Chapter 08: Something New

The hot, sticky mid-spring air never feels quite so oppressive as when you're waiting for World Showcase to open, while standing among a Mickey-ear-wearing throng at 10:59AM. Choked with guests, the walkway through Epcot is a dammed river as more people pile up behind us.

 "I swear all I want is something refreshing," I moan. "Like a freaking kaki-gori." (Side note: if you are in Epcot, you must stop by the Japan pavilion and try the flavored shaved ice known as "kaki-gori." It is the most delicious fruity brain freeze to which you will subject your cortex.)

 Emily shakes our clasped hands.

"We're here to get the cider and black," she says. "Something new, remember?"

While in this sort of weather, one wouldn't be surprised to hear a phrase such as "I could use a beer" - and the large, sweaty gentleman whose left armpit is perilously close to my nose has just uttered such a phrase - it's not exactly common to hear someone pining for a beverage from our most special of Special Relationships.

I smile at her. "Yeah. Something new."

In truth, something new quite accurately describes this entire experience for me. I've spent the better part of the past year planning this grand game and I know I still have much more to go. It's not every day one proposes marriage, and it's not everyone who's lucky enough to propose to their best friend. Right now, though, I'm barely beginning the ride. There are eleven envelopes left and each one, I hope, will encapsulate the experience I'm going through, distilling it down to a memorable moment between myself and Emily.

The clock finally ticks over to 11AM and, like clockwork, the cast members swing the wrought-iron gates to World Showcase open before us and the crowd begins to move. The game is afoot.

Or underfoot, I think, dodging a posse of five-year-olds waving massive lollipops at one another.

The crowd breaks up, little by little, as we move into World Showcase. For every few people breaking away from the herd, those on the outside move apart. We're like the particles of a gas, spreading to fill its container. (Of course, Sweaty Armpit Man to my right takes the gas metaphor perhaps a bit literally.)

Disney's version of London awaits us after Canada. We're traveling counterclockwise (anticlockwise, I suppose, if we're going to be Commonwealth about things) around World Showcase and soon enough we're greeted by red phone booths, Old Wold stonework and carefully manicured gardens. Mary Poppins has been hewn from a hedge, complete with umbrella, the picture of restrained perfection.


 "Okay," Emily says, nodding towards the red phone booths, "we have got to get our pictures taken in those things someday."

Our stop is the Rose and Crown pub, a more than welcome respite from the madhouse outside. It is every inch the charming old English pub - or at least what we in the colonies picture as one. The atmosphere is cool, the lighting is best described as 'sufficient,' and the serving area made from richly lacquered wood, slightly chipped and dented from many a pint glass. Luckily for us, relatively few people are inside, so we manage to snag one of the coveted tables for ourselves.

The gentleman behind the bar greets us as Em sits down. "Hello there; welcome to the Rose and Crown!"

"Hi there," says Em, waving over at him. I give her a kiss on the tip of her nose - she blushes - and walk to the bar for the black and cider. The old man has a wry grin on his face as he balances a Guinness glass on a dime, suspending it practically in midair on only a sliver of its base. His name is Carl, from Leicester, England, and he's drawing a pint of Guinness.

"'Ello there! What can I get for you?"

"Something new," I say, a smile playing across my face. "I'll try the Black & Cider."

 Carl's eyebrows raise a little. "Not a lot of people who order that one," he says, drawing a pint of Strongbow cider. I'm not sure if it's authentic British pub fare or something that Disney made up, but hell, it's worth a shot anyways.

He draws a measure of blackcurrant cordial with an alchemist's precision, lowering it over the cider. In the brass-upon-wood atmosphere of the Rose and Crown, he's practically straight out of a Victorian penny dreadful, a chemist mixing up a brew. The blackcurrant drops explode into soft billows of garnet as they hit the cider, and before long the whole thing has taken on a deep red hue.

"Here you go!" Carl crows. "Enjoy!"

"Thanks!" I make sure to include a generous tip as I pay.
Back at the table, Em is waiting patiently - and by that, I mean playing on her phone.

I lower myself into the booth next to her. "All right, you. Here's your something new - cheers!"

She takes the pint glass in both hands and lifting it to her lips. Her expression is tough to read. She may as well be analyzing a thesis document - it's the same face she wears when she tastes wine or beer.
"Oh man," she says, smiling. "That is awesome. Give it a try."

The cider and black's tones play across the tongue, two opposing energies in balance. The cider is tart and crisp, while the blackcurrant adds a sweet, smoky mellowness to counteract it. Taken by itself, the cider would perhaps be a bit too acerbic, while the blackcurrant would be cloying. In tandem, they are delicious.

"That is good."
She takes the glass back and has another pull, laying her head down on my shoulder. We sit there in the pub, safe from the crush of the crowd outside, relaxing together with nothing to bother us.

After a while, I give her a nudge. "Ready for the next envelope?"

"Sure!" she says, and pulls the next one out.

#3 
 Let's play that old game again. 
"Today I Live In Italy."

What does Italy represent? Like England, it revels in its beautiful past. Italy is a place of elegant architecture and sun-dappled streets. It is not a particularly ergonomic place to be. Yet people flock there. 

I think it's because, more than anything, Italy is romantic. And not just in the bad-movie kind of way, my dear, nascent Time Lady. Italy is romantic, for better and for worse. Everything gets romanticized. Everything. From music to football to food. Everything must represent the attitudes of those involved and represent their personalities. It is the lens through which you can see the character of the Italian people - one perhaps clearer than any other culture. 

Italy is a place that is happening in the moment. It certainly does demand more italics than any of the rest, that's for certain. 

 So what do I want you to do? I want you to find a candy shop. 

In Italian, a kiss is un bacio. (Pronounce it "bah - cho." Trust me.) This next task will be the lens through which you and your traveling companion see and are seen. It is a clearing of the air. It is sweet and it is timeless. 

To tie this together, I want you to find a candy Bacio - a chocolate kiss - and share it while strolling through beautiful Italy. Because what is a clearer and more romantic lens than that? 

See you there. 

 - The One Who Moves 

"Next stop, Italia," I say, squeezing her shoulder.

"Of course, mio principe," she grins.