London has a peculiar odor, perhaps a combination of antiquity, sweat, and human potential. But, I have to leave that odor behind for a while, trading it for what should be air that is less pungent. I enjoy traveling, but I'm always a bit anxious as I leave the go beyond the familiar.
I board a train in Paddington Station and ride it to the town of Stroud where I find the local information center and chat with the nice woman working there. She directs me to where I'll eventually find the bus stop I'll need later, but before first I find a busy bakery and sit down for a cup of coffee and a fine brownie, a Double Belgian Chocolate treat that hits the spot though for the most part, lately, I have eschewed such sweet things. Back out on the streets I quickly forget in which direction the bus stop is supposed to be, so I wander through some streets and through a shopping mall, just me, my knapsack, and my heavy bag of luggage. The bus shows up and I climb aboard. The only other passenger is the bus driver's son. The bus driver and I chat. He is married to a Filipina woman, and he and his family loves the Philippines themselves. We talk a bit about our travels to that country, and then a few minutes later he drops me off in Painswick, where I'll spend the night. I wander through the St. Mary's Church cemetery before making my way to the B&B. I am the only guest, apparently, though the night before the place was filled with seven psychologist. Once again I am a day too late to see people who might help me. I was once interviewed for a job, by seven people. They worked for the State of California, and I figured that seven psychologists might be more helpful.
The B&B, which as a building that is several hundred years old, is owned and operated by a married couple. The female half of that couple and I have a good conversation that is filled with small talk, discussion of the Brexit and Donald Trump, of her daughter who has been working in Africa, of where to have dinner, of what I would like for breakfast. Painswick is a small town; perhaps it is just a village in the truest sense. I am shown to my room, which is up a steep set of stairs. It is a comfortable room. Half an hour later I have cleaned up and am out the door to The Falcon, where I have dinner. I am seated at a small table in a corner of a large room. Though I do not mind being alone, there are times when even I would like someone to talk to. But the chair across from me remains empty, and that makes me think of one of the worst lines ever written for a mediocre song: "And no one heard at all, not even the chair." (Neil Diamond, "I Am, I Said," 1971).
After dinner I wander again through Painswick to kill some time. I am, I find, ready for bed. More of the unknown awaits tomorrow, and I want to be ready and rested.
St. Mary's Church--very old. Yew trees.
Where I slept, outside and inside.
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