Duty Free

I am currently awaiting my flight at Gatwick Airport and this in the first time since I can remember that I have not been forced to take off my shoes in Airport Security. It was like I was in a first class line, the security people put everything in the bins for you, smile, tell you to have fun and safe travels, help you remove things from the bin. It was incredible. While flying here, the TSA yelled at me for forgetting to take my belt off and not removing my cardigan sweater. I mean does a tiny cardigan really count as a jacket??? It is strange flying internationally twice in two weeks, this flight will obviously be shorter. The gate isn’t even announced until 40 minutes before my flight. Another novelty. Like waiting for the LIRR, playing the guessing game of which platform.

Riddle me this. Duty Free means tax free right, but in England there is not sales tax, right? I’m serious. Someone answer my question. Why is everyone scurrying around to by whiskey, perfume and cigarettes? I had to buy a belt. The stupid belt I JUST bought before leaving didn’t make it through the Umi Hotel experience. I will never ever ever buy a reversible belt as long as I live. The little metal clasp came off every time I unbuckled it. You trying finding a two inch piece of metal in an airplane bathroom. I was rattling around enough in there they probably thought I was trying to disarm the smoke alarm of something.

I am glowing, giggling, smiling, and skipping around the hellish Gatwick at the thought of going to Valencia. Even though my pants were practically at my knees, I burned my tongue on my latte, get on the wrong train, stood in the wrong check-in line, forgot my deodorant, and there’s a screaming two year old behind me poking me with is slimy teddy bear yet none of it has even phased me. A year ago, maybe in 6 months ago I never would have made this adventure alone, but a new bravery as captured me like a false security blanket. I guess I’ve finally entered those youthful years you hear about and read about in books where nothing bad can happen to me. Well, that’s not entirely true, I mean I am still me BUT a braver, more confident, adventurous me. It’s refreshing. Dreams of paella and mojitos are dancing in my head. This week will be full of beaches! We went to Brighton yesterday.

It was marvelous. I like to think of it as returning to the scene of the crime. Yet, no offense to my father, after visiting there, I don’t understand how he got run over there in the first place. I did however, look both ways 100 times before crossing the street and scour the cross walks for blood stains. They drive more carefully there and are more respectful to pedestrians then any place I’ve been so far, but as Mum pointed out maybe that’s the blessing. If he had been hit in Kingston or the City of London he may have lost more than a foot. Unfortunately for my father, I was really taken with Brighton. Brighton be punk, but it’s also extremely picturesque. Catherine, my new friend(I do have one!) and I both commented on how we felt as though we had transported to a Jane Austen novel- sea bathing in the ocean. I did not find a husband like Lydia, not yet anyway. Even the touristy boardwalk was nostalgic.

The Royal Pavilion was extraordinary. Secretly, I liked it better than Buckingham. Nash- again- paired with Georgey (IV) Porgy really out did themselves. The outside was inspired by Indian architecture and the inside Asian decoration and themes. What is so fascinating and weird to me is neither of the men working of the Palace had ever been to either of those places. It was like a imagination playground for grown men, what they had always fanaticized these exotic places to be like and their imaginations spared no expense. I finally got a decent cup of coffee from a small Italian café in the Laines. The man thought I was Italian, he was disappointed when I opened my big fat Southern mouth. “Italiana?” he pointed at my hair and eyebrows. “No osrry, American…” Wah wah wah. I couldn’t claim my heritage like I can in the States. You don’t get away with that here. He laughed and smiled and made a fantastic latte. Thank heavens.

I have much to say on Beckett as well, if you are tired of me gushing over all the fantasic theatre I’ve seen for outrageously good prices, stop reading here, however you will be missing out because Gambon+Beckett=Brilliance.

In case those two names are familiar at first, Michael Gambon is Dumbledore in the 3^rd-6^th Harry Potter movies and good old Sam Beckett, father of the absurd, penned Waiting for Godot. Frankly, I never really understood Absurdist or Beckett. I wasted so much breath arguing against Theatre of the Absurd. What’s the point? I get that it changed theatre and dared people to try new things, but why are people claiming its relevance. Why watch people lost and talking in circles for hours on end, and just like Shakespeare at the Globe done in its purist, yet still risky form, this production turned the light bulb on. The play, Krapp’s Last Tape, has very little live spoken word and the adage acting is reacting was never so brilliantly highlighted. Gambon was light never taking himself to seriously, but nevr mocking or mimicking what “Beckett” is supposed to mean. He was natural and interesting, emotional and numb. The direction was calming and stirring. Every contradiction played perfectly. I am now excited to read more Beckett when before he was a playwright I dreaded studying. This is good because I will spending 6 weeks on his work. So thank goodness for this performance. And my apologies to my Directing II and Theatre History class. I get it, I conceed. You win. Really.

I made another dangerous discovery. The pasty. The original Hot Pocket, but way more appetizing and carries ten times the calories. And like the hotpocket, the quick, easy and cheap. Unlike the hotpocket, fresh, filling and traditional. I am worried. So I’m limiting myself to no more than one pasty every two weeks. Those will be good days.

Hopefully they announce my gate soon. I supposedly will be on my way to Spain 20min…doubt it.

Adios!

P.S That 20min delay was a 4 hours delay. I made it safe to my hostel. Now to explore. Soy hombre.