Since arriving in London, I have wondered where all the real Brits are hiding. Studying at an American program, living with Americans and embarking on touristy activities have left me with the sense that I am missing out on the real British culture.
Britain has a remarkable program, however, called HOST UK, in which average citizens from around the country volunteer to have foreign students come and visit for the weekend. As soon as I heard about it, I jumped at the chance.
In my excitement, I didn't think about how potentially awkward this situation could be. I started having nightmares about being force-fed Shepherd's Pie and long, uncomfortable gaps in conversation. Not to mention that my coordinator assigned me to a 75-year old retired couple. I started thinking of ways to get out of it. What sounds more infectious? Whooping cough or gastrointestinal disease?
Well, my time for excuses was through. Last Friday morning I shook off the effects of the night before in time to catch an early train out to the east coast of England. On the train, I considered getting off at another town and heading back to London. I'm not sure why I dreaded it so much, but the more I built it up in my head the more I didn't want to arrive at my destination.
But as soon as I got off the train, I found the Englishness I had been searching for. The cutest little couple stood waiting for me, holding a sign with my name on it. The old man kissed my hand, and I knew I had nothing to worry about.
They escorted me to their car, and the wife insisted that I sit in the front seat. So I of course, walked around to the right side. Noticing their laughter, I realized I was on the wrong side of the car. Sheepishly, I went to the other side. Let me preface this car ride by saying, I have never been so scared in my entire life. First of all, I felt like I should be driving. And every time he turned left across a lane, I made that motherly close call noise to indicate my fear. And the roundabouts were the worst. They have about a million entrances and people fly through them. Needless to say, I was glad when we got to their house in one piece.
The wife headed off to her swimming class to be followed by Tai Chi. Seriously, this elderly woman could kill me. I bet she runs a 5:00 mile.
When she returned, it was almost dinnertime. I was prepared to eat whatever she made, be it beets and lamb chops (swallows hard) or pizza. I was pleasantly surprised by an amazing traditional British chicken cobbler, followed by a tasty rhubarb pie. They actually almost died when they found out I had never had rhubarb, never mind that I didn't even know what it looked like. (Note: The man fixed this after dinner when he got out his gardening book to show me rhubarb.)
After helping them with the dishes (yes Mom, I remembered my manners) we retired to the living room to watch some good ol' BBC. Hilariously enough, their favorite program involved American truck drivers driving across the ice roads created when Canadian lakes freeze during the winter. Before I could figure out the appeal, the old man yelled (they spoke loudly in typical old people fashion), "I love it when the trucks fall through the ice! They only have 12 seconds to live!" I literally had to hold myself on the couch to keep from rolling on the floor. Then, while we had tea and scones (I'm so British!), we watched a drama I wouldn't watch with some of my 21-year-old friends, much less people two generations older than me. I turned about 40 shades of red and then excused myself for the night.
The next day they showed me around their county -- Suffolk, ironically enough. They found it hilarious that Virginia's Suffolk was named after theirs.
The day was followed by another amazing dinner and another first, syrup pie for dessert. Three words: Oh my God. After finishing off my piece I felt like I needed a good trip to the dentist to take care of the sugar decay, but it was pure heaven.
As they put me on the train back to London the next day, I felt for the first time like I had really experienced British culture. These people were so proud of their nation and their culture that they couldn't wait to share it with me. I couldn't remember why I was so scared -- after all, old people are universally awesome.
Bailey's column runs biweekly Wednesdays. She can be reached at stephens@cavalierdaily.com.
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