The Beacon and the Ball

Guten tag everyone! I would say my mini break in Germany this week has taught me some language skills, but that would be a lie because I stayed in a town that (Wikipedia has led me to believe) has the largest American population outside of the USA. I guess in some ways it was a cultural experience. I learned that Americans don't use duvets (despite the fact that, in my opinion, a bed is simply not a bed without one), picked up a new song called 'Red Solo Cup', which has been stuck in my head for 2 days and is slowly driving me mad, and came to conclusion that eating mac and cheese imported from the US is likely to cut about 5 years off your life expectancy.

"2 delayed flights"

I left Exeter on Friday 13th. My day started at 4:45am after 3 hours sleep, and I was dragging half my body weight in luggage through the city before the sun was up. At one point I was so tired and disorientated that I saw my shadow and literally screamed. Travelling on such an unlucky day, I wasn't surprised when I lost my train ticket and had to buy another one. I was slightly more surprised and considerably annoyed when I realised the man had charged me for 2 tickets. Come on! It isn't as if ticket inspectors work on commission!

After hauling all my bags out of the train station at Bristol (and then back in again to get to the ATM), I held up the shuttle bus by not being able to get my ridiculous case into the luggage rack. At first I was judging every man on the bus for their lack of chivalry, but then I remembered I looked like some kind of half-dead hag and so I couldn't really blame them. After 2 delayed flights and an unpleasant business at the Mac counter in Amsterdam, when the sales assistant kept me waiting for 30 minutes to buy concealer when there was no queue (and she, unlike the ticket inspector, was working on commission, so judge that logic of that for yourselves), I finally got to Frankfurt. By the time I got to Kaiserslautern my impatience with the entire world burned in my eyes and showed through my freshly applied 3 inches of make-up ("Yes, Beacon, I am just naturally this fabulous").

This is just the Beacon, being 'an enigma'

That evening I was thrown in at the deep end, meeting a room full of the Beacon's friends, all of whom enjoyed the novelty of my accent, but could barely understand what I was saying. It took me a while to get over the initial feeling of being in an American sitcom (surely that accent is always followed by canned laughter?), but everyone was lovely and I had a fantastic time. We played some kind of high-tech version of charades on the Ipad called 'Heads Up', which was hilarious. I highly recommend it. Then the Beacon tried to get me to take part in Just Dance on the Wii, which I declined for the health and safety of everyone in the vicinity.

The next evening was the night of the ball. In reality, it wasn't a ball. It was a Christmas party. I just insisted on referring to it as a ball so I could feel like Cinderella. I had sparkly princess shoes and everything! Although I don't recall Cinderella ever sitting on the sink in the bathroom, cursing under her breath at the mangled state of her feet.

Despite the fact that there were no Cliff Richard songs or Christmas crackers, it was so beautiful and festive. And everyone was so nice! I don't think that British people are particularly rude, but we do tend to have that 'British reserve'. We're a bit socially awkward, like Hugh Grant. Walking into a room full of Americans was like nothing I've ever experienced in the UK. Everyone was so keen to introduce themselves. I learned the names of more people in that party than I have people I've had classes with over the last 3 years in uni. Cue me drunkenly insisting 5 hours later that "Americans are just the nicest people in the whole world". Another couple of parties like that one and I may well be talking about how America is a beacon of hope for the rest of the world.

After the party, more or less everyone headed to a club in town and I could no longer escape inevitable humiliation. I cannot dance. Everyone I tell that to seems to think I'm either modest or crazy because 'everyone can dance'. Then they see my attempt at it and realise how wrong they were. Grinding being the preferred dance move of the Americans, the situation was more complicated than usual because I had to keep in time with the Beacon, who seemed genuinely stunned at how little rhythm I had. 3 different people attempted to teach me how to do it, but I simply could not get my hips to move the way they were meant to and, as always when I dance, my fingers started jabbing the air in wild motions without me having any control over them.

The next day was spent in large part recovering from the tequila shots and me fighting with the blankets (a problem that easily could have been solved by a duvet. I'm just saying). And in the evening things got all Christmassy. The Beacon and I went out to get logs for the fire and we watched Love Actually. I wore a tiny Santa hat with bells on, much to the Beacon's obvious distaste. What a Scrooge!

"the new love of my life"

And on my last night we went into town to explore a real German Christmas market, where I discovered the new love of my life. Crepes with melted white chocolate. Where have you been all my life? Needless to say, by the time I was done eating it there was white chocolate everywhere. It was carnage. But it was great. I washed it down with a mug of Gluhwein, which I suppose is similar to mulled wine. Whatever. It was warm and alcoholic.

The trip home on Tuesday took about 16 hours from start to finish. By then a large part of the festive cheer I'd acquired had worn off and I had morphed back into half-dead hag. But I had such an amazing time. It's always lovely to spend time with the Beacon. I especially appreciate being able to poke him, mess up his hair, and generally annoy him in all the ways our Facetime conversations don't allow. But this was an extra special trip because I got to be Cinderella...and stuff my face with crepes.

A Fabulous 48 hours...with the Beacon

After being separated from my laptop for an entire week, I am finally back in Exeter with access to my blog, the internet and, most importantly, Roller Coaster Tycoon. So now I'm able to share all the gossip from last weekend's trip to Cologne to meet up with handsome American I met in Prague and also say, "I told you so" to anyone who secretly doubted whether I would make it back alive.

My weekend away started with thirteen hours of travelling. From my house in Exeter, I walked to the bus station, caught a coach to Bristol bus station, had three people push in front of me in the queue at Greg's while I was at said bus station, caught the shuttle bus to the airport, got a flight to Amsterdam, almost missed my connection because people will insist on not labelling the airport gates properly, got another flight from Amsterdam to Frankfurt, and then drove from Frankfurt to Cologne in the Beacon's fancy car, all on a single glass of wine. Add to that the fact that I simply couldn't fit all my necessary liquid items into the one clear plastic bag I was allowed to take through security, and that trying to smuggle my moisturiser through customs almost tipped my stress levels over the edge.

Needless to say, by the time I boarded my second plane, I didn't look as alluring and sophisticated as I had hoped. The woman next to me probably thought I was going to have some kind of nervous breakdown as I waited for the pilot to turn off the seat belt sign so I could have a go at trying to make myself look presentable. There was a lot of twitching, drumming of fingers, and muttering under my breath until I safely had my make up bag in front of me and a glass of wine in hand.

Forty minutes later I stepped off the plane with a face so transformed that the air hostess didn't recognise me and I was ready to do the whole, "Yes, I naturally look this great after travelling all day in the rain" charade.

We stayed at the Radisson Blue in Cologne, which was quite a step up from a Travel Lodge, let me tell you. It was absolutely amazing, what with its high ceilings, huge television in the room, two types of showers in the bathroom, swanky little bar downstairs complete with swivel chairs, and staff that called me 'Madame'.

And so that night we sat in the swanky little bar, drank whiskey, talked, laughed, and rolled our eyes at the general lack of chicken nuggets.

My hopes for the weekend were simple enough. Be absolutely perfect at all times and don't humiliate myself in front of the Beacon. I didn't even make it twelve hours before that bubble burst. First I delved into my makeup bag only to find that I'd left my mascara on the plane. Then we couldn't find the hairdryer. So I was forced to walk through the streets of Cologne with pale eyelashes and my damp hair tied up in ridiculous plaits. I looked like a tramp.

To compensate, I got all dressed up that night. Curls, LBD, the full shebang. Unfortunately when I opted to wear my sexy new stilettos I didn't anticipate how far away the train station was...or how many different ticket machines we'd have to walk to because none of them were working. All I could do was smile and hope I wouldn't end up with an incredibly unattractive limp. I didn't want to replicate both the tramp and pirate looks all in one day!

In the end we gave up on public transport (something I wish I could do for good based on my track record with busses) and got a taxi to Pepe's Cocktail Bar. Apparently it is the place to 'see and be seen' in Cologne. I'm not entirely sure how that works as the lighting was fairly dim so I didn't really see much of anyone. But the people we did see, from the staff to the somewhat awkward-looking couple at the bar, we made up dramatic and intricate fictional lives for. Anyone who thinks people watching is boring really needs to reevaluate their life. Or just drink more, because as the cocktails went down the back stories of everyone around us got more and more impressive.

In spite of having had one Black Russian too many (for which I totally blame the Beacon), I was determined to keep an air of grace and sophistication. This was especially difficult for me considering I don't have much of either even when I'm sober. But, that said, I somehow managed to get through the night without making a fool of myself. And a lovely evening ended with us watching Halloween entirely in German. Having never seen the film in English I found it rather hard to follow, but I enjoyed the dreadful 70s outfits.

And then came Sunday morning and with it, a rush to stuff everything back into my suitcase, an airport breakfast, and another full day of travelling. I've spent more time in packed airport shuttle buses, sat on a bench in Schiphol Airport, and dealing with liquid restrictions in my hand luggage than I care to think about. But maybe...just maybe, the Beacon was worth it.

A Beacon of Hope

For those of you who didn't keep up to date with my Euro adventures, a) Where have you been? and b) I'll fill you in on the essential information.

So this one time, in Europe, I was innocently crawling my way through the pubs of Prague. I'd successfully spilled my last koruna's worth of Jack Daniels all over my new skirt and the poor guy who happened to be sitting next to me.