12 Days and Counting...

It's a rare rainy day in Los Angeles, and the house is a little chilly. "I'm going to make some tea," I announce to Gareth. "Would you like some?" Silly question. He loves a spot of tea in the afternoon, even when it's 90 degrees out. He insists that hot tea is cooling on a hot day. I've never found any logic in this, and although I've heard the same from other transplanted Brits, I think it's just an urban myth cooked up by an ex-pat who can't embrace American-style tumblers of tea poured over ice. Iced tea in summer is refreshing. Hot tea is a perfect drink when it's cold - like today.

"Jeff thinks it's strange that I drink so much coffee," Gareth tells me. Jeff is co-worker who is married to an Englishwoman (whose family moved to California in the 70's). You'd think she'd be pretty Americanized by now, but not only is she still resolutely British, her Yank husband is now a tea drinker. Gareth added, "I told him, when in Rome..."

In less than two weeks, we're leaving for Rome. Well, London, actually. On December 19, we board a plane at LAX and arrive at Heathrow around lunchtime the following day. Once on board, I stop drinking coffee - the British don't do it well, and what's served on the plane is weak and tasteless. Tea is much safer. (To be fair, Americans don't know how to brew tea, either. The one time my in-laws visited us here -- for our wedding -- they were appalled at the American practice of serving it with lemon. And don't get them started on the idea of re-using a tea bag! One of the highlights of that visit was when my sister-in-law instructed me on how to make a proper pot of tea.)

Once in London, after a couple of hours going through immigration, retrieving our luggage, passing through customs and getting the shuttle to the Avis office, we will pick up a rental car and drive another two hours to Cardiff, the capital of Wales -- Gareth's home town. At this point, we will be jetlagged and tired from losing eight hours of time and the discomfort of our unsuccessful attempts to sleep on the plane.

After nearly 15 years together, I've made this journey so many times that it's lost any allure or glamour it once held for me. I know all the rest areas (called "Services") along the M4 -- because we stop at most of them on this leg of our trip, plying ourselves with caffeinated beverages (tea) so we can stay awake until the next one. On one visit, a sunny day in January, we ended up falling asleep in the parking lot of one of them... only to discover 90 minutes later that it had started to snow.

This was the same trip when we awoke around 5:00 a.m. the following morning, just dying for a latte and longing for a Starbucks (which, in America, would have been open by then). But at the time, you could not find a decent cup of coffee anywhere in Britain, and you certainly wouldn't find anyone in Cardiff open for business that time of morning. Gareth tried. He took the car and drove all over town, looking for a news agent or convenience store where he might at least purchase a paper. Nada. Twenty minutes later, he was back at his parents' house, no paper in hand. We made tea and waited for the BBC to begin its broadcast day.

OK, so the flight to the UK and the drive to Cardiff are not my favorite part of this trip. But a few years ago, Starbucks continued its world takeover and opened a store there, so I can get my latte fixes along with my tea. We can even walk to one from my in-laws' house - something I cannot say for the ones in my neighborhood.

It's going to be a good trip.