We have had the idea to visit England for a couple of years now. We wanted to go in 2014, but couldn’t pull all the money together. Thus we stashed some money away in 2014 that we could use to book flights and rooms over the winter with the plan to travel in the summer of 2015. Plans were begun in the winter with thoughts about where to go and how long to stay at the forefront. We also had the question of when to go. We know the July and August are “high” season in England when everyone there takes their holidays because the weather is more favorable. We decided to bite the bullet, pay the extra costs and travel during the summer.
We had planned this to be a bed and breakfast trip from the beginning. We settled on two weeks for the duration and then begin selecting cities based on what we wanted to do. The itinerary changed a little, but eventually I started searching for and making reservations at bed and breakfasts around England. As our stops became set we starting booking planes, trains and automobiles. Speaking of automobiles, we intended to drive from Edinburgh to London over the course of a week. We booked a standard transmission car to save a few hundred dollars. Then we came to the realization that the gear shift would be on the opposite side of what we were used to. Learning to drive stick with the opposite hand coupled with driving on the left side of the road would be too much. We changed the reservation to an automatic.
Day 1 – July 20th
Two weeks is the longest vacation we have ever taken. Planning the wardrobe and getting everything packed required some additional work. We have plenty of time to pack as the limo is not coming until 14:45 to get us. We get picked up on time and Archie Griffin gets us to the airport in plenty of time. Check-in is a breeze and security is light. We get in the international terminal with an hour to kill. We relax and enjoy a couple of drinks in the bar. The bartender is a lady who welcomes you and tries to guess what you are drinking. She is close when she suggests a Chardonnay for Rhonda, as she opts for a Pinot Grigio. She suggests a gin and tonic for me which I agree to. Eventually the time comes to head for the gate and we start our adventure.
When we get to the gate there is an Emirates plane sitting there without its engines running. After quite a while a tug finally pushes it out of the way and our plane gets towed in. This has caused about a half hour delay, but we are not worried. We planned lots of time between this flight and our train. We are flying Virgin Atlantic on this trip. We had a good experience with our first Virgin flight, and this one doesn’t disappoint. When we get to our seats there are “Comfort Kits” waiting for us. There is a pillow, blanket, headphones and sealed pouch. The pouch contains earplugs, an eye mask, sox, a toothbrush and toothpaste, and a pen. The plane is maybe half full. Rhonda and I are sitting next to each other on the left side of the plane. We are behind a couple from England who have just spent five weeks driving across a big chunk of America. The gentlemen states they drove 5,500 miles. They took Route 66 from Chicago all the way to Colorado. I wonder how much of a challenge he will have switching back to the left hand side of the road when he gets home.
Before dinner the flight attendants circulate the plane serving a beverage and pretzels. Both Rhonda and I opt for a Shiraz Mouvedre blend that is pretty good. Dinner arrives next and we have a choice of beef stew, sweet sour chicken, or a pasta dish. We both select the beef stew. The meal is good and more wine accompanies it. We are offered small chocolates and hot drinks after dinner. We decline the hot chocolate, but enjoy some room temperature chocolate. After eating Rhonda starts watching the movie Focus and I start reading Finders Keepers by Stephen King. Before Rhonda’s movie is over we are both fading. As the whole plane begins to bed down the attendants come by and make sure all of the windows shades are closed. This is because we will be flying into the sun and they want to keep things dark. Sleep is fitful and not very restful. We both manage to get a little, broken sleep.
Day 2 – July 21st
We awake when we are about an hour and a half from London. The flight attendants bring coffee and tea around and the plane begins to wake. Breakfast is granola and yoghurt with a small blueberry muffin. It gets us started. The isles are socked in by cloud cover and I cannot see the ground until we are descending into Heathrow. We arrive safely and deplane is short order. Immigration is quick and we are soon reclaiming our bags. The next step is to find the Underground and make our way to King’s Cross station. I have investigated this previously and we are prepared. It is a long walk to the Underground terminal in Heathrow. We see an automated station selling Oyster Cards, which is what we want. They are reusable mass transit passes that you can load with money. The terminals have a problem taking either of our credit cards. We continue on in hopes of finding a proper ticket window, or machine that deals in cash. We picked up some pounds and euro from our bank before leaving so we are prepared.
In the Piccadilly line station we find a machine that takes cash. We purchase two twenty pound Oyster Cards and walk to the train. The cards are used to pass through the turnstiles on the platform. You touch the card to the pad on the turnstile to gain entrance. When you get to your destination you do the same thing to exit the station. The system will calculate the rate and deduct it from the Oyster card balance. A nice feature of the Oyster card is that there is a daily cap for charges, regardless of how much you use the Underground. We board a nearly empty train that arrives shortly after we do on the platform. We drag our suitcases onboard and find seats. The ride to King’s Cross will take about an hour with all of the stops that the Piccadilly lines makes. The train fills as we head into the city center and begins to empty again once there. We get off the Underground at the King’s Cross/St. Pancras stop. Getting to the train platform from the Underground involves an elevator and escalators, pulling our large bags all the way. We get into King’s Cross proper with a couple of hours to spare before our 13:00 train to Edinburgh.
We kill the time in the station having some water and Coke and sharing a bite for lunch. The delectable is a grilled sandwich of sorts filled with Brie and sun dried tomatoes. There is also a strawberry tart that Rhonda bought that is delicious. She bought both of these at a place called Patisserie Valerie. They are obviously a large chain of stores as we will see these bakeries all over England. As the time gets close to our departure the tote board still hasn’t listed a platform for our train. Finally at about 12:45 the platform is specified and we quickly walk to platform 2. Since we are traveling straight through to Edinburgh, we have to check our bags at the guards’ van, which is at the end of the train. We start to walk to our coach, which is “C”. We are currently at coach “M”. We finally get to the proper coach and find our seats. We are not seated very long before the train pulls out of the station. They did a pretty fast job of getting everyone checked in so they could make an on-time departure.
The seats are comfortable and the train moves at a very fast rate. When passing through tunnels the air pressure will sometimes make your ears pop. The country side looks very Midwestern. There are fields, though they are smaller and lined by hedges or stone walls lines with brush growing around them. There is some livestock, but not a lot. The train is going to make five stops on the way to Edinburgh. We both managed to get small naps as the train makes its way north through England. We are both awake and watching as the train approaches and passes through Newcastle. I take note of crossing the river Tyne as that is the river that Walls End is located on and that the Swan Hunter Shipyards once launched their ships. This is notable because it is where Sting grew up and his musical “The Last Ship” is set. The countryside becomes more populous with sheep the further into Scotland we get. At Berwyk on Tweed the rails take a large bend and we see a lovely arched stone bridge crossing the Tweed River, which the train takes across. Before too much longer we find ourselves in the outskirts of Edinburgh.
Waverley Station is in the heart of Edinburgh, between the royal mile and Princes Street. As we will learn later, this ravine was a man made loch in the medieval days of the city that provided water to the inhabitants. We exit the train quickly and walk to the guards van to pick up our checked bags. Luggage in hand we make our way up a lift and some stairs to Princes Street. Princes Street is on the north side of the ravine and is a major thoroughfare lines with businesses and bus stops. Across the ravine containing Waverley Station we see the medieval section of the city. It rises on a ridge sloping up to the west where it is crowned by Edinburgh Castle. The bed and breakfast is roughly a mile and a half away, but we have no intention of hauling our bags that far. We get a cab at the taxi stand nearby. The cab is large enough to have three rows of seat, but there is no middle row. Rhonda and I sit side by side in the back with the bags in front of us on the floor. On the drive to the bed and breakfast, the cabbie tells us about a restaurant called the Dome which we make a mental note of. The streets get smaller and narrower the closer we get to our destination. The taxi ride has cost us 7.10 euro and was well worth it.
The Inn is located on a quiet, narrow court which they call a crescent. We are staying at the Glendevon Bed and Breakfast. Our hostess, Katherine, greets us and shows us to our room. It is up 2 ½ flights of narrow stairs. The room is more spacious then anticipated and has a view of the back garden and the city to the north. Katherine gives us a form on which we should select the items we would like for the next morning’s breakfast and note the time we would like to eat. She explains the uniquely Scottish items on the menu and lets us know that she sources everything she can locally. While conversing we mention the Dome, which she confirms as a wonderful place to visit. She takes her leave and we set to the work of unpacking our clothes for the next two days. We get settled in and Rhonda “puts the kettle on.” There is a small electric kettle in the room that heats water very quickly for tea. We will find these in all of the bed and breakfast rooms we stay in. Rhonda makes up some drinks while I take a look at a map and get our bearings. We sip the warm beverage and enjoy a biscuit while planning our next move.
After all of the time in the train we are ready to stretch our legs and start the walk to the city center of Edinburgh. Our destination is the Dome which is located on Georges street off St. James Square. The walk seems to be all up hill. I have a pretty good notion of where we are headed and we don’t have to do too much extra walking before finding the place. There is a Blues festival being setup in St. James Square and not much is happening yet. We arrive at the Dome which is located in a former bank building. There are impressive columns at the top of the steps leading up from the sidewalk and the name sake dome on the roof. Stepping into the lobby the opulence strikes you full force. We make our way forward to the main seating area to try and find a table. A waiter notices us looking unsure and asked if we need help. He informs us that there are no more spots left for dinner, but we are welcome to sit and have small plates and drinks in the bar area. We say this will do well and sit at a table not far from the entry way. The room is open to the top of the dome and lit and decorated most elegantly. The bar is a circle underneath the dome, and is the centerpiece of the room. There are huge flower arrangements flanking the bar. I ordered a Caledonia, a Scottish beer, and Rhonda has a cider. We share an appetizer sampler plate that includes a duck spring roll. All of the bites are tasty and we enjoy our repast in the regal setting. On our way out we stop to use the restroom. They match up to the rest of the building in stature. The doors on the stalls stand 8 foot tall, by far the largest we have seen. This business has done a nice job of maintaining a touch of old elegance instead of gutting the whole affair and starting over with some modern design.
Back out on the street we decide to work our way back toward the Glendevon. A pub we noticed on our walk here is where we decide to stop for a nightcap. It is called The Royal Theater Bar. It is located, appropriately enough, two doors down from the theater. The pub’s outer façade is masked by the draping tendrils of the flowering plants growing in dozens window boxes. Inside the pub the place is all dark paneling and ornate gingerbread woodwork. The walls are covered with autographed posters and pictures. Looking them over they mostly appear to be from productions just up the street or nearby in Edinburgh. I order a pear cider, and Rhonda has a white wine. The cider is unusual and tasty. The bar is pretty quite with only a few patrons strewn about. We enjoy a leisurely drink and just chat amongst ourselves. Eventually, we decide to end our long day of travel and head back to our bed. At least the walk back is downhill now.
Day 3 – July 22nd (Edinburgh)
Rhonda wakes at 3:30. When she looks outside she notices a glimmer of light in the sky. It is the predawn light and reminds us of how far north we are. I manage to get a little more sleep, but Rhonda is awake for the day. Breakfast is at 8:30 this morning. We are joined by a couple from Australia whose names we never do catch. Breakfast is a wonderful adventure. Rhonda has selected haggis as part of her breakfast, and I have opted for black pudding. We are not sure what to expect but want to try the local favorites. Both are surprisingly delicious. The haggis is loose and has been formed into a patty and fried. The texture is that of a big couscous. The slice of black pudding is dark and meaty in taste, but falls apart to the fork. Stewart, Katherine’s husband, is serving breakfast along with a heavy portion of conversation. He is pleasant and engaging and very willing to talk about Scotch, something he seems to know a lot about. We get a small lesson in it this morning. He explains the origins of various pieces of tableware which are family heirlooms still being put to good use. Bonnie, the house Westie, wanders in at the end of the meal looking for attention and a morsel or two. She more or less signals the end of breakfast and the start of our day in the city.
The morning is overcast and cool with the threat of precipitation. We decide to take the bus into the city center to save some wear and tear on our feet, which we know will have a long day. From the bus stop on Princes Street we cross through Princes Gardens, and up to the Royal Mile. The gardens sit just to the west of Waverley station, in the ravine. The Royal Mile is the road running along the spine of the ridge. On our way up we see the Edinburgh we expected, centuries old buildings and narrow cobbled streets. We turn westward and walk toward the castle which sits at the top of this ridge of rock. Just outside the castle gates, built around the parade grounds are modern grandstands and a stage. These are incongruous and very out of place in this medieval setting. Arriving at the lower gates we get into our first queue to purchase tickets. We don’t have to wait too long and soon are ascending once again. The castle is built on the jutting rocks, looking like it grew out of the stone of this promontory. The road through the gate spirals up, putting different portions of the castle at different levels. On our way through the Argyle gate into the first open courtyard, we read plaques both modern and ancient commemorating historical figures and events. They provide a nice education about the history of the castle. There is a battery facing north just inside the Argyle Gate at from its battlements you get a wonderful view of Edinburgh fading out to the North Sea. We continue our walk up the road to the highest section of the castle. Half moon battery, which sits on the wall high above and dominating the main gate, is near the heart of the castle. Through an arch is the central court which is surrounded by the Royal Palace, the Great Hall, the Scottish War Memorial, and smaller building I never do find out about.
The Scottish Crown Jewels and Stone of Destiny are kept here in the Royal Palace. We begin by exploring an exhibit explaining the history of the crown jewels. Interestingly in the last room before where the Honors of Scotland are kept there are life size replicas of the sword, crown, and scepter in bronze. These are mounted next to plaques in brail providing even the blind an opportunity to appreciate the crown jewels. The Stone of Destiny, on which the kings of Scotland were crowned, was recently returned to Scotland as a part of its national treasures. The stone will be transported back to Westminster to be placed under the coronation throne for the duration of the ceremony crowning any future monarchs, then returned to Edinburgh castle. After viewing the honors we proceed next door to the royal apartments. These include the receiving room and the three rooms comprising the living quarters. Of most interest to Rhonda is the room in which Mary Queen of Scots delivered James I. The room is small and wood paneled with a fireplace and one small window. Rhonda remarks that, “The mothers of Barrington should not complain. Kings were born in a smaller labor room then they get at the hospital”. We cross the courtyard to the Great Hall and proceed inside. During English occupation of the castle the Great Hall was converted to a barracks with three levels. That has all been removed and the hall restored to its original grandeur. The dining hall of Hogwarts looks like it was modeled after this room. We are lucky in our timing as the national and regimental colors of the Scottish 3rd Regiment are on display for the last time before being retired to storage. The colors were flown at the battle of Waterloo. There are the names of other famous engagements that the regiment fought in also on the flag. The silk has become very fragile and faded over the centuries and thus it is being retired from exhibition. One curious feature of the hall is a small barred window in the upper corner from which the king could observe his courtiers. I suppose you wouldn’t be sure if he was there or not, so you always had to mind yourself.
Returning to the courtyard we see it had begun to drizzle. “Fine Scottish weather”, as William Wallace had said in the movie Braveheart. We take a brief stroll through the Scottish War memorial which is in what looks like a former church. There are alcoves dedicated to each of the Scottish regiments that have served since 1914. In each is the coat of arms of the regiment and a book lists of names of those that have served in those regiments. Outside again we make a brief stop at the highest point on land where the Mons Meg, huge siege cannon, and the original chapel stand. The chapel is the oldest structure in the castle. From the outside it looks like not much more than a large stone room. Just below this height is a small level of land that is the soldiers’ dog cemetery. It is an odd space that doesn’t seem very accessible. The drizzle begins to turn to rain as we begin the descent down and out of the castle. As we pass out the main gate we see that the queue for tickets has doubled in size, this despite the proper rain which is now moving in. We duck into a shop just outside the stadium looking for an umbrella. We are unimpressed with what we find and decide to wait out the rain inside at the Scotch Whisky experience across the street.
What we know about Scotch whisky we learned from Stewart this morning. I had planned on making a stop here to have the opportunity to try Scotch in its home setting. We purchase gold tour tickets which will provide a taste of five different whiskies. The tickets are timed so as to maintain the proper group size for the tastings. We spend the 20 minutes before our tour exploring the whisky shop and remarking the expense of some of the rarer spirits. The most costly bottle we see runs 27,000 pounds. Definitely out of our price range! We do however send a picture of the bottle to our friend Jerry McDuffie, who we know likes his scotch, in case he wants to make a purchase. The tour begins with a ride in a barrel which resembles the slow moving rides you have in Disney. The ride takes you through the steps of the production of Scotch and is narrated by a ghostly 19th century master distiller. Upon exiting the barrel ride, we are seated in a room with the rest of our group a gentleman passes out what are essentially scratch and sniff cards which we will use during educational presentation. He tells us the different scotch producing regions and the flavors that dominate each region. As he speaks of each region he has us scratch and sniff the appropriate colored corner of the card. He also talks about blended whiskies and their difference to the single malt varieties. At the end of his lesson he asks each person to place the tasting glass in front of them on the colored circle representing the region of their choice for tasting. The whisky is dispensed which he asks us not to taste yet. Instead we are to follow him to the next room. In this room is stored the world’s largest scotch collection. The walls are filled with glass encased shelves containing 3,386 different bottles of Scotch. Once the group is gathered our instructor takes us though the proper steps of tasting whisky. Rhonda has selected a low land variety which is very mild in odor and taste. I have the highland variety, which has a strong floral aroma and smooth lingering flavor that has a hint of smoke and peat. We are both impressed with our initial tastes and are glad we had upgraded our tickets to include additional tastings. The tour concludes in the bar area where the gold ticket holders are invited to enjoy their drams. The staff at the bar are very friendly and helpful, Declan in particular. We are presented with a flight of four different whiskies, one from each of the four major regions. We taste each in turn which increase in smokiness. We try them all both neat and with water. Rhonda even tries a couple of hers with a single ice cube. The smokiness of the Islay region’s whisky is too much for either of us and the two gentlemen next to us agree it is too much for them too. After our initial flight, Declan selects a sweet and nutty whisky from the highlands for Rhonda to try since she said she likes rum. On the recommendation of the guys next to us I try another highland whisky that is aged in Caribbean rum casks. It seems that we both prefer the scotches from the highlands and we purchase two bottles on our way out of the Scotch Whisky Experience.
The rain has passed for the moment so we don’t need an umbrella yet. We stroll the Royal Mile which runs from Edinburgh Castle to Holyrood Palace, which is the Queens official residence in Scotland. Declan had made some recommendation for lunch, which is where we are headed. We opt for The Albanach, a pub here on the Royal Mile. We walk upstairs and take a seat by the window and order some soda and water as we have had a lot of Scotch already. Rhonda orders a haggis fritter and rarebit, which the waitress describes as a fancy cheese on toast. I choose a hardy beef pudding. Both are tasty and filling. The haggis once again does not disappoint. The rain is coming down again as we eat lunch. We watch the people passing by on the street below while we eat. Our timing is good and the rain is finished before we are done with our meal. After lunch, we walk back up the Royal Mile to find where our underground tour will start. At the foot of St. Giles Cathedral near the cross where proclamations are read we find our tour company.
Craig will be our guide for our exploration of historic underground Edinburgh. He begins by explaining the history and structure of the city of Edinburgh. This is very informative and provides foundational knowledge we will need to appreciate the underground we will see. The underground exists within the arches which support the south bridge of Edinburgh that connects the Royal Mile to the next ridge to the south. These chambers are all located on several levels below the modern street. They were occupied are various times by tradesmen, merchants, and pubs who gave way to criminals and the homeless once the original chambers were abandon due to flooding. The tour is enlightening and informative. There is sparse light in the lower levels and Rhonda uses the flash light on her phone to illuminate our footing from chamber to chamber. The haunted tour passes through these same chambers, but out tour concludes without incident, much to Rhonda’s disappointment.
We continue our stroll down the Royal Mile making a stop at the Worlds End. The Worlds End is a pub located in a 600 year old building which stood just inside the wall that made up the eastern boundary of medieval Edinburgh. The gate of the city stood here and the pub’s name reflects its location. We both enjoy a cider while chatting with the bartenders. We learn about the ale pumps which we were curious about as we have seen nothing like them in the states. As the bartenders pour something that is cask drawn they pull on a pump handle with a great deal of effort. It usually takes three to four pulls to draw a pint. The ale comes out very frothy and has to sit and settle for a bit after being drawn. The reason for the pumps is that these taps have no gas in the system and are thus not under pressure. Normal taps just open and let the pressurized fluid out. The overhang above the bar is covered with paper currency from seemingly every nation. Patrons of the bar will right a message on a bill and leave it behind. Our refreshment concluded, we continue down the mile into what was once the community of Cannon Gate. We pass the Scottish parliament building, which has an artistically modern look which does not fit with the surrounding buildings. We find it simply ugly! Across the street at the end of the mile is Holyrood. We stop for a couple of pictures and decide what it is we want to do next. Working our way back up the mile we purchase some small items for the boys. We also duck into a whisky shop to find a small bottle of scotch to sip during our travels in the coming days so we can save our large bottles to take home.
Crossing back over North Bridge we get to Princes Street. We are a little foot sore from our journeys up and down the mile and decide to take the bus back to Glendevon. We took the number 11 bus from Pilrig Street to the stop here on Princes Street. Figuring that the route would be circular we hop on the number 11 at the same stop we got off at in the morning. As the trip proceeds it begins to dawn on us this is not the case. We eventually arrive at the end of the route where the bus makes a U turn to head back into the city. Curiously enough, there is a family of four from Tennessee who have made the same mistake. We talk a little with them about the mistake we made and the visit to the city. We ride for another 20 minutes back through the neighborhoods that we’ve already travelled. The extra long journey has allowed us to see parts of Edinburgh we would otherwise have not of, which is the one saving grace. Back at Glendevon we fill out our breakfast forms and finish the night with a dram of our newly purchased scotch.
Day 4 – July 23rd (Drive to Liverpool)
At breakfast this morning there is a new couple that hails from Denmark. The Australian couple are finishing as we arrive at table, but we pass a pleasant and talkative breakfast with the Dutch. Coincidentally, she is in nursing school and the fellow is a computer programmer. We compare notes regarding our professions and cultures. It is always fun and informative to talk with people from other countries to get their perspective on the things common to everyone’s lives. Things like work, education and culture. After breakfast we get everything packed up and ready to go. We leave our bags with Stewart and walk to the Budget Rental Car office. The rain hasn’t started and the sun actually shines during our walk. In less than a mile we arrive at the office to see two clerks handling several customers. We hop in line to wait and I realize I have not brought my passport or international driver’s license. This is not a problem though and we acquire the most expensive car rental we’ve ever had. We have included full coverage insurance since driving on the left side is going to be a challenge and fender benders are likely. In fact during our time in the rental office we over hear of two accidents being reported or handled by the employees there.
The car we receive is a blue Ford Mondeo. The car is a late model and only has about 8,000 miles on it. Thankfully, the hatchback is deep and will hold both of our large suitcases in a covered space so they will remain out of sight. After confirming the damage to the body we are given the keys and the adventure begins. Sitting on the right side to drive seems very unusual. I arrange my mirrors and get the seat adjusted. The rearview mirror is hard to use for me because I keep glancing up to the right instead of the left. Before long we are ready to go. We proceed through a roundabout up to Leith Walk which will take us back to Glendevon. When we stop at a light after a few moments the engine cuts out. We are both mystified and work together to get the car restarted as the light turns green. The same thing happens at three more stops on the way to Glendevon. At the last one I notice an “A” in a circle on the dash board that lights up when the car dies. Rhonda discovers a button that seems to disable the automatic engine shut off. Back at Glendevon we mention this behavior to Stewart, who confirms that it is an energy saving feature. He tells us that if you just press on the accelerator the engine will restart itself. Actually, I find that the engine restarts when you let up on the brake. None the less it is disconcerting to seemingly have your car die at every stop light. We say our farewells to Stewart, load our bags and plan our route out of the city.
Driving in the UK has several challenges, besides being on the left side of the road. Foremost of these is the lack of good street signage. Street names are not displayed on signposts or suspended on lights as in the US. Instead they are placards affixed to the sides of building near the corner, or on walls that line the roads. That is if they are displayed at all. Thus you must really know where you are going in case the road that you want at the intersection is not marked. We decide to avoid driving through the city center as our first expedition. We take Leith Walk down towards the shore intending to pick-up the main artery that runs along the water. We miss the road, due to lack of signage, and have to do some back tracking when we find ourselves cut off from the direction we want to go. Once on the street we are looking for the challenges are not over. We are trying to get to the A6 but will have to take a few different roads to get there. We manage to get out of Edinburgh and into the community of Glimerton. At this point we know we’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere. We find a convince store and stop in to get some pop and water and directions to the A6. The store owner is Indian and describes our route in heavily accented English. Seeing that we may have missed some points, he quickly draws us a map. Armed with his scribblings we boldly go forth to find our way south. His directions prove accurate and we see the turn that we missed, once again due to lack of signage, on our way. We find the A6 in Dalkeith, which will take us south to Hadrian’s Wall.
The A6 is similar two lane black top in the US. It passes over rolling countryside and small quaint towns. Rhonda is white knuckling the journey as I begin to get used to my position on the left side of the road. It is easier following a highway then trying to wind through a city. The countryside is lovely and over run with sheep. It seems that every pasture is being grazed by a herd of sheep, regardless of where the pasture is. We see sheep in flat meadows, steep ravines, and windy hill tops. Sometime the sheep are interspersed with cattle. We wonder how the sheep population compares to the human population in this area. After a time we find ourselves climbing some low mountains. We come upon the border between Scotland and England at the top. We stop to stretch our legs and view the panorama around us. There are no trees on these hills and the wind almost knocks you over. The view to the north into Scotland is very picturesque. The view to the south into England seems much more barren. There is a lone bagpiper here playing music and selling CDs. He is on break now, so we don’t get to hear anything. Also located up on this windswept spot is a small concession stand. The stand is actually in a trailer so it can be hauled away. There is a father and son standing on the north of the border when the father says, “Race you to England.” They take off in a ten foot race much too their amusement. We continue south into England and find ourselves in Northumberland. This is a remote area with more sheep then people and is one of the world dark sky regions. I would like to be up here on a clear night to see the stars, but the sky doesn’t look like it wants to clear and we have places to go. The road gets more winding and narrow, making Rhonda even less comfortable then she was. Before long we must turn west onto a smaller road that follows the path of Hadrian’s Wall.
After about a dozen miles on this new road we come upon our intended stop, Housestead. There is a good sized car park and visitors’ center nestled in a growth of pines. We purchase admission to the site and pay for parking. The parking is managed by the National Trust and the site by the English Heritage. Paying for parking in the automated machine proves to be no simple task. The instructions have been worn away and two other people and myself all work together to figure out all of the right buttons to push the complete our transactions. With our fees paid Rhonda and I don our jackets and begin our visit. Housesteads is a Roman fort along Hadrian’s Wall. The ruins are particularly well preserved amongst those that are left along Hadrian’s Wall. Much of the wall and the fort were dismantled and the stone used for other building over the centuries. In this remote spot the foundations of about a third of the buildings and the whole of the fort's wall are still present. The walk to the fort is along a stony path leading down one side of a valley and up the other. The fort sits atop the hill opposite where we are now. The path passes through three fences as the land in the valley is a sheep pasture. We walk amongst the herd through the windy valley as we make our way up to the height the fort sits on.
We arrive at the main gate and begin to walk in the footsteps of the Romans who began their occupation in this space in 124 AD. The Romans occupied this fort on the northern edge of their empire for about 280 years. During that time the fort spread across three to four acres of land. There was also a neighboring village, which help support the operation. We wonder at the ruins speculating on the men who were sent so far from Italy to guard this frontier. Did they choose to come here? Was being stationed here on the cold northern frontier a punishment? We don’t know. Evidence of ingenious Roman engineering can be found everywhere. Of particular interest to us were the hospital, the granary, the bath house, and the latrines. The views from the wall on the northern edge are breathtaking. The terrain is rugged and the wall, although man made, seems to fit the landscape. While wandering on the downhill side of the fort near the latrines, wisely placed, we hear sheep bleating. There is one ewe in front of us calling and being answered by two bleats far to our left. In moments two youngsters come running by and nearly knock their mother off her feet as they start to nurse. Obviously the ewe was feeling some bloating and needed some relief. This is an amusing interlude that breaks up our reverie. After quite a while we make our way across the windswept pastures back to the car. As we pass through the gate in the stone wall that borders the pasture I wonder how many of the stones in the wall were originally a part of the Roman fort or village.
We are both feeling peckish and resolve to see if we can find someplace to eat soon on our continued journey. We continue west toward Carlyle where we will pick up the M6 that will take us south to Liverpool. We finally find a place to stop in Carlyle itself. The name of the establishment is Toby’s Carvery. As it turns out it is the English version of an Old Country Buffet back in the States. The meal turns into an interesting view on the other side of English dining as compared to where tourist usually goes. Rhonda opts for a veggie pie which contains broccoli and brie baked in a puff pastry. I decide to try the carvery meal. There is one buffet in the restaurant. It contained four roasted meats which the staff slices upon request. The rest of the buffet is filled with vegetables and pudding. Pudding being the bowl shaped puffed pastry eaten with the meal and typically filled with gravy. Diners are allowed one visit to the meats and unlimited visits to the veggies. There is a small stand with gravies that can be used to dress your completed plate. As we sit and dine we notice a habit of people at the buffet to over fill their plates, just like in the States. Mashed potatoes seem to be a particular favorite as the pot of potatoes needs to be refilled three times during our meal. Our meals are good, but unremarkable.
When we get back to the car we decide to call our hostess for the evening and make her aware of when we will be arriving. It is six pm already and it will take a little over two hours to get to Liverpool according to those we have asked. We are quickly on the M6 which is much like an American interstate. There is no posted speed limit, so I just move with the traffic. There are times when we are traveling 80 MPH and people come speeding by going even faster in the passing lane. We see signs warning of speed camera and the cameras themselves, but no evidence of a posted limit. We will later find out that the speed limit is 70 MPH and that it is mostly obeyed just in the speed camera zones. The landscape begins to level out the closer we get to Liverpool and the River Mersey. We have a map that should lead us to the bed and breakfast, but there are a couple gaps in the information where we are going to have to take our best guess. As we get further from the motorway and into the residential neighborhoods the lack of signage makes finding where we are going a challenge. We eventually arrive at the Blundell Bed and Breakfast with a little help Siri, the program on Rhonda’s phone.
We meet Debbie, the Inn keeper, who is a whirlwind in speech and action. She can talk a blue streak and it is no surprise she used to be an on air personality for the local radio station. We get settled in our room with more words than are probably necessary. The room is spacious and has a balcony that overlooks a large back garden (yard). We do some work on this journal and enjoy a small dram of Scotch. When we get to a good breaking point we put the computer away and walk to the pub recommended by Debbie. It is named the Crow’s Nest and is about a quarter mile away. As we approach we see picnic tables in the parking lot with several patrons enjoying their ales outside where they can smoke. We head inside and find the place very full of the locals. The pub is divided into three rooms each one smaller then the next, all surrounding a central bar. It looks like a house that was converted into a pub, and probably is. We make our way into the middle of these rooms and quickly shed our coats as it is quite warm inside. After ordering our first drinks we notice a “men’s club” of older gentlemen gathering near where we are standing. We work our way to the other side of the room, which is tiny, and engage in conversation with three locals seated there. They are Sharon, her boyfriend Martin, and their friend Phil. We fall into conversation with the three of them and have a wonderful time. At one point Rhonda comments on Phil’s t-shirt which has “Venice Beach, California” printed on it. She mentions the large number of homeless that exist there and before she continue her thought he promptly takes off the shirt there in the pub, turns it inside out and puts it back on. This action draws a young couple sitting behind where Phil is standing into our group. We never catch their names. They are from the Liverpool area, but this is not their usual neighborhood. Phil buys us our last drinks after the last call bell is sounded. There is a fellow standing next to me that has three pints lined up in front of him. We guess he is prepared to finish the night. Oddly enough, last call is sounded at 11:30 with the pub closing at midnight. That seems early to us. We learn later in Dublin that this law is often ignored and the drinking continues after all of the strangers are routed from the pub at the proper closing time and the locals are locked in. Maybe that is why the one fellow had his three pints.
Day 5 – July 24th (Liverpool)
Breakfast the morning is at 8:30. We arrive in the dining room and take the table for two by the window. Debbie is her usual whirlwind of energy, but she seems overwhelmed this morning. She explains that her helper is out sick today. This is quite evident as breakfast proceeds and she makes many mistakes. Firstly, she brings Rhonda a full English breakfast when Rhonda had requested just scrambled eggs and salmon. Next, when asked if she wants coffee or tea Rhonda says coffee, but has to resort to drinking tea from my pot when no coffee ever brought. There is an older couple from Manchester, who come to breakfast shortly after we do. They similarly have trouble getting what they want for breakfast. We all give Debbie a pass and enjoy our meal despite her fluster. We learn from the Manchester couple why hot water is brought to the table with tea or coffee. It is to allow the drinker to dilute whatever they are drinking if they so wish. The highlight of the breakfast is the fruit and Greek yogurt that is waiting for you on the table when you sit down. The strawberries that accompany the blueberries and raspberries have been allowed to steep overnight in a balsamic mixture which creates lightly sweet syrup that contrasts well with the yogurt. There are also some nice homemade jams that Debbie points out to have with your toast with which you finish breakfast. For some reason the English eat the toast at the end. Maybe it is there to “fill in the corner” as a hobbit would put it. The jams all contain brandy or some other liqueur to provide the “hair of the dog” if necessary.
We return to our room to work on this journal. We get another day’s recollections added while having the coffee missed at breakfast from the full tea and coffee service in the room. Deciding to get our Liverpool adventure started we pack up the computer and put on our coats. It is a fifteen minute stroll to the shore where the Mersey meets the Irish Sea. The Irish Sea is at low tide and the waterline is a couple of hundred yards out. We find Another Place, as the work of art is titled by the artist, occupying the whole shoreline. The locals call it the Hundred Iron Men of Gormley and we can see why. The life sized iron men are standing in ranks facing the water. They are forty to fifty yards from each other and the furthest of them, those in the fourth rank out, have their feet in the water now at low tide. These would seem to become completely submerged at high tide. The nearest to the shore have sea life growing on them up to their chest. The iron men are all identical and stretch off along the shore as far as you can see in both directions. The men are all naked and some near to shore have been clothed by the locals. The whole tableau creates a surreal atmosphere here at the mouth of the River Mersey. We walk out on the packed sand that the low tide has exposed to view the spectacle from amidst the silent sentinels. While I wouldn’t travel to Liverpool to specifically view this, I am glad to of have had the opportunity to see it.
We walk back to the train station that we passed under on our walk to the shore. We find that the next train into Liverpool central is leaving in a few minutes. We quickly buy our tickets and proceed to the platform to wait for the train. We are soon aboard and on our way. The seats are comfortable and the ride smooth and quite. The rails in England and Scotland seem to be very well maintained as both this train and the one to Edinburgh have very smooth rides. The train passes through the seedier port and industrial areas that are typically associated with Liverpool. Most of the 18 minute journey is above ground and the tracks are lined with brightly flowering shrubs that contrast with the dingy stone buildings they are growing in front of. We arrive at the Liverpool central station and proceed to Bold Street. Our destination is the cemetery located next to the nearby cathedral. We stroll down Bold Street which is lined with shops and restaurants of all varieties. The odors wafting from some of the restaurants remind us that breakfast was a long time ago. It is a little after two in the afternoon and we decide it is time for a late lunch. The street offers a myriad of choices and we pause to consider them outside of a Moroccan restaurant named Kasbah. On a whim we go into Kasbah because it is at hand and there are still patrons inside long after the lunch hour, which is a good sign.
Delicious aromas greet us as we walk inside. The interior is wonderfully decorated with dozens of varied ornate lanterns hanging from the ceiling. We are shown to a table near the front and begin to peruse the menu. The day is cloudy and damp so the hot tea we order is appropriate. The tea arrives in small pots with long spouts which is served in small glass tumblers. The tea is poured with a flourish but not to the top of the glass. This allows you to actually hold the glass without burning your fingers. The tea is heavily spiced and a little too peppery for Rhonda, who switches to a mint tea, which suits her very well. The meal proper begins with three falafel which are crunchy, light and very flavorful. Sesame seeds are very popular in Morrocan cooking and the balls have been rolled in them before being fried. The cucumber dip that comes with the falafel is a nice cool counterpoint to the slight spiciness of the ball themselves. After the falafel is finished the main courses arrive. I have a lamb tagine which is still boiling as it is placed on the table. Rhonda has a pastilla, which is a mixture of chicken, almonds and spices enfolded in phyllo, baked, then sprinkled with powdered sugar and cinnamon. We have to proceed with caution because of the hot temperature but the wait is worth it. The meals are fabulous and the Moroccan bread that is used to sop the gravy in the tangine is hearty and chewy. During lunch we notice the rain has started to come down steadily. As we pay the bill we ask the waitress where we might find an umbrella as the rain continues to come down despite our trying to wait it out.
Leaving the restaurant we head up Bold Street in search of an umbrella. After two unsuccessful stops a clerk in a sporting goods store tells us of a cobblers in the train station that would have what we want. Retracing our steps to where our walk started we find the cobblers shop. He has the large umbrella we desire so we can both walk together under it. With our new purchase in hand we head back out into the weather to make our way toward the Cavern Club since the rain is not conducive to roaming a cemetery. A block from the train station and in the opposite direction we went originally we find a wide pedestrian shopping district. Apparently Liverpool has done some work revitalizing its downtown area. In one section of the pedestrian mall there are stalls along the street selling different foods and wares in compliment to the stores behind them. One in particular catches our eye as it is selling unusual cooked meats. Kangaroo, wild boar, buffalo, and ostrich are all on the menu. The smells are tempting, but at the moment our Moroccan lunch has us satisfied. With a little extra effort we are able to locate the narrow street that houses the Cavern Club. The club itself is located below our feet and there is nothing but a door opening on a staircase at street level. We determine to go down but have to wait a moment as a horde of people are making their way up the steps. The people continue to come and we squeeze our way down with a few others like salmon going upstream. At least with all the people leaving the club should be a little emptier. As we descend the two flights of stairs the temperature begins to rise. Once in the club proper Rhonda has no worries about being cold, and I am carrying my jacket.
The interior of the Cavern Club is all brick. The ceilings are very low and arched. There are three parallel chambers connected by a series of arches. The arches are original and many of the original bricks were used when the club was rebuilt before being reopened in 1984. The stage is at the far end of the center chamber. There is a lone performer playing guitar and singing to the very full club. The club has photos and memorabilia of the many famous people who have played here filling the walls about the place. After taking some pictures we get a couple of small drinks and enjoy them in a less crowded corner of the club. The place is hot and there seems to be little ventilation down here. I wonder what it was like back in the sixties when the club was at its peak. The club is full right now, but not packed. I imagine on a Friday or Saturday night when someone popular was playing this place would be like and oven. We browse the cases near the bar and select some souvenirs for the boys since they are all Beatles fans. We learn a few interesting tidbits from the informational plaques scattered about the club. After taking a final video from the back of the club we head back upstairs to the cool drizzling Liverpool evening. Strolling back to the train station we pop in and peruse a couple souvenir shops. We arrive at the station a few minutes before the next train that will take us back to Crosby.
Upon returning to the Blundell Bed and Breakfast we have short visit with Debbie. She provides a few different teas for us to try and also makes a reservation for us at a nearby Tapas restaurant. We adjourn to our room to have tea and work on this journal. About 20:15 we start the walk to So Salsa for a small dinner. The restaurant is in full swing with only a couple of empty tables. We are shown to a table where be both sit on the same side with an excellent vantage point of the rest of the restaurant and the street outside. We order a bottle Vigonier and a couple of small plates. The toasted goat cheese and the Indian spiced Mussels are delightful. We take our time as the restaurant begins to empty out. We finally call for the check and are offered two complimentary drinks of our choice, courtesy of Debbie’s connection with the owner. We settle on port and enjoy our night cap. The evening is cool and pleasant for our walk back to our bed. The crowd at the Crow’s Nest is spilling into the street as we walk by, and we decide to leave last night’s visit as our fond memory of this pub.
Day 6 – July 25th (Dublin)
We have to get ready to move this morning so we get up and get things packed fairly quickly. We are having the early breakfast seating at 7:30 because we have a drive to Holyhead in order to catch our ferry. Debbie is ready for us and much more put together this morning. She has the hot portion of our breakfasts served soon after the opening fruit and yogurt mixture. Today she has both of our plates done up correctly. We pass a pleasant, if quick breakfast. Nothing is quick where Debbie is concerned, though. We get pretty close to the time we want to depart by and we say our goodbyes and hit the road not too long after eight. At least it is a Saturday morning, so traffic isn’t too bad. We get turned around trying to get out of Liverpool and wind up going through the tunnel under the Mersey River. Unfortunately we don’t know that the tunnel is accompanied by a toll. I pull up to the gate on the far side of the tunnel and begin to rummage for the correct coins we need to get through. There are no attendants, so my bills do no good. I am short, so Rhonda jumps out of the car and gets into my suitcase in the hatch where I have stashed some shiny coins to take home. We manage to get our toll paid and the gate is raised and we continue on our way. Thankfully there wasn’t a bunch of cars piling up behind us. The route gets simpler as we pass through Birkenhead and continue south.
As we turn west towards Holyhead we enter Wales. A large sign with the Welsh dragon on it welcomes us. Now all of the road signs are dual language, Welsh then English. The Welsh language seems to use too many consonants, many of which are double. It is very odd looking and I don’t think any words are shorter in Welsh than they are in English. For instance, a sign we see plenty of is the one pointing to the roadside stops with a gas station, restrooms, stores and food. The English word on the sign is simply “Services”. The Welsh word above it is “Gwasanaethau Magwyr”. The town names are just as odd. We pass through the town of Llanfairpwllgwyngyll which is near to Holyhead. We also see an amusing warning sign in this area. The sign is a white triangle with a red border containing a black exclamation point inside it and the word “Badgers” with the Welsh translation “Moch daear” underneath. We know badgers are common around here, but what is the caution for? Don’t stop on the road, or be careful if you do. Regardless, it makes us chuckle each time we see it as we imagine badgers lying in wait in the bushes along the road. The landscape gets more and more rugged the closer we get to Holyhead and the motorway hugs the coastline for a pretty long stretch.
We are using Rhonda’s phone to direct us on our drive. It takes us through Holyhead and to the ferry dock. Unfortunately we need to get to the passenger terminal and have to do a little backtracking. We have plenty of time, so we are not worried yet. When we get to the terminal there is really no place to park, only drop people off. There is a small car rental operation that takes up part of the lot and we pull into an unmarked space. I hail an employee walking by and ask where we can leave the car for about 24 hours. He asks if our car is a rental and I affirm it is. He says to leave the paperwork from Budget on the dash and it will appear as if it is a return and we can get away with leaving where we have parked it until tomorrow. Otherwise we need to drive a ways to the long-term lot and pay to park and then take a bus back. We thank him profusely for being so helpful and grab our overnight bag and walk into the Irish Ferries terminal.
We made good time despite a little winding and we have arrived a little before check-in is to begin. We take the opportunity to get some water. Before long we are in queue to get our boarding passes for the Jonathan Swift, the ferry we are booked on. From the terminal we board a bus that takes us over to the ferry dock itself. There we wait while the cars are being loaded. Once all of the cars are on we walk the same ramp onto the ferry. We see owners on the car deck comforting dogs that are about to be put in kennels for the crossing. Up a flight of stairs is the main passenger deck. Rhonda and I take a couple of seats with a table between us. At the opposite end of the small table are two Irish fellows with accents that make them a little hard to understand. We exchange pleasantries and settle in for the ride.
It will take a little over two hours to make the crossing from Holyhead to Dublin. The seating on the passenger deck is all comfortable and centered around tables. There is a first class deck above us, but it doesn’t appear worth the money and I am glad we opted for the normal fare. On the other end of the deck we are in is a large screen where a movie is being shown. Surrounding the screen are concurrent semi-circles of comfy looking chairs. It looks like a lounge chair drive-in movie. There is a cafeteria style food line on our end of the deck which does a pretty brisk business during the first half of the crossing. Rhonda and I partake of some oven chips (baked French fries) which we properly eat with a fork out of the bowl. The journey is smooth and we pass most of the time playing cribbage. Rhonda is on a roll and wins most of the games by a wide margin. It seems the Irish Sea likes her. There are a couple of large, probably Catholic families sitting at the tables behind us. There is a particularly adorable little girl amongst them who bear a similarity to the small Irish girl in the movie Titanic. When land comes in sight we quickly come to the mouth of the River Liffey, which runs through Dublin. People begin gathering themselves and their families up and many head for their cars. We wait to exit by a ramp that connects to a door on the passenger deck.
We opt for a taxi to get us downtown. We are staying in the heart of the Temple Bar district. Our cabbie informs us that our B&B is on a street that is closed to car traffic most of the day as a part of the pedestrian area of Temple Bar, but that he will drop us within a half block. We comment that it is unfortunate that the day is rather cloudy. He replies, “You are in Ireland.” We then state that it looks as if it might rain. His response is, “You forget again, you are in Ireland.” We all share a chuckle when we recount the sentiment we heard in Scotland, “If we didn’t go out in the rain, we would never go out.” We ask the cabbie about good places to eat and he starts to describe French and Italian restaurants. We say we want good Irish food and he tells us just to eat in the pubs if that is what we are after. It is about two in the afternoon and the streets are already bustling. It is a Saturday after all. We get to our destination and true to his word we only have a short, half block walk to the door of our lodgings for the night.
We are staying at The Merchant House tonight. At street level there is just a big black door with a gate in front of it. The door sits between Super Thai Massage and the Basic Instinct Mask and Fetish store. A hint of what goes on in Temple Bar beside drinking and eating? We ring the bell and a young lady comes to greet us and take us to our room. She unlocks the gate and shows us through the outer door, then gives us the code for the inner door that uses a keypad instead of a key. I guess security is important in downtown Dublin. We walk up the stairs to our room, The Oscar Wilde Suite, which we find out is on the top floor. It is actually the whole top floor. There are only four rooms here and four floors. We are very glad we only packed an overnight bag for this evening as hauling our big bags up would be very laborious. The room is lovely. It has high, sloped ceiling and is decorated in an eclectic style with an antique slant. Our hostess explains that things in Temple Bar can get noisy, so the windows have been soundproofed. We tell her that we have an early ferry to catch tomorrow. She says she will arrange a cab for us at 7:40 and have the restaurant they partner with for breakfast prepare something we can take away to be picked-up at 7:30. She gives us our keys and departs. As we hang up our clothes for the next day we explore the large open suite. We find even the toilet paper is fancy as it is printed with a faint lavender colored flower pattern. A fireplace is the center piece that sort of divides the sleeping area from the bathroom and entryway areas. There are interesting decorating details all over. I wish we had more time to spend here, but it is just an overnight stay and this lodging was selected primarily for its location in the heart of Dublin’s Temple Bar.
We have a reservation at the Old Jameson Distillery for a tour and tasting today at 16:30. We decide to walk and take in the sights. We first want to find the pub where our musical pub crawl will start tonight. The streets in Temple Bar are mostly closed to only pedestrian traffic. Some split time, like ours, but are all pedestrian now. The streets are all narrow and paved with stone. The district reminds me of an old world version of Bourbon Street in New Orleans as it seems like the central party area for Dublin. Things change as we cross the River Liffey and make our way to Jameson’s. We walk most of the way there along the river and the traffic on the sidewalks lightens. We arrive at the Old Jameson Distillery about forty minutes before our timed tour is supposed to start. While standing at the ticket counter I notice the fellow helping us has a Green Bay Packer “G” pin on his shirt. I comment on it and we have a pleasant exchange about our favorite American football team. To pass the time before our tour we decide to get lunch. There are a few places lining the courtyard outside the doors of the old distillery and we select one that sounds good. We get some yummy mushroom and garlic soup and a turkey and brie panini. Water is the beverage of choice and we get two big bottles. One bottle is for lunch and one to take with us.
The Old Jameson Distillery is now just a museum and tourist spot. The real distilling happens further south in Ireland, closer to the source of their barley. The tour takes us through the distilling process, which we already learned in Scotland. The difference here is that you walk through rooms with the equipment in it where the tasks were once performed. At the end of the tour each guest is given three shot glasses with whiskey in them. There is a single distilled American whiskey (Jack Daniels), a double distilled Scotch whisky, and the triple distilled Jameson Irish whiskey. A sip of the American confirms what we already know, it is decidedly rough and nothing but a mixer. Both Rhonda and I prefer the Scotch to the Jameson as it has a much more complex flavor profile. While very smooth, the Jameson seems bland by comparison. While sitting in the lounge area after the tour we fall into conversation with a couple of young tourists from America. They are from Texas and Georgia and the woman works in the healthcare software industry. The two just seem to be traveling companions. We talk for a while comparing notes on our travels in the isles before moving on. Downstairs by the front door is a bar serving all varieties of Jameson whiskey. One that we want to try is the Midleton Very Rare which is a blend of whiskies aged in port barrels between 12 and 25 years. We want to give Jameson another try and chose this so as to try their high end stuff. The pour is 17.50 euro and we share one. It is expensive but when else will we have the opportunity to try this spirit. The whiskey is very good, but not worth the price per bottle. We will stick to our single malt Scotches.
Down the street and across the Liffey from the Old Jameson Distillery is The Brazen Head. This establishment is reputed to be the oldest pub in Ireland, having starting business as a coach house in 1198. A portion of the building dates from then and it is our first stop on our pub tour. I have avoided having a Guinness until I was here in Dublin. What better place to start than the oldest pub in Ireland. Both Rhonda and I get a half pint of Guinness and take a seat by the fireplace. The tales are true, Guinness in Dublin is nothing like Guinness anywhere else. The brew is smooth, light and not bitter at all. Even Rhonda enjoys it and she is not a beer drinker. I will wind up drinking a few pints tonight and not feel full at all, which is a side effect of the Guinness I drink back in the States. Maybe it is all in the freshness. I don’t know, but there is a marked difference. While enjoying our beer a family of six comes and sits at the table beside us. After hearing their talk we ask where in the United States they are from. It turns out to be Oak Park, another suburb of Chicago. It seems like Dublin is a popular place for Americans to visit.
We want to buy some trinkets for the boys before the evening gets going. On our walk back to Temple Bar we keep a lookout for souvenir shops, but find none. There seems to only be pubs and restaurants in the central downtown area. We finally find a shop that doubles selling tours and make our purchases. After dropping the gifts off at the room we return to Oliver St. John Gogarty, where our crawl will commence. I left our ticket confirmation back in England, but we have no problem picking up our tickets that we had pre-purchased. There is some time to kill before the crawl will start and we start a conversation with a young couple from Canada and an older couple from Northern Ireland while sharing another pint of Guinness. The older couple’s daughter is at the big concert in town so they are going out for some traditional music instead. The musical pub crawl will be guided by two gentlemen. There is Andy who plays the fiddle, and Anthony who plays guitar and bodhran. They introduce themselves and then ask everyone to meet them down on the street.
Andy will lead the group on the walk to the first stop, the Ha’ Penny Bridge Pub. He is wearing a red shirt so it is easy to spot him in the Saturday night crowds on the street. There are probably about forty people on the crawl. As the group arrives at the Ha’Penny Bridge Pub and begins to file in the door Rhonda announces that it is my birthday, much to my embarrassment. The group ascends the stairs to the second floor and begins to fill all of the space available. There are two fellows behind the bar and Andy explains that the key to getting served is making eye contact. Andy and Anthony begin to play some tunes as people get their pints and get settled. A random Irish fellow on the tour with us buys me a pint of Guinness for my birthday as I wait at the bar to get drinks for Rhonda and I. The tour guides explain the music culture in the pubs and give us the stories behind some of the songs they play. There are some songs I know, like Johnny Jump Up, Cunla and Wild Mountain Thyme. We are in a private room and everyone here is on the musical pub crawl with us. Most people are seated close together on small stools. You get to know your neighbor like this. When about an hour is up the crawl moves on.
This time Anthony is leading the pack with Andy pulling up the rear. Anthony has his guitar strapped on his back so that makes him somewhat easy to follow. It is a long walk to the Brannigan’s, which is on the north side of the river in a more modern shopping district. Once again the whole group is in a private room on the second floor. The arrangement is the same with lots of small stools and a bar in the corner. I have my pint bought for me again by the same fellow. He also buys Rhonda her wine and we both thank him. Andy and Anthony invite people from the group to stand and sing songs from their homes. I want to get up and do Shenandoah or The Glendy Burke, but the lyrics are a jumble in my head so I defer. Before our musicians play their last numbers they have the entire gathering sing Happy Birthday to me. It is a very memorable moment. When another hour has passed here at Brannigan’s the crawl is done and people begin to spill out into the street. Rhonda and I are not done yet, though.
Two fellows that I work with from Cork had both recommended Kehoe’s to me when I told them I was going to be visiting Dublin. Kehoe’s is located in the Grafton area. Grafton is another district that is dominated by pedestrian avenues, pubs and restaurants. It is located by Trinity College. On the walk from the north side of the river to the south side we notice a few homeless along the streets. Not uncommon for a large city. Then we see a few with the same large cup of soup and a beverage. As we continue to walk find out why. There is a crew of about eight people in matching t-shirts walking the streets pulling wagons loaded with soup, sandwiches and drinks. They are dispensing the food stuffs to the homeless in the area. We are impressed with their practical way of helping and I drop all the coins in my pocket, a few euros worth, into their donation bucket.
When we arrive at Kehoe’s we see that the patrons are spilling out into the street. The place is hopping. The room and bar on the main floor is packed and we walk upstairs and find a couple of seats at the bar up there. The bartender is fast and efficient. Rhonda changes to a rum and coke. All of the shots and wine pours in Scotland, England and Ireland are carefully measured, by law. In Ireland they pour a 35.5ml shot. In England and Scotland it is a 25ml shot. For a mixed drink like a rum and coke they pour the shot over ice with a lime wedge in a Tom Collins glass. Then they serve that with a tiny bottle of Coke. When Rhonda asks why they are not mixed together the bartender replies that he doesn’t know how strong she wants her drink. We have seen lots of drinks going out this way and the bar seems well stocked with tiny bottles of Coke, Diet Coke and Sprite. We chat up a fellow who has come up to the bar to fetch drinks for his group. While he waits for his pints, Guinness has to sit halfway through pouring, we talk about whisky. He recommends a particular Irish single pot whiskey called Yellow Dot that they have here at Kehoe’s. I decide to try a dram and am impressed with the flavor. On our way out of Kehoe’s a little later we find him and thank him for the recommendation.
After Kehoe’s we walk back to Temple Bar to get closer to our room. Just down the block from The Merchant House is the Norsman. We pull in for a final drink for the night. There is some space at the end of the bar and we sit. I have another Scotch and Rhonda a cider. There is a pair of young German boys sitting next to us. Rhonda gets into conversation with them regarding finding girls. While this is going on a fellow comes in with what could be a transvestite on his arm. Rhonda and the German boys begin to discuss whether they think she is or is not a he. The consensus is that she is a he. We are feeling hungry and want a little something to eat before we turn in. Not much is open for food at this late hour. Mostly just take away. We see a Papa John’s, of all things, and decide a little pizza would be fine. The Papa John’s is paired up in the same building with a Supermax, which is a burger and chips joint. The place is packed with people waiting for food and pizzas. We get our small barbeque chicken pizza order and find a spot to wait for it to be cooked. While waiting we meet a couple who are out celebrating the fellow’s thirtieth birthday. We all have a laugh when she states, “And here we are in a Supermax.” It seems like this is the equivalent of hitting Denny’s after a night of drinking back in the States. Our pizza gets done and we take it back to the room to eat. It has been a long, fun day and we don’t want it to end, but we have an early ferry to catch tomorrow.
Day 7 – July 26th (Manchester)
The luck of the Irish is with us this morning, though it doesn’t seem so at first. We awake at 6:45 in order to get ready to the sound of rain pouring on the roof. We quickly get showered, dressed and our small bags packed up. We get downstairs to the street at about 7:25 and walk down Eustace Street to The Eliza Lodge where we are to pickup our portable breakfast. The rain has letup a little and is no longer a downpour, but is steady. The doors are locked and there is a gal cleaning the windows. I get her attention and in a few minutes a fellow comes and meets us. He says he had no notice from The Merchant House to have anything ready for us. We tell him a couple of croissants and some coffee will do as we have to catch a ferry. He happily complies and we are soon walking back up the block where we see our taxi waiting. It is about 7:35 now. The taxi confirms he is waiting for us and we pile in and get on the way to the ferry dock.
We have a pleasant chat as the rain continues down. Our driver gets us to the dock at about 7:50. We enter the terminal and see the check-in desk is closed, but there are still two employees there. I figures check-in will start in about twenty minute, but Rhonda approaches the male employee to confirm things. She learns that the Jonathan Swift, the 8:45 fast ferry that we had booked has been canceled due to weather. The employee tells us he can still get us on the cruise ferry, the Ulysses, which departs at 8:05. It is a slower crossing, but is a larger ship so it can make the crossing of the Irish Sea in heavy conditions. As he prints up our boarding pass another passenger for the Jonathan Swift comes to the counter. It is now 7:55 and we quickly walk through the boarding areas which are being held open for we few stragglers. We get onboard five minutes before sailing time. Once on board we find a table where to sit and marvel at our luck. Had we been a little slower getting moving, or the taxi been a little late, or the taxi taken more time, or Rhonda not approached the desk, we would have missed getting on the Ulysses. The clerk told us the only other ferry departing Dublin to Holyhead today leaves at 9pm tonight. We would have had to spend the night in Dublin and have missed getting to our B&B in Manchester and more importantly missed our meeting with Kim and Wilf Williams.
We settle in for the three hour ride to Holyhead. The weather is up outside and you can’t even see the water or horizon through the windows. The boat is not pitching much, so that is good. We enjoy our coffee and croissants and take a look around us. There is a table of eight fellows next to us who were probably in Dublin for a bachelor party last night. They are still going this morning. They all have beers in front of them and are having many a hearty laugh amongst themselves. We also notice other passengers taking advantage of the nearby bar and partaking of the “hair of the dog”. One such gent is an old fellow with a craggy face sitting close by. He is wearing a sport coat and slacks and worn tennis shoes. He interjects in the conversation of the table next to him and we hear a thick, almost unintelligible accent. He is the stereotypical old man of the village. We spend our time taking a few notes for this journal and playing cribbage. The Irish Sea is good to Rhonda again she does well. Once in port we debark the ship and board the bus for the terminal. On board the bus with us is the same group of young men who we suspect being a stag party. They begin singing and one breaks into movie quotations. He begins with the “English are many…” bit from Braveheart. When he gets to the end of the pre-battle speech he belts out the word “Freedom!” with gusto. It makes for an entertaining ride to the terminal.
We find our car right where we left it. We wonder if we had missed the ferry if it would have been towed because it would have been there too long. As it is we jump in and hit the road. Rhonda programs our bed and breakfast for tonight into Siri, her phone. Actual Siri is Simon now because she has changed the voice to a British male. Regardless of sex, the phone does a good job with direction in this foreign land and we are coming to rely on it. The traffic gets thicker the closer we get to Manchester, especially on the motorways. We arrive at the Brooklands Lodge in Manchester in the afternoon. The innkeeper is a nice fellow originally from Cleveland. He has been in England for fifty years now and has the local accent. Rhonda and I get unpacked and our clothes hung up for the next day. Rhonda makes contact with Kim and she says they will pick us up out front of our B&B in about an hour. We enjoy some tea and biscuits provided in the room while checking work e-mail. When the time comes we gather our coats and umbrella and go outside to wait.
The Williams arrive at the curb on time. They hop out and hugs and handshakes are shared around. Piling back into the car Wilf begins the drive into downtown Manchester proper. We are actually out in the community of Sale. Conversation in the car is pleasant as they inquire about our journey in. Wilf gets us parked pretty close to where we are going for dinner, El Rincon de Rafa. It is a Spanish tapas restaurant and is pretty busy for a Sunday night. Kim, Wilf, Eleanor, Rhonda and I are all sat at a long table together. Eleanor is Kim and Wilf’s charming twelve year old daughter. We each select three items from the menu which are delivered in a slow progression. We find that tiny Eleanor is quite the carnivore and enjoys her meat items. All of the dishes are shared and the meal passes wonderfully with good food and conversation. After dinner, which the Williams pay for, they take us on a walking tour of downtown Manchester. The rain is slight but enough that we all, except Eleanor, have to walk under umbrellas. In one particular area of Manchester there is a street and courtyard that retains its Victorian look. Wilf says that it is used frequently for filming. As we approach we see a woman in old Victorian garb. As we get closer we see a dozen or more folks in costume walking towards the street Wilf pointed out. We would like to take a look at what is going on, but there are people at the entrance to the area to keep onlookers out.
We make our way back to the car and the Williams invite over to their house for tea. We gratefully accept. Their house is located very near to our B&B in Sale. It was built in 1910, which is not unusual for this area, or England in general. Houses are made out of brick or stone and last a very long time. Kim gives us a tour while Wilf gets tea ready. The house has the charming quirks that old houses do. We sit together in the living room and conversation continues. It is surprising how many interests are similar from two families raised on different continents. While England and America share a lot of culture and there are plenty of differences, the same types of things draw the interest of us all. The evening concludes with pictures and Rhonda taking a video of Eleanor stating she is the perfect British child for Kayla. Kim and Wilf drive us back to Brooklands and arrangements are made to get together in London on Wednesday when they will be in the city to visit with their son, Connor.
Day 8 – July 27th (Oxford)
We arrive for breakfast to find another couple at table next to us. Our host presents us with a short menu and asks us what we would like. I have a black pudding tower which is a play on eggs Benedict with the black pudding replacing the Canadian bacon and a fried tomato replacing the hollandaise as the topping feature. Rhonda has salmon and scrambled eggs. She requests that the eggs are completely done and the host replies, “So you want them bouncy?” We both like the term bouncy eggs. The couple next to us is probably a little older than we are and they hail from Lancaster. They are just here on holiday but have recently returned from a visit in the United States. They took a riverboat cruise from St. Louis down to New Orleans. They tell us a story about how a tour guide in the US made special note of a building that was constructed in 1930. They remarked at the time that their house was built in 1920. This is a coincidental comment given our observation regarding the Williams’ house yesterday. We continue to compare notes on traveling until we are all into tea and toast at the end of the meal. Once finished we get our bags packed and checked out.
It is a rainy morning. We are going to spend the next few hours of it in the car, so that is not too bad. We get Simon revved up and start the trip to Oxford. Traffic gets very heavy around Birmingham and Simon routes us to the M6 Toll which costs us five and a half pounds, but is well worth the money. We make a stop at a service station along the way. They are like the oasis you find along American toll ways. There is a gas station, a few restaurants and a shop. We have fun browsing the store. The selection of candies, chips and other foodstuffs have odd and funny names, at least to our American eyes. There are some familiar brands, but even those are slightly different from what you find at home. The loose candy sold from bins has many of the usual but includes candies that look like fried eggs, teeth, shrimp and lips. In the parking lot we see a small van with the name of a business on it. We both laugh out loud when we see the name “Joe Schmo” on the side. I would love to know the reason the owner selected that name for his leather craft business. It has been a fun stop at the service area and a nice break from the drive. Traffic is again heavy getting into Oxford, but Simon gets us through and to Gables Guest House.
There is a substitute hostess at the Gables because the owners are on holiday in Spain. In all our B&B travels I have never heard of such a thing. I think the innkeepers in the States just close and take their time off in the off season. This lady is from Scotland makes her living being a substitute hostess. She is very nice and unfortunately we never catch her name. Our room is one floor up and overlooks the back garden. We spend some time getting clothes picked out for the next few days and hung up. It is late afternoon now and breakfast was a long time ago so we turn our attention to finding an early dinner. There are a few choices highlighted in the B&B’s list of recommendations and we decide to try for The Vine. It is not too far, but we will have to drive. Simon helps us find the place, but to our dismay it is closed between lunch and dinner. We then opt for The Trout. We let Simon know the address and are on our way again. The roads get very narrow and unmarked as we get closer. In places it is just a one lane road and you have wait to allow oncoming traffic pass by. We get to the restaurant which is located on the River Thames. It is the same river that runs through London but is much smaller here. The parking lot is across the street from the restaurant and is fairly large, which is a good indication of the locale’s popularity. The lot is fairly empty at this hour, though.
The Trout is a cozy and quaint. The ceilings are low and supported by dark beams. The rooms are snug and the whole place has the feel of an old house, which it probably is. The room we are seated in has a fireplace and a view out the back to the garden and the river beyond. We find the best wine list we have seen since being in England. We order up a nice white to go with our food. Rhonda selects the fish cakes with a citrus crème fraise sauce and I have the sticky chicken in a lemon, honey and chili sauce. Our selections are excellent and we enjoy a very nice meal. Afterwards we walk out to the back garden to view the Thames here northwest of Oxford, out in the country. The river is small and calm with grassy banks. There is an open field and a small wood across the way and the scene is very tranquil. We see a couple of the long, low house boats that ply the Thames nearby. One is being piloted by a middle aged couple who are typing up in the field across the way. The wine from dinner has inspired us and we decide to head into Oxford proper to find a bottle to share while catching up this journal in the Gables’ conservatory. We have no real destination in mind and just drive into the city center. Traffic is slow and congested due to some road construction on the bridges into the west side of town. After turning a couple of times in order to just get out of traffic we happen to see a sign for wine sales. We find a nearby parking place and walk over.
The location we have spotted is just a bar where they sell package liquor. They only have a couple of bottles available which are unremarkable. The bartender tells us of a proper wine shop around the corner and down a couple of blocks. We thank him and walk that way. A little ways down we pass an unusual looking shop with large glass demijohns lining either wall. Our curiosity is piqued and we enter. The store is appropriately named Demijohn. One side of the shop is oils and vinegars and the other is brandies and other cordials. The liquids are sold in bulk and there is a tube leading from each demijohn from which it is dispensed. The customer can bring in their own bottle to be filled, or purchase one from the shop. We taste a few lovely cordials and settle on getting a bottle of mead. The mead has a distinct honey taste without being too sweet, unlike other meads we have had. We thank the clerks for all of their help and continue our trip. We find Odd Bins where it is supposed to be and select a nice bottle of wine. On the return walk we see a bakery and stop in. We know later in the evening we will get peckish given that dinner was so early. We pick up a couple of pieces of tart to have for desert later.
The drive back to The Gables Guest House takes some time as it is getting to be rush hour and construction is still messing things up. When finally back at the B&B we get the computer and some glasses and proceed to the conservatory. The conservatory is a small greenhouse like room attached to the house which is filled with hanging plants and furniture. We find the loveseat empty and take up residence there. The problem is that we can’t find a corkscrew. The hostess is out at the moment so we are left to our own devices. Using Rhonda’s cuticle scissors I chip away at the cork until I can get to the wine. While I am working on the cork an old English man joins us in the conservatory. He has some fruit and fish balls with HP sauce for his dinner. He offers us some but we decline having just eaten. Being a solicitor (lawyer) he likes to talk and does so at length. I gather he is traveling on business and this is where he stays when in the area. After a long while he finishes his meal and departs for his room. At last we get to work, but wind up just taking notes instead of getting prose written. When it gets too dark we retire to our room and enjoy the tarts with the two shots of Brandy left us by the hostess.
Day 9 – July 28th (Cotswolds)
We head down to breakfast by nine and there is only one other couple in the breakfast room. We are in no hurry today because we want to let the morning rush subside before hitting the road. The other couple departs soon after we arrive, so all of our conversation will be with the hostess. There is the usual arrangement for breakfast. Cereals, fruit and some pastries are available on the sidebar. The hostess takes our orders for a hot plate from a menu on the table. Rhonda wants an omelet, but warns the lady that she wants the eggs “bouncy”. The jovial Scotswoman completely understands as she says she is the same way about the texture of eggs. When the omelet arrives at the table it very well done, almost to the point of being burnt. Rhonda says it will be fine and we get to talking. The lady confesses that she really doesn’t like cooking and her husband usually does it all when they are home together. He would be here with her but is filling in at another inn currently. When the subject turns to travel in Scotland she warns us to not visit in July or August as the midges will carry you away. We note this valuable piece of information and thank her for breakfast.
Today is our day to tour the Cotswolds. I had printed out a circular tour map that highlights some of the best spots in the area. Given that we are to the south east, we decide to head to Bourton-on-the-Water, which is in the middle of the circuit and closest to us. It is also the town that Wilf had said was his favorite of the area. We get Rhonda’s phone fired up and the town programmed in and we are off. The roads quickly get more rural and the countryside more pastoral. The drive takes us along some ridges with wonderful views of the landscape. The countryside is reminiscent of Wisconsin, rolling hills that are covered in pastures broken by trees. The morning started sunny but is now somewhat overcast. This doesn’t dampen our spirits though as the drive is lovely. As we get into the north side of Bourton-on-the-Water we come to a large car park. I seize the opportunity and pull in. The lot is about a third to half full at this hour with plenty of busses to boot. I pay for parking and we walk a few blocks down the slight hill towards what we expect to be the center of town.
When you picture the idyllic English country village, it is Bourton-on-the-Water that you picture. Where to begin? The main road running along through the center of town is High Street. This is lined with little shops and restaurants. Running parallel to the road for a stretch and separated by a green park is the River Windrush. It is a clear, shallow stream about the width of a carriageway running over small stones and between stone walls. It is so shallow at this point that we see ducks standing in its water as it moves quickly by. On the far side of the Windrush is another lane, Victoria, that looks like it is mostly used for foot traffic. This is also lined with shops and eateries, but not as densely as High Street. The river is spanned by four small bridges, the oldest of which was built in the 1700s. Only two can carry vehicles now. All of the buildings are made of sandy colored stone with slate roofs, many with lots of mossy patches growing on them. The merchants seem to be dominated by tea rooms and antique shops. We thankfully see no McDonald’s or other such brash chain that would ruin the scene.
We stroll to the central park and take in the scene. It is peaceful and lovely. There is a willow wetting its long branches in the Windrush to one end of the tree filled park. There are flowering plants of all varieties present in hanging baskets and front gardens. Even though there is a bustle from the tourist that are present, traffic is slight and the feeling is very tranquil. We stroll our way down the Windrush to the far bridge and turn away from the center of town. We browse a couple of antique shops and continue to walk away from the crowd. The back streets are full of houses, each with a garden of varying size in front. The gardens are an explosion of color in the rather monochromatic village. I realize that other than painting their front door, gardens are really the only other expression of color the residents have available to them. They take full advantage. Even the tops of some of the stone walls have been planted where the stone is recessed and can hold soil. We notice some are the houses are for sale and we wonder about the cost. As we circle back towards the central part of town we duck into a sweet shop and pick up fifty grams of a couple of different varieties. The shop keeper, whose birthday it is, recommends one in particular which is a chocolate covered raspberry and coconut affair. We normally don’t eat candy, but on this trip have been trying the local sweeties and enjoying them. As we get back to the center of town the lane we are walking ends in a ford of the Windrush. We don’t cross the footbridge here, but walk back towards the park along Victoria.
We decide to stop in a tea room that we passed on High Street call The Village Tearooms and Restaurant. There is a little outside seating, but the day is cool and we go inside. We are too late for lunch and too early for high tea and the place only has a few tables occupied. By the time we leave the room will be full. We must just bring in the crowds. We get a pot of Earl Grey for two and it is served with the hot water we learned the purpose of in Liverpool. We will take advantage of the hot water when we pour our second cups of tea from the pot when it has strengthened over time. Rhonda orders a walnut coffee cake and I a scone with jam and clotted cream. The walnut cake has a wonderful flavor, but the frosting a little too sweet. My scone is tasty and the clotted cream, which tastes like heavy cream but has the consistency of a light cream cheese, is a treat. After almost three quarters of an hour we decide to pay up and walk back to the car. This is, after all, only our first stop and there is more to see in the Cotswolds.
The parking lot has filled considerably since we first arrived. We decide to try and head for the town of Broadway on the north side of our originally planned circuit. We tell Simon to take us to Guiting Power which seems to be in between where we are and where we want to go. We are now in the backcountry of the Cotswolds. The roads turn into the one-lane, two-way variety and are passing along ridges and vales. The roads are frequently lined trees and hedges that are cropped to form a tunnel of foliage that they pass through. Guiting Power turns out to be a very small village, no more than a crossroads with a few houses, a pub, a church and a post office. We continue along thinking that the road we are on will take us to Broadway. After a while we suspect that may not be the case. We crest a ridge and as we start to come down we see a large town on the far side of a wide valley. To our left we see a castle popping out above the trees. In moments we are abreast the entrance to the castle and on a whim decide to drive in.
We have arrived at Sudeley Castle quite by accident. The car park is just a big lawn with a gravel drive. There is a small building which must be the ticket office and entrance, and a small shelter next to it. Standing next to the shelter is a large wood cutout of King Henry VIII. Rhonda is now intrigued. She has a thing for the Tudors. Inside the shelter are a few chairs and a video screen. The video, which will start again in a few minutes, is an introduction to the castle. It is a nice way to get some information before deciding on paying to go in. We sit and watch and learn the history of the castle, which is still serving as a home to Lady Ashcombe and her family. Most of current castle was built in the mid 1400s and expanded on in the 1500s. Most notably the castle was the final home and current resting place of Catherine Parr, the widow of King Henry VIII. She is the only Queen to be entombed on private property. The castle played host to, amongst others, King Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, and Queen Elizabeth I both as a young lady and as queen. This has Rhonda sold and we proceed to the neighboring building to purchase our admission. While the castle is still a private residence the grounds and a portion of one wing, which acts as a museum, are open to visitors.
The path from the entrance takes you through a small wood and to the old tithe barn, which is pretty much a just a shell. The walls are mostly intact, but there is no roof or floors. The entire structure has been turned into a lovely garden. There is a riot of colors from all manner of flowering plant. All of the gardens on the grounds are well kept. They are not tamed and manicured, but they are well tended. Exiting the tithe barn you circle the property to the right to come upon the ruin of the old banquet hall. It was destroyed during the civil war, that is the War of the Roses to we Americans. There is enough of the outer walls with their window frames to show the grandeur that once was. The castle is shaped like a big “C” and these ruins are on the backside at the end of the top arm of the “C”. In the courtyard between the wings are a couple of gardens. One has a short hedge knot. The hedges have been trimmed to replicate a knot present in the pattern of one of Queen Elizabeth I’s dresses. We walk along the path from the gardens to the entrance to the museum portion of the tour which lies in the other arm of the “C”, opposite of the ruins. Along the path are some roses, one of which captures our interest. It is probably the most fragrant rose I have ever had the pleasure to smell. Even more so than my Mom’s old yellow rose, which was the previous winner in this competition. We make many return visits to the rose and have a sniff as we wander around the courtyard gardens before going inside.
Both floors at this end of the wing are used as a museum. Therein are displayed many artifacts from the collections of the current and previous owners of Sudeley castle. Some of the items that most capture my attention are the documents. They have proclamations or letters signed by King Henry VII, King Henry VIII and Queen Elizabeth I. Aside from the signatures themselves, their placement is a curiosity. They all signed their documents in the upper left so it would be the first things you would read. Also in the collection are several letters written by Catherine Parr to Thomas Seymour. Seymour was the Baron of Sudeley and the master of this castle in the mid 1500s. He would marry the Dowager Queen Catherine Parr. This is how she came to live and die here at Sudeley castle. When you get to the part of the wing that is furnished and looks more like a living space than a museum you start to see modern family pictures scattered about on tabletops and mantles. It is an interesting reminder that this castle is still a private residence. In one such room which was a dining area, there are several artifact spread out on the table. One is an upright box with its sloped lid open. Inside are four ranks of four porcelain knobs sticking out of the velvet lining. There is a curator nearby and we ask what they are. He responds by drawing one out. They are forks and knives from the early 1700s when tableware was just starting to come into use. The forks only have two prongs and are long and slender, like a meat fork. The knife blade is probably a good eight inches long. They are curious looking to the modern eye.
Once we have completed our browse through the museum inside we cross the courtyard again and walk towards St. Mary’s Chapel which sits behind the castle proper. The chapel is surrounded by a nice garden and some sculpted hedges. Inside, Catherine Parr lies in her tomb to the left of the altar. The chapel had been another victim of the War of the Roses and only an anti-room had been left standing. It was there in the late 1700s that her tomb was rediscovered. The chapel was rebuilt in the mid-1800s and Catherine Parr moved a few feet to her present location. The space is intimate and quiet, a fitting resting place for a queen. Moving on from the chapel we pass through another garden to the pheasantry in which there are several varieties of pheasant. A couple of them have remarkably colorful plumage. Wandering amongst the cages is a male peacock trying to avoid the humans. We continue our walk around the grounds and towards the car park. We pass through a series of small gardens that are each cultivated with purpose. There is a fragrant garden, a calming garden, and medicinal gardens from different eras. It is quite ambitious and pleasant to walk through.
The afternoon is waning by the time we get back to our car. Knowing where we are now we realize the town over the way is Winchcombe. We make our way into the town and search for a parking space. We get lucky and find one along the main road into town. The sun is finally making an appearance and we walk the streets on Winchcombe. This town is all made of stone, but larger and more built up than Bourton-on-the-Water. The roads off of the main intersection contain businesses of all varieties to serve the community and not just tourists. Unfortunately most all of the shops have closed for the day. We had hoped to do some more antiquing, but that doesn’t seem like it is going to happen. We find a pub and restaurant still open that is attached to a hotel named the White Hart Inn. The pub is fairly empty because we are early for dinner. We take a seat by the window where we can watch the people passing buy. The place is advertised on their sign as a wine and sausage restaurant. I have a selection of sausages and mash for my meal and enjoy the fare. The sausages in England are good, but have a different consistency from what we are used to in the US. They are looser and not as spicy. When I ordered my meal there was a selection of mashed potatoes to choose from. The names they are listed under indicate, at least to those familiar with the terms, what has been added. Rhonda enjoys a classic plate of fish and chips. The meal is delectable and timely. We have developed the habit here in England of eating a big breakfast and then not eating again until late afternoon because we are too busy. It works out as then we are only eating two meals a day, which is fine with us.
After our dinner we decide to work our way back towards Oxford. Between Winchcombe and Oxford lies Stow-on-the-Wold. The drive is beautiful once again as we now are passing through the Cotswolds with the benefit of the sun begin out, warming the countryside in both a literal and figurative sense. When we get to the main square in Stow-on-the-Wold we find everything except the pubs closed as it was in Winchcombe. This saddens us, but we take a walk around town anyway. After our stroll we continue our drive back to the Gables. The sun is a pleasant companion on the journey and we miss any major traffic in the Oxford area. Back at the Gables House we quickly check mail and look for a pub that we can walk to. There is really one choice which is down the hill from us maybe half a mile.
The sun is westering as we take the walk down to the Seacourt Bridge Pub. It is a Tuesday and there looks to be a number of tables occupied by the locals in the pub, but it is not crowded by any stretch of the imagination. Rhonda and I walk straight up to the bar and take a seat. The bartender is a college aged fellow named Allen. He is amiable and talkative. Having had the holy grail of Guinnesses in Dublin, I try one here. Rhonda has a cask drawn cider. Both are good. The Guinness is not as light here as it was in Dublin and carries a wee bit more of a bitter taste. As we sit and sip and chat with Allen a stream of locals comes into the pub. In many cases Allen begins to pour their drinks of choice before they even order them. Just a nod as they enter the door is all that is needed. There is one of the slot machines that you see in all pubs here as well. These machines are not like what you see in the US. They have reels, but those are relegated to the bottom. The whole of the upper panel is a riot of flashing lights and indicators like a mad pinball machine. The displays are confusing and eye catching as the lights dance in various patterns. Rhonda decides walks over to the one at hand and gives it a closer look. An old fellow at the opposite end of the bar says something like, “Are you going to give it a go?” in such a heavy accent that it comes out sounding like he called her a goat. Rhonda decides to drop in a pound coin and give it a try. She wins a couple of pounds but feeds them back in and makes her donation, never really figuring out what is going on. The old fellow starts talking again and we give Allen a look. Allen states that even he has trouble understanding him at times. We continue to chat up Allen and a few of the locals and pass a nice time in the Seacourt Bridge Pub. After a couple of hours we call it a night and take the walk back up the hill to our bed.
Day 10 – July 29th (Arrival in London)
Rhonda and I awake and get everything packed up for our trip into London. When we go down to breakfast we find we are the only ones there. The hostess asks what we would like for our hot plate and Rhonda asks what the special of the day is that is noted on the menu. She replies, “Anything you want.” Rhonda then asks if she can make French toast. In her Scotish brogue she inquires, “D’ ya mean eggy bread?” This term is as good as bouncy eggs and Rhonda agrees with a smile. I choose scrambled eggs and bubbles ‘n squeak. We were introduced to bubbles ‘n squeak on our Mediterranean cruise by our English table mates. It is a composition of shredded or mashed potatoes mixed with whatever leftover vegetables are at hand and then formed into a patty and pan fried. Both of our breakfasts are excellent and we have a nice time talking with the hostess again this morning. She seems a little bored with so few guests here in the middle of the week. There is a little of a challenge when we try to settle up for our stay as the credit card machine doesn’t seem to have a place to swipe cards. I solve the mystery and we complete the transaction. Thanking our hostess we pack up the car and let Simon know where we want to go.
The drive into London takes less than two hours. We are actually headed to the Budget rental office by Heathrow, which is west of the city proper. Simon does a wonderful job of directing us and we get to the rental lot without issue. After gathering our bags we walk over to the area where the shuttles pick-up returning customers to take them to the airport terminals. The first driver we meet talks in a cockney accent which, combined with his appearance, reminds me of Eliza’s father in My Fair Lady. He lets us know where to go to get to the Underground and points us to the correct shuttle. Our shuttle driver arrives and is decidedly French. The myriad of accents you come across while traveling the isles is remarkable. We get to terminal three and the Underground station without problem. Today is going very smoothly. We already have our Oyster cards so we get directly on the Piccadilly line which will take us to Russell Square. We get seat in the center of the car next to the area reserved for standing Tube riders and baggage. We pass a calm hour riding the Underground through London.
Arriving at the Russell Square station I haul our bags up one flight one stairs. Then we see a bank of three elevators that are bring passengers down from street level and taking the new arrivals up. The elevators have doors on either side of the car. First the far door opens and the people coming down start to exit. Moments later the other doors on our side open and the car begins to fill while it is still emptying. We arrive on the street outside of the Tube station. Referencing the map of the area I printed out I get our bearings and we walk around the corner and down the block to the Celtic Hotel, where we will be staying the next two nights.
Accommodations in London are expensive. The Celtic Hotel is at the lower end of the scale. The location is wonderful, so that is a plus. We arrive at the door and I take the large bags up the steps to the entryway. We have to get buzzed into the front door, so security is a concern in the city. We find out that you have to get buzzed in because you always leave your key at the desk when leaving the hotel. Maybe they had problems with people losing or copying keys. I don’t know. There is no lift (elevator), but that is common and we are only one floor up so that is no biggie. One odd thing we notice right away is that there is no knob or handle on the door. You just turn the key and push. The room is spacious enough but needs some decorating attention. There is an old fireplace with a portable radiator in it. The room has tall windows facing the street that open like doors onto a sliver of a balcony. Old woodwork that has been painted over several times, hiding the scroll work, hints at the former elegance of this room. I imagine it as a bedroom or sitting room from a hundred years ago when it was in its prime. Then in my mind’s eye there is a slow fade to the present state as a room in a hotel. I would dearly love to see the whole of the house that this was a part of in the early 1900s. Who lived here? What did they do? What happened to them? These are the questions my mind asks when I look around me.
We get unpacked and select our clothes for the next couple of days. Rhonda and I both have items that need ironing so she asks if there is one we can use. We are led downstairs to the laundry room where we use the hotel’s iron. We are cautioned that there might be a cat wandering around, but it never makes its presence known. We finish up the ironing and decide since it is early afternoon to get a small bite before having dinner with the Williams this evening. There is a pub named The Friend at Hand just behind the hotel that we passed on our way here from the Tube station. We decide that it will do.
We arrive at the Friend at Hand to see that there is a cricket match on the televisions and several tables engrossed in the game. Inside the entrance is a sign on a stand describing the proper way to get food and drink in a pub. The sign has pictograms and is quite amusing. We are aware of the etiquette and approach the bar and order our ciders. We find a table by the window and look over the menu. Selecting a couple of appetizers I return to the bar and order the food and pay for everything. The food will be delivered to the table when it is ready. The cricket match is a mystery to us. We can tell when something good happens because the guys in the pub get very excited. I try to sort some of it out based on my sketchy knowledge but then abandon the project and enjoy the show. Our baked camembert and mushrooms on garlic ciabatta with peppercorn stilton sauce arrive. The food is delicious and just the right amount. As we finish our food we have a chat with a mother and daughter sitting nearby who are here from Manchester. They admit that cricket is a mystery to them too. Rhonda has been texting Kim Williams and she gets a time and place to meet. We are going to meet the Williams at Covent Garden by the Opera House. That is close to where Connor has his training so he can join us easily. I look at the map on the phone and plot a walking course. We have spent a lot of time in the car and on the Tube and want to see some of the city from street level. The walk will only be a little over a mile, which is not much at all.
The walk down to Covent Garden is easy and the sun actually tries peeking out for a while. We arrive at the Opera House and circle around to the side facing on Covent Garden. The area is all strictly pedestrian traffic and we see street performers on the corners as we walk to the entrance to the Opera House where we are supposed to meet. There is a pretty good crowd in the former flower, fruit and vegetable market. The market buildings still stand in the middle of the very large square. They now house small shops and food stalls. We are here ahead of time and notice a long line in front of a store in the opera building. Rhonda asks someone in the queue what they are waiting for. They respond “Magnum”. Rhonda asks, ‘Ice cream?” When they respond in the affirmative Rhonda and I share the opinion that these folks must not get too much good ice cream to queue up for it. Kim, Wilf and Eleanor Williams arrive and hearty greetings and hugs are passed around. Connor will not be done for about an hour, so the five of us decide to stroll the market buildings.
We find that in addition to the shops there are many push carts with goods and more street performers. We watch one fellow all decked out in purple and only whistling and gesturing as he works the crowd. He reminds me of Moonie from the Bristol Renaissance Faire. We watch for quite a while but then proceed along. We pass a snuff shop which surprises Wilf by still being in business. On Eleanor’s urgings we browse a Moomin themed store. The Moomins are a very popular series of books and comic strips geared toward children. The creator is Finnish and the Moomins themselves are non-descript, but somewhat resemble hippos. Continuing on we arrive at the far side of the garden in front of St. Paul’s Church. There are a couple of guys laying ropes on the ground in front of the church to cordon off an area where they will perform their act. I notice some words carved in the stone on the front of the nearby corner pillar of the church. It states that the first performance of Punch’s Puppet Show in England was put on near this spot in 1662. That would explain the name of the pub just across the way in the market buildings, Punch and Judy’s. Kim, Eleanor, Rhonda and I watch the performers start their bit while Wilf goes to fetch Connor. The gentlemen are an acrobat and limbo artist team and they seem to have just a couple of big stunts that they are leading up to. They tease the crowd and draw out the performance with smaller feats, knowing people will stay for the big finish. Before they get to that point Wilf and Connor return. We decide to move along and ask Connor for a dinner recommendation.
We all walk a few blocks to an Italian restaurant named La Ballerina. Very appropriate since Connor is in ballet school and by all accounts quite accomplished. Dinner is a lively affair with good conversation and good food. We compare the structure of our school systems and talk about their upcoming trip to California. There are also talks about popular culture which is most amusing. Eventually things wind down and the tab is our treat this time and all six of us decide to go walking. Wilf directs the group as we proceed west towards Leiscester Square which is dominated by theaters with Broadway productions. It is a Wednesday night but the sidewalks are bustling with people and activity. Continuing on we arrive at Piccadilly Circus. While waiting for traffic so we can cross the street a fellow on a motorcycle gets into a verbal altercation with the driver of a car just in front of us. I don’t recall what precipitated the exchange, but a few select, colorful words fly back and forth and the car drives off. Looking towards our group the motorcyclist sees Kim and Rhonda standing on the curb next to him. He nods his head to the ladies and says, ”Sorry about that.” Then he continues on his way. What an odd combination of the profane and polite compressed into a short time frame.
Wilf mentions that the curved street leading off of Piccadilly Circus is Regent Street. It is lovely the way the buildings gracefully follow the curve of the street. Regent is a "posh" shopping district and a little further on is Savile Row. He mentions that the shop in the movie Kingsman is on that street. We are all interested so we walk that way. Savile Row is unusual in that the only shops on the street are upscale menswear stores. It seems all of the women’s stores are down on Regent. We find the store whose actual name is Huntsman. They have a plaque with the Kingsman name on it at the top of their stairs. The walk continues back towards Piccadilly, the street not the circus, and Green Park. When we get near the park Wilf asks if we want to continue on to Buckingham Palace. We exclaim that we didn’t know we were so close and say we do. Passing through the park we see some large, ornate gates emerging out of the trees. It is the Canada Gate.
The gates are closed and we walk around to gain access to the roundabout that fronts the palace. The Queen Victoria Memorial sits in the middle of the roundabout and the palace to the west. We approach the gates to the palace. The grounds in front are large and empty. There are a couple of Royal Guards pacing in front, but little else going on. The flag is up so Queen is at home. More than the palace I am drawn by the Queen Victoria Memorial. It is a large collection of statues surround by a fountain. The sun is setting and there are stormy skies on the horizon behind the monument. It makes for a grand scene. We spend some time wandering around the memorial looking at the figures representing motherhood, art, science, military strength and other attributes. The statue of the Queen herself is imposing and impressive. I notice that the color of the stone is different for the figure standing on her orb. Someone may have broken the figure off at some point and it had to be replaced. The other mystery is who the figure is standing on her orb. It looks like a barbarian warrior, but can’t be. No one seems to know. As the sun begins to sink low in the sky we walk back through Green Park to the Tube station on the opposite side. The Williams want to head back to their hotel and Connor has a curfew. We part ways in the Underground station because they are headed west and we east. Hugs and thanks are passed around. It has been great visiting with the Williams and spending time with them.
We ride the Underground back to Russell Square. We don’t want revisit the Friend at Hand so we walk a few blocks to The Lamb. The neighborhood is quiet and fairly empty. There is a large hospital that takes up a couple of blocks that we have to walk by to get to the pub. I imagine there is more activity during the day. The Lamb is a Victorian era pub that still retains many of its antique fixtures. It is cozy and quiet this evening. We get some cloudy ciders and have a seat towards the back where we can watch the room. The cloudy ciders are not very sweet and have almost no effervescence. Those are common traits for all of the ciders we have had in England. It makes them very drinkable. The cloudy variety must just be less filtered. We enjoy our drafts and a quiet walk back to the Celtic Hotel. I am sure we will have a full day in the city tomorrow.
Day 11 – July 30th (London)
Breakfast comes with your stay at the Celtic Hotel. It is served in the large dining room on the main floor. We have a Polish waiter who is attentive enough, but doesn’t seem to want to be there. The food is uninspired and we are craving something different so we will probably not be revisiting tomorrow. Wilf told us that if we are planning on seeing the crown jewels that we should make that our first stop in the morning. He said that the queue gets really long as the day progresses. Our plan is to ride the Underground down to the Tower Hill stop. The Tower opens at 9:00 so we decide we should probably get to the Tube station by 8:15. We take the Piccadilly line from our station up to King’s Cross where we can get the Circle line down to Tower Hill. The Underground on the first leg is crowded, but not terrible. When we get to King’s Cross, a major junction of many lines, the story is a little different. We are on the platform during the morning commuter rush. The first couple of Circle trains that come by are so full that hardly anyone can get on. We walk down the platform to try and get to the less crowded cars at the end of the train. This works and we are able to squeeze on the next train. The crowd lightens a little stop by stop, but not much. We get to the Tower Hill stop and are happy to get out. The Underground is a wonderful and affordable way to get around London, but as we have just experience the rush hour can be challenging.
We arrive on street level and take a look around us. The area is a mixture of time periods. There is the ancient Tower of London across the street and a modern skyscraper of glass next to us. Looking east we see the Gherkin, or 30 St. Mary Axe, rising above stone and glass buildings of all ages. It is a strange mixture of eras that you don’t see too much in American cities. Especially those that had major fires, like Chicago. Traffic is a mess on the street we need to cross because a bus has run into a flat bed truck and the accident is blocking both lanes on one side. We get across safely and walk down to the ticket booths for the Tower. There is a very large open court to the west of the Tower of London where we are standing. It offers a nice view of the complex and the grassy area that was once the moat. I had always thought of the Tower of London as what you always see in the pictures, the White Tower. That is just the keep in the middle. It is much more than that. There is an inner wall surrounding the White Tower with all manner of buildings and towers occupying must of the space along the wall. Then there is an outer wall, or curtain, with additional towers and gates that act as the outer defenses. We approach the ticket booth and secure our entrance. We know we want to start with the crown jewels, so we walk to the main entrance where there is a bridge across the grassy moat.
Our way leads us down the lane that separates the outer wall from the inner wall and to the gate by the Bloody Tower that then leads into the inner courtyard. The inner courtyard is much larger that you would expect and the White Tower dominates everything. We cross to the far side where the Waterloo Barracks stand, which were rebuilt in the mid 1800s. We see a queuing area out front that is very long, but empty at the moment. Thank you, Wilf. Proceeding through the doors we begin our education on the history of the Crown Jewels of England. The tableaus are informative and smaller artifacts are displayed amongst them. Eventually we get to the room housing the jewels themselves. They are all in a long case with a moving sidewalk on either side. Setting to one side and up a few steps is a static viewing area with plaques explaining each piece. We start by reading the plaques to understand what we are looking at. Then we pass down one side of the cases and then the other. There are several crowns and a scepter and orb. I shan’t go through the details of each suffice to say that the oldest was put together in 1661 and some of the items are still used for ceremonies in modern times. The items dazzle the eye. The number of gems encrusting some of the newer items is remarkable. Most items have a central gem of particularly large size that seems too big to be real. The diamond set in the Scepter is the second largest in the world, weighing in at over 530 carats. I imagine the amount of gold and gems in any of these crowns would make them very heavy. My favorite of the bunch on display is the small diamond crown made specifically for Queen Victoria after she was widowed. It is the crown you see in many pictures of her and is something that can be related to because it is familiar. The last crown on display, in a separate room, is the Imperial State Crown. It is taken out each year and worn by Elizabeth on the occasion of the official state opening of parliament. It all seems very excessive, but pomp and circumstance is part of what makes the monarchy what it is.
Exiting the build we are deposited in the northeast corner of the inner courtyard. Nearby is a shop and we go in looking for something to drink like a simple bottle of water. Instead we find a small shop which seems to specialize in pieces of jewelry that are recreations of those worn by previous monarchs and consorts. Rhonda find a broach that she likes made in the pattern of a Tudor rose and is studded with red stones. While at the register we notice a piece of Plexiglas covering a section of wall. Behind the protection we see letters and numbers carved into the stone of the wall. We inquire with the clerk and he informs us that it is graffiti carved by a prisoner who was held in this room centuries ago. He shows us another section that is hiding behind a shelf of goods and comments that the man who carved these words is soon to be sainted. He tells us that Beauchamp Tower is where we want to go if we want to view graffiti. He goes on to say that some of the wealthy prisoners even hired stone cutters to come in and carve their graffiti for them. Now we have our next destination. Referring to our map we find the tower and walk that way. We take the walk along the top of the inner curtain as far as you are allowed. There are baboon sculptures made out of wire scattered along the wall. The menagerie of unusual animals gifted to the monarchy was kept here for a long while. In addition to the baboons we will also see an elephant head and lions. The views of the complex and the city beyond are nice from atop the wall.
Beauchamp Tower sits on the west side of the inner curtain. In the courtyard before the tower is a round monument in the grass. It is a glass pillow sitting on a large glass disc poised over a stone square. Around the edge of the glass are the names of famous prisoners of the Tower who were executed near this spot. The names include Lady Jane Grey and Anne Boleyn. We pause to read the names before continuing on to the Beauchamp Tower. This tower was used as a prison for much of the 1500s. The majority of the graffiti is here dates from that century. Thus these were prisons of King Henry VIII, Queen Mary I and Queen Elizabeth I. Most graffiti are just names and dates, or names and dates with a small verse. Some carvings are more elaborate and include human figures, crosses and coats of arms. Many are carved within rectangles that the prisoner would hollow out to frame what they had to say. Most are on the second floor near the window overlooking the central courtyard. It must have been a popular place to sit and look at where you might be executed. My favorite of what we see asks an unanswerable question. It is a rectangle that was carved away with care and has one line of verse in it. There is room within the rectangle for much more, but only one line is there and the end of it is fainter than the rest. I wonder if the person who carved this was executed before they could finish, or if they were released. I like the ambiguity of it and the fact that the work is unfinished. It is a moment in time from about four hundred and fifty years ago that has been captured here on this stone wall.
Exiting the Beauchamp Tower we cross to the White Tower. As we learn, the White Tower has served mostly as the arsenal and armory through the ages. Three of the four levels today are occupied by displays of arms and armor. The most interesting of these are two suits of armor for King Henry VIII. The mounted suit definitely belonged to a much more slender version of the same man that would have worn the standing suit of armor. The later suit of armor also sports a huge codpiece that lets you know what Henry thought of himself in those later years. Being able to compare the two is what makes this particular display interesting. The armor for many of the former kings of England is here and on display. When we finish with the White Tower we proceed to the St. Thomas Tower. This is the medieval home of King Edward built in the 1270s that sits in the center of the south side, facing the River Thames. Some of the rooms have been restored to show their aspect in medieval times and are quite interesting to visit. Imagining people from six hundred years ago walking these halls is a fun experiment. The visit to the Medieval Palace leads us out to the top of the inner curtain where we have a great view of the Tower Bridge. Rhonda wonders where the building is that held Anne Boleyn during her two stays here. Once while waiting to become queen, and once while waiting to be executed. After doing an internet search on the phone we find out that the buildings where those apartments were housed no longer exist. You can see a little of the remaining walls in the courtyard next to the White Tower, but that is all. We descend the wall and exit the Tower of London close by Traitor’s Gate. This gate is only accessible by boat and was once connected to the Thames. Out by the banks of the Thames we admire the view of the city around us. The Tower Bridge is quite imposing and we walk towards and under it on our way back to the Underground station on the far side of the tower from where we are.
The Tube is much less crowded now. We hop on the Circle line to the Jubilee line and get off at the Oxford station. Oxford Street is a big shopping district and the road on which Selfridges is located. When Selfridges was established here this wasn’t a shopping district, but as the store grew in fame and drew people I am sure the district developed into what it is today. The department store mecca is our destination. Rhonda has been watching the TV series about Mr. Selfridge and his coming to London to invent the modern department store back in the Victorian era. He was quite the innovator and we want to visit the establishment that his ingenuity built. We begin walking what we think is the right direction. It will turn out we are wrong. Given that it is a little past lunch time and breakfast wasn’t very good we are on the lookout for a spot to eat. We settle on an Indian restaurant on a side street off of Oxford. The place is devoid of other customers, which may not be a good sign. But we trust to our luck on this trip and the odd hour. Rhonda orders the classic chicken tikka masala and I a lamb biryani. The food is very good if spiced a little differently than what we are used to. We talk to the host and try to determine the region the cook hails from. It seems the influence here is southern Indian. One other customer comes in and grabs some takeout while we are there, but we remain the sole table. As our meal winds down we realize that they are waiting to close up between the lunch and dinner hours. We finish up and using Simon we realize we turned the wrong way out of the Underground station. Thus we begin to backtrack along Oxford street. After a mile or so we get to Selfridge’s.
The store is a five story building that consumes the whole block. The entrance is grand in a style that bespeaks the Victorian era. Our first stop is the restrooms. I mention this for a couple of reasons. First, Mr. Selfridge was the first to provide public restrooms in his store so that ladies would not have to go home to relieve themselves and could continue to shop. Second, I want to make note that none of the public restrooms in Scotland, Ireland or England have paper towels in them. All hand drying is done with hot air dryers. Paper towels are not even an option. I like the difference. The store is immense and sells most everything. We decide to purchase a crystal decanter and a pair of tumblers for our Scotch. We select a lovely decanter made by Waterford. There is a pair of glasses cut to match the pattern of the decanter and we have our anniversary gift and souvenir all in one. Given the price of the items we are provided information regarding getting a VAT refund when leaving the country. We had received the same information when purchasing our whisky in Scotland. In this case, after our transaction is completed we are told to go to the tax refund lounge. Finding this on the fourth floor we see a literal lounge where people can wait. They are not so busy that we have to wait right now though. A receptionist greets us and makes sure we have the proper items and information. She then leads us to a clerk who takes our information and fills out the paperwork we will have to turn in at the airport when exiting the country. Not being residents we will be refunded the taxes on our purchases. The scale of the tax refund lounge operation indicates how many foreign shoppers they must get here.
To celebrate our purchase we find our way to the restaurant and bar on the roof of the building. The bar is called Vintage Salt and has a nautical theme. We select a table and sit with a view of the city from this height. We are as close to the edge as they permit and have no view of the street just below us unless we stand and lean over the railing. It is a nice spot all the same. We order a couple of interesting cocktails that have unusual ingredients. Rhonda’s has lavender liqueur, violet syrup, gin and champagne. Mine has an earl grey infused syrup, champagne and cognac. Both are delicious and we take a picture of the ingredients so we can try and reconstruct them at home. When the sky begin to threaten rain the wait staff comes buy and settles everyone’s checks. They say that they are not closing, but when the rain breaks, if it breaks, that people tend to scatter and they have issues with open tabs. Rhonda and I finish our drinks and talk with the bartender a moment to get a look at the ingredient she used so we can try to find them ourselves.
Our last planned stop for the day is the Abbey Road Studios. The crossing is really the point of interest. We return to the Underground and ride up to the nearest station t the studios, St. John Woods. The walk is only a few block until we reach the iconic pedestrian crossing. It is after five now and traffic is steady in the neighborhood which is predominately residential. There are a couple dozen people loitering around the crossing and in front of the studios. Amongst the crowd is a group of Italian students. They are taking turns, four at a time, posing in the crosswalk while a fifth of their number stands between the lanes taking pictures. After the picture is taken the whole group cheers and they clear the street. There is a yellow light in a globe on top of a pole on either side of the crosswalk. This means that traffic should stop for pedestrians in the crosswalk. If this happened all the time no traffic would get buy. Thus people wait on the curb until a polite car stops and then they cross. Posing for picture holds up traffic a bit, but then the crossing clears and traffic moves on. This cycle just seems to repeat. There is very little honking. The crowd of people around the intersection never seems to lessen while we are there making our own crossing and observing the antics. We chat with a mother and her two young adult children. The boy says he doesn’t even like the Beatles, but this is a place you have to come. Three of the Italian students are dancing the Macarena as they cross now and the silliness factor seems to be increasing. I imagine the people who use Abbey Road as a route to and from work must either be used to the tourists or dread coming this way. Finishing our time at the crossing we make our way back to the Tube station.
When we arrive back at the Russell Square station we visit the Tesco’s across the street. Tesco’s is a grocery chain and there is a small store on the corner. We are looking for Jaffa Cakes, which Cory requested. We easily find some and also purchase some water and cider. Taking all of our goods back to the Celtic Hotel we decide to rest our feet for a bit. We have been averaging between twelve and fourteen thousand steps a day during this trip. While that is not more than we can handle, walking that much day after day on concrete will take its toll. We are finding that these last couple of days we are getting a little footsore towards the end of the day. We decide to spend an hour in the hotel lounge with our feet up. We catch up the notes for this journal and have some water and cider. We do a search for a restaurant for dinner and settle on a Turkish place not too far down the road from us.
The name of the restaurant is Antalya. The apparent owner greets us at the door and is very jovial and energetic. We select a table by the window where we can watch the activity on the street. The restaurant is beautiful inside. The ceiling in particular is decorated and gilded in lovely patterns and colors. While we look over the menu a plate of sliced carrots and peppers, and some olives is brought out. We pick a bottle of Turkish wine to drink called Toruk. When eating an ethic food, it is always a good idea to pair it with the drinks of the region as they will be made to go with the food. I have never heard of Turkish wine and don’t know what to expect. It is surprisingly good. For our meals Rhonda has a stuffed chicken dish and I have a lamb dish. Both are served with a side of bulgur. The dishes are tasty, but mine is unusually sweet. Rhonda asks how to say “thank you” in Turkish and is told something that sounds like “tey shu cumay”. We order no desert but they bring a small plate of watermelon anyway. To finish off the meal we both enjoy a Turkish coffee. Rhonda has hers sweetened and I take mine straight. The coffee is heavy and has a strong flavor, but is not bitter. There is quite a bit of sludge in the bottom though. Rhonda was unable to finish her chicken and has it boxed to go. We figure we will see some homeless person that we can give the meal to. We had seen a few already in London. Saying our thank yous in what we hope is proper Turkish we depart Antalya.
We walk back up the street to Russell Square. We take a stroll through the park and see if we can find someone to feed. As we get to the far side of the park we hear a man ringing a large bell and announcing that the park is closing. He is just like a town crier of old. We are walking towards the northeast corner gate and arrive a little after he does. He waits for us to exit and then closes the gate. We hear him ringing and proceeding to the next gate in Russell Square. We then realize that the parks we have seen all have fences around them. That is also probably why we didn’t see any homeless in the park. We sort of aim our walk towards The Lamb, where we were last night. We pass another park and see that it is closed already. We see no one living on the street and chalk it up to the neighborhood being dominated by a hospital and school and not really conducive to begging on the street. We wind up throwing the leftovers in the garbage as we get close to The Lamb.
The pub is hopping tonight. There is a large crowd in the front area and spilling out into the street. We make our way in an order a couple of drinks. The bartender remembers us from last night and even what Rhonda had been wearing. Most of the crowd in the pub looks like college students. Tonight we have need of the restrooms, which are an adventure of their own. The women’s still has pull chain flushing mechanisms. The men’s has old style porcelain urinals that start on the floor and rise to the height of about five feet. While we are engaging a young man in a bit of conversation a very tall fellow comes by trying to make his way to the bar. He pauses by Rhonda to let a path open and their gazes meet. Rhonda exclaims, “You are a tall one.” He promptly replies, “Yes, I am. How tall do you think?” After pondering for a moment she declares him to be six foot ten. He says that she is really close and that he is only six foot nine. The fellow we are chatting with then states, “All that height is wasted in England. What do you do with it?” It has been a fun visit to The Lamb, but it is time to walk back to our room and bed down for the night. After all, we have a train to catch tomorrow.
Day12 – July 31st (Trip to Paris)
Our train leaves at 10:24 this morning. We figure we need to leave the Celtic Hotel by nine to make the journey to St. Pancras with enough time to get checked in. We get ourselves up, cleaned up, and the newly acquired items packed up so we just have the two suitcases and two carried bags. We skip breakfast as it wasn’t very good yesterday and we really don’t have the time. We take the Underground up one stop to the King’s Cross station, then have to navigate the conjoined stations to find our way to the Eurostar terminal in St. Pancras. There are two trains leaving about the same time, one for Disneyland and one for Paris. We hope that the majority of the noisy kids are on their way to Disney. We have our passports checked by English personnel as we exit the UK, then by French personnel as we get ready to immigrate. There is a space of twenty feet between the two when I mention to Rhonda that we are in “international waters”. The waiting area we are in is below the actual trains. We have about fifteen minutes before our train will board so Rhonda gets a couple of muffins that we split. When the platform for our train is announced the mass migration begins. Everyone herds onto the escalators that will take us up to the trains. We are in coach five and everyone for that coach gets in one door towards the end of the car. There is a storage area for the big bags and a couple of the Eurostar employees are there helping stow the bags. Seats are arranged in pairs on either side of the central aisle. Half of the coach faces forward and half backward. When I booked our passage I selected seats facing forward by choice so we can watch what is coming up. A series of tunnels leading out of London cause ear popping pressure as the train builds up speed. Before long we are sipping our ciders and watching the English countryside speed by. And when I say speed by, I mean speed by. It is interesting to note that while in England the Eurostar staff made their announcements in Engligh first and then French. After we cross the channel all announcements are made in French first, then English.
We arrive at Gare du Nord after a two and a half hour journey. There is a time change coming into Paris, so we have to set our watches forward an hour. I had planned to take the Metro from Gare du Nord to our hotel, but Rhonda doesn’t relish the thought of lugging our big bags around the subway. I quite agree. As we will learn later we would have had an extremely hard time doing it as the turnstiles are too small for large bags and we would have had to work through sideways. We walk out to the taxi stand to see about getting a ride. We talk to a cabbie and explain where we want to go. Because we are crossing the river and heading all the way down by the Eiffel Tower the rate is eighty euro. That is expensive and we hesitate a little bit before acquiescing. Once in the taxi and rolling we ask if he takes credit cards and he says he doesn’t but that he can stop by an ATM. The city of Paris is larger and more open than we anticipated. While on the long drive we pass beautiful buildings, scenic streets, and famous monuments. As we get close to where I know the hotel to be I notice that the driver has passed it by. I point out his error and he does a quick u-turn. While he and I get the bags out of the car Rhonda visits an ATM right on the corner next to our hotel. After paying the man we walk into the Hotel de la Motte Picquet.
The Hotel de la Motte Picquet is on the corner of Avenue de la Motte Picquet and Rue Cler. Avenue de la Motte Picquet is a wide street with four central lanes. There are rows of trees along these lanes and then a single lane between the trees and the buildings, almost like a frontage road. The side lanes, as I will call them, have a lot of parked cars but no real traffic. By contrast the Rue Cler is a cobbled street meant for pedestrian traffic and the occasional delivery vehicle. We enter the lobby of the hotel and get ourselves checked in. We are staying one floor up from the lobby. There is an elevator, but it is tiny. It will hold one of us and our large bag and that is it. The staircase is narrow and curved, so we opt to take the bags up on the elevator, one at a time. The room is charming, but small. More like what we had expected for all of our rooms in Europe. The window looks out over a window box full of flowers to the tree lined Avenue de la Motte Picquet. We get settled and our clothes for the next two days hung up. The weather is warm and only partially cloudy. That is a refreshing change from England. It is time for a bite.
We walk downstairs and around the corner to the Rue Cler. The street is lined with small shops and cafes. After walking a couple of blocks we settle on the Café Roussillon. The café has partitions all pushed aside and is essentially open air. We select a table for two that is next the sidewalk and in the shade of the awning. We order a bottle of rose from southern France and bottle of water. For our food we decide to share a meat and cheese tray. Nowhere but France do they know how to do a proper meat and cheese tray. It is a thing of beauty. There are four different cheeses, two pates, and three different cured meats, all in healthy portions. On the tray is also a small green salad. The whole affair is served with a basket into which a sliced baguette has been placed. The meal is wonderful. The cheeses are magnificent; the meats are succulent and the pates moist and flavorful. All of this, which fills us both up, comes at the low price of eighteen euro. Of course the wine adds to the cost of the meal, but it is still a bargain. Finishing our meal we decide to walk back up Rue Cler to the Tabac shop across the street from our hotel to buy a Paris Museum Pass. The tobacco shop is small, essentially a really full, really large closet. The museum pass we buy is good for two days and permits entry into all of the city museums and monuments. The best part is that by having the pass in hand you can skip the ticket lines which is where is wait usually is. On a whim Rhonda buys a two euro scratch lottery ticket. We then walk down the block to the Metro.
We find the Metro station with ease. It is on the same side of Avenue de la Motte Picquet as our hotel and just down the block. Once we descend the stairs we get to the ticket kiosks and windows. We approach a window and purchase two passes that are good for two days’ worth of unlimited rides. If we ride the Metro as much as the Underground, that will be a bargain. The pass is nothing more than a small slip of paper we will have to make sure we don’t lose track of. The turnstiles in the Metro are also equipped with these large panels that you have to push open as you pass through the turnstile. It is very awkward. We take our first ride on the “8” train and get off at the Concorde station where we will transfer to the “1” line. The walk is fairly long, by subway standards, to get to the platform for the “1” train. At first we think little of the passageway, but then realize that it is being retiled and painted. About halfway along there is a nine-piece band playing music. They have a string bass, dulcimer, accordion and other things. I mention the big instruments because they would not be easy to transport down here. They sound Russian and the music is clean and pleasant. Riding the “1” train east we get off at the Louvre stop. The main entrance to the museum is below ground. The Napoleon Hall contains the ticket windows, a few shops and the escalators that lead to the three wings of the museum. The hall sits underneath the large glass pyramid in the center courtyard, between the wings of the museum above. As we pass through the tunnel that connects the Metro stop to the museum we have to go through a metal detector. We get to the Napoleon Hall below the pyramid without much more fuss than that, which is rather surprising.
How does one go about describing the Louvre? You run out of superlatives after a short while. To begin with, the former palace turned museum is huge. The Louvre contains tens of thousands of pieces of artwork and artifacts from prehistory through about the mid 1800s. There are three main sections, the Sully wing, which is the central building in the shape of a square with an open courtyard. The two wings which both extend far to the west from the main building are the Richelieu wing to the north and the Denon wing to the south. Between the wings is the central courtyard where the pyramid is located. We are currently two floors below ground level with a view of the sky through the glass of the pyramid. Rhonda and I approach museums very differently. I am slow and view and read a lot. Rhonda is quicker and focuses on what interests her and doesn’t read as much as I do. Since all of the panels explaining the works are in French here that will keep me from reading too much. While I could spend a full day and more browsing the collections here I want to keep our visit focused so I don’t lose Rhonda’s interest. Additionally, we only have about forty-eight hours here in Paris and I do not want to spend it all in museums, as good as they are. The Louvre stays open late on Friday nights, which is why we are here now. I forgot the route map I printed out back in the hotel room, so I pick up an English version of the standard map here in the lobby. I pretty much remember where the key items I want to see are as I worked up my own route just before we left. Armed with a map and our passes, we begin.
The first stop is one floor up under the Sully wing. I am headed for the Great Sphinx of Tanis, but the bonus is that our route takes us through the foundations of the medieval castle that stood where the Sully wing is back in the 12th century. We walk through a canyon of stone walls that were once the moat of the castle that stood here. There is much more of the original moat than I expected and walking along the base of Philip II’s fortress is an interesting way to start our visit. Following the moat around we make our way to the room that houses the Great Sphinx of Tanis. The sphinx is quite large and dates back about 4,600 years. The sphinx is flanked by large tablets that are covered by lots of hieroglyphics. The random foot found in some of the hieroglyphs makes me chuckle. These tablets always make me think about the people who created them and the times they lived in. What were these people who lived thousands of years ago like? Was it just some Joe Schmoe that worked on this sphinx, or the great artist of the age? Will anything our current culture creates last for five thousand years? The sphinx regally sits looking at me, possibly knowing some of the answers to the questions that race through my head. Ascending the stairs to the side we find ourselves on the ground floor of the Sully wing. About a third of this floor in this wing is devoted to the Egyptian era. We turn the other way though, towards the Greek and Roman antiquities.
We take our time strolling through the sculptures. Rhonda really enjoys sculpture from ancient times through the renaissance and this whole floor of the Denon wing is very enjoyable as it matches with her interests. As we proceed down the wing through the various halls and rooms we proceed through time from Grecian to Roman to Italian. The museum building itself is beautiful to behold and makes a wonderful backdrop to the art. The halls and rooms have tall windows on either side that flood the space with natural light that warms the marble used for so many of the sculptures. The works are amazing. I am especially taken with works that show something unusual. There are many statues of the gods, goddesses and heroes of either Greek or Roman persuasion. For example, one of my favorites is a small boy wrestling with a large goose that is tall as he is. I wonder what prompted the sculptor to immortalize this scene? Regardless, I am thankful he did it because the tableau makes me smile with amusement. The Venus de Milo is lovely, but I find there are other depictions of the goddess here in these halls that I like more. A favorite of the both of ours is Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss. Not only is the work a beautiful tableau that expresses emotion, but being here in person you are able to take in the masterpiece from all sides and see the details that are not visible in simple two dimensional photographs of the work.
There are few works of Michelangelo outside of Italy. Two of them are here. Michelangelo is a favorite of Rhonda’s, so this viewing becomes the highlight of our Louvre visit for her. Two of his unfinished slaves dominate the second Italian sculpture hall. The other slaves are in Florence and we were very fortunate to have seen them when we were visiting there three years ago. One advantage here is that the sculptures are positioned in the middle of the room so you can walk all the way around both. We were unable to do that in Florence. The two slaves are known as the Rebellious Slave, who is struggling against his bonds, and the Dying Slave, who has succumbed to captivity. It is fascinating to stand to the side and view the work as it emerges from the block of marble. The knee and leg of the Rebellious Slave are finished and polished, but as you move your gaze back towards the heel and buttocks the human form becomes less polished until it runs into the raw marble. Chisel marks made by Michelangelo himself can be seen shaping the upper thigh and shoulder where the form is defined, but rough. It is an amazing view into how the master worked. Also a credit to the museum is how close you can get to the sculptures so you can see all of the details the artist included.
At the end of the sculpture halls is a grand staircase leading up to the second floor. The ceiling above the stairs is all gold leaf, rococo designs and murals. Ascending the steps we find ourselves next to the enormous halls housing the 18th century large format French paintings. These halls will connect to another branch of the Denon wing that contains the Italian paintings from the 13th though 18th centuries. I have seen some large canvasses in mine time. A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte being on one them. Most all of the canvasses in these halls dwarf that work. I am amazed at the scale of work on display here. Unfortunately many of the pallets look dark or muted and we wonder if many of these paintings need some cleaning, or if it was just the style at that time. Maybe working on such a large scale in bright colors would be too expensive because those colors are possibly more expensive. Regardless, there are some impressive works including Liberty Leading the People and The Raft of the Medusa. We pass through to the hall connecting the large format painting to the Italian works. In the connecting hall is probably the most famous work in the Louvre, Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa. Seeing the Mona Lisa here is very much like seeing Michelangelo’s Pieta in Rome. The work is too far removed to appreciate it properly, and there are too many people swarming around it. Here the work is mounted in its own capsule behind glass. There is a semi-circular rail sprouting from the wall that would keep you about five to six feet away, but because of the crowd there is another barrier setup that is keeping the masses about twelve to fifteen feet away. That provides a wide open space that allows viewing the painting, but you can’t appreciate the work at that distance. After a brief look we continue on and search for Leonardo’s The Virgin of the Rocks so we can get a close up look at his work. This painting is nearby and hung on the wall amongst many other works. You can get your face up to the painting and take in the details of the painting without a crowd of people around. It is a much better experience.
By this point we have seen all of the items I had on my list for our abbreviated visit. Rhonda has been very engaged and we have spent more time than I thought we would. We continue down the long galleries containing the paintings from the Italian renaissance. There we find standout works by Raphael and Caravaggio. I am particularly taken by Raphael’s St. Michael Vanquishing Satan. The mood of the painting agrees with me and I like the way Satan’s eyes almost glow like embers in a fire. Michael’s wings are magnificent and the whole painting is a pleasure to stand in front of and take in. At this point we decide it is time to go. We exit by backtracking our way through the sculpture galleries below us. They are just too good to pass up. After buying some bottles of water near the main entrance we find ourselves in the central courtyard by the pyramid. We take a seat along the edge and put our feet up for a rest. We watch people milling about and taking perspective photographs of each other holding up the pyramid. Looking up I see scores of statues lining the ledges along the second floor overlooking the courtyard. They are all different and have names. I imagine they are figures from French history here to cast their benediction down upon the visitors from around the world who have come to Paris to view the treasures housed in the former palace. Beyond the Napoleon Courtyard where we are sitting is the Place du Carrousel. It is a large open space that separates the Louvre from the Tuileries Gardens. In the center is a triumphal arch that mimics the more famous Arc de Triomphe at the other end of the Champs-Elysees. I would find out later that this one was commission about the same time as the other (1806) but was finished much quicker given its smaller, but not small, size. We decide to walk from one arch to the other.
The trip begins by walking through the Tuileries Gardens. The path is wide and paved with crushed stone. Soon our shoes are turning white from the stone dust. The gardens are spacious and manicured. There are fountains, trees, flowers and statuary all along the route. There are lots of people, but it is not crowded. In the middle of the park along the northern edge is a Ferris wheel and a bit of a carnival with various rides. I suppose that is there to keep the kids entertained. The gardens go on for a long time and we enjoy our stroll. On the far side of the gardens is Place de la Concorde. It is a large traffic circle, oval really, with an Egyptian obelisk flanked by large fountains in the middle. We cross to the middle and have a look around. The scene is quite inspiring. The Champs-Elysees runs off to the far side, the large glass roofed Grand Palais is just to the west, a grand bridge over the Seine is to the south, the Tuileries Gardens we just came through is to the east and some lovely marbles buildings are to the north. One of the buildings to the north is being worked on and there is scaffolding setup on the exterior. Rather than spoil the scene, the scaffolding has been covered by plywood to create a façade and painted to look like the building is it covering up. That is remarkable. The two fountains are not on constantly. They only come on every five minutes or so and run for a minute or two. Maybe it is an effort at water or power conservation.
We cross over and start to walk up the Champs-Elysees. There is another park that surrounds the avenue and the nearby Grand Palais. The park is as large as the Tuileries Gardens but is more of what you think of a park as back home with trees, grass and walking paths. The park lets onto the Place de Franklin Roosevelt, a large traffic circle dedicated to our former president. This is where the businesses along the Champs-Elysees begin. Now we are walking along a wide avenue lined with businesses, shopping and restaurants. Partway up this section we come across a café named Unisex that has a generous outdoor seating area on the very wide sidewalk. We take a seat on the inner edge next to a tree where we will have a good people watching vantage point. The waitress comes and we order a bottle of white wine. At first the waitress defers because they only serve bottles at the street tables for those are ordering food. We say we will be and she departs to fetch our bottle. We order up some spring rolls and escargot. We begin to notice the make-up of the crowds passing by. In this area the tourists seem to have a large quotient of Middle Easterners and Asians. All of the beggars we see along this stretch of the avenue are Middle Eastern women. One woman and her two kids start to approach the tables of the restaurant where we are but a waiter quickly shoes them away. We rest our feet and enjoy our food as the sun finishes setting behind the Arc de Triomphe. We enjoy the parade of humanity as we finish out bottle of wine. It is dark when we decide to complete the walk up to the massive arch. We have covered two miles on our stroll from the Louvre to the arch. The Arc de Triomphe is massive. I can see why it took thirty years to build. Lit from street level the arch takes on an imposing feel. We circle to the right and soon come to the entrance to the Metro and depart the street to head underground again.
We get on the “6” train here that will take us down and across the river. As the train approaches the river I am surprised to see the track lift out of the ground and cross on a bridge. When we crossed the Seine earlier the Metro stayed underground. The train then stays elevated as it continues along. When we get to our stop we follow the signs to get to the platform for train “8”, which we need to ride just to the next stop. The train doesn’t come though. Then we begin to wonder at the group of police and firemen gathering near the tunnel’s entrance. We surmise that there is a problem and resolve to walk back to the hotel from here. As we walk up the stairs that lead out of the platform we see two Metro employees telling anyone who is looking for the “8” train that it is not in service. On our walk up Avenue de la Motte Picquet we pass by the Champs de Mars which is the park that stretches between the road we are on and the Seine, and in which the Eiffel Tower stands. The tower is at the far end of the park on the river. It looks quite nice all lit up for the night. Beyond the park we come to a corner where several roads meet. Now we are only a long block from our hotel and we decide to finish the night at the café La Terrasse which occupies one corner of the intersection. We take a table on the sidewalk and sit next to each other facing outward. We finish the night with a carafe of a nice Cotes du Rhone. There are a lot of people out on the sidewalks, probably due to our proximity to the Tour Eiffel. When the wine is gone we walk the last block to our bed.
Day 13 – August 1st (Paris)
We sleep in a little this morning. The day is opening sunny and hot, our first truly hot day on this trip. The hotel where we are staying has a small restaurant in the lower level that provides breakfast for a fixed price. We decide to walk down to the corner to eat outside at La Terrasse. It is mid morning by the time we get to the café and take a seat on the sidewalk facing the street. Since it is our anniversary we start the day with a bottle of champagne. It seems unusual for lunch and we are the only ones in the restaurant doing so, but we are on vacation and celebrating. Rhonda orders a club sandwich which has one layer with breakfast ingredients and the other with lunch ingredients. It comes with a small bowl of frites (fries) that are thin and crispy. I order the Croque Monsieur, which is a grilled or broiled ham and cheese sandwich using Swiss cheese and often topped with a béchamel sauce. We sit and enjoy our brunch and the lovely day. While sitting and having our meal a small accident happens in the intersection in front of us. Both parties get out of their cars, inspect the damage, of which there doesn’t appear to be much, then get back in and drive away. No arguing or shouting and no police. Our waiter, who has been very nice to us, seems to get a little of a chewing out from the manager off to the side a bit. We don’t understand what the problem is, but he has been taking good care of us and the tables around us. He seems to brush it off and go on about his work. We feel bad for him and eschewing the custom of not tipping at cafes we leave him some euro. Once our breakfast is completed and we are ready for the day and walk the short distance to the Metro.
We ride the Metro up beyond where we got off for the Louvre yesterday. Just couple of stops east of the Louvre we exit and walk up to the street. We are now on the right bank just north of the Ile de la Cite and Notre Dame. The Ile de la Cite is an island that sits in the middle of the Seine. We walk that way in the morning sun bound for the Cathedrale Notre Dame de Paris. As we cross the bridge and approach Notre Dame we can see very large crowds filling the area. The square in front of the cathedral is full and the line to gain entrance is almost as long as the cathedral itself. We have no intention of visiting the interior. We do take the long walk around the most impressive monument to gothic architecture I have ever seen. The building is magnificent. Every angle presents an intriguing jumble of stone lines as the flying buttresses cast themselves in front of the building and its spires and statuary. It would be fun to see the cathedral in the rain and watch the gargoyles spout the rain through the gutters that empty through their mouths. As we make our circuit we see more than one wedding couple here having their pictures taken. When we get back to the square in front of the cathedral to admire the craft of the builders we see people way up on the walk between the bell towers. I would like to take that walk some day and see the city from the perspective of the gargoyles, but not today. After a while we walk west from the cathedral along the water looking for Sainte Chapelle. I know it is on the island here somewhere and the island is not that big. After a couple of blocks we see a sign pointing the way. The sign leads us to an entrance of the Palace of Justice. The chapel we are looking for is now surrounded by the buildings that make up the government complex. After passing through security we find ourselves in the central courtyard where Sainte Chapelle stands. There is a long line wrapping around the chapel which we get in. After a moment I decide to see if this line is for tickets or for entry. Walking ahead I see it is for tickets, which we already have. Passing by everyone in line Rhonda and I flash our museum passes and gain immediate entrance.
I should mention that I call Sainte Chapelle a chapel because that is what the French translates to, holy chapel. While Sainte Chapelle may be just chapel when compared to the likes of Notre Dame a couple of blocks away, it is larger than most churches in the United States. We enter the chapel on the lower level. The lower level has a wonderful ceiling that mimics the one of the upper chapel. The arches are edged with gold and the open space in between is a deep blue that is studded with gold dots. The two colors work together wonderfully and effect is beautiful. Walking up a narrow spiral staircase of stone to one side we ascend to the upper chapel. Our collective breaths are taken away. I had seen pictures of the interior of Sainte Chapelle before coming here and knew what lay in store. The effect of seeing something in person, as is often the case, is much more impressive and impactful. The ceilings rise about forty to fifty feet above. The same deep hued blue is covering the ceilings here with the same gold dots and edging as found in the lower level. What astounds is the sainted glass. Both walls on either side of the sanctuary and the curved wall behind the altar are all made of stained glass. The windows are probably thirty feet in height and dominated by blue colored glass. Standing in the middle you are awash in blue light and gold highlights. The gothic detailing of the chapel lends to the ethereal feeling in the building. The 13th century architects and builders outdid themselves on this structure. I learn later that about eighty-six percent of the stained glass is original. Most of the damage, which has been restored, was wrought during the revolution. The windows have gone through a thorough cleaning in the 21st century which I am sure brightened everything. This is a holy place to the church and much like the Sistine Chapel quiet is appreciated. There is a fellow sitting at the side who shushes the crowd when the noise level begins to creep up. Sainte Chapelle is amazing and we spend a lot of time basking in the beauty around us.
The main doors to the chapel stand opposite the altar under a rose window dominated by blue colored glass. We walk out the doors to take a seat. The area is closed off to the courtyard and is not the proper exit. We sit and gaze back into the upper chapel and look up at the scene carved above the door. The archway is filled with three ranks of saints rising to above Jesus on his throne. On either side of Jesus are angels with his crown of thorns, cross and nails. This all makes sense because Sainte Chapelle was built as a reliquary to house about thirty relics of the Passion that the king of France had acquired, including the crown of thorns. What is of more interest to us is the depiction of the last judgment that sits below Jesus and just above the doors. There is an angel holding some scales. On either side of the angel are a cherub and an imp. The cherub looks on interestedly, but the imp is trying to pull down the scale on his side by a hook to influence the judgment. On either side of this scene the relief continues. To one side are the people who will be ascending to heaven with looks of adoration and relief. On the other side there are people being stripped and tormented on their way to hell. Far to the right, under the arches of saints is hell itself. There are demons and the tortured all tangled together, carved in a darker colored stone. The whole scene is amusing to Rhonda and me. I am sure it was a stern warning to those faithful who passed through these doors in centuries past. We pass back into the upper chapel to have a last look around before descending another spiral staircase and finding our way out.
Once we have departed Sainte Chapelle we have to cross an adjoining courtyard before passing out of a large gate to fully exit the Palace of Justice. Finding ourselves on the street again we walk south to cross the Seine and gain the left bank. I have another museum in mind as our next stop. When we get to the far bank we purchase a couple of bottles of water from a street vendor to refresh ourselves as we walk. We pass down the stairs from street level to the wide walk that acts as the bank of the Seine. The walkway and views are lovely, but the paving stones are very old and uneven. Rhonda’s shoes are not up to the task and we decide to continue our walk at street level. All along the sidewalk between the street and the lower river walk are vendors. They operate out of boxes mounted to the stone wall that acts as a railing. The stalls sell mostly printed goods like old and new books, magazines, post cards and the like. There are some with music and movies. There are a good number of street artists too. It is Saturday and the whole area bustles with activity. We have about a mile to travel between the Ile de la Cite and the Musee d’Orsay. We stop about two third of the way down at an angle in the wall. Our spot is in the shade along the wall and a breeze blow down the river cooling us off. From here we enjoy the view and finish our water. We watch the people passing to and fro along the sidewalk, the river walk, and in the numerous boats on the Seine. There are tour boats and boats that act as floating cafes and restaurants. Many children wave and we return the gesture. We take in the scene for a while, enjoying our time in Paris. Finishing our walk along the river we arrive at the train station turned art museum, the Musee d’Orsay.
The Louvre houses works from the early 1800s and previous. Musee d’Orsay holds things from the mid 1800s to the early 1900s. There are just a couple of galleries I want to view here. I know the majority of the works here are not of interest to Rhonda. She enjoys realism and the styles of art from impressionism on to the modernist holds her disdain. James Tissot is an artist I discovered with my sister Jennifer while visiting an exhibition at the Art Institute of Chicago. There are several of his works here and I want to view them and share them with Rhonda. Tissot painted while the impressionists were gaining notoriety, but he continued as a realist. The museum is completely open inside. Up the center from the main doors are small flights of stairs leading up progressively higher landings. These large landings hold sculptures. Flanking the open center are galleries for various time periods and styles. I looked up the Tissot galleries back home and have a good idea of where I am going. Rhonda and I ascend up the landings looking over the sculpture there. There are some very nice works which we admire. Finding the realist galleries I am pleased to find several Tissot works I did not see in Chicago. I particularly like his series of paintings called the Prodigal Son in the Modern Age. As we browse the two galleries I stumble across some Degas paintings. I know him for his impressionist works focused on ballet dancers. Now I have accidentally found several realist works of his that I quite enjoy. There are many impressionists work in this museum I would like to spend time with, but I want to respect Rhonda and our time together. I do persuade her to take a quick stroll through the Toulouse Lautrec galleries so I can see if my favorite painting by him is here. Unfortunately it is not. We exit the museum through the sculptures and decide it is time for a small repast.
Close behind the museum is a café named Les Deux Musees. We walk to it and take a small table on the sidewalk where we can view the open area next to the Musee d’Orsay. We get a carafe of rose and a cheese plate. The cheeses and bread are not the same quality as what we had on the Rue Cler, but they are still good. Once our small meal is done we walk away from the river to the Metro stop nearby. We take the Metro up to Gare St. Lazare, the major train station in the near northwest. From the there we walk a little farther to the north. What we are looking for is Place de Dublin. Place de Dublin is the intersection of three roads with another thrown in so it is a wide, seven pointed intersection. Why this intersection is of interest to me is that it is the setting for one of my favorite paintings, Paris Street; Rainy Day by Gustave Caillebotte. I have a large print of the painting hanging in my office at work. Fortunately the original hangs in the Art Institute in Chicago so I have had the opportunity to see it several times. I want to stand the intersection that I see every time I walk into my office. As we approach along Rue de Moscou I recognize the intersection at once. We walk over one street to the left to the Rue de Turin and turn around. We are now standing in the spot the viewer of the painting stands in. The buildings have not changed. While the store fronts on street level are different, the buildings themselves are the same, even the chimneys. There are now some trees in the intersection that were not there at the time Caillebotte painted his work, but it is easy to transport the eye and the imagination back in time to 1877. There are two young ladies sitting at a table on the sidewalk next to where we are. They are getting up to go and we ask if they will take our picture. Rhonda and I pose in the spot the main couple in the painted are located. We inquire of the girls if they are familiar with the painting and they declare they are not. Un Bistrot en Ville is the café that occupies the corner next to where we are standing and where the girls were seated. We decide to take a table and have a carafe of wine. We inquire of the waiter if he knows about the painting. He brings back a dinner menu which has an image of the painting on the front. Apparently at least the café owner knows the connection. Sitting in the shade and enjoying some wine seems a fitting way to celebrate the moment. It is a little surreal to be here as each time my gaze moves up and over Rhonda’s shoulder a very familiar intersection presents itself and harkens back to a rainy day in Caillebotte’s mind that he committed to canvas.
We turn our attention to what to do with the evening. The neighborhood of Montmartre is not far and we decide that might be nice to see. An old cabaret named Lapin Agile still exists in the former bohemian enclave. Checking on the web we see that they are performing tonight and we call and make a reservation. After finishing our wine we hop back on the Metro and ride it up to a stop that should be fairly close to the cabaret. The neighborhood of Montmartre is on a steep hill. When we emerge from the Metro stop onto the street we see the hill rising behind us and falling in front. Some streets are stairways instead of a paved road and the area has an older, closer feel to it than you get down along the Seine. After a little confusion we turn to Simon to help us find our way to the Cabaret au Lapin Agile. The building is nothing more than an old, squat house with a small garden and brightly painted walls. Having found where we are going we decide to walk on up the hill and see if we can find some dinner. A couple of blocks up we find La Maison Rose. They have tables on either side of the street and we sit at one. The view is pleasant with vine covered walls and houses, trees and the cobbled streets and walks around us. We order a carafe of a nice Rhone red and Rhonda has the caprese salad while I have a salad with duck on it. The bread is fresh and the meal wonderful. When it comes time to pay up and walk back down to the cabaret we find out they don’t take credit cards. We have enough cash to pay, but we also need cash to pay for the show. After settling up the waitress tells us there is an ATM up the hill a couple of blocks. Rhonda proceeds down to Lapin Agile and I hurry up the hill to restock our euro supply. At the top of the hill I find a small business district filled with shops and cafes. Without too much searching I locate the ATM and am soon on my way back down the hill.
Cabaret au Lapin Agile dates from the mid 1800s. The building is old and while up kept, it retains its original look and feel. The show starts at 21:00. At about quarter of the hour there is a small group waiting out front of the cabaret. We are shown into the squat two story building to pay for our tickets. As each couple pays they are led into the adjoining one story room and seated. The room is close and dark. The lamps have red shades which casts a dim rosy light around. There is a built in bench that lines three walls and small tables and stools filling the rest of the space. A piano sits in one corner, near the entryway. The couples and groups are seated around the perimeter and served a small glass of wine with cherries in the bottom. After a while a group of six people come in and take seats around a central table. Rhonda remarks that they are probably the performers. I ask why and she states that they are drinking water. Sure enough the piano gets cranking and the show is started when they break into song. The performers are all in their sixties except for one couple which looks in their thirties. What the people at Lapin Agile are doing is preserving the cabaret scene from the 1870s when groups of people would meet here and exchange songs both morose and bawdy. Most all of the songs are meant to be sung along with during the choruses. Many in the audience do join in, depending on the song. I appreciate what the performers are doing and their efforts at preservation. Most of what is going on is lost on Rhonda and I as we don’t speak French well enough to follow the music. About forty-five minutes into the performance there is a shuffling around as some new people arrive. Rhonda and I excuse ourselves and move into the next room. Rhonda asks a singer who follows us about the location of the toilet, which she is happy to find. Once she is done we take our leave. The night is cool, which I am grateful for because it was getting pretty warm in the Lapin Agile.
We punch the Moulin Rouge into Simon and follow his directions down the hill. On the way we pass the Moulin de la Galette which I am surprised to see is closed given that it is only about ten thirty on a Saturday night. We make it to the bottom of the hill and the edge of Montmartre. The original Moulin Rouge burned down in 1915. What stands in its place is about a century old, but not what was there during the Belle Epoque. A major road runs at the foot of the hill in front of the Moulin Rouge. The area is crowded and bustling. There are restaurants and bars all around. A long line of people is still out front of the Moulin Rouge waiting to get entrance into the late show. We have no interest in going in and cross the street to a sidewalk café for a drink. We take up a position next to each other on the sidewalk so we can watch the people in the square in front of us. The drinks are expensive, but given the locale it is to be expected. We enjoy watching the lights and the crowd and it whole scene is like a tiny version of Times Square. There is a lone gentleman sitting in front of us and we fall into conversation with him. He is from Holland and has been visiting Paris for decades. His wife is off with family elsewhere in the country and he is here alone. He enjoys talking and we enjoy his recollections and stories. Eventually we decide to hop the Metro and head back to our own neighborhood. Back on Avenue de la Motte Picquet we stop down at La Terrasse for a night cap. I order a crème brulee which Rhonda and I share. It is fantastic. It is creamy and smooth and only slightly sweet. We enjoy the night and our desert before walking back down the block to turn in. It has been an anniversary to remember.
Day 14 – August 2nd (Return to London)
We sleep fairly late this morning, until about nine. After getting cleaned up, packed up and dressed we take our bags downstairs. There is a man behind the counter this morning instead of the woman who has been there previously. He is in a great mood and is very jovial. I ask about the best way to get to Gare du Nord and he says he will hire a private car for us. The trip will cost on twenty-six euro. I wish we had known about this mode of transport for our trip in. We arrange a pickup time late in the morning so we have enough time to get checked in at the station. After storing our bags he wishes us a good morning and we walk out to Rue Cler to find breakfast. We get partway down the lane and select a café at random and take a seat. We are once again sitting next to each other, facing towards the street so we can watch the people and the activity. We get two coffees, two juices and two croissants. Rhonda has an “iced” coffee which is cool, not iced, and topped with a froth that is in turn topped with a coffee bean. Rhonda pops the bean in her mouth thinking it is a chocolate and munches down on it before realizing her mistake. The croissants we are served are wonderful. Super flakey on the outside and then tender and chewy on the inside with a distinct buttery flavor. While we are sitting and enjoying the morning we see a vendor across the street with nothing more than a long table in front of him. He is an older gentleman, probably near sixty. On the table is jewelry he has crafted. We occasionally hear him tapping a ring to size it which emits a clear ringing sound. As we finish up and I find the waiter to pay Rhonda crosses to his table to see his wares. She finds a nice silver ring with a blue crystal in it that matches her dress. The fellow sizes it up for her and she pays him for the purchase.
We decide to spend the morning down in the park that is next to the Eiffel Tower. Before walking down there we drop into the convenience store on this street. We buy some bottles of water for the train and this morning. Then we stop at the outside counter of the bakery and select a plain croissant, a chocolate croissant, and what looks like an apple turnover. We walk the few blocks to the park. Finding a bench in the shade we sit. The park is filled with people viewing the tower and taking their pictures with it. Others are relaxing and even sunning themselves. We are still several blocks away from the tower itself as the park is quite long to afford a view of the whole tower. We sit in the shade and the breeze and enjoy our pastries, which are delectable. When it finally comes time to walk back to the hotel we decide to take our own picture. We spot a nearby couple who are wearing a union jack that we hope we can exchange picture taking favors with. It turns out they only speak Italian, but we get through the exchange and take each other’s pictures in front of the tower. As we make our way back to the hotel we see a black car sitting in front in the parking lane. The friendly host helps us with our bags and we are soon on our way to the station. The car is comfortable. There are bottles of water for us and hard candies in the armrest in the back seat. This ride will cost us a third of the taxi ride from the station and will be much more comfortable. We watch the beautiful city pass by as we make our way to Gare du Nord. The ride is over too soon as we are not anxious to leave.
We gather our belongings and head into the train station. The scratch lottery ticket that Rhonda bought a couple of days ago appears to be a winner to us. Rhonda tries to turn it in at a tobacco stand here in the station, but they don’t handle the lottery. We have to go outside for that. We don’t want to take the time, so it will just go home with us. The check-in for the international trains to London is upstairs. We once again pass through back to back border control stations. The first booth is to leave France and the second one to enter England. The line for security is long and moving slowly. Sunday morning must be a popular time to head to London. The room is warm and I am getting hot. Finally we are through and find ourselves in a waiting area. It doesn’t take long before we are allowed to walk down to the platform and board our train. Having been through this process before we make short work of getting our bags stowed and finding our seats. The train fills quickly and pulls out of the station on time and we are soon heading north. The two and a half hours pass quickly as we work on this journal and play some cards.
The train arrives in St. Pancras promptly at 16:02. The hotel room I have booked for the night is just two blocks away. I did this so we could just walk from and to the station today and tomorrow. We make the long walk out of the immense station and over to the Angus Hotel on Argyle Square. The Victorian era houses surrounding Argyle Square all seem to be hotels serving the St. Pancras and King’s Cross stations. We get checked in and shown to our room. This is the smallest room we have had yet. We set to the task of getting everything ready to go in the morning. We will have to leave the room at about six in the morning, so packing tonight is key. We also want to get the task out of the way to we can spend the evening at leisure. We make sure our tax refund forms are all filled out and our papers are in order. We get the Scotch and crystal packed away safely, although we will be carrying the decanter on the plane with us. After getting everything ready to go and our clothes for the morning set out we turn our attention to what to do with the evening. We decide to head to Covent Garden because we both enjoyed that area when here earlier this week with the Williams.
Walking back to the Underground station in King’s Cross we stop at a terminal to put a few more pounds on our Oyster cards. They are almost depleted by this point and we want to make sure we have enough to the long ride to Heathrow in the morning. Riding our old friend the Piccadilly line to the south we find out that the Tube does not stop at Covent Garden on Sundays because of construction at the station. We ride down to Leiscester Square and get off there. Walking back towards Covent Garden we make a wrong turn as we get close to Covent Garden. We wander for a bit trying to get our bearings. We run into another fellow that is lost too and we both ask directions from a local. This doesn’t help much and we seem to be getting further away. We stumble onto a busy district with tiny theaters, pubs, restaurants and shops. It turns out we have made our way into SoHo. We spot a Morroccan restaurant named Maison Touareg. We had good luck with the Moroccan place in Liverpool so we decide to give this one a try. The meal does not disappoint. We are sitting one table away from the front window. That table is occupied by a young couple. On the other side of us is a table with two ladies and a hookah. The ladies are done eating and just smoking now. Later, after they have left and we are just enjoying our wine and the young couple is eating desert we get to talking. We learn from the couple that one of the things that people sometimes smoke in the hookah is alcohol. Apparently you can get really drunk pretty quickly by smoking alcohol. The couple is fun to talk to and we compare notes about London. They are English but from out of town. When the meal is complete we decide to give Covent Garden another try. We have enjoyed our accidental trip into Soho, but want to get down to where the street performers are.
Looking at the map on Rhonda’s phone we find where we are. Walking a few blocks south we arrive back in Leicester Square. We then retrace our path and find out where we went wrong. We were very close last time before being led astray. We arrive at Covent Garden to see a man performing in front of the church. It is getting late and he is probably the last act. We make our way to the pub Punch and Judy’s which faces on the spot in the square where he is performing. We head upstairs and get a couple of drinks. There are no open seats along the stone rail of the balcony overlooking the courtyard. Before long a couple leaves and gives their seats to us. Now we have a front row vantage point from which to watch the people and performer in the square. The performer is doing escape and contortionist bits for his act. When he finishes his final bit he passes the hat around the people below. He then sprints into the building we are in and up the stairs to the balcony we are on. I have a bunch of coins adding up to a few pounds in my pocket that I will have no more use for come tomorrow so I chuck them in his hat. It is a Sunday night and things seem to be winding down in town. Oddly enough the pubs in England have last call about 23:30 and close shortly thereafter. We walk our way back to the Tube station and make our way to our bed.
Day 15 – August 3rd (Flight Home)
Our day starts early. We are a little worried about the morning rush we may encounter on the Underground. Our fears are unfounded, though. We manage to get on the first train of the Piccadilly line that comes by. The crowd thins after we pass through the city center and we are soon sitting next to each other. When we get close to Heathrow an announcement is made that this train is going to terminal five and if we want terminals one, two or three that we will need to get off and wait for the next train. The announcement is made as we approach the last station before the airport and is rather garbled. There are a lot of people on the train bound for the airport and we all look at each other with a puzzled look when the train arrives in the station. We are not quite sure of what we heard. The announcement is repeated and we are all able to hear it clearly. About two thirds of the riders pile out and onto the platform to wait. Fortunately the next train comes by in about five minutes and we are soon at our stop. As we exit the Underground station we pass the terminals where you can buy and replenish Oyster cards. We see a couple standing in front of one reading and looking confused. We ask if they have just arrived and they say they have. We explain what the Oyster cards are and give them ours. We tell them they won’t have to pay the initial fee for the cards and can just reload them before traveling. Our good deed done for the day we move along.
The next stop is the tax refund office. We get in the terminal and look for it, but are informed it is actually outside in a standalone building in front of the terminal. Luckily the building is not very full. There are only a few people in line and one lady does not have her paperwork in order. The man waiting on her checks our and passes us through to the teller while she continues to fuss about. At the teller we get seventy US dollars paid to us as a refund on the VAX tax for our purchases. This was definitely worth the trouble. Making our way back into terminal three we see enormous lines for Virgin Atlantic. We make the initial check-in and validation of our passports at an automated kiosk. The long lines are to get to the counters to check your bags. There are a couple of dozen ticket agents working, all with very long lines leading up to them. Occasionally a supervisor comes through the crowd shouting a destination and flight time. She is obviously pulling people out of line whose flights are coming up soon and may miss getting their bags checked early enough. Sure enough she comes by asking for people on the 8:45 to Chicago. She pulls us out and shows us to an agent who is set aside to handle cases like ours. We get our bags checked in time to make our flight thanks to Virgin’s attention to customer service. Security is not too big of a deal and we make it to our gate about forty-five minutes ahead of our flight. Flights in the US typically don’t start boarding until half an hour before the flight, and it is all done together. Here is plane is just open and you can board anytime you like. We decide there is no point in sitting at the gate and proceed onto the plane. There is not much to tell about the long flight to Chicago. Our driver for the limo that takes us from O’Hare to our house is kind of scary and both Rhonda and I buckle up while on I-90.
The trip has been a resounding success. We love traveling in Europe. Scotland, England, Ireland and France were a treat. We met and talked to a lot of people from all of the countries we traveled. We enjoyed a lot of new food and drink, and the local culture whenever we could. We also took the time to sit and soak in the atmosphere of each place we visited, which is very important to really get a sense of the locale. Travel of this nature really provides a new perspective and broadens your mind. I expect we will be returning before too long.
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