Welcome to Manchester UK - Jamie and I just got back from Mancs, where we attended the annual rugby clinic put on by the Village Spartans. Thanks to a well-placed contact at US Airways, we managed upgrades both coming and going. I tell you, there's no other way to fly, especially across oceans.

I initially viewed our trip with some exhaustion, coming the day after the closing on our house and less than a week after a business trip to Utah. However, visiting with the rugger buggers in Britain always turns out to be a lot of fun. We also lucked into five days of uncharacteristically beautiful weather, with cloudless skies only somewhat chilled by the expected early Spring winds. We stayed with a transplanted Renegade, who is taking classes at the university while living with three other guys in Hulme (pronounced "Hume") just the other side of the central artery from City Centre. This allowed us to walk practically everywhere we wanted to go. (At 15-20 minutes per trip, and frequent back-and-forths, I've not done so much walking in a year at least.)

After a Thursday morning nap to recover from the redeye, we convened with some other clinic participants at Via Fosse in the "Gay Village" (a governmentally recognized neighbourhood name) just off Canal Street. We then caught the traditional double-decker bus home for tea. In the evening, we took a circuitous route back to the Village so that we could pick up our host's boyfriend, who has a very nice flat in the renovated industrial district of Castlefields (once upon a time, the original Roman city). We dined just down the canal at Spirit, another restaurant/bar popular among the local homos. Afterwards, our destination of choice was Cruz, your typical gay dance club where I was impressed at the way the bouncers made the straight people go to the back of the line.

The next day we had mostly on our own, so of course we slept in until 1 p.m. After that, we caught some stragglers at Via Fosse who oriented us towards the city's shopping district north of the Picadilly Gardens to Dean's Gate road. There are really some nice places to shop in the center of Manchester, and the street scene seems pretty young and hip. The look is kinda Euro-student, with lots of striped-arm jackets and punkish graphic tees. Anyone not wearing Adidas running shoes had on funky trendy footwear, and bed-head hairdos and buzzcuts abounded. The effect was basically that every male under the age of 45 looked quite convincingly "urban gay." (I must admit however that there was only a spare smattering of Abercrombie observable, mostly Brits who've been to America and brought it home where it can still pass for cool.)

Friday night we caught a ride with our hosts boyfriend out to the training grounds to start the real portion of the clinic. Jamie practiced with the 50 or so rugby players who had gathered from such far flung clubs as Dallas and New York. Closer to home, the clinic represented the first formal outting by the new Scottish team from Edinburg. Besides the Spartans, the Thebans (get the theme?) were the only ones to bring a full 15-man side. While Jamie and the others drilled, I moseyed inside the clubhouse and took advantage of one of its three bars with fine English brews on tap. (Note: you typially order draft beer in England by type -- i.e. bitter, smooth, lager -- not by brand.) When training ended, the gang all converged on the clubhouse and enjoyed a few pints before most of us turned in for the night.

Saturday was an early start because there were two matches to play before attending an afternoon professional match featuring hometown heros the Sale Sharks of the Zurich Premiership. Play was supposed to begin at 10:30 a.m. though we got off a bit late. The day on the pitch was gorgeous. Jamie lasted about five minutes before his previously dislocated shoulder popped back out on him. While that knocked him out of the match, and put him on a steady diet of ibuprofen for the rest of the visit, nothing could keep him away from a good wash up with ruggers before joining me upstairs in the pub for beer and a lunch of meat pie, smashed pies and chips -- a local delicacy. After we went to watch the pros, we came home back to Salians to meet my college mate (and once-upon-a-time Beaverhausen commenter) Adam who had taken the train up from London for the evening. Another pint or two and we were headed home to Hulme to wash up and get ready for the night. Left to our own devices by our host, his roommate Richard generously became our guide and showed us out to dinner at Ikea. Well, actually, it was Kro, but it was exactly what you'd expect dining at a Danish restaurant. Gathering at Spirit after the meal, our portion of the crowd ultimately decamped to Poptastic, where they had cheesy 80's and current dance standards at extreme volume on the sound system and "cheeky vimto" at the bar -- a syrupy sweet concoction of port wine and Blue WKD. Man the Brits sure do love their alcopops! (Just your style, Ben.)

After a good sleep-in on Sunday, the re-injured Jamie chose to skip the final day of rugby training in favor of culture, and Richard once again volunteered to show us around. We had brunch in the shopping district at Cafe Rouge (despite our renewed aversion for all things French), passed by a big St. Patrick's Day party in front of city hall -- and a much smaller anti-war protest behind it, then hopped the tram for the old shipping docks area of Manchester. Passing the rebuilt Old Trafford stadium -- home to the world-renowned Manchester United soccer club -- on our way, we were headed for the renovated shipping district -- the inland terminus of the famous Victorian-era Manchester Ship Canal. The site now houses The Lowry arts center and the northern Imperial War Museum. Both are fascinating architecturally -- far more interesting than most anything you see in the States -- and the latter was designed by Daniel Liebeskind, of WTC 2.0 fame. It also took a unique approach to exhibition design by holding something called the Big Picture hourly. This audio-visual presentation, projected onto all of the walls of the main exhibition space, definitely represents the avant garde in museum technology. (Look for it coming to a museum near you soon.) After our tour, we stopped back by the Lowry for a bottle of wine with a view of the canal then trammed our way back home. The nights festivities included the traditional kangaroo court and banquet dinner at Via Fosse. Although we were tired from a very fun weekend and not excited about a morning departure for the U.S., we were convinced to make one last club appearance, returning to Poptastic where the music (and annoying DJ) definitely defy Manchester's reputation for good rock and roll. We hung out for awhile but avoided the vimto this time, as morning would come way too soon.

Flying back from England is easier than going there, since you leave mid-morning and arrive in the early evening. On the other hand, you body isn't fooled abotu the fact that your day started at around 3 a.m. EST. After almost 48 hours back in D.C., I'm beginning to readjust although I still wake up too early. Looking back, Jamie and I had a fantastic time and hope to see our old Spartan friends, and new U.S. rugger mates, again soon.