Day 1 (2 really)

You know how a dog pisses all over to mark its territory? Well, I spent my day figuratively pissing all over my new home. After unpacking most of my things last night in a haze of exhaustion, sleeping until 10 am, with a brief interruption by a phone call from my beloved Barbara at 6:30 am, I awoke in my new bed. A cup of tea (how apropos!) and toast, but with Trader Joe's peanut butter dragged across the ocean, and I was set for my day. Decided to walk to the village of Whitchurch, visited briefly yesterday for lunch with the ladies.
It is all that I would have stereotypically pictured: images of Billy Elliot and Hugh Grant danced through my head as I walked the route, all the while trying to wrap my head around cars driving the "wrong" way down the street. As one car drove by I wondered, "Why is there a baby passing by in a car with no driver?" until I remembered to look on the other side of the front seat. A bit disconcerting, especially since my first "driving lesson" is tomorrow... Then there's the whole crossing the street without getting killed thing. Which way do I look first? Stay left while driving is my new mantra, I was told, but it doesn't always work as a pedestrian. I have to think way too much.
Passed by the green (here "Bend it Like Beckham" was playing, the soccer scene with the boys), followed a very picturesque stream with requisite little girl on dad's shoulders oohing and aahing at the water, reached the first pub at the outskirts and knew that I'd arrived. Rain threatened but never showed up, beautiful breeze, cool and brisk, sun peeping through occassionally: perfect.
Stopped in a pet store considering a pet turtle until I remembered my world travel plans. Meandered through the shops, speaking a word or two to shopkeepers or your average man (or woman) about town, just to guage the reactions. Friendly. Okay. Checked out the library, books in both Welsh and English. For a small town, there are a million thrift stores, here called charity shops. I bought a book for 30p. Ate a sandwich in the park, bought a few things for dinner, including a lovely chianti (no fava beans). All the while, converting money (how much is that in dollars?) and watching out for cars.
Made it to Violet Place, blasted my ipod, and attacked the kitchen. Once one makes a kitchen one's own, it's truly home. So, I started small, and ended up pulling apart all of the cabinets, moving the spices, rearranging, cleaning, etc. The refrigerator is now mine - a few well-chosen photos, cartoons, magnets brought from LA, grace it. A framed photo of Jean-Luc and Cayal on the mantel (I finally have one!), a wind chime hanging in the patio out back...
Dinner. I christened the dry house with a toast to myself, my new home, my year. Life is good.