Kerrie's Trip to England

Blogger is having trouble uploading photos, so those will come later...

As many of you know, I went to the UK in early May to see three solo Dave Matthews shows. The shows are the main reason I went, but I was also excited by the idea of traveling by myself.

The shows were all I wanted them to be. I've seen the perfect show, so I won't need to do something this outrageous again! The music was great, the fans were mostly polite (much more than they are here), the venues held between 1,500 and 5,000 people (compared to up to 60,000 in the US).

I made a car reservation a few weeks before the show. When I called from the airport, I was told that they had no record of my reservation. After lots of back and forth, I managed to get a car at Alamo, which was the only rental car company still open. Fortunately it didn't cost too much more than the original quote.

Friday, May 12
The first night was in Manchester, which is about in the middle of England. The city was much bigger than I expected and was almost impossible to navigate on my own (this a recurring theme).

As I walked up to the hostel, I could hear the music from the main lobby well before I got to the door. I think I was the oldest person in the place.

My notes from this show say "awesome -- Dave at his best; perhaps my need is fulfilled after seeing this great show."

I was on the floor, about four rows from the stage. I started out further back behind a man who had a huge, bushy mohawk, which got in my face every time he moved. He was kind enough to let me stand in front of him.

Toward the end of the show, a very drunk (and otherwise intoxicated) man stood behind me and draped himself over me. He sounded just like Groundskeeper Willie from the Simpsons and was as drunk as him too. He didn't know the words to the songs, but sang along as loud as he could. I could not hear Dave over this guy. I stuck my Smyres elbows out behind me, so he got off my back (literally), but the singing wouldn't stop. I finally moved a couple rows back, where I actually had a better view than up front.

I walked to and from the venue, since it was only 2.5 miles from the hostel. I didn't count on 2.5 miles alone along a sketchy road. I just attached myself to whatever group was walking by and was fine.

Back at the hostel, I got into bed about midnight. I was the first person in the 10-person room. Did I mention that I felt old?

The next person, Mr. Cell Phone Man, got back to the room around 1 a.m. and then talked on his phone for 30 minutes. He'd be silent for long periods, during which I though he was off the phone. I'd drift off only to be awoken when he started talking again.

Saturday, May 13
Saturday night's show was in Birmingham, which is less than two hours south of Manchester. It was a surprisingly easy drive (it only took about three hours with getting lost) and I even exited the motorway onto the street where my hotel was. The plan was to check into my room and then stand in line at the venue to get a good spot.

Ha! I passed the hotel's address by a few blocks, so I tried to turn around. I wound up in the city center, about three miles from the hotel. After three hours of trying to find the place, I gave up and went downtown to stand in line for the show.

Again, I knew exactly where it was and had some good maps. I walked around for two hours, trying unsuccessfully to hold back tears, until I found a tourist information center. The kind woman gave me good directions; it only took me 30 minutes to find the venue, which was three blocks from the tourist center.

The tears came off and on for about two hours. My nose and above my lips turn red when I even think of crying, so I got a lot of attention with my Rudolph impression. Once I was in the right spot, I settled down. I knew that I was lucky to even be there and it didn't really matter where I stood.

Serendipity brought me to the balcony, where I had a perfect view of the stage. I was on stage left, about 10 rows back from the stage and standing right behind the balcony rail. It was fantastic!

I remember this show as my favorite. Since my notes say that Friday night's show was awesome, this show must have been phenomenal. He played one of my favorite songs, which doesn't adapt well to a solo show. So he sang the chorus and skatted through the rest of the song. Fabulous.

The show ended at 9:30 because of noise ordinances. I was looking forward to relaxing at the hotel, calling Hart and sleeping for a long time. I still couldn't find the hotel. I even walked back and forth along the road looking for the street number. I'm positive the hotel doesn't exist.

I knew that the motorway has nice rest stops with hotels, decent food and good coffee, so I hopped back on to find a hotel. The first was booked. At the second, where I arrived at 11:45 p.m., my credit card was declined. Fortunately I had enough cash and got the second-to-last room. Phew.

I slept like a rock, took a long shower in the morning and checked out right at noon. The housekeeping staff wasn't happy, but I sure was.

Sunday, May 14
I tried to clear up the credit card mess after I left the hotel, but couldn't get to a real person. So I left Hart a message, asking him to call the company and let them know that I was in England, that my charges were legitimate and that I needed my credit card!

There was no show this night, so I stayed in Stow-on-the-Wold, in the Cotswolds. I meandered through the countryside and small towns on the way there. I even found a grocery store with lots of Kerrie-safe food and tasty baugettes.

Even better, the store had CDs. I took my iPod and an FM transmitter with me for entertainment in the car. Unfortunately, the car had no power outlets, so listening to my music was out. The store's CD selection was limited, but they did have a couple Jack Johnson CDs. I bought one and listened to it nonstop for five days. Good album, but...

My favorite method of travel is wandering around, stopping anywhere that interests me. But the route wasn't conducive to this. I did manage to get some glimpses of fields full of yellow flowers.

Stow-on-the-Wold was a lovely (touristy) little town. I walked around a neat church and admired various architectural elements, particularly walls.

The hostel was right on the town square. The atmosphere was much more my speed. I shared an eight-person room with one person, a woman from Detroit who is working on her PhD at an English university. She raved about the beauty of the Cotswolds, saying "Even the forest is pretty!"


Monday, May 15
I headed toward London, where this night's show was. This time I was able to find the bed and breakfast easily, without getting lost at all. Which was a shame.

The people were lovely and the room was OK, but the bathroom was vile. The ceiling was covered in black mold and the vinyl floor squished when I stepped on it.

Having learned my lesson in Birmingham, I left for the venue early. I found it without trouble, so I sat at a cafe, drank hot chocolate then tea, and read Isabel Allende's Zorro. I was happy to have time to read it. She's such a fabulous writer that I was caught up in the story immediately.

Later, I left the book on the counter while I went to the bathroom at the venue. A woman saw it and said, "I love people who read literature." We talked about favorite authors and books. She was by far the nicest person I'd talked to since I left the states.

This show was also good, but the audience wasn't as well-behaved as the previous nights. Dave reprimanded people for yelling at him ("I'm not yelling at you, why are you yelling at me?") and seemed pretty pissed off. The music wasn't as good as the previous nights, but he had his stage persona down pat.

I got lost on the way back to the bed and breakfast; it only took an hour to get there. But I had a feast of Boursin and a baugette when I got to my room, which erased my frustration.


Tuesday, May 16
I can only take so much time in cities while traveling, so nature was calling (not because I couldn't face the bathroom in the bed and breakfast), so I headed toward a national park not far from Manchester. I had a good start, but missed a turn and wound up on the road to Wales. Since Wales was where I really wanted to go, I was happy to keep going.

I booked a room for two nights at a hostel in Brecon Beacons National Park and spent the day visiting small towns. Next to my hostel was a hill where sheep were grazing, which always makes me smile. The staff was so nice and so were the other people staying there. I had my own room, which was a triple with it's own bathroom.

I spent the evening drinking tea and reading Zorro. What a terrific night.


Wednesday, May 17
My plan was to spend the day hiking. When I remembered that I had been lost every other day of the trip, I decided that hiking alone wasn't wise. I had a lazy morning and was the last one in the hostel.

I ran out to the car to get something and locked myself out of the hostel. Except for my keys. My water bottle and the Jack Johnson CD, everything I had was inside.

As I said, no one else was there, but that didn't keep me from beating on the doors and calling for someone. Eventually I gave up and cased the joint for open windows.

The only one was about two feet wide and a foot high, but was right above a taller window. I wedged myself into the top window and was able to reach the latch for the large window. Thus, I broke in to the hostel.

The wood around the tall window was so swollen that it wouldn't shut from the inside. I opened the kitchen door all the way and propped it open, then went around to close the window I crawled in through. As I was closing it, one of the hostel's employees rode up on her bike and asked what I was doing.

I was mortified as I described what happened, but she told me that it was the kind of thing she would do, which turned the experience into an adventure. Sadly, my Nalgene bottle didn't make it out with me.

The rest of the day, I went to some small towns and saw the remains of several castles. The highlight of the day was stopping at September Organic Dairy, a farm that sells some of its wares in a tiny building at the edge of the farm. I got some awesome Greek yogurt and delicious honey and ginger ice cream.

That night, I ate dinner with a couple that was staying at the hostel then drank more tea, read more of Zorro and called Hart.


Thursday, May 18
My flight left Manchester early on Friday morning. Given my track record, I set out early. The day's main attraction was touring a castle that was built in the 15th century. I loved seeing the design of the building and how the rooms were arranged and used.

The rest of the day was uneventful. I stayed in a hotel near the airport, packed my bag and talked to Hart on the phone. Then I drank tea and read Zorro until it was time to sleep.


Friday, May 19
I found the right airport terminal and returned my rental car without getting lost at all. I picked up three books, two of which I read that day. Because I flew to England from Minnesota and was flying into Manchester instead of London, my return took three flights -- Manchester to Newark, Newark to Minneapolis-St. Paul, MSP to Seattle. Just about 24 hours of travel.

The most amusing part of the day was the man I sat next to on the flight from Newark to MSP. He couldn't believe how small the plane was and was upset that the flight was delayed (because rain was pouring down). He said that he "just had to get another private jet." He also told me about how successful he and his wife are. Gag me with a silver spoon.