.

Perhaps the most unexpected of events happened in 2009—I fell in love with a blue-eyed barrister. In the previous year Tim was a semi-regular friendly companion of mine for exploring London. We’d met in October of 2008 to arrange some time for when his cousin (my dear friend) Karyn was coming for a visit. Still new to London, I was happy to find someone who had a few of the same interests as me—willing to go to the opera or try a new restaurant—things that are more interesting when done with a companion. It was a lovely friendship—I felt like I could tell Tim anything (and trust me, I did) and he was a wonderful listener.  Several months of occasional outings blossomed into a courtship that I’m not sure either of us expected when we first met several months before to discuss Karyn’s itinerary over a coffee. 

I gave up my flat, moved from west to north London, and re-settled with Mirepoix into a “relationship.” I hadn’t acquired much while living on my own—books and CDs shipped from home, a few more articles of clothing, and small items to adorn my first furnished flat. In two carloads I was transported into a wonderful new life that, when I pause to think of how it all came to be, still surprises me.

2010 was the year that I fulfilled a dream—to have a place near the sea.  Now living the life of a sailor’s partner, we spent a few weekends in Cowes and I found it delightful. I’d asked Tim to show me the towns on the sea that were easily accessible to London as I started to think about a place where we could relax and enjoy some weekends. No matter what place I saw, none had the same feel as Cowes; the high street is filled with lovely unique shops, and there is a long stretch to walk along the sea and a pebble beach that attracts families in the summer. It is quiet and pretty, and in the off season Cowes has a romance all its own where you may be the only person walking along the parade watching the sun set.

I never grow tired of it—the long walk west to Gurnard, or a trip to East Cowes to have lunch al fresco in the pub that overlooks the marina. I can sit and watch the sailboats glide by from the window, a slice of The Solent in view, or head up to the roof terrace for a wonderful view across to Portsmouth. I have slowly, carefully, filled the small house with furniture, some books from my London collection, and lovely art, all with just a slight nautical touch, and we’ve had crew come and go and come again on racing weekends, many whom have become good friends. It is a place of serenity, of comfort, this home away from home. I am so glad to have it, and truly enjoy sharing it, mostly with the blue-eyed barrister.

Coincidentally the day I received the keys to Harbour House was two years to the day of landing at Heathrow—27 May.

I have a postcard that Tim sent me that says Married in 2011. It was a wonderful, small ceremony at Stoke Newington Town Hall that gathered my new friends from England with my new family and my own family representatives, Robyn and Jimmy, for the afternoon of the second of July. Tim wanted it to be the Fourth, coinciding with that famous American holiday (which would also make it nearly impossible to forget), but in 2011 that would have been a Monday, so we settled for the Saturday before. The string quartet was found at my friend Taron’s wedding in March. One of my favourite moments was an impromptu dance in Tim’s arms while they played the intermezzo from Cavalleria Rusticana—give it a listen. It will always bring me a bit of joy, those moments.

Our honeymoon in Sri Lanka was the icing on the cake, of course, capping a perfect year. I fell in love with the beauty of the country and the warmth of the people. I can honestly laugh out loud thinking about our trips in the tuk tuk with our young guide Lal who managed to arrange anything we asked, and be an exceptional host. He was proud to show off his country, and we benefitted; I remember how he beamed showing us the wild elephants just off the road and the alligator not far from our resort. I was a little nervous on both occasions, yet glad for the experience.

And it was the year I retired the maiden name for my spiffy new married one . . . yes, well, I know a few of you are thinking she’s been there, done that before . . . but my passport always had the same surname until 2011. It took me a little while to get used to the change—I still occasionally introduced myself with the name I’d been rather used to—though now the slip is rare and the excitement of being Mrs is still there.

Last year, 2012, was a huge year for Britain—it was the year of the Queen’s diamond jubilee, and of course the Olympics and Paralympics Games hosted in my new resident city of London. What a year to be an expat! Of course faithful blog followers (LOL) will remember my brush with the Duke of Edinburgh, Mr HRH, at a Bar Yacht Club anniversary dinner. Tim had the honour of meeting Prince Philip and showing him around. Luckily our table was placed perpendicular to the head table so we could all watch the Duke laugh and chat. He gave a wonderful, funny speech and was delighted to be invited as the Admiral of the Fleet.

Then on the 25^th of July I stood proudly and waved the Union Jack as HRH The Queen came to Cowes to dedicate a plaque in honour of her diamond jubilee. I was thrilled to see her walk down the parade toward the plaque, which my friend Kim and I were standing in front of, behind a barricade but only feet away. The Queen leaned in to accept a posy from a young girl standing inches from me. I gawped, and then came to my senses and managed to take a photo or two. The local County Press for the Isle of Wight proves it—here I am snapping a piccie of the regal Elizabeth. She is absolutely lovely in person, and I was glad that Kim suggested a 7 am start (for a 10 am visit); she was great company for those three hours waiting and we both have fond memories of the day.

And how special to go to the Olympic Park and cheer on the Paralympians for the swimming finals! How fortunate for me that my friend Kelly had a spare ticket, having done all the work to go through the lottery and secure hers! Watching these athletes—many with a missing limb, some being wheeled to the edge of the pool—race for a medal brought mixed emotions of feeling proud of them in recognising their heroism to compete, and sheer joy for the winners. I think, I hope, that the exposure that the Paralympics gained this year will carry on.

Tim and I were lucky to go to the Olympic sailing in Weymouth (thanks David), another wonderful memory of the year. How special that was to me; who knows when the Olympics will again be in my “neighbourhood,” and so to have had the chance to see an event and be part of the experience is perhaps a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

On a sad note, 2012 was the year we lost Mirepoix the Cat, my Girly Girl. She had been my faithful companion for almost 23 years, having rescued her from the Teteboro Animal Shelter when she was just four months old. She was a treasure, and I have so many fond memories of her. When she was young  you could toss a small soft ball at her and she’d bat it back with her paw in perfect precision, or carry it back in her mouth to you like a dog would. She was endless fun, and wonderful company; a warm bit of fur at my side when I was feeling under the weather. She and Tim got along well--in fact she moved in ahead of me as a test to be sure that Tim could survive his cat allergy!

I miss her enough to not want to replace her; not just yet. Tim and I still will walk into our home and say “meow” as she was often awaiting our return home, until she became too old /deaf to care! The Girl.

And what of the first six months of 2013? Well, top of the list has to be finally getting the urticaria under control and feeling right with the world again. There was a wonderful little wedding we went to in March . . . most certainly a special occasion to have my dear friend Leah--an American I met in England--marry the handsome Aussie Andrew. The Routemaster bus ride will always be a fond memory!

I have to admit I let my five-year milestone slip by somewhat quietly. I thought it was lovely that Tim’s mum raised a toast in my honour when we recently visited her. It is truly a remarkable event to me, having not expected a future anywhere other than America. For the anniversary I thought I’d make a splash at work, bring in some cakes (which is how the population seems to celebrate events) and maybe have some drinks . . . yet in the end a part of me preferred to keep it to myself, to recognise it from both a personal and career perspective, and smile about my good fortune.

So what’s next? Saving up for my “indefinite leave to remain”! Having visited the Border Agency website I now know that I have to (a) take a “Life in the UK” test to prove my literacy before 19 December; (b) save up enough dosh to pay the piper (currently at a smidge under £1500 for in-person service) and (c) collect those documents that prove that Tim and I have been true Mr & Mrs for the last two years. (I was warned about these when I received my spouse visa.) We had a slight panic when reading the guidance for the settlement form when I realised we were short one document; Tim quickly sorted it by having me jointly responsible (ahem) for the Thames Water bill.

I think he’d like me to stay, then.