Remedy
Upon touch down in Virginia Water, England I was overcome by a strange urge to purchase a pair of riding boots and a long Burberry jacket. From there, my feet would command me to march myself down to the Hillcrest Stables to play polo with the Queen. This impromptu trip back in 2019 was a heroic attempt by my parents to avoid the chaos and politics of my dysfunctional family at Thanksgiving. So, my parents, sister, and I fled to London, England to seek refuge and spend the holiday with family friends who had moved overseas. The Helfer Family laid roots thirty minutes outside of the flash of the city in Virginia Water, England. The landscape primarily consists of castles and chiseled taverns speckled along the back roads. After enjoying a cup of tea in proper English fashion, my father decided that it was time for a history lesson. We trekked across town to the train station and set off towards Windsor Castle. My mother was instantly giddy when she spotted the castle guards who seemed ready at any moment to ward off a violent attack on her royal highness or a bold tourist who would dare approach for a selfie.
During the tour, my neck began to stiffen from craning upward. I would not dare look away for the fear that I would miss the magnificent detail etched into a crevice or corner. However, like many, I was hoping for the rare occurrence of seeing the Queen elegantly gliding past a palace window. The flag was raised that day, which according to our tour guide signaled that she was at Windsor. My family and I spent the whole tour tripping over ourselves in order to possibly get a peek at her majesty. Despite our unwavering attention, all of us were unsuccessful, but that did not stop me from bragging to my friends back home that I could have just been yards away from the Queen of England. During these conversations, I did not allow a trace of homesickness to poison my words. Inevitably, a plum-sized pit in my stomach began to grow as my desire to be home tucked under my pink sheets and snuggling with my rowdy dogs echoed in the back of my mind, but I made sure to keep this growing sickness to myself.
That evening, in pursuit of the perfect photo-opt, my sister Lauren and I pleaded with our parents to take us to the Sketch Tea Room in London. Looking back, I wonder if this excursion was for our own enjoyment or the viewing of our followers back home. There seems to be an Instagram prerequisite that plagues users in competing in a never-ending game ‘of my life is perfect’. Our valiant efforts were successful, as we all set out into the cosmopolitan city the next day. Sketch was just what you could have imagined; strategically curated tea rooms, that leave tourists in dismay and floundering around each other to get that golden snapshot for their feed. You can’t even escape the flashes and flickers in the bathroom, for the toilets are kept in an egg-like structure and the ceiling is a techno mirage of color. Truthfully, I could not remember exactly what I ate and drank here, but I do recall slugging out of the restaurant satisfied and ready for a mid-afternoon nap.
As I lethargically trudged I envisioned an oasis of white sheets and the luxurious hotel bathrobe that awaited me. Simultaneously, the plum in my stomach seemed to be growing into a sturdy watermelon. The longing for the comforting dance of rain back home overcame me like a slap in the face, leaving a sharp sting in my gut. Since my family decided to travel to London a month before Christmas, the Brits were gearing up for their most cherished season. “There’s no place like home for the holidays,” I spitefully muttered under my breath as I pictured my family sitting at our long oak table laughing and smiling in unison as they feast on a hearty Thanksgiving dinner without me. As I approached the center of town, a high-class shopper’s heaven, I noticed that the coveted lunch bags from the department store Harrods had images of St. Nicholas and angels on them, while the sturdy, tree in the center of town beamed down on bystanders decorated like a revered solider. Glimmering lights zig-zagged across streets, and the people below strolled down them with impressive amounts of shopping bags. My surroundings were a never-ending reminder of the celebrations to come. I ached for the taste of cranberry sauce and the waltz of its flavors across my tongue. Do not even get me started on the absence of turkey I was expecting the following evening. Since the Helfers were also American, they promised that we would host our own Thanksgiving dinner. However, I felt like these affirmative words were just empty promises. How was I supposed to get a sense of my home and favorite holiday from all the way across the world?
During our ‘fake’ Thanksgiving dinner the tiptoeing of the rain outside the white shutters and the ambiance of the dimly lit dining room made me feel like I was receiving a warm hug. The Helfer Family did right by their promises to provide a stellar dinner, all the way from the fluffy buttered rolls right down to the warm pumpkin pie that even the fullest belly could not resist. This meal rivaled Thanksgivings I had in previous years in both cuisine and company. Disclaimer: this is no shade to my family back home, but no soul there that night could deny that this experience was special. It was unique, but still provided the same feeling of comfort.
Glasses clinked together after my father’s toast, thanking the Helfers for their hospitality, and suddenly my insides became fuzzy. Here I had my very own eureka moment. I was struck with the realization that the sense of familiarity and home that a homesick traveler may crave is not solely restricted to a tangible space. The faces of friends and immediate family were illuminated in the flicker of orange glow from the candles, and the sound of advertisement for the upcoming Apple Cup football game that lingered in the parlor served as a remedy for my illness. At that moment there was no place I would rather be than hearing Mr. Helfer’s zingers and the abrupt thunder of laughter from his audience at the table, seemingly reminding me that somehow thousands of miles away, I am home. For me, home is now an embodiment of a nearly indescribable feeling of love and community that can be captured in treasurable moments like the ones I experienced that Thanksgiving in England.