4 April Tuesday   It’s Time to Go Home

I am leisurely about getting ready and going to breakfast.  I have a slight stuffy nose that I don’t want to develop into something else. I almost miss getting food--with 13 minutes to spare.  The kitchen is kind and cooks a traditional breakfast (done well) for me, full meal with the coffee, juice, cereal and baked goods.  I was figuring I could go over to Tracey’s for breakfast, if I missed it here.  My goal today are train tickets—Wrexham Central to Chester, Chester to Crewe, and Crewe to Manchester Airport.  I want to stay as far away from Manchester and Manchester Piccadilly as I can. After eating I go back to the hotel lobby and talk to the woman at the desk.  I say I can’t get my phone to get on line to get a ticket.  I know exactly what I want—I researched it several times.  I just can’t get the internet on the phone.  She immediately says she can help me and we can get it paid for as well.  I am humbled, again, that someone would take the time to be this kind.  Of course the email confirmation doesn’t show up on my iPhone (thanks U.S. Cellular), but she problem-solves and I have a printed confirmation in a couple minutes.  I have to catch the train at Wrexham General—not Central.  Oh well, what’s .8 miles after all the walking I have done the past two plus weeks.

I decide I had better go to the Eagle Meadows Mall, just to say I have been.  I take the sky-bridge over to the tall, impress new buildings.  The brisk wind is blowing around the canyon of cement buildings and chills my bones.  I need to find some gifts of friends, but I can't even find anything that I would want.  None of the men’s spring clothes look appealing in my size and I can’t find a drug store for Vitamin C to help fend off my possible cold. I just don’t feel like doing anything--no side trips to Llangollen or the aqueduct—and definitely not Ruthin.  

 I decide to walk to La Baguette and talk to the guy behind the counter.  I thank him for talking me into going to the match.  Re-live the game, etc. I tell him that I went to Minera yesterday to look through church records for my ancestors.  He tells me that they live in Minera, but he was born in Manchester.  SMALL WORLD, AGAIN.  He says he is surprised that the church would let me be that.  I tell him that I could have just been my contact and explain my on-line connection, how I had tried to go to Palm Sunday service there, how the old Vicar forwarded my emails to the new Vicar, how he referred me to the Warden, and then somehow we started corresponding.  I was hoping that ‘something’ would come of it all, but I really don't understand what I was doing there.  He nods—understandingly.

The guy tells me he also does business (or chef duties in Liverpool).  AND he is a cake decorator.  He refers me to a cake on the side counter (where I ate on Saturday).  This cake is tremendous!…there is so much on it and going on—it’s amazing—sports themed for kids.  There are different frostings, multiple layers and chocolate bars and candy all over it.  A Work of Art.  I compliment him and he says it keeps him ‘busy’.  I tell the guy I want to get a late lunch/early dinner and he suggests that I come by at about 13:30 (2:30 PM).  I head to Superdrug hoping to get something with Vitamin in C in it.  I find some orange flavored lozenges and start popping them.  I next have to find gifts for our friends, Myana and Lise, who are involved with church choir, theater and gives voice lessons.  I stop at Waterstones Bookstore, but I can’t get in because of a group of city-type officials with clipboards are 'assessing' the entrance.  “They still haven’t…notice that the stone at the front of the sliding doors don’t…”  I’m thinking, let the paying customers get in and maybe the store can make some money to correct that problem.  I get in, but after browsing through most the inventory, I can’t find anything for the ladies.  I look at other places, but can’t find anything. 

I decide to run by Tŷ Pawb, hoping there might be something artisan I can get.  I come in to the main room and see the cafeteria area where the Wrexham Community Choir meets—low ceiling, not the best acoustics for singing.  I walk through the row after row of stalls, but 'nada'.  I am just about to exit, when I find a Welsh souvenir store.  There is lots of things, including AFC stuff, comic pokes at the Royals, and memorabilia from all over the country.  I see a flag that I want to get and I settle on a pair of Welsh mugs—perfect.  I am walking to checkout when I let go with a sneeze.  I try to stifle it, but with the merch in my hands, I can’t.  I look down and find I have ‘decorated’ my sweater. Yuck.  I turn away from the clerk, leaving my merch on the counter and say I need to go out for a moment. She hopes I am alright.  I hope I haven’t grossed her out.  I am.  Once I clean up I am back in to pay.  The clerk asks what I am doing in town and I say “not football, ancestry”.  But I do tell her an abbreviated version of my Wrexham/Minera experience. With purchase in hand and not a plastic-a recyclable bag, I walk out with my ‘booty’.  I am quickly back to Wynnstay Arms, going in the back entrance and up to the room.  I smash-pack everything into my suitcase.  I am ready to leave—almost.

I power nap and then head to La Baguette for a Jacket potato, salad and conversation.  The guy is completing an order for a courier as 'take-away’ so I wait.  I look at the menu and see that also have a daily soup.  Once the order has gone out, I find out the soup is Potato-Leek and I order that for immediate consumption and a Tikka Chicken Potato for take-away.   The soup is amazing.  Like no other potato-leek I have ever had or made.  It is very good--green puree.  It’s his recipe.  I ask him what the best restaurant is in town and he says The Fat Boar.  I tell him I almost went there, but I have run short of funds.  I ask the guy why they decided on Minera to live and raise his family.  He says it is safe and peaceful.  I add that it is beautiful, too.  Not wanting to bother him anymore, I am off with my dinner.  Later, I connect to him on Face Book and find out his name is Simon Hough. I eat in my room around 17:00 (6 PM).  Journal and try to sleep.  Same problem—talking down in the parking lot/front entrance.  I wake up in the middle of the night and hear what I think are rowdy, drunk teens (?) chanting and half-singing somewhere far off.  It’s a little unnerving, but I start thinking about all the youth I have seen in town during this Easter break week and how they are a little out of control…vaping, cussing, generally getting into mischief.  I drift off.