At 9am, we hopped on a train from Euston to Birmingham, and then took another within Birmingham to the Aston Villa stadium. We arrived around 11, only to find that the only food available were from food trucks that smelled like burnt socks. Many of the pubs open around noon, so we waited in line for one only to find that it required a prepaid ticket in order to enter. We walked around until we stumbled across the Aston Hotel, which, it turns out, doesn't really serve food. So, our lunch was Foster's with a side of Foster's and second hand cigarette smoke. Both filling and terrible for you.
At the Aston, we made a lot of friends who wanted to know about where we were from. Every time I told someone that we were from California, the person first asked if we surfed, then stated that they had been to some obscure town in Canada in hopes that we would know what they were talking about. Overall, killing time before the game was pretty fun. Interesting thing though, British people are really hard to understand. Half of the time they're speaking in slang, and if they happen to be saying something you might understand, it's in a dialect so thick that you can only guess as to what they are saying. It actually made for a lot of fun, especially as everyone we talked to was such a good sport and readily admitted that everyone outside of their town had a hard time understanding what they said.
Once we got to the stadium to watch the game, Matt and I split some chips (french fries), which I would have taken a picture of if they didn't disappear in a record amount of time. Aston Villa lost 0-1 to Wolves and I learned swear words that I never knew existed, nor would I repeat in polite society. In overwhelming sadness (lol) we headed back to the Aston to kill an additional 4 hours until we could board our train back to London.
We had more beer...
We made more friends...
...and then one of our new friends spilled half a pint on me. When I asked him for a towel, he took of his jacket, handed it to me, and told me I could use it as a towel. Seeing as I was sopping wet and without other options, I did. Let me tell you, it was the nicest towel I've ever mopped beer off of myself with. At that moment I was ready to leave and get some food, so we left the hotel and I did the best to make it look like I hadn't wet myself with beer. I did my best to laugh it off, but a girl can only laugh so much when she's cold, tired, hungry and smells like a homeless man.
From the pub we went to a tiny Jamaican-esque restaurant where Matt and I split a jerk chicken concoction, fries and naan, which Matt loved. The whole thing was ridiculously inexpensive, and pretty darn good.
The chicken concoction was kind of bizarre; it was red and had jalapeños in it, but somehow seemed to be kind of flavorless. Maybe that's why Matt liked it? However, the "chips" were delicious.
Matt discovered a love for naan that he didn't know existed, which of course meant he ate most of it. That kid is really not good at sharing his carbohydrates.
A couple hours later, we were on our first train to the main station in Birmingham, where we hung out for about two hours. It was a learning experience. They have pay toilets that cost 30 pence to use, and I saw a very confused (and drunk) man with long, flowing hair, peeing in the ladies bathroom. If I learned anything from that experience, it was that Brits really like their liquor.
Before we left the station, we grabbed a baguette sandwich and coke for the journey back to the hotel. The sandwich, Brie with tomato and basil, was amazing and totally worth the awkward interaction where the woman behind the counter asked me a question and I turned to Matt to translate. Somehow he seems to understand mumbling much better than I do.
So now we are back at the hotel, safe and sound, and I'm preparing to wash beer out of my jacket in the shower. For some reason, while packing, I never anticipated needing a second jacket in case of drunken incident. You live, you learn.
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