The Race of Joseph Gallivant to London

Hey you,

We like to pretend we are spontaneous, I suppose, though the kit and caboodle of us have our lives well planned and calendars allotted carefully. It’s our way of feeling like life is a tiny bit under control as adults, and to feel like some invisible force of time isn’t driving us, instead of us driving it.

The Race of Joseph was a phrase coined by L.M. Montgomery in “Anne of Green Gables” time, the time of Miss Cornelia and her name for kindred spirits. “They are of the Race of Joseph,” she would say, and that was that. You knew this person would be someone with whom to connect, share a present, future, jokes and evenings around the fire gossiping. (As Anne said, she wasn’t a fan of gossip, but exchanging tidbits about community and lives was a different proposition. Take the malice and jealousy out of gossip, add in a dash of honor, and you have a community).

Mrs. Lynde was a person not immediately recognized as the Race of Joseph, but she is a character that grows upon one eventually for her warm, if brusk approach to the people in her life:

“But the way girls roam over the earth now is something terrible. It always makes me think of Satan in the book of Job, going to and fro and walking up and down. I don’t believe the Lord ever intended it, that’s what.” - Rachel Lynde

Despite the influence of Rachel Lynde reaching forward a century or so, we girls dreamed up the plan to visit London last summer when we were hankering to travel somewhere, travel together. I’d been there, but England is a lovely place to visit and traveling there again was not objectionable. We got the time off and bought tickets; Wednesday, November 30th, four girls met up in JFK and we went to check in.

It’s a glad thing to be with comrades.

Here was the first adventure of the trip. We had no reason to travel with a lot of luggage and accordingly kept it limited. Imagine our surprise when Norwegian Air weighed our bags and told us we were bringing too much. Let me explain to you all, we definitely weren't. You see, none of us were planning to check a bag because if you bring small enough carry-ons you can skip the extra expense and not have to go through the check-in and baggage pickup rigamarole. We all felt pretty smug about our packing skills! We weren’t going to be typical girls. But no, we were only allowed to bring 10 kilos total including our purses, which they also weighed so no sneaking heavy stuff in there, and we went over weight. For American reference 10 kilos is around 22 pounds. It doesn't take much to haul around 22 pounds of winter clothes and gears and umbrellas, which of course one will need in London, right?

Right, so the ones that went over the limit ended up plunking $100 on a checked bag, which thankfully we could split because we just used our biggest carry-on size and stuffed it full of all the heavy things. A third of a day later, we landed in London, Gatwick. There’s a good train connection up to London from there and the taxes are less than Heathrow, making it an economical choice. A few minutes after boarding we realized none of us had checked to see if we could get into our hotel as late as it was going to be. I made a call and spoke to the Man at the Front Desk, who descended into regions of gloom upon hearing our arrival time. He informed me with no gentleness that he was only paid to be there until 1am.

I could feel his pain, poor man, but really, we didn’t want to spend the night on the streets. I told him we’d see if there was a way to devise an earlier arrival time and call him back. Using an Uber from Central London, we arrived at 1:03am. Blurry, tired, buzzed, here.

London, United Kingdom, Autumn - Enter, Four Hungry Girls

Someone has to take the photos, yes?

Hark! How strange she is, observe the general populace. Why post a photo of ginger shots and not some dreamy shot overlooking the River Thames? It’s not a difficult question to answer. Everyone always posts dreamy shots of cities, and while I’m the romantic as susceptible to these shots as anyone else, most of travel simply isn’t composed of shots like these. They are of four girls entering the Borough Market in London and, feeling adventurous and travel-y, spying a type of nourishment that looks adventurous and brave. We were recommended to knock them back if we’d never sipped upon fresh ginger before, which would be akin to chewing the root, and accordingly knocked. It knocked back, and I have been wanting more ginger shots ever since. Sometimes it is nice to try things that kick a little, just for the spice of it.

Just because you have been somewhat patient, though really it is I impatient to show them to you, here are two dreamy shots. The reality of this first one is she was counting the stones in the tower supports to see how far down the river was, because someone, I won’t say who, wondered what it would be like to jump into the Thames. Inspired by La La Land, perhaps?

The water was freezing, she spent a month sneezing…

Abby + the church by Borough Market.

Back to the regularly scheduled program, by which I mean food at Borough Market. I try not to be the braggadocios person always talking about far off places to which other people absolutely must go (all the while acknowledging privately that I am) but please, please do go to Borough Market if you are ever in town. It’s stuffed full of people, but more importantly, stuffed full of food. Rachel and I fell back into our old, accustomed ways of splitting everything so we can try twice as many things. It was brilliant.

First course: Mrs. King’s Melton Mowbray Pork Pies. Even cold, it was excellent. The crust would’ve pleased even Mrs. Lynde, who would’ve also scoffed at eating, standing up in a crowded market. “Barely respectable” I hear her sniff.

Second course was from a stand we spotted with vats of, oh glory be to God and all the angels sing! Mushroom risotto. We did nearly break the server guy’s heart by only ordering one portion instead of two. But did we look starving? No, we did not.

There was much perusing between. Grace and Abby had pursued food in another part of the market, so yes, there were more girls on this trip and they shall feature prominently in future, but this post is about food. Glorious food!

Anyone fancy some grouse? What I like so much about Borough Market is its ability to satisfy a tourist such as myself, but easily also fulfill the culinary needs of the local crowd.

I truly didn’t mean to capture this lady in this way; I was enjoying the effect of her coat and accessories against the backdrop of colorful veggies and behold, she caught me. I feel as if her expression could be the second Mona Lisa. It is enigmatic… is she scornful, delivering a withering look, wondering if she has something in her teeth… or perhaps seeing something in mine? It is ample recompense for my audacity in shooting from the hip, forever wandering the earth and wondering what to interpret from her expression?

To take the chill off, we indulged in a hot cup of mulled berries cider. It was everything it should be: sweet, tangy, full-bodied, comforting…

Sourdough doughnuts.

There’s so much more to see and do, and as all the good ladies of the olden days would say, since we have fairly stuck our feet in it we may as well make a good go of it, “may as well be hung for sheep as a lamb.”

Therefore, more adventures to come soon.

L. Raine

P.s. Rachel Lynde may have thought she had the last word on travel but I feel as if I had the last laugh with Norwegian Air. I am still smug when I remember how many clothes I layered upon myself, and how my capacious trench coat pockets expanded to hold my heavier electronics, things like my camera, kindle, and wallet. I made the weight limit, barely, and how was this gate agent to know I hadn’t gained ten pounds in London? It certainly was surprising how much “girth” we gained checking in for the return flight, but I’ve never lost weight so easily afterward.

Rachel Lynde might have been proud after all. Tsk. Tsk.