Ahhhh Beautiful Las Vegas, California!

While living abroad, James and I have encountered some truly entertaining, hilarious and unique individuals. Some stories have touched my heart, and others have just made me laugh. This story is of the latter category. My favorite encounter to date involves a conversation with a taxi driver. It went a little something like this:

Taxi Driver: G'day Pet! Whereye off ta?

Me: Downtown please! 

Taxi Driver: Ohh ye dun have a Geordie accent! Whereye frooom?

Me: I'm from the United States, California to be specific! 

Taxi Driver: Ahhhh well I always wannata go there. Beautiful Las Vegas, California!! 

Me: (struggling not to giggle) Well... it's kinda close, but Las Vegas is in Nevada. 

Taxi Driver: Oh, Whereye say yer from? 

Me: California. Just south of Los Angeles, a place called Orange County. 

Taxi Driver: Oh yeah, The Golden Gate Bridge!!!! 

Me: (seriously trying to contain the giggles) Well… that is in California, but pretty far north of where I am from. 

Taxi Driver: Ohh, so ye live by Katie Perry? 

Me: (what!?!?!) Yes… Sure? 

Taxi Driver: I like 'er. She's a bonnie darlin' an I like 'er music!

Me: (OMG I am dying) Me too!! 

After this exchange we arrived downtown. Although it was a brief encounter, it is definitely a blog worthy story! I love the Geordies, they make everything OK in the UK! 

A Tale of Terrorism

Once upon a time, about three months ago, James and I were looking to rent a flat. Because I am a planner and just a bit of a perfectionist, I had done months of realty research. Concluding my study, James and I decided that we wanted a flat with some character, perhaps a fireplace or crown molding, lots of light, two bedrooms (One for visitors, hint hint!), within a half mile to the metro station and in the Jesmond/West Jesmond area of Newcastle Upon Tyne. Since James started up school immediately, this left me, along with my parents, mother-in-law and brother-in-law, to find a flat. By the time we arrived in England, I had already searched every online letting site, been working with three different realtors and narrowed our choices to eight or nine different flats. Surely one would be livable!

Although completely exhausted due to the immigration fiasco the previous day, we started off the day on a high note, visiting the apartment we eventually let. I immediately saw potential. Although the Spaniard that previously lived there was messy and had some seriously questionable taste in decor (Who thinks pink, yellow and baby blue pillows should go on red couches?). The flat had everything we were looking for: huge windows which let in plenty of light, crown molding, a fireplace, two bedrooms, a washer/dryer, dishwasher, two bathrooms and a half mile walk to the nearest Jesmond metro station. Although it needed a good clean and was messy, I really liked the layout and could imagine making it our home. However, my flat viewing party was not quite as sold as I was.

Continuing our search, we saw multiple flats with major flaws. Neon yellow living rooms, kitchens without windows, creepy and dark hallways, tiny rooms with low ceilings, major traffic noise, smelly smoke and mold covered walls, were just a few of the major drawbacks. The more flats we saw, the more I fell in love with the first flat we viewed. After taking two cars to the last flat, there was a bit of a mix up. My mom and I had jumped in the car with the realtor as my dad, mother-in-law and brother-in-law jumped in a taxi to follow us. Basically, the taxi got lost and they could not find us. After some frustration, everyone decided they were done for the day. When James got home, I gave him the flat reviews and general analysis of our viewings. He immediately went online to see if there were any flats we overlooked and discovered a new listing that had potential. After calling the realtor, and discovering the next viewing time was two days away, we took matters into our own hands. We decided to go have a look from the outside and maybe peek in the windows.

Upon arrival, we told the taxi driver to wait, as we would only be a couple minutes. We rang the doorbell and no one answered. The flat was on the ground floor and the curtains to the large front windows were open. The living room looked nice, but we could not see the kitchen, bedrooms or bathroom, so we decided to go around to the side of the flat, only to find a locked gate! Most people would have given up... not James and Stephanie Pearson! I suggested seeing if there was a gate on the other side of the building, so that we could go around the other way, across the back of the property. As we went to the side of the building I glanced in at the neighboring flat's kitchen; it looked nice! I was secretly hoping the kitchen was identical to the flat we had come to look at, when I discovered there was no gate, but there was a bedroom with a large window. I peeked in and to my horror saw an automatic machine gun lying on a white bed, in plain sight!!!!!

Of course I freaked out a little, went into panic mode and squeaked, "Okay Jimmy, it is time to go". He was tootling around, looking into the kitchen as I briskly walked past him. I was near the front of the property, next to the large front window, when I turned around again and said, "Jimmy, we have to go, now!". I noticed a middle aged man in a turban peek through the window curtains about two feet from me. James, sensing the urgency in my voice followed as I basically ran to the taxi. As we we slammed the doors of the taxi, I told James what I had seen. He asked if I was sure it was an automatic machine gun, not just a toy. I was absolutely sure. We had just been to Las Vegas in June, and had gone to the shooting range to try out some automatic weapons. It looked just like the M4 I had felt so rebellious shooting. I told him about the man in the turban, how he definitely saw me up close and was probably going to kill me now for what I had seen.

Arriving back at the Jesmond Dene House Hotel, we met up with my parents for afternoon tea. Still a bit shaken up, I told them what happened. Everyone agreed that I needed to call the police. What if the man was planning an act of terrorism or was some crazy person about to shoot into a crowd? James called the police for me, and less than an hour later two officers showed up to take a formal statement. Just keep in mind, I had only been in the United Kingdom for two days; I already had a run in with immigration and now a potential terrorist! The officers who took my formal statement asked for a detailed account of what happened along with many follow-up questions. After about an hour they called more police in to question both James and me. They said they had all the information they needed and there would probably be a SWAT team raiding the flat later that evening. The police assured me that if I had to testify in court against the terrorist, they would put a screen up so the terrorist could not see me. I reminded them, that the terrorist had ALREADY seen me up close and personal, and would recognize me; I was sure! It was about this time, my mother threw up her hands and said "We are going back to California! I've had enough of the UK interrogation and terrorism!" The police calmly assured her that Jesmond was very safe, and all was well as we had another cup of tea, and my dad had scotch. On a side note, I think we were the most exciting thing to happen at that hotel in many, many years! The staff and patrons were quite curious as to what these Americans were up to!

Exhausted and frightened, we decided to have an early dinner and get some sleep.  At dinner, I definitely indulged in my fair share of wine and was ready for sleep when we arrived back at the hotel. Upon arrival, we were greeted by the police. I couldn't help but notice the stares from other hotel guests as the police asked to speak with me. After being pulled aside, the police informed me that they had sent in the Newcastle SWAT team to assess the situation. They found the gun I had described! However, after questioning the man I had seen peering out the window and a visit from a gun expert, they discovered that the gun was not an automatic weapon. Apparently there is some craze, where people act out their favorite Sci-Fi thrillers, running around their flats, shooting at each other with air soft guns. They said that his gun was not a typical air soft gun, because the owner had taken off the tell tale orange marker of a fake gun to make his look more realistic! Even the SWAT force couldn't tell if it was real or not, which is why they had to call in the gun expert.

The good news is that James and I are not on some terrorist hit list. However, I am still a little embarrassed that I caused such a commotion. Everyone keeps saying, it is better to be safe than sorry. What if the gun was real, and the man was plotting some mass murder? Living in our day and age, its hard to tell the difference in a "Treky" toy and an automatic weapon. I'm just happy the United Kingdom let me in before all this happened! I'm sure they are thinking, "WHY did we let this crazy American girl in our country?".

On that note, I think it is safe to say, unless we have another toy gun incident, we are still OK in the UK!! (Hurray!)

Just BEEing Friendly

Here's the BUZZZZZ...

This past Sunday I decided to try out a church down the street from our flat. I had heard that the 9:30 service was lively, had great music and attracted a large group from the Jesmond community. I thought this would be a great opportunity to meet some people as well as find a local church to attend. James was studying all day for his Unified Exam that was the following day; this left me braving a new group of people on my own.

Typical to my time table, I was running a little late as I rushed into the church right before the first hymn started. I sat down next to the only other person who looked under seventy years old. She seemed nice, in her twenties and like someone who could potentially be a friend. However, when I smiled she was dismissive and looked down at her hymn book. That was the first indication that she had no interest in socializing. The service continued; when it came time to greet my fellow parishioners I said good morning and asked my unfriendly neighbor if she always attended this church. She informed me that it was her first time. I asked what church she usually went to and she gave a short reply.  When I asked why she no longer went to the previous church she looked at me with a scowl and said, "Because it is too social, they all just want to be friends. I come to worship." After that I sincerely got the message and zipped my lips. However, I mentally noted the church she used to frequent. I will definitely try that out next week!

The church I attended is a Church of England, so they take communion every Sunday. However, instead of distributing individual plastic cups or dipping the bread in the chalice, like I am accustomed to, the entire congregation drinks from the same cup. I know I sound like a horrible person, but I just cannot get on board with that. All I think about is the backwash and germs spreading from the hundred (or so) other people in the church. As I told James, I'm sure God understands why I pretend to drink from the chalice.

When it was our turn to take communion the unfriendly girl sitting next to me got up and walked to the front of the church to take communion. While she was away I was innocently sitting in my pew when I heard a buzzing and felt something on my finger. A HUGE bee landed right on my index finger!! Of course I freaked out, squealed a little and shook my hand violently, which accidentally sent the bee flying directly into the unfriendly girls purse! When the girl came back I tried to tell her that a bee landed on me and flew into her purse when I shook it off. I warned her not to put her hand into her purse before looking because she might get stung! The girl just looked at me and without a word, lowered her head to pray. Was she praying for me to shut up? There was nothing else I could do! Hopefully she listened to my advice; only the bee knows the buzz.

The moral of the story, I suppose, is BEE nice to others, or you might get stung!

Immigration Interrogation

One would think that because James and I are married, it would be easy for me to attain a United Kingdom visa to join him during his study abroad. As a seven and a half hour detainee, I now know better!

In July I was denied a dependent visa, which would allow me to accompany James during his studies in Newcastle. They said because he will only be in the United Kingdom studying for nine months and not over a year that I, as his wife, am not eligible for a visa. Although upset, we resolved that I would come three months during the first semester and three months during the second semester. This would leave us away from each other for three weeks at the end of each term. Although hard, we figured it was the only way and I would try to work something out by pleading my case to the British Consulate once inside the United Kingdom. Knowing I did not have a visa and would be entering the United Kingdom as a visitor, we set off for our time abroad. 

Upon arrival at London Heathrow, we proceeded to go through customs and immigration. My parents, and mother-in-law all made it through without trouble. James and I were stopped. They said they did not have fingerprints for James and they had some questions for me. Great! About an hour later, after missing our flight, an immigration officer came back and told James that everything was clear with him and he could go through. James asked if he could wait with me until my issue was resolved, but his request was denied. They forced him to go through security, leaving me alone in the immigration detainee area. After another two hours of waiting, immigration took away my phone and told me they had to search through all my bags, get my fingerprints and take my photo. I asked why I was being stopped and the case manager informed me that he couldn't tell me until the interrogation portion. 

I started to cry because I thought they were going to send me back to California, which my case manager said was a likely outcome. Because I was sobbing and obviously don't look like a threat, I think he started to feel sorry for me. He ended up telling me that because my visa was denied, and I still came to the United Kingdom a month later, it seemed like I was trying to live in the country illegally. I explained to him that I just wanted to stay with my husband while he studied; I had no intention of living in the United Kingdom. I told him that we had enough financial support and wouldn't be living off the government. In desperation, I added that I would help boost the economy because I like to shop... a lot!! Hearing that he chuckled and the mood lightened as he continued to search all my carryon items. He said I didn't pack as much makeup as most women, but I made up for it with jewelry and accessories. One of my carryon bags consisted solely, pun intended, of shoes: Prada loafers, Christian Louboutin pumps, Rag and Bone booties, Charlotte Olympia and Gucci sandals as well as some of my other favorites. When he came to that bag and it literally popped open, he laughed, looked at me and said, "You will be good for the economy!” To close it again, I literally had to sit on top of it. I just looked up from my bag, while forcing it shut and said, "I told you so". 

After all my bags were searched they took all my belongings away and held me in the immigration detention area again. Keep in mind this is about 4 hours after I was initially stopped. Parched and hungry, I was told to wait until the next case manager was available to interrogate me. Another hour after that, the same case manager came and took me into the interrogation room, where he asked many questions, wrote each answer down and had me initial each statement. I was interrogated for roughly another hour. At the end of the interrogation, he asked for James' phone number so he could ask him a few questions as well. 

This entire time, my parents and James were worried sick, calling my phone repeatedly, trying to figure out what was happening, and making sure we could all get on the next flight to Newcastle if I was granted admission into the country. My mother-in-law had gone on to meet up with my brother-in-law who was already in Newcastle. When James got the call from the immigration case manager, he said he felt like he was on a newlywed's game show. He had to answer loads of questions about me, our relationship, his education, my education, our monetary situation, my family, his family and anything else you can think of. 

While they were interviewing James I continued to wait even longer. Since this is the closest I have ever been to jail, I was terrified! Luckily, one of the detention guards took pity on me, and snuck me in “a cuppa” of tea. First lesson of jail, always make friends with the guards! As another hour passed, my case manager finally came in and told me I was granted admission into the country and I now have a special pass, which allows me to stay with James for the duration of his study abroad! Yay!! However, they told me I cannot work, and don’t even think about volunteering; At least that leaves shopping! J After I was released, I ran through security, where they stopped me and made me take out everything from my bags once again. Third time is the charm! My parents, James and I barely made the last flight of the night to Newcastle, arriving at our hotel around midnight.

Although my time as a detainee was the worst seven and a half hours EVER (I learned later they can only hold you for nine hours; I almost reached the max!), everything worked out to our benefit. It was tiring, stressful and emotionally taxing, but in the end we are OK in the UK. 

New Year, Newcastle!

This past year has been a whirlwind of adventure, excitement, hard work and stress! After one year in the Grenada, forty science units in 9 months and a MCAT quickie, my lawyer/doctor-to-be husband, James, is now in his first year of medical school!

St. George's University provides a unique educational experience. One available option, upon acceptance to St. George's University, is the opportunity to take part in the Keith B. Taylor Global Scholars Program ("KBT"). This program allows students to complete their first year of medical school at Northumbria University in Newcastle Upon Tyne, United Kingdom. After a year in Newcastle, the KBT students then complete their second year of medical school in Grenada at St. George's University and last two clinical years at teaching hospitals in the United States. Since we already spent one year in Grenada, during James' post-baccalaureate program, we decided to switch it up and experience a year in England between our Grenadian adventures!

Considering my last blog was titled, O.M.Grenada, it didn't seem appropriate to keep it going during our UK stay. This blog is to keep everyone up to date on our latest and greatest quips, tips and tales! I hope you enjoy, OK in the UK! xo