Brilliant Brizzle

It was the reunion of all reunions. On Thursday afternoon, nearly ten years after our last departure and 17 since the year we spent together, I flew to Bristol, UK to spend the weekend with my favorite au pair Rachel and her family. I was stoked. As I descended over the gorgeous English countryside, however, I all of the sudden began to worry about what our relationship would be like. After all the majority of our interaction was when I was three, and frankly I don't remember any of it. What if our personalities didn't match up and the whole weekend was awkward? And was Rachel afraid the girl she knew at age three would be someone she wouldn't get along with at 20?

Now I've had some pretty dumb notions on planes before (I spend a lot of time up there), but I literally don't think I've ever been more wrong in my life. If it's possible to have a mother, an older sister, and a best friend all in one--that's Rachel. The nicest, most loving person with the sweetest infectious laugh you've ever heard. I exited customs with wide eyes frantically searching the arrival area for a familiar face, and there she was, right in front of me. We made eye contact, and suddenly everything just sort of clicked. After a tense week of being on my own in Paris, I was instantly relieved.

I spent Thursday night drinking my first cup of English tea, eating loads of pizza, and meeting Rachel's husband Dave and his son Sam. Sam explained cricket to me as we watched it on the telly, although I still don't totally get it. But they don't understand American football either so I guess we're even for now.

Later on I moved into the Purple Room upstairs, complete with my own bathroom and a lovely scenic window view. Which also meant time to open my suitcase and find out which fundamental item I had inevitably forgot to pack. Unfortunately it turned out this trip's casualty as a result of packing an hour before I left was pajamas. That's a new one. Usually it's a hairbrush or toiletry of some sort of thing that is easily replaced, so this particular forgetting really caught me off guard. Ashamed, I slept in my clothes.

The view. An excellent contrast to the hustle and bustle outside my window in Paris.

I slept like a rock the first night since I had really only gotten 3 hours of sleep the night before. Don't ask--what happens in Paris stays in Paris (I feel like I'm going to be saying that a lot this month). But I woke up promptly the next morning, in time for my second cup of English tea before we headed out to start my very own guided tour of Bristol, courtesy of Rachel and her amazing mum, Nanny Pat. Little did I know I would be completely smitten with the city by the end of the day.

First stop was the S.S. Great Britain. Admittedly I was only mildly interested at first, until it clicked on the way over about how big of a naval powerhouse Britain has historically been, meaning this ship was kind of a big deal. I learned that it served a lot of different purposes over the last 175 years based on the state of the nation during the time period; but, originally it was conceived as a luxury transatlantic ocean liner. After discovering this Rachel and I looked at each other immediately thinking of our mutual vacation proclivity: CRUISE SHIP.

The grandaddy of Royal Caribbean.

Accommodations have definitely been updated since then, but the inside of the ship was still pretty swanky for the 1800s. Except I was majorly creeped out by the lifelike wax figures of statues that I couldn't tell apart from the other real people on the ship.

We then head over to our next destination and to meet Nanny Pat for the very first time. Oddly enough it's a little nerve-wracking to meet for all these people who only know you from your baby pictures. I guess I raised a pretty high bar for myself at age three, so I was worried I wouldn't meet those standards I set when I was barely toilet trained. But I forced myself to forget about it because little did I know Rachel and Nanny Pat had planned an extensive itinerary that would keep me on my feet all day (literally). We began at St. Mary Redcliffe Church, just another 600-year-old architecturally stunning structure chilling in Europe. No big deal. That's the thing I love about Europe, there's so much more history here. Every building is fab, and constructed out of gorgeous stone or intricate woodworking rather than giant iron pylons and enormous glass windows that the U.S. really digs.

 She would stick out like a sore thumb in Hinsdale.

Before we knew it lunchtime was upon us, so we journeyed through the town until we arrived at my very first pub in England, The Llandloger Trow, a 400-year-old tavern that withstood a World War II bomb leaving half the roof missing and the upstairs windows tilted on a slight 15 degree angle. And bearing the only other word in the English language beginning with two L's besides llama. Thank goodness it survived otherwise I wouldn't have the opportunity to discover the delicacy that is the jacket potato. 

All bundled up. 

More familiar in the States as a baked potato. But jacket sounds so much cooler. Makes me want to rename other skinned fruits and vegetables, like "turtleneck banana" perhaps. The British have better names than us for everything really. For example:

How polite is that?

It basically implies, "If you wish to leave this is the route you would use, but take your time." As opposed to EXIT or SORTIE which is more like, "Get out of here already." Loves it. Or how about this one:

I half expected it to say "Rubbish."

Anyway I digress. After lunch we passed through St. Nicholas Market which was teeming with shoppers and vendors alike. Rachel and Nanny Pat's favorite tent sold t-shirts with stereotypical Bristolian phrases unintelligible to my American mind. Their hilarious translations had me doubled over, so I considered that my 8-minute ab workout for the day.

Not that I needed it because we walked everywhere. I should be used to it by now, but it's still exhausting. The end of the day made it all worth it though. We headed towards Bristol University through the trendy, youthful Clifton neighborhood that was reminiscent of a college campus back home, yet with a vintage feel surrounded by all that historic architecture. Like what an Ivy League school tries to look like. It was magnificent. 

I'm a sucker for gothic architecture.

It was official: I am coming back. As soon as possible, and for more than three days next time. Hopefully Rachel and Dave are down. If not I bet Nanny Pat will be.

The icing on the cake was our final stop at the Clifton Suspension Bridge. The guy who designed the S.S. Great Britain also designed the Bridge. Talk about an overachiever. Nanny Pat lead us to several viewing points so I could experience it from three different distances to get the full effect. It was brilliant. Opened 150 years ago for horse-drawn carriages, it meets modern standards for automobile travel across the gorge. Now that's engineering. I also learned that it used to be a common suicide bridge, which explains the extreme fencing job and the Good Samaritan Hotline number on the bridge towers.

I know I'm standing in the way, but you get the idea.

Lush. Gert lush. (It's a Bristolian thing.)

And as if that wasn't amazing enough, one after another about a dozen hot air balloons began to speckle the grey skies with some color. It was one of those moments where everything just kind of aligns. It was perfect.

If I were a mildly talented photographer showcasing at one of those art festivals everyone goes to but doesn't buy anything at, this would be my chef d'oeuvre. 

The next incident would change the entire course of events over the next two days: Dave bought me my first cider. It tastes just like sparkling apple juice you have on New Years Eve when you're six, until all of the sudden your limbs go numb and words start flowing uninhibitedly out of your mouth. Wicked. We all finished a pint at a pub along the Avon River and then relocated to another lovely joint so I could check one of my lifelong dreams off the food bucket list--real fish & chips in England. Also another pint of cider. And another English delicacy I wasn't aware of: mushy peas. They were quite delicious actually.

From baby food to a traditional English dinner, apparently Rachel's favorite dish to serve me is mushy peas.

We returned chez Miles and head straight to bed (not before another cup of English tea, mind you) in preparation for our trip to London the next day. All in all I have to say that I fell in love with Bristol. I think it's the multi-faceted nature that I'm obsessed with. Part countryside, part lovely habitable neighborhood, part harbor town, part college campus, all with Old Britain influence. Oh and did I mention Banksy?

Grim Reaper on the side of the Thekla boat.

The Cheating Wife down the road from Bristol Uni.

As if the aforementioned wasn't enough, the satirical graffiti artist was raised in Bristol and has left his creative mark around the city. I hadn't even heard of him until one of his works appeared in Westwood a few months ago, and now I was experiencing his originals in real life. Rachel has a few canvases depicting his work that line her hallway too and it looks really cool. I'm a huge fan. 

Friday night had me on a giant Bristol high, leaving me thinking that my trip couldn't get any better.

And then we went to London.