Tally-Ho and Tacos Too!

 Did I ever tell you about the time I ate tacos for Thanksgiving?  It's true!  It happened at a pivotal point in my life alongside a unique journey I made.  Let me take you down, Dear Reader, a road I traveled 25 years ago today.

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The travel bug bit me pretty hard early in my life.  As a little kid in the 1970s, my family made journeys every summer, and occasionally at other times in the year, to visit my large, extended family across the Midwest and South; we motored from our home in Kansas City to places like Tennessee, Kentucky, Chicago, and Indiana.  We packed the car full of stuff and us, often hit the road hour before sunlight, and I marveled at the things we would see along the way:  Stuckey's restaurants and gift shops (peanut brittle, anyone?), classic and varied gas stations, such as Skelly's with the cool, winged pegasus logo, and the pervasive smell of fuel and diesel fumes - much more prevalent back then - as we motored down the highway.

Forward to the 1980s.  Mom had remarried, we now became an even bigger family (9 kids now), and living in Midlothian (suburban Chicago).  I remember a motor home trip we took out west to the Black Hills and Rockies in the summer 1983 made quite the impression on my 13-year-old self.  Over two weeks, we covered, what, 3k or 4k miles?  My Dad dubbed me "the Navigator".  I was responsible for carefully and meticulously scouring the varies Rand-McNally road maps we had tucked all over our motorized house.  "Wall Drugs is only 150 miles away!", or "Hey, isn't that a black bear running around that valley?" and "Oh, look, donkeys are blocking our road...let's get out and feed them!"

Near the end of the '80s, the travel bug took yet its biggest bite when I was fortunate enough to travel to Europe; specifically, I along with a few dozen other students traveled through the German lands of Central Europe, taking in sites in BOTH Germanies (visiting West and East Berlin), overnighting on a train across the former East Germany - and getting awoken by frontier guards brandishing weapons and Rottweilers - en route to Bavaria.  We also did stints in Austria and Switzerland.  

To say I was dazzled and enchanted by that trip is a gross understatement.

"All right, all right...yes, Ryan...but what about those Thanksgiving tacos?!"  I was coming to that!

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Mid-90s.  Out of college, money spent, see no future, pay no rent...oooops, never mind (Beatles lyrics coming to mind...force of habit).  Anyway...

Ah yes...it was a special time for me.  I was living with friends in a house in the west suburbs, had a full-time job, a car, a band...and otherwise just stashed my paychecks aside from a few bills.  Whereas many of my college buddies, and certainly old high school friends, were getting married, starting to have children, my path was different.  I was in no real hurry for those things in my mid-20s.  Travel, on the other hand, is something that I was wanted more of.

And so, I had the opportunity to do something quite different:  I booked an 8-day solo trip to the British capital:  London, England.  I departed Chicago one week before Thanksgiving, 1996.  I had just turned 27 about a week earlier.

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This was truly the first "it's all on me" trip I'd experienced; saved my money, planned out the trip over about 6 months, stepped off the plane at Heathrow on a cold November day, found the Tube train to my small, family-run hotel in central London (Marylebone), and off I went. 

I felt partly like some kind of wandering character from a Dickens play, or maybe Mark Twain, or perhaps something akin to Jimi Hendrix arriving in London (an "a-Ha!" moment of wonder, if you will).  

I spent most of my days there mixing up both the usual tourist trail stuff - seeing the Tower of London, "Big Ben!  Parliament!", witnessing the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace - but I also explored somewhat less tourist-y stuff:  tubing out to the Afro-Caribbean neighborhoods, like Brixton, in South London, or going the opposite direction to far north suburban London, Colindale, and visiting the RAF Museum.

Almost every evening was spent seeking out live music, especially live rock acts - punk, alternative, maybe classic rock...I wasn't there for the Spice Girls.  

I can remember buying a round of drinks for this excellent power-pop group that covered the Beatles "She Said She Said".  They were yammering at the bar with each other in some sort of strange dialect that I couldn't for the life of me understand.  But when the barkeep provided them with their Foster's pints, he motioned at me that I had purchased them their drinks.  The leader singer then started chatting (FAST-talking!) at me, and I still couldn't understand him.  But, soon...he got it and said, "Are you a Yank?!", and I nodded affirmatively.  He then dialed down his cadence and accent, and said "Ohhhhhhh...tttthaaank yoooou!"  *haha*  A great experience!

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"Yes...but the darn tacos, Ryan!!"  I was coming to that!

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So here I was.  In London.  Utterly dazzled by this world-class metropolis.  

I woke up on my 2nd Thursday with some sadness:  it was Thanksgiving Day...and my first in my 27 years away from my family.  What was I going to do?  How would I celebrate?  What would I eat?

As just another Thursday morning in England, I continued my tourism of the capital.  I made my way eventually to St. Paul's Cathedral, one of the largest churches on the planet.  When I approached the entrance, I almost cried:  there, right on the giant marquee out front, read a message:  "Thanksgiving services for our American friends will be held here at 11am today".  WOW!   That hit me hard...I hadn't expected anything of the sort.  I didn't stay for the service, but I did tour this magnificent and historic holy place.  

Later on that day - it was fairly chilly but sunny, as I recall - I made my way to Camden Town, a pretty cool, hip, vibrant north London neighborhood.  I arrived around early evening...and I was hungry.

Me being me, I wasn't looking, nor wanted, a traditional Thanksgiving meal.  After all, I was in a foreign capital that was chock full of nearly every type of cuisine that could be found anywhere in the world.  And, lo and behold, what did I find there?  That's right - a Mexican restaurant.  In London.  In 1996.  Probably the ONLY Mexican restaurant on that side of the Atlantic. Ok, I'm game.

Well, if memory serves, it was not quite authentic; more Chi-Chis then Topolobampo.  The staff were wearing sombreros, there was some sort of canned mariachi music blaring, and the look of the joint was sunny and pastel-colored.  Good start, I thought. I sat down.

The server greeted me with an English-accented 'Buenos Dias'.  Cool, and to you too!  He first put out tortilla chips - which looked and tasted right - but then he brought the salsa.  I looked at it somewhat horrified.  Ummm...let's just say it was basically chunky Heinz ketchup - no discernable "Mexican" seasonings, never mind the lack of any sort of pepper. 

But then he came back to my table.  "Would you like to order now?"  "Sure...I'll have the taco trio." 

"Right, the three Tek-os".  "Taaahhcos," I said.  "That's right...three TEK-OS."  Ok, I think he understood what I ordered.

A little while later, they arrived.  Well, at least what passed for 'tacos'; they were a soggy, suspicious mess.  Yes, there was some cheese (although I'm not sure what kind), lettuce, but no tomatoes and the 'meat'...well, I'm not sure what the heck that was.  Still, I soldiered on, and made the most of it.  It was a great for a laugh, too!  

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Later on that evening, I received a fax - remember FAXES?! - to my hotel from my Mom back in Midlothian.  The message summarized was that she and the family missed me, was hoping I was enjoying my journey, and wished me a happy Thanksgiving.  I think I faxed her back and told her of my "Mexican experience" for Thanksgiving!  😆

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I somehow knew life was going to change for me after that unique trip.  Indeed, it did.  More change, more responsibilities started creeping into my life and making further demands on me.  Mind you, most were wonderful, others not so much.  But isn't that life?

As I look back - and at a quarter century ago today - I will always remember that dinner and that trip.  Indeed, it was the most unique Thanksgiving meal I've ever had.

Keep calm, and Tek-o on! 💂






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