All bound for Charleston-town, many miles away

Today’s post brought to you by: in a word, gratitude

Grateful for: the people of Longwood, First United Methodist Church of Orlando, and Amtrak

Trying hard to accept: leaving Florida – skyrocketing costs and plummeting temperatures start now

As I lay in bed at 5.30 this morning, forcing myself to rest and not be lured by Kurth’s freshly brewed coffee, I thought how incredibly lucky I am.

Even including the stopover in ER, I’ve landed on my feet time and time again. I couldn’t have asked to meet more generous and kind people.

And serendipity seems to have decided to tag along. Maybe it’d like to pay for dinner once in a while, though.

I don’t know who’s looking out for me but someone sure is.

I said a wee prayer to them this morning as I prised my eyes open, grabbed my phone (admit it, it’s the first thing you do too) and checked my emails. Top of the list: decision from insurance co.

Deep breaths … scroll down … squint eyes …skip all the preliminary good wishes (bad sign they’re being so nice?) … scroll down … hold breath … YES!!!

They’re going to pay. Directly. So I don’t even have to carry a temporary $7,000 charge on my (still broken) Visa card.

And they’ve cleared me to fly home. YES!!!

Actually NO!!!

“Dear US Citizenship and Immigration Services, it is our opinion that Ms Gail Wilson is unable to fly back to New Zealand and must remain in the US – specifically Winter Park, Florida – until we deem her medically fit to travel (ie never). Please arrange residency, an income commensurate with Winter Park standards and which never requires her to do another tax return, a car, driving lessons and an account at Williams Sonoma. Sincerely, Travel Insurance New Zealand Ltd”.

Boy, did the big tick from the insurance co get the day off to a good start. Skipped along the street (I wish) for my final walk round the ‘hood.

Something – the ghost of Nancy? – told me to head to Ronald Reagan Blvd instead of my usual Starbucks Blvd – and what should I stumble across but the Longwood craft fair.

There’s this husband and wife team at the craft fair. He catches (surely not) exotic butterflies and turns them into paperweights. She turns them into jewellery. And your writer snaps up bargains like this pendant for $8.

Two hours later I’m sitting with Lynn in First United Methodist Church of Orlando listening to the preacher talk about gratitude and not taking it all for granted. Couldn’t have chosen a more apt sermon.

On the subject of apt, the organist played the one hymn that makes me cry every time – especially when sung in Maori – How Great Thou Art.

The church is e-nor-mous. Takes up a whole block. This photo doesn’t do it justice and what you can’t see are the 5 metre high, very stylish embroideries of the 12 Apostles hanging from the columns.

Interesting fact #658: today is the last day of the Christian calendar. Kind of like New Year’s Eve without the grog, fireworks and short-lived decisions to reinvent ourselves. I actually learned what Pentecost is.

What any sensible (greedy) girl would do when her train is late arriving. Head down to the cool chicks at the station selling hotdogs, sit in the sun, cancel out nitrate-laden hotdog with vitamin-laden cucumber and tomato sandwiches, and people-watch.

Am now cosily ensconced in my lounge car ‘office’ of the Silver Meteor en route to Charleston, South Carolina. The place is filling up with pizzas, burgers and beer faster than I can scull another coffee (I mean Gatorade, Ben).

Oh, bonus! Interesting fact #659: We’ve stopped in Jacksonville, Florida. If you want to buy any grog on this train, buy it in bulk now, because as soon as we cross into South Carolina the carriages go dry. You should see the queues forming.

It’s been the best train day for a while. (Good grief, am I on the Keg Express? Them queues for beer now stretch the entire length of the next carriage).

Not only did I meet the lovely, super-pretty Jessica from West Palm Beach and had my first conversation with an Amish woman (spends summers in rural Maryland, winters in Orlando) but have been fuelled with coffee and stories from sweet Donna the café manager and taken on tour of sleeping cars and posh-customers-only dining car by Eric the conductor.

Donna takes a break between fuelling me with coffee.

“How much is a night in a posh sleeper?” I hear you ask. Look at my chest. Plus tax.

Toilet-cum-hand-basin-cum-shower. You can shit, shower and shave at the same time. Efficiency or what?

One lovely conductor in one lovely sleeping-car-passengers-only dining car. Tried the “It’s my 50th birthday. Can I get a free upgrade?” on Eric. He didn’t buy it. Said I look 51.

Never has a train trip passed so quickly. I’ve gotten whiplash from trying to talk to people in front of me, to the side of me and behind me, taking in the sun setting over the autumn leaves out the window and jumping up to follow Eric.

This is one train trip my wallet and I do not want to end.

Postscript. It has ended. Now in restored villa in downtown Charleston. From what I’ve seen in the dark, Charles, this place is your house’s Charleston twin. Ohhh spooky name coincidence too.

Charleston Amtrak station is so brand spanking new the paint has barely dried. Talk about fancy. Talk about completely devoid of staff at 11pm on a Sunday.

I must’ve gotten the world’s best Uber driver in Bryan. Carpenter who restores old rail carriages into uber (get it?) slick houses.

He was southern “yes m’am” with a slow drawl charm itself. Married 3 weeks ago: it rained, wedding planner sick, 75 uninvited guests showed up(!) and to top it off one of the brats of the 75 swiped a big chunk out of the 3-tier cake.

“Bit of redneck ingenuity” said Bryan as he told me how his new father-in-law propped the about-to-fall-on-floor-in-massive-heap cake with an entire roll of unrolled and rerolled paper towels.

Historic downtown Charleston and Google maps seem to be having a massive scrap and aren’t talking to each other because it took me and Bryan three trips round the block, banging on a few doors, and running up a few narrow side streets (that’d be Bryan, not this southern belle) to find the Airbnb.

Then I couldn’t see the keypad to get in front door for a few panicky minutes. Finally stumbled in, found massively high Princess and the Pea old walnut bed big enough to sleep a whole Amtrak carriage. And best of all, a basketful of delicious-smelling toilettries that mein hosts have swiped from posh hotels.