Stratford Upon Avon had been the first stop in a month's tour of England with my sister. We were both gainfully unemployed at the time and the trip seemed like a perfectly good way to spend money we didn't have. Leaving a dreary London behind, and the appalling hotel we were staying at, was no great loss. Stratford was obligatory, if for no other reason than my sister, Terry, had been an English major at university and the Royal Shakespeare Company was playing there at that time. Seeing Kenneth Branagh in Henry V would prove to be a highlight of the trip. But leaving Stratford also meant I got to ride that goofy bus again, the one with the sign that said "Spitting on the floor is prohibited." And it meant I got to jump back onto a train.

Having taken my first train ride about four month before I was born, I have had an affinity for them ever since. Here was the opportunity to travel around England, an old dream, via a form of transportation I enjoy immensely. And one of the pleasures of riding the rails is looking forward to making new friends along the way.

The bus was late, the train was early and I had to schlep too many pieces of luggage, We climbed aboard just ahead of the last carriage door slamming shut. The guard's whistle blew, and we were fortunate enough to find the last empty berth. About ten miles out of the station and bound for Edinburgh, we thought we had it made. We were the only ones in the compartment and we could stretch out our legs. Eleven miles out and the door opens, the guard asks for tickets and steps aside to let another woman into the berth.

She might as well have the map of Scotland stamped on her forehead. Copper penny hair, freckles and a Scottish brogue thick as haggis from the sound if it when she addressed the guard. Terry and I couldn't have been happier: A Native. Maybe she could tell us of some interesting places to visit once we got to our destination. That, and the fact that making new acquaintances on your travels always seems to enhance the experience.

"You're Americans, aren't you?" she asked, before we had said word one.

"We are," Terry responded, "But how did you know?"

"It's your jeans," she said, turning to me. "We won't be seeing those here until next year."

"But, these jeans aren't new," I said. "In fact, I think I've had these for at least twelve months already and I have seen other Brits wear jeans since I've been here. How does that give us away?"

"It's the brand. Anyone can get Levi's or Wrangler's here, but that brand is just available in the States now."

"So," I said, "How do you know that these jeans are just available in the States?"

"I've just returned from living in the States for two years, and I'm on my way home."

At this point I'm thinking, she's cute, red hair, freckles, charming accent, I'm single (at the time) and I'm traveling with my sister? On the fairness meter, this is somewhere on the downside of mid-point.

"So," I said, "Where's home?

"My family is from just outside of Inverness. I'll be staying there for a few weeks and then I'll be joining my husband at his new duty station at RAF Brise Norton."

She said husband, in the service. Well I always have enjoyed my sister's company on a trip, and I am still riding a train, and as I mentioned before, I really like trains. Clickity-clack and all.

"Was your husband on an exchange billeting at a US base?" I asked.

Seems they had been stationed in North Carolina, all warm and comfortable, and they really didn't think much of having to go back to a cold, wet and blustery English airbase. It was nice to be able to see family again, and since the train trip was only a few hours each way, North Carolina lost in the end.

"We may have a great train system, something you Yanks could take a lesson or two on, and I can get from one part of the country to another in just a few hours, which is more than can be said for getting from the East Coast to the West Coast, but the thing I will miss most is the food," she said.

"But, what's wrong with home cooking?" Terry asked.

In response, she asked "How long have you been here?"

"Just a few days," Terry said.

"Just sample British cuisine for a few more days and you should have your answer," she said.

I chirped in with, "Yeah, I don't think I could survive on bangers and mash for very long."

British Rail continued to roll on quickly and safely to Edinburgh. Our new friend suggested a few places to see and one or two restaurants to try. Italian restaurants. The only edible food in England and Scotland. Because they are run by Italians, not Brits. And when in doubt or when nothing else is open, try Wimpy's. Or we could always wait for the next train ride and eat in the buffet car.

©2007 Rick Oldano
All Rights Reserved