As I made my way to trough the train station at Kings Cross I anticipated the journey ahead of me. I imagined traveling trough the English countryside by train to be a picturesque event. I dreamt of hills like and emerald sea that curled and collapsed upon itself, dotted with the faint white outline of sheep grazing. And this, my romantic notion of things to come, was met with the sad realization that from the train the English countryside is rather boring. As a matter of fact, the train doesn’t really venture much INTO the countryside, but stays on the outskirts of cities or power plants. I think it was being preoccupied on this fact that led me to catching the wrong connecting train.

Once you catch the wrong train, specifically one heading in the undeviating opposite direction, things become difficult. And once you realize that you don’t have the phone number to the person meeting you at the station in Hull (Roy White) AND that the train you’ve just gotten on is actually a different company and you’ll either have to get off or buy another ticket things become even more difficult. Headaches aside, I managed to get to the station I needed to about an hour later than originally scheduled. Yes, I had finally arrived in Hull. Well, just south of Hull, but close enough. As I got of the train I was meet with a fleeting sense of accomplishment, rain, and unexpected chilling cold. And I was NOT met by Roy, who was expecting me an hour prior.

As I halfheartedly searched for Roy (not really expecting him to still be there) I met a woman named Shirley. In a most generous and kind spirit she offered to drive me to the address I had written down for Roy and his wife. Shirley smelled like a teacher close to retirement (like stale coffee and cigarettes) and was a pleasant woman with sunspots covering her more-tan-than-the-typical-Englishwoman skin. She explained amidst chain smoked sentences that she has lived in South Africa for the past 20 years and was just in England to visit her children. Her son was a supply (or substitute) teacher in a school here and was hating it. He was used to the respect and obedience of children in Africa and to be met with defiance in England was something surprising. Imagine what his response to American students would be. Shirley also explained that much had changed since she had left England, a fact that became obvious with her scary driving and lost of sense of direction. Being a free ride I made no complaint. Eventually we made it to Roy’s house however and parted ways. I promised to look her up for a tour if ever I am in Cape Town.

Roy and Liz White are a handsome English couple in their seventies. They are my official scholarship coordinators in the UK and as I arrived to their front door I felt lucky to have been assigned to them. They meet me with smiles and relief that I hadn’t been abducted or turned into some kind of American work slave. Then they promptly set me down for a drink and hot meal. We chatted much about the area and what I was to expect. They also said that perhaps they will take me Wales for a day since Liz if originally form there. After being lost and frenzied for the majority of the day their house was a refreshing transition back into mellow. After a short time Roy and I collected my bags and drove into Hull to get the key to my new house.

In the grand scheme of things first impressions don’t matter, they are fleeting, often changed, and superficially biased. Nonetheless as I walked to the outside of the house I was overjoyed that it was way nicer then the negative images I had been supplying my head with. After walking through I was elated, I thought to myself the only way this house could be better is if I somehow had free wi-fi access and like manna from heaven in it came!

The house, if you care to know, is a charming brick structure. I have an 8ft x 12ft front yard that is filled with stones and pavers currently but would be a perfect garden spot. The front door is a stained glass laden door with a 2ft. entryway before you are met with a second skeleton keyed door. And through there is the spacious living room equipped with a worn sofa and two matching armchairs. This room reminds me a lot of a Grandmother, somewhere where you would sit and hear gossip 20 years old. I imagine it has looked this way for some time now, the only modern torch being a outcropping of wall that was painted a cool brown color. In the corner of the room I saw a sad looking plant and my first act in the new hose was to rescue the plant to an area of more sunlight. I felt very much like my mothers son.

Through sliding wood and glass doors is the rest of the house, beginning with the dinning area. Resting there is a small table and chairs making it the perfect place to sit and read the paper as you sip on coffee. Just past that is the most modern looking part of the house, the kitchen. It is a cheerful yellow with warm wood floors and counters with some small appliances left upon them. Also in the kitchen is a tiny washing machine, a small fridge, and small freezer. Through the kitchen is the bathroom which is quite small but efficient. Then upstairs are the two bedrooms. The master bedroom is a good size but has purple walls. The second bedroom is much smaller but has blue green walls that match better with my bedspread, and a big closet as compared to the farmers closet found in the main room. I debated between which room to sleep in for a while then decided to I was being too picky about colors of all things and began to unpack. The house as a whole is great, it is basic but much nicer than some of the places I’ve seen students living in. It’s old style English which I was hoping for and has the attributes of such. Things like skeleton key locks on the doors, separate faucets for hot and cold in the sinks, and very narrow and steep stairs. The house also has quite a few windows and lets in lots of light.

There was some bacon and eggs in the fridge and some bread on the counter so I made breakfast for dinner, praying that the meat wasn’t expired. Making and eating food is a good example of a phenomena that I’ve been experiencing in this house. Not only am I settling for a much simpler way of life BUT I am getting inventive in making do with what I have. For example, my water wouldn’t get hot so I simply accepted the fact and just boiled some so as to do dishes. I have a washer but no dryer so I am using this strange bamboo structure I found I found to let them air dry. When not loaded down with clothes this strange bamboo structure has doubled as a funky makeshift chandelier. I may get really creative with it, who knows. Another example, I wanted cereal but have no bowls so I just found a short and stout mug and it worked perfectly. In fact it makes drinking the remaining milk after you’ve eaten all your cereal seem much more civilized. To hell with bowls, I’ll take a cup! And lastly, I found an amazing deal on a sweater vest that I loved. The vest however came equipped with sewn in tee-shirt sleeves that I didn’t love. The result, now I have a sweet sweater vest and two washrags for the prince of one! It may seem like really simple obvious solutions to others, perhaps even ridiculous, but it’s been giving me this great sense of empowerment. I feel like an old Americana Plains Indian or something, leaving nothing to waste.

As I bundled up for the night I felt content in my little house. It isn’t fancy by any means, but it does have an undeniable attachment to me already. Perhaps I should name it.