Downtown Chester, where my mission for moisturizer began.
If you find yourself overseas, in a foreign place you’ve never been, and you have lost your luggage…then, like me, you may focus on basic necessities.
Add to this, your delayed flight in Phoenix causing you to miss three days of your cruise. You then may also feel the need, (like me), to compensate yourself for your loss.
For this reason, I spent my afternoon in Chester, England in search of moisturizer. I could not enjoy the U.K. until I knew I had my skin care under control.
- Chester is known for the most photographed clock in England after Big Ben.
Because I felt shorted, I later rewarded myself with the purchase of two authentic works of art totaling $1,150.
- This is one of Viktor Shvaiko’s paintings. Not the one I bought but you get the idea of how special his art is and how I needed one of his paintings for compensation.
Chester is a walled city, lying on the River Dee close to the border with Wales.
The town features medieval buildings, the famous gateway clock, Victorian restorations, coffee shops, and a majestic cathedral.
Beautiful cathedral in Chester dating back to1093.
- Stained glass windows in the Chester Cathedral.
My mission in Chester didn’t include souvenirs or slurping British coffee in the shops. I had one mission…to get moisturizer. I had Arizona dry skin, the kind of
skin that requires moisturizing, and my mission had priority over all else.
- A sign outside a coffee shop in Chester. I would have loved to stop in for opinions, but my mission for moisturizer kept me going.
I searched an entire street for a drug store and then, there it was. An apothecary shop! I stumbled inside where bottles of every kind
glistened on shelves , each filled with an organic potion. The silver-haired shopkeeper had a stooped and slow gait and reminded me of a kindly Charles Dickens’ character. I told him I needed moisturizer and he asked me, “What for?” I told him “Anti-aging.”
Ebenezer, I’m guessing his name, hobbled over to a shelf and pulled off a bottle with a shiny chrome cap and the word “organic” written in pink letters. He handed it to me saying, “This is what you need.” I trusted him, and besides I had no other option.
Most of the other shops sold coffee and scones, or T-shirts displaying the Union Jack in British glory.
That night I slathered my face with the moisturizing cream. It had the fragrance of roses and vanilla and the texture of pudding. Sure enough. The next morning I looked 29!
Okay, so I didn’t look 29. But I felt more at peace with the world. After all, when you stroll the deck of a cruise ship and view other passengers laughing and splashing in the
luxurious swimming pool…
- “Ha, hee, hee, ho, we’re having so much fun enjoying the ship’s swimming pool,” the passengers seemed to say. “Too bad you don’t have your swim suit.”
…You realize, sadly, you can’t join them because your swim suit rests inside your missing luggage, off in another country for all you know. You need the comfort of plastering rose-scented vanilla pudding, touted to have age-defying qualities, all over your face.
You watch other passengers enjoy themselves in the ship’s piazza munching
chocolate chip cookies and sipping cappuccinos while listening to the melodic tunes of
the string quartet.
- I would love to listen but I have laundry to do…
You pass by them lugging your bag of laundry wearing only your coat and your
niece’s leggings. You spend your time in the ship’s laundromat washing the only clothes
you have. There are no chocolate chip cookies in the laundromat. And the only
melody comes from the whooshing water in the machines.
I had time to attend an art auction while on the ship. Upon entrance I received a large card with a number. I got number 268. Of course I came only to see the paintings, not buy a painting.
Peter Max’s one-of-a-kind painting sold to someone for $27,500. ”I’m not going to scratch my nose,” joked the man seated next to me, “Or they’ll think I’m buying a painting.”
The Barbara Wood lithograph, “Mrs. Calabash,” and the charming Viktor Shvaiko serigraph of the Irish pub in Dublin sold to me, number 268. I needed a reward.
- Mrs. Calabash by Barbara Wood
All this said, I have one word of advice to anyone facing disappointment.
Take care of your skin, buy yourself art that brings you joy, and remember this:
“It’s all in your perspective. Yes, the Titanic was a tragedy. But for the lobsters in the
kitchen, it was a miracle.”
♥♥♥the end of part VI. scotland next.