Once Upon a Layover in Southend-On-Sea

*Some names and details have been changed to protect the sacred trusts of barstool acquaintance.

What had me wandering to.... Southend; Essex? 

Absolute negligence! 

Truth be told, I thought I was headed to London to spend this 20 hour layover. I had booked the cheapest possible plane ticket to make may way from France to the US-- I had glanced at the flight itinerary, seen the word "London", and been perfectly satisfied to purchase the route. Oh, the fun I imagined I'd have, strolling Notting Hill, savoring spicy Indian curries at the Borough Market, and reclining for High Tea at some little tea shop.... filling my purse with biscuits spread with lemon curd and clotted cream. But alas, it was not to be.

When you arrive at the Southend Airport, there is actually a sign, apologizing to passengers who thought that 'London Southend', was in London proper. When I stepped into the sunny Southend morning, I didn't need any sign to tell me that something was amiss. This wasn’t Oz. This was Kansas.

"And Where Exactly are you going to sleep tonight?"

That’s what the lady at Immigration wanted to know. I sure didn’t.

My check in at the United Kingdom’s Customs and Immigration desk went exactly like this:

I walk up to the counter, grinning widely, US passport proudly in hand. This is the first country I've been in months, where the native language is English. I'm feeling so happy to be "home", with my British "cousins":

Me: "Good Morning!!!!!"

Immigration Officer: "Good morning. What is your purpose in the UK?"

Me: "I'm going to wait 20 hours for my flight to Dublin!"

Immigration officer: "So you're here for a layover. So what are you going to do for 20 hours?"

Me, my high spirited tone at odds with her uneasy one: "I'm going to take the train in to London, and eat Indian food!"

Immigration Officer, expressing concern: "And where are you going to sleep tonight??"

Me, disregarding concern: "I'm going to come back here, and sleep on the airport floor."

Immigration Officer, raising her voice a little, and her eyebrows a lot: "No, You're Not! Because we close the airport at midnight!"

Me, Astonished and incredibly offended that an international airport would behave in such an inhospitable way: "Well Then I guess I’m gonna find a boyfriend!"

Immigration Officer, whipping her head up from her desk and staring into me with a laser focus:  "EXCUSE ME? What did you say? Did you just say 'you're going to find a boyfriend'? Let me see your boarding passes."

 Me, sensing that my plans to get to the Indian food are now in peril: *Hands her the documents and keeps mouth shut.*

After a few minutes of harsh words and rifling through each page of my passport, my British cousin asks me if I had been trying to make some sort of joke.

(I definitely was... Nobody can be everybody's cup of tea I guess...)

I apologized for my poor joke-making skill. She gave me directions to a nearby hotel, and allowed me entrance to the United Kingdom. 

Now, the hotel that my Immigrations friend had recommended to me was only, oh, £300 British pounds for the night! I walked away from her counter, muttering the rest of my hilarious jokes at a whisper, for myself alone to appreciate. Oh yes, obviously it made total sense that a person who would fly 3 legs of Ryan Air flights, with 30 hours worth of layovers, would also have a casual £300 pounds in her pocket for a bed to sleep in. LOL, London Southend Airport. British humor at it's finest. 

I knew I wasn't about to stay in that hotel, but neither was my real plan to 'find a boyfriend' either. My plan was to get Indian food. God would take care of the rest. (The rest.... get it?!) 

"This Way, London. ----> 

<---- This Way, Southend-on-Sea."

Once across the threshold of the immigrations counter, I studied the map of my landing place in Essex County and quickly scrolled through TripAdvisor lists of things to do and see here in the East. Though I didn't come across many raving reviews of Southend.... or much of anything to recommend tourism to this Seaside City!, I felt a pull to explore this new-to-me place. London wasn't burning at the top of my bucket list-- I'd spent at least a week traipsing through it back in 2011. Much as I enjoyed the lively city scene, the London friends I did have were out of town at the moment, and there was no urgency for me to be there. And so when I got to the front of the ticket line to get my train ticket, I let my fingers hover over the button that said 'tickets to London': an hour and 45 each way. But I bought the other one. One-way to Southend, Victoria, only 19 minutes down the tracks. 

Daily Bread:

My first stop in Southend was an enormous guest house, boasting fish and chips specials all day. I strode in, ungracefully under the weight of my gigantic duffel bags, and bumbled through 4 crowded rooms of the pub before finding a free table. My fellow patrons heckled me for my abundance of possessions -- I shot back at them that I was moving in. And I might have! The place was lively and welcoming, and I could have easily spent all day there, tempted by the 3 for £5 beer specials, and good-spirited crowd. 

Later that afternoon, I dropped my luggage off with another restaurant, promising them I'd come back for dinner and be a very good customer if they'd only babysit my things for a few hours. They let me rest them against a beam in the center of the lounge, and I left, unburdened, to stroll down to the Seashore, and take in the sights of the famed Southend pier. When I came back, I ordered a most delightful salad, and that is how I came to meet some of the sweetest new friends.

New Friends:

When a server found me outside on the patio, and set my salad in front of me, I said "Thank you."

At the sound of my foreign speech, the girl at the table across from me spun around.

"Are you from America?!"

This was Bella, and she was savoring an all-too-rare date night with her man, David. They were young people, but they had already seen much of life. Rough roads had brought them together, and they knew the treasure that they had found in each other’s care. They were raising two daughters together, Ivy and Willow, who they completely adored.

The three of us hit it off right away, and talked candidly about a million things. I told them about the week I'd spent in France, solely devoted to the enjoyment of baguettes and croissants. I told them how they had my utmost respect in their assignment of bringing up their two small girls, because I'd just learned firsthand at my friends' house how cumbersome it is to transport little ones about in bulky strollers. I shared with them the comedy of the misunderstanding at British immigration. And we shared drinks and stories and secrets for hours.

Near the end of our time together, Bella looked at me and said, 

"Emily, before we spoke to you today, I was watching you. And I said to David, 'Look at her. She never stops smiling.' And I thought to myself, 'Look, she's all alone, all by herself, but she seems ok.' 

Watching you today, you've given me something. 

Because I -- I can't stand to leave the house without my makeup on, and I can't stand the thought of not having someone. It makes me anxious to think of it. But here you are. And you're lovely, and you're beautiful, just on your own. And it's changed something in me. It makes me less afraid."

Her vulnerable words left me breathless. I grasped her hands, and marveled that my travel-worn, acne-studded face could hold such a power and beauty in her eyes. 

Those who look to him for help will be radiant with joy; no shadow of shame will darken their faces.

Psalm 34:5

On the last sips of our beers, Bella asked me,

"Do you think you'll ever come back here?"

I thought a moment. "Yeah. I think I will."

Satisfied, Bella continued, in beautiful, courageous invitation:

 "Because I'm going to get a flat. Right now, I have a room for me and the girls, but it's not really mine. But next year, I will have a flat of my own. And so the next time you come, and you are standing at that immigration counter, and that woman asks you where you're staying tonight, you can tell her, "I'm staying WITH MY FRIEND."

As if that wasn't already the most wonderful thing one person can say to another,

She went on.

"I don't have a lot of money- but wherever I live, I make it my own. I shut the door, and I make it nice, and tidy, and pretty, how I like it. And when you come, I'll remember to buy bread.

And I have 2 kids, so you know, I'm normal, You know you'll be safe staying with me. But I won't make you push the stroller! Don't pay for a hotel. Stay with me."

I hugged Bella goodbye (goodbye-for-now), and I held out my arms for David too. He smiled and got up from his chair, "Aw, Come here." I wrapped my arms around him like a bear, and told him, "I'm giving you a Mom hug." And I just loved those two, more than words.

Local Color: My favorite scenes from the streets

Over the course of our two hours talking on the outdoor patio, David took time to reach out his hand and greet no less than six different sets of people passing by on the Main street. 

Bella would look at me and shake her head. "He knows everyone."

He has left this town 3 times, to live in Berlin, Zurich, Prague.... but he always gets drawn back to this place he comes from. 

One set of friends rolls by, and this time Bella knows them too.

She calls out, "Hey, Charlie, This is Emily! She's from AMERICA!"

Charlie laughs, and reaches to shake my hand:

"America.... Shut the front door! Say something in American."

Shaking Charlie's hand enthusiastically, I comply: "Yes, you Must shut the front door, by all means, and lock it too! Since I've been told that Southend is a dangerous town. But if you do hear a knock, I still hope you'll answer it, because it may be your neighbor needing to borrow a cup of sugar."

"ONE LUMP OR TWO?!" Charlie roars with laughter, and continues down the strip, out of sight.

Whenever the waiters come to clear our dishes, David makes jokes with them, insulting them sarcastically in good fun.

When other patrons ask to steal my extra chair, or set their empty glasses down on our tables, Bella jokingly antagonizes them too. 

"This is how things are done here", she explains, noting my wide eyes. Southend has its own slang as well, and my friends equip me with a few useful phrases from the dialect.

As another group walks by, Bella's tone turns somber. 

"Emily, look at the eyes. This man has done cocaine. A lot of these people living here use those drugs. This area, people are stabbed here. Be careful. Take care of yourself."

Co-Laborers at Work:

My friend David works the nights: Dusk until the crack of dawn. At his latest place, he's been sleeping on a hardwood floor for months, and the punishing heat of Summer has made it an additional chore for him to try and sleep through the daylight hours. The sunlight finds its way in through the cracks in the shades, and the sticky hot air is unpleasant to taste. He has woken up unrested, and sore, evening after evening, but he has gone to work anyway, cared for his girls, and his dog anyway, done his level best to show up for the ones he loves. He finally was able to order a sofa a few days ago, and it's just arrived today. He is looking forward so much to going home tonight, on his night off, and sleeping on it.

Later in the evening when dark has fallen on the street, and I am alone once more, I saunter back into the glow of the restaurant. My luggage is still waiting for me, and now there's a deep, rich, wonderful voice filling the cozy space of the lounge.

"They try to make me go to Rehab, but I say Noooo Nooo Noooo...."

Tina's hair is wild, the color of dark coffee. Her dress is metallic, 90s new year pink, and her body is like a Barbie's, glossy and defined. Only the sun damaged skin on her cheeks hints at the secret of her age. Her voice is far too excellent for the likes of us, as is the concert she gives. She is astounding in showmanship, and tireless. Her powerful voice never cracks, and she dances on and on, inviting us into her revelry with each note and each mischievous wink.

This performer is just one of the handful of musical talents that I've encountered in this small town today. As I've walked the streets, gorgeous voices have rung out, filling the squares, and floating on the breezes. They are the kinds of voices that make you want to stop in your tracks, sit down and just be late. And they are being given away for free. There will never be enough dollars and coins dropped into the caps and guitar cases around here. I let the siren songs of these troubadours soak into my soul as I pass. This city is rarely blessed. 

Extravagant Hospitality Received (Sleeping Place):

As the night drew to close, I sat scrawling notes on a stack of postcards, while Tina serenaded the patrons of the bar. Two men a few seats down the table were locked in mesmerizing conversation. I could tell, even without hearing the words, that they were discussing the ways of God. Their eyes were alight in truth and wonder, and their interaction with each other was attentive and patient: A conversation seasoned with salt and grace. I waited for a lull, and asked them if they were new, or old friends. 

Breaking into big smiles, they looked at each other, then back at me, and agreed, "Both."

These two were Ian and Sean. I moved over to sit beside them, and they welcomed me.

They were old friends, old family friends in fact, and Sean was passing through town, with Ian as his host. They were faithful, believing Catholics, who loved God with their whole hearts. It was plain as day.

In the middle of a story, I can't recall whose, a song came on, and Ian could not resist it. He asked me if I would dance it with him.

In good faith, I told him that that was not a good idea, and that he would surely regret it. But there was no time to persuade him why. The song had begun and I could see he would hate to miss it. So I followed him to the floor and let him try to lead me. 

Everyone who knows me knows it's not easily done. I dance alone. There was an incident, many years ago in Nashville, in which an over ambitious stranger had, (without my blessing) taken hold of me on the dance floor and tried to dip me. Tried. After he had lowered me nearly to the ground, a look a panic raced across his face. He did not have the upper body strength to pull me back up. And so I hung there, glaring at him for a good long time, before hinging myself back upright and directing him to the door.

Last week in Paris, a very darling Frenchman had invited to me to dance with him along the banks of the Seine, and I had instinctively refused. Insecurity stole what should have been a great memory for me, and I hated that I’d let it. So this time when I heard Ian's invitation, even though I had never acquired any skills for partner dancing, I had already thrown off restraint. 

Ok, go on and spin me then, stranger. (But if you try to dip me, God help you! I will not have a repeat of Nashville.)

And so dance we did. Terribly, for my part, as I predicted. But hey, at least, I wasn't dancing terribly in London. It was only Southend! 

Laughing our way back to the table, we rejoined our friend, and our unfinished beers and unfinished stories. When Ian and Sean heard that I was waiting out the hours for my flight in their quiet town, they did not hesitate to offer me shelter under their roof. 

Well, That's not quite right. Ian did hesitate. 

He said "Emily, I do want to offer you to stay with us, but I also don't want to offer you that. Because if I do, then I have this fear that you might get into the habit of accepting invitations from strangers you've just met."

(Here, I did my best to keep from laughing out loud.)

"No promises on that, my friend! But I will love to stay with you. Thank you."

My friend then began to describe the housing situation, to make sure it would be something I would be ok with. He rented a room in a boarding house, just a room. And he and Sean were already staying in it, but they would both sleep on the floor, and give me the bed. And also, they would certainly snore.

I waved him off from saying more. "I'm staying with you. I had already decided when I saw you."

"Ok then."

The guys had been fasting all day, and they were hungry. So they decided to break their fast when the new day broke, at midnight. They carried my heavy bags for me to our house, and picked up something to eat. We tiptoed up the two flights of stairs, so as not to disturb the other boarders. Then I fell into the plushly made bed to sleep, while my friends ate cold sandwiches on the floor, by the light of their cell phones; a midnight picnic.

I heard their heads hit their pillows in a few minutes, and they were instantly dozing. True to their promise, the sound of their snoring began to play me a lullaby. The soundtrack of hospitable hearts at peace.

In the morning, I took a few long strides to the train station, only a 3 minute stroll from the house where God had provided my shelter. I was rested, having been showered with water and soap, and with outlandish generosity. How great, I thought, that I didn't need to stay with a boyfriend, or even with a friend. I could stay with my brothers.

Earlier today, when I had to choose which direction to roll down the tracks, the map had showed me nothing to find here. But this foray off the beaten path had offered me everything I’d been looking for and then some. A community of regulars: People who are known. Roommates strolling with arms full of groceries for dinners they’ll cook together. Shopkeepers calling you “Love”. Comedians disguised as jovial bartenders. Singers singing their hearts out for any who cared to hear.  If I had gone towards London, I wouldn't have gotten to know this special town through the eyes of its people. 20 hours in Southend was a treat.

When I come back next, I hope to be congratulating Bella and David on their new flat, and happily helping to push the baby’s stroller, without complaint. 

And some day down the road, I imagine welcoming Bella, and David, and Ivy and Willow, and Ian and Sean to my house too. And I will feed them bread.