I have to plan how to get from Nova Scotia to New York for my flight home.
It feels a bit like a puzzel - one wrong move and I might end up days or kilometres away from my destination. It has been a theme of my time here that public transport in the province is
going down the pan Originally I thought it might work well to take the ferry
from Yarmouth in the south, across to Maine in the US, but I soon find out that
my guidebook is a few years out of date and this ferry no longer runs. This is
contributing to the decline of Yarmouth, as they are losing tourists and
business. I can get the train to New York, but this involves travelling 1000s
of kilometres back into Canada via Montreal, which doesn't seem very appealing
and this is also the route for the long-distance bus, which I hear is ceasing
service before Christmas. It is a 'don't-start-from- here' kind of place.
Perhaps the provincial government doesn't want tourist here, or maybe they
don't want the locals to leave. After doing some research it seems that a
flight is the only viable option. Actually it turns out to be two flights; the
first to Pennsylvania and then a really nice 1/2 hour one in a little propeller
plane to La Guardia airport. I was last here nearly 5 years ago, for a great
reunion with my lovely college friends and I feel a little sad, that it hasn't
worked out to see Lindsey again this time. It is a clear sunny day as we fly in
across New York harbour and the Statue of Liberty raises a hand to wave. I can
see the whole of Manhatten - the space where the Twin Towers were; the Empire
State Building and Central Park. Then we fly up the Hudson River before looping
back round to land at La Guardia airport, where the runways seem to be floating
on the water.
Plane to New York
I take a shuttlebus to transfer from La Guardia to John F Kennedy airport and
then settle down for a 7 hour wait for my flight to Hearthrow. I seem to be is
a state of suspended animation where time passes neither quickly or slowly and
I don’t do anything other than eat occasionally and wait.
By early evening I am on the plane, but we have to sit on the tarmac for an
hour and a half while we sweat and fan ourselves, because some passengers have
not boarded the plane and they have to find and take off their luggage before
we can take our queue in the line up for take off. The captain and crew keep us
well-informed about our progress and there is a rather disconcerting announcement
to say that a jet engine in the rear of the aircraft is not working, but
reassuringly this is the explanation for the excessive heat in the cabin
because it powers the air conditioning. Eventually we take off and have an
uneventful flight. Looking out of the window as we come into land at Heathrow
in the early morning I can tell that I am back in the UK, as the farm landscape
of fields and hedges is very familiar and the London roads are curved, rather
than laid out in straight gridlines.
I come out into the arrivals hall it feels like a scene from ‘Love
Actually’ as Peter is there to meet me, with a bunch of pink roses. He is the
friend I was with in New Zealand at the time of ‘the robbery’. When we parted
there we thought that another time and place might bring us together again. We
have been e mailing each other over recent weeks and this now feels like the
right time and place. I have kept this part quiet from most of you and I have
even concealed my intention to create this bubble in time and spend some days
with him before returning to Devon. I feel somewhat uncomfortable about this deception and now need to come clean. We spend a lovely few quiet, reflective
days together staying a friends’ house in North London and it feels like a
buffer and transition between my travels and returning to Devon to my local
family and friends.
I know I am in the UK, but it doesn't yet feel like 'home'. I get used to the traffic being
on the left and how to cross roads safely. Wandering up the Holloway
Road feels like a continuation of my travels, with sights that I would normally try
and capture with my camera.
A few days later Peter and I say goodbye (for now) at Paddington Station and I catch the
train to Plymouth. Leaving London and rushing through the English countryside
in the train really begins to feel like being home. The layout and look of the landscape
of farmland and villages is so
familiar and so far nothing appears any different from what I remember. The
journey is the reverse of how I started my travels a year ago; it feels like
re-winding back to that time and place, but I know that once my view becomes
more focussed on the really familiar details of home, changes that have taken
place within this last year will become apparent. Some I am expecting and
predicting and others will no doubt catch me by surprise . After Exeter I start
to concentrate more fully on the passing scenery – the iconic section along the
coast past Dawlish and Teignmouth; Newton Abbot from my childhood and adolescence;
Totnes where I will soon be living; Ivybridge where I lived and worked before
leaving England and on to my final destination of Plymouth where Kate and
family live. I find myself reflecting on my travels and musing about the
choices and decisions I will soon be making which will shape this next phase of
my life.
Kate and the grandchildren meet me at Plymouth station. They all look great
and my eyes fill with tears as we hug our hellos. Megan is not at all shy, but
Elliot looks unsure and a bit confused. Back at their house they show me the
chart on the wall, amongst the postcards I sent, which has been counting down to
my return over the last days. We sit in the garden in the sunshine with toys
around us and within an hour or so it begins to feel very natural and almost as
if I haven’t missed anything over the last year. I am so happy to be back and re-involved
with their lives again.
Megan and the Granny Countdown Chart
Me, Megan and Elliot
THE END
