Re-memories

When we went to England in 02, Andrew's parents & I flew over together and Andrew followed a few days later. A little background: Andrew's dad is a Texan with a big, loud voice and a pronounced accent which gets more pronounced when he's uncomfortable. Since he feels a bit awkward in travel, well, he was uncomfortable a lot of the time (read: loud). Andrew's mom is also tall, has bright red hair, and is enthusiastic about gardening and literary type things, and assumes others share her interests too. Since Jim is slightly hard of hearing and his hearing aid is a piece of crap (why is it that everyone I know who has a hearing aid has a crappy one?) Joanne generally speaks very loudly to Jim, right in his ear. Since he still makes no appearance of hearing her, she usually repeats herself several times. I don't know if he really doesn't hear her or is just ignoring her. It's truly a mystery.

The trip began quite annoyingly. We were supposed to be at the airport at 7 am-- knowing that this was the first leg of an international flight, with large luggage, and in the days following 9/11 when security was still tight but hadn't quite smoothed into routine. Andrew got me to the airport right on time. But Jim & Joanne were very very late--about 7:50, actually. We had to rush through security with something like 20 minutes till we were supposed to board. Joanne got "sniffed" by the chemical sniffer machine. Jim had to take his belt off, which meant his pants, which he belts under his sizable tummy, were in danger of falling down his non-existent hips as he juggled his pants, belt, watch and fanny pack. But we made it, without seeing anyone's butt (thankfully).

On the international leg, we flew Virgin Airlines. It was a good flight, in many ways, because Jim had charmed the Brooklyn-girl gate agent in New York with his Texas accent and she had stuck us in a more-comfortable-for Jim's very long legs exit row seat. (He's 6'4"). Virgin had given us these little bags full of useful, helpful things-- toothpaste and a little toothbrush, warm fuzzy socks, mints, an eye-cover for sleeping when the lights are on, headset for watching TV or listening to the music (including one channel with a "fear of flying" hypnotist-type with mellow relaxing techniques). Very cool.

Nearing the end of the flight, the young twentysomething flight attendants were seated in front of us, chatting a bit about the sorts of things twentysomething flight attendants on their way home after a weekend in New York will chat about. They were both from small towns north of London. Don't ask me the names, cause I don't remember the cities, but it was quite obvious they weren't "big city" girls, and they had accents themselves. (Everyone always thinks their own accent is normal and everyone else's is "quaint"). You could tell they were different from each other, if you have a good ear for accents. I realize that not all English accents are the same; not everyone sounds like the Queen. :)

Joanne asked the young women if they'd read this series of books from the 1950s about flight attendants, The Vickie Barr Series*, assuming, I guess, as a lot of people do, that if you're English, you're automatically more sophisticated and educated. In fact, she assumed they'd read them, saying "You've of course read the Vickie Barr books," implying that they are regular reading for all flight-attendants. (I think the girls actually sort of believed about themselves that they were very sophisticated too, as you'll see in a sec). They had the grace to look a little embarrassed that they weren't big readers and had never heard of these obscure books Joanne was talking about (they're always obscure books with Joanne; I got over that a long time ago...). They said something dismissive like "We only read fashion mags". Well, duh! They're young women, and that's what young women do! Care about 1950s mystery-solving stewardess? Well, no, but look at the new Manolo Blahnicks! And the new botox in a jar!

But later, Joanne or Jim, someone, asked them about getting to London from the airport (which, if you don't know, is quite far from the city and even further from our hotel in Islington). I had planned for us to take the train at Heathrow, but wasn't quite sure where in the airport the train was, and after a long day of Jim getting progressively crankier, and Joanne yelling in his ear, I was debating ditching the train idea (we did have absurdly large baggage-- we were going to be there three weeks!) and taking a Black Taxi. The flight attendants assured us that we would be ripped off on a taxi ride. That it would be a much better idea to take the train. (Well, I knew that!) They also said, basically (and here is where the idea that they thought themselves superior comes in) that "we were quite loud, and would be instantly taken as tourists" and assumed, it was obvious to me, because of that, to be idiots. (For the record-- we were ripped off by the taxi, but only in that it was very expensive to drive through traffic-bound London, and it took forever! Especially when we were very tired.)

Well Jeez. Let me see. 70 year old man, out of his element, on a loud airplane right next to the wing and the engines. Wife who is sick of the husband never hearing her (and/or ignoring her) yelling in his ear. Slightly embarrassed daughter-in-law who is going along for the ride for the sake of not being a jerk. Stuck with them. A bit embarrassed and wishing to be a more graceful guest in someone else's country, but stuck with the old farts anyway. Still, let me ask-- do you think there might be some "quite loud" Englishmen who are in their 70s? Hmmm.

In travel, people are out of their element. They are in unfamiliar places, with unfamiliar customs. London is one of the largest cities on the whole planet. San Antonio is a big city for the U.S. (8th largest!) but we don't have public transportation to speak of cause we ARE so large that it's impractical. So we drive our own vehicles. We don't have to deal with cabs, or trains, or buses.

So the moral of this rather long-winded story is this. Sophistication is relative. I may have been headed for England for my very first ever trip off the U.S. continent. I may have been with two folks who were enthusiastically every stereotype there is about Americans (loud, big, Texan, overly friendly, talkative). But I probably know more about English history and culture than those two flight attendants who only "read fashion mags." As well as Manolo, and other "fashion mag" sort of things. And am way more sophisticated in many ways, thank you very much. And I'm quite certain, gentle reader, that those young ladies have at a minimum an embarrassing uncle or two. We all do.

*essentially, Nancy Drew with a career.