(And one more!) Introducing Camille

Surprise! I’m still on holiday and we have one more surprise special, late entry guest post for today. I am honoured to welcome Camille from Archives of our Lives. I have been following Camille’s blog for a while and am totally hooked. You should definitely go over and check it out. Anyway, here’s Camille (normal blogging will resume when I decide to come back to reality)

When My Parents Told Me I Could be Anything, I Decided I’d Like to be British..

Hi!  My name is Camille.  I write regularly over at Archives of Our Lives, and I’ll be running amok {though some would call it “guest posting”} here at Dreaming of the Country today.  I am both flattered and terrified to write on this blog—flattered, because I have a deep respect for Rachel and most everything British; terrified, because I worry that I’ll come off as just another bumbling American idiot who eats too many hamburgers and has no respect for cross-cultural boundaries.  {In my defense, while I am a bumbling idiot, I nevertheless do try to respect my boundaries.  God save the queen!  [Wait—was that disrespectful?  See what I mean?  I never know…]}

It’s true, though: I am fascinated with England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales.  I’ve been to England twice, Scotland once, and dream of the day I can see Ireland and Wales.  When I was a little girl {or should I say, “wee lass”}, my favourite movies were “Secret Garden” and “A Little Princess.”  Later, I became obsessed with Pride and Prejudice, and everything else Jane Austen wrote.  My fondest desire in life was to be sent away to England for boarding school.  [This was very disappointing to my parents, who tried to make me feel guilty about my dream: “Don’t you want to live at home with your family?  Wouldn’t you miss us?  What about Christmas—wouldn’t you be sad to live in England over Christmas?  You wouldn’t get your presents!” I was not to be deterred, though—I knew my calling in life was to be British.  It was all I really wanted.  {I suppose I’ve never been very sentimental.}]

The summer after I graduated from high school, I was at last able to take a trip to the Motherland.

I was in heaven.

(Here’s a snapshot of my scrapbook, which I completed fervently upon returning home from my holiday.  I’m nothing if not passionate about my travels.)

I spent three solid weeks there, trekking o’er hill and dale to see every sight I could.  I tried to see it all—London, Bath, the Lake District; Stonehenge, Pemberly, and castles galore.  I made notes of quirky British phrases, like “wheelie bins” {garbage cans}, “wee tinkle” {quick phone call}, and “I take exception to that” {that offends me}.  I packed way too much, of course—but it was my first international trip, and I had no idea what to expect.  I prepared for everything…

 

…everything except a broken camera.  I spent three weeks taking hundreds of photographs that never saw the light of day.  (This was before digital cameras were as popular, mind you; I wasted at least ten rolls of film, with very little to show for it.)  When I got home and developed the film, I was crushed.  Each and every photo had a giant black blob right in the middle of it. Can you imagine?  It was a trip of a lifetime, and I had only ten or so salvageable pictures to remember it?  Pathetic.

Luckily for me, I have been a writing aficionado from a very young age.  At the end of each day of my trip, I spent hours documenting the day’s events in my journal.  I jotted down every pound and pence I spent and what I spent it on; I wrote down names of cities, towns, and villages to remember; and by the time I got to London (the last leg of my trip), I started writing down things I’d learned while “living” in England.

My faithful journal keeping was the only thing that saved the memories of my first trip across the Atlantic; I’ll be forever grateful for paying myself such an enormous favour.

Here are a few of my life lessons, from the eyes of a 17 year-old girl:

Day 1: The farther you get from London, the nicer the locals are.

Day 2: Don’t spend too much money in one place—it’s depressing later.

Day 5: BLACK PUDDING IS MADE OF DRIED PIGS’ BLOOD!!!  But it actually tastes pretty good.

Day 7: When travelling, one should always pack as lightly as one can.  Seriously.

Day 9: I can make friends with people if I really have to.

Day 12: Buying food at international grocery stores is addictive.  [Marks and Spencers, anyone?]

Day 15: The British Lord Nelson defeated the French once and for all in 1805 at the Battle of Trafalgar [why I cared to remember this, I’ll never know…].

Day 16: I can miss my family and still be independent.

The trip taught me a lot about life, people, and—most unexpectedly—myself.  I firmly believe that traveling is the best education a girl can give herself—far better than any college degree.  There are just some things that can only be learned from life experiences…

…college never taught me to double-check my camera before a three-week vacation.  May you never have to learn that lesson the way I did.