Ping!

 On the last Friday of our overseas adventure, we piled in the car and drove for about an hour towards the east coast.  We were headed for Symonds Salvage, a reclamation yard about half way between home and Dover.  I love poking around such places searching for treasures and generally exploring the past through other people's throw outs.  (We have been known to find and lug home such things as ancient footstools on previous trips.) 

 

 This expedition had almost been cancelled, as Thursday's weather was thoroughly unpleasant and all sorts of storm warnings had been issued. Andrew's brother had taken a day's leave and the wind died down by 6 am, so the four of us ventured forth.  Symonds proved to be a gold mine of beauty :  everything from gargoyles and ancient street lights to statues of David and wagon wheels.  So many roof tiles, benches, garden ornaments, mirrors, doors, planks of wood, wheellbarrows, doorknobs, silverware, old wood working tools....and stained glass windows. 

  I was there for the glass of course, and I made an offer on some panes, but the youngster at the reception desk was not in the mood to  negotiate or budge on the price.

Someone had dinged his car door, and his focus was definitely on trawling through the CCTV footage.

We spent a long time there, squelching through the mud, and marvelling at the collection. Salvage yards are art galleries too - a collection of human consciousness and expression.  I enjoyed this exhibition as much as all the other galleries I had visited.   Sadly my luggage allowance didn't permit me to bring home a statue of David or a gargoyle with moss growing out of its ears and nose.

We travelled on to Dover for a delicious fish and chips lunch at the seaside, before admiring the pebble beach.

The famous white cliffs were calling, and we wandered up a path amidst cows and freezing tourists.  The view is magnificent.  Grey seas stretched out before us, beckoning to the unknown.

My phone pinged. 

A new SMS :  Welcome to France.  Your new message and call rates will be sent to you shortly. (Or something like that - the message is on my UK SIM card, and I swapped it when we hit home soil.) 

France is a mere 32km away from the UK at Dover - almost spitting distance.  No wonder the service provider thought we might have crossed over.  Apart from the small inconvenience of the sea between us and Europe, we had no visas, so France was not a viable option as a dinner destination. 

Do you know when it seems you are close to something and yet so far away?  The welcoming ping reminded me of that feeling: Of almost being able to grasp something new, but it being frustratingly just out of reach, and not even clearly visible.  A destination you believe is out there, but that is not quite achievable at that particular time.  Or  other people may think you are at a certain place in your life but there is an ocean between you and that particular space?  It's all a bit bewildering. Perhaps it is because  I feel I should be at a different place in my life, and yet I secretly still feel a bit in limbo that all this was churning in my thoughts.

I had no desire to be in France that day.  I was right where I should be: having adventures with people I love and exploring quirky places just because I could.  My thoughts didn't have to drift into heavy philosophy and I didn't need to place expectations on where I should be in my life.

I knew my next destination:  Celebrating new beginnings with family, clinking champagne glasses, munching pizza and watching the final of Traitors.

It was a good day.