THE WORLD’S LONGEST POSTCARD.
Before I crack on with today’s nonsense I hope that every reader understands that this word jumble is my therapy. I am not a writer. I wish I had the talent that my friend Daryl has. He has more writing ability in his little finger than I do in every obtuse lump of me. When considering today’s title I mused over several possibilities. The first was kitschy, something Provençal perhaps?Then I thought maybe something about the continued scorching hot weather. Of course there could have been some self deprecating quote to do with England loosing to the Croatians in the semi’s.
You know something like how to blow a lead and the World Cup in one simple move. When all was considered I concluded that anyone with the intestinal fortitude to take on reading this epic instalment should be forewarned that it will have a ton of photos and may go on much longer than the average self harmer might want to endure. Since the last time I collected my thoughts on paper we have done so much and seen so many places. We have wandered the ramparts and halls of the Papal Palace in Avignon.We have slowly meandered through countless hilltop villages stopping to peer inside shops, galleries and cafes.We have shopped till we dropped in Aix-en-Provence.In between shops we were able to find our way into the Cezanne and Picasso exhibition at the Aix Art Gallery.
Today we left somewhat later than we usually do from home base in Bonnieux and drove to Mennerbes and on through Lumierre to Goult.I have to jump on the sword now and retract my earlier comments stating that Cucuron is the merde’! Goult is now the front runner in the my top Provençal Village ever award.Gordes is spectacular, Lacoste is pretty and filled with Artists in training as they summer at the Savannah College of Art situated below the Chateau. Apparently Pierre Cardin is the benefactor of the village and art school and you can tell as this place drips with style and design.I could go on and on about the veritable cornucopia of little places we have rambled about but at this stage you clearly have got the point.I love France.I love the food. I love the wine.I love that you can't get food or gas or anything for that matter on national holidays and Sundays.I like the style.I like the design.I like the land and the interminable sense of slow and easy.For Christ sake, I even like the little buck o’ five Frenchmen that put out a smoke only to role another and light it immediately. Of course the biggest question of the day is who do I cheer for on Sunday when we once again walk down to our neighbourhood cafe to watch the outdoor 75” flat screen.Ok, I am saying this once and only once.I am cheering for France.Those cheating diving Croatian’s do not deserve the win.
They did not beat England the night before last.They assaulted them.I routinely starred into the eyes of the psycho looking ref on numerous occasions expecting a card.Nothing.Abominable. I have never once in 52 years of watching the soccer or Rugby ever uttered the words "Allez Les Bleu”. But here goes.This Sunday that is all gonna change for one and only one time ever.I swear on my English Rose tattoo (if I had one).Tomorrow is Bastille Day and as such we can expect all kinds of pomp and circumstance. The French are a proud nation. I tip my hat to them. I would trade every member of the Trudeau family (past and present) for one de Gaulle.
Allez Les Bleu!
38 DEGREES IN THE SHADE.
An average July Sunday in Provence is slightly warmer than I can stand. I seem to spend more time looking for respite from the nuclear sun than I do anything else. Whatcha gonna do. This is what we bargained for many months ago when we began our planning. It was always going to be Provence but the specifics came later as we scoured Airbnb for options in more than a dozen towns both in the valley and on the hillsides.
After lunch we fired up Sven, cranked the air con and set sale for Chateau Conorgue winery. CC was used as the main set for the movie and as I learned on a previous visit a couple of years ago, had a lovely vintner with lovely wine. Upon arrival we were provided several wonderful vintages to sample and then chose a few bottles to take away with us after the obligatory wander around the gardens. The following day was about venturing a little further afield to Apt which is around 12 kms away to the northeast. We had a brief look about & visited the local supermarche’. We hustled back to Bonnieux to get squared away in time to find an outdoor terrace bar in the village that would hopefully be showing the England Sweden game at 4 o’clock.Success, and a table pour 3 was in a perfect location for the 75” flatscreen hanging from the outside wall. We sat next to a Swedish couple and their young daughter. Being Swedish meant they were all beautiful people. The remainder of the crowd was made up of French locals that spread hate towards the English between cigarettes and Belgians that sat there with their best smug faces.The remainder were sunburned English twats with poncey public school accents screaming at the TV in hopes that Gareth Southgate would hear their requests to get Sterling off and Rashford on.
If those accents were Mancunian or Brummie or even Scoucers I maybe could have accepted their pleas for change. Oh yeah, the most important part is that England were up 2-0 so whats the problem Rupert. If there is a god I will someday find my way to their local polo field or fox hunt so that I may heckle the shit out of them. Today found us on a slow paced drive through countryside with stops in Cucuron and Loumerin. Both lovely and both drop dead gorgeous. We had lunch at L’etang in Cucuron and enjoyed a fabulous meal. Even Allistair had his first foray into true French cuisine with steak tartare avec raw oeuff.
Ces’t Bon!
LONDON, THE GROSVENOR HOTEL, AND A SERIAL KILLER
Well once again I have some time to kill in an airport departure lounge, so I thought I would catch you up. In fact this morning I have more time than expected as our WestJet flight from Gatwick to Calgary is delayed for at least an hour and a half (or so we hope). I suppose I shouldn’t complain as it takes as long as it takes to keep these old WestJet planes in a condition that will hopefully keep us in the air longer than the Wright Brothers and home safer than Amelia Earhart.I have been told that there are new WestJet planes on the way in the new year so for those with plans to travel abroad in the future you may be in for a treat. For now we are stacked up like cordwood in the North Terminal adjacent to WHSmith bookstore trying not to be overcome by the stale cigarette stench on the folks sporting the fake tans and bedazzled track suits sitting all about us. And then as if all our prayers were answered the flight for Majorca was called and they all got to their good “foot” & gangster limped away to a gate with the promise of Thomas Cook Holidays in the Spanish Sun (ATOL Protected).
Then it was our turn. Our gate was called and we made our way to 571. Upon arrival at the gate we were lucky enough to witness a WestJet employee domestic dispute as the plane had apparently been ready for some time but there had been no ground staff to board the passengers. So while a grumpy bald WestJetter berated the first young lady in uniform to appear, she returned volley to who I would guess was her supervisor with a “who do you think you are”. That continued downward until cooler heads prevailed and another young lady arrived from her tea break to further assist. So now we endure the apologies on behalf of WestJet for the delays and their efforts to now board the passengers ASAP and in sequence.
This is where it got entertaining as this was actually my first time witnessing six British Adult benefit cheats (Social Assistance Scammers in Canadian) and the child they had clearly borrowed from the local gypsies to make their way to the front of the line when the call went out for travellers with small children. Nan as she was referred to by the middle female teenage cheat appeared to be in her early thirties and must have spawned young Vicki Pollard early in her “formative years”. The four accompanying completely tattooed adult males (at the expense of the British tax payer) followed in behind like lambs to the slaughter or benefit cheats to the kabab shop, take your pick.
Then it was time for a litany of regular guests of Disney’s theme parks who were obvious students of the how to get to the front of the line game. All of whom were clearly willing to try feigning all manner of injuries and every other trick in the book to go next.Now it’s our turn to take our seats in WestJet Plus. We are in the 2nd row and I have the pleasure of sitting within earshot of a woman who requires a lot of help from the flight attendant to fully understand what Prosecco is. When the penny dropped another 30 seconds of thought was required to answer yes please or no thank you. Aaron our flight attendant is a huge man with Michael Jackson’s voice & very small hands. Aaron’s hands look strong enough to choke the next neck of the next passenger with the next stupid question. Aaron looks displeased. I understand that look. It gives me a warm feeling to know that someone may dislike people more than I do.
One of my old buddies says without hesitation that there are 6 Billion people on this planet and he likes 3 of them. I’ll stretch to 20 (but that’s it and you know who you are). We are now up in the air and about 8 and a half hours from Calgary with fingers crossed. Now it’s time to go over the last couple of days in London. We arrived nearly three days ago from Barcelona and I must admit we were shocked to be greeted with the hot and humid 29 degree sunshiny weather. It was a British bank holiday on Monday so everyone was out and about in the royal parks enjoying a wonderful family day or just relaxing with friends.
I hope you are inspired to visit some of the places I have written about over the past few years. And if you have been one of the 18 thousand (Wordpress stats) or so readers that have stopped by since I started, thank you! As the lovely African lady working as a cleaner on our Gatwick Express train said to me a couple of days ago, “life is too short. Go places and do things”. She spent some time at our table telling us how excited she was for her next journey. If my memory serves, she is probably now on her way to Mauritius, a place she has never been before. Safe travels my new friend! Memories made are more important than stuff.
Cheers!
Mark
VIVA ESPAÑA
Barcelona has left an unbelievably positive impression on us both. It felt like it could easily be home with a huge mix of many ingredients. A big city without the feeling of congestion or pressure. It’s hard to encapsulate so many sights, sounds, and smells in a short story and I am not about to do it justice.Landing here on Saturday afternoon we jumped in a cab (they hate Uber) and made our way into the city in around 20 minutes or so.
Our driver told us he was the son of a Spanish father and a Dominican mom. He was born in the Dominican Republic but had shared his 50 or so years on this planet between both. This guy was a super happy soul and a very proud citizen of Barcelona.
I could not have had a better view. A 2-1 Barca lead was levelled by Real Madrid center forward and Welshman Gareth Bale in the second half that saw out 90 minutes and 10 minutes of injury time. Every one of those minutes were filled with the voices of Barca fans with their songs and cheers. At the final whistle I wandered slowly from the stands and met up with Dale in the agreed location. We revelled in the experience and then made our way home. So late to bed and early to rise. Our plane left Barcelona this morning for London at 7:10. It was a great flight on EasyJet once again with speedy boarding.
So here we are back in old blighty. The sun is out big time and we are gonna head for the train into town, the Grosvenor Hotel is our digs for the next couple of days.
Live Well!
I BRUSHED MY TEETH WITH BUM RASH CREAM.
It has been nearly 72 hours since I decided that the tube of hydrocortisone in my shaving kit was a travel size tube of Crest toothpaste. I must admit that it took about 6 seconds of vigorous brushing before the shock kicked in.The taste was not as I recalled and the immediate sensation of being sick to my stomach was not as per usual either. I looked down to the bathroom counter and to my horror it all became clear. The label says for external use only, so thats a problem right off the bat.When in Britain one must keep a stiff upper lip and “Never Surrender”. I am just hopeful to have an upper lip when I wake up tomorrow, stiff or otherwise. So as I sit knocking out today’s blog I can say that no matter what I eat or what I drink tastes like hydrocortisone. OK, moving on. Today is Saturday but not just any Saturday in Oxford’s calendar. This afternoon is the annual Boat Race as Oxford Universty rows against Cambridge on the Thames for the 163rd consecutive year. This sporting event is rumoured to bring out sometimes close to a million fans along the banks of London’s famous murky river.
After lunch we decided that we should try to find some of the most quaint villages we could, so we drove on to Chipping Norton. I met a fella on the street there who put us on to (as he described) the most picturesque village of them all. He said you have to go and see Lower Slaughter. Not a better name for a crime novel but as we drove into the tiny village your breath is taken away by the picture postcard setting. I suggest that if you are at all interested please search google images for this village. I do not have the vocabulary to do it justice.After a few more hours in the country we eventually wound our way back to the hotel and the drive was spectacular. We stopped in the hotel bar on the way to our room for a couple of local pints. Job done and to bed for an early morning set aside for souvenir shopping.I could go on and on but I am drawn to the television now. The women’s race is on and Cambridge is several boat lengths ahead. I do not want to miss the rest of the afternoon’s excitement so I bid you farewell. Tomorrow is for home and to reconnect with family.Cheers!Markp.s. Cambridge was victorious in all 4 races this afternoon.
The Last Bus (Actually Hyundai) to Woodstock.
Excitement Turns to Lower Back Pain.
Saturday was supposed to be about making sure we get up by 7, have some breakfast and head south from Skye to make it to Dunfermline by 2. Most reading this blog will not understand my obsession with watching England’s men’s rugby team play but today is supposed to be a chance to end the 6 Nations Tournament on a high with a victory over the Irish.I thought if we get to Dunfermline in good time we could find a great pub there. If all goes well we would find a quiet snug to watch the game. Two reasons that a quiet snug out of the way was in order. The first was I wanted to hear the TV announcers call the game, and second, if any Scotsman noticed I was cheering for England, there may have been an angry scene from Braveheart improvised at our table.The Scots get along with the English in so many ways except Rugby or Soccer or any other sport for that matter. To recap, we had 5 hours to make the journey in the glorious sunshine and then an hour to unwind before kickoff.Well sunshine and beautiful mountian scapes gave way to a significant loss of visibility and blowing snow. Two weeks ago the so named “beast from the east” hit the UK with a bout of bad weather that has not been seen in years. Today and two weeks hence we have plunged back into the belly of that beast. Simply put we could not see a hand in front of our faces and that happened in just a matter of seconds.So driving on already challenging roads went from bad to worse. When you see drivers do stupid things in these conditions your blood pressure spikes and explatiffs may sneak out at speed. As we rounded the next blind corner I see a van full of tourists from Asia that have decided to stop dead in the oncoming lane to scout potential photo opportunities near the adjacent river. If perhaps their choice would have included a safer location or at minimum pulling off the road, I suppose I would have understood. When you park in such a fashion other drivers following behind are provided only one choice, and that is to pull into oncoming traffic to get around.I swerved to miss the 5 Series BMW and luckily no damage was caused. This did however cause my temper to rage a tad. As such I was not paying attention to the pot hole that soon swallowed up our front passenger wheel. That in turn set off the tire pressure alarm almost immediately. So that’s cool. Flat tire in the Scottish Highlands. No cell coverage, no handbook in the glove compartment and only a few of the tools in the boot required for a simple tire change.
Regardless cooler heads prevailed (Deanna) and we got down to the business of jacking up the Focus and putting on the donut. Twenty minutes later and we were on our way with filthy hands and strained lower backs. 50 ain’t easy! Eventually we got phone service and we began the process of enquiring what to do to have the tire and clearly bent rim looked at or the car replaced. As you can imagine the more laborious of options is what they (Enterprise) start with. I was hoping for, “We will bring the car to you in Dunfermline sir and we will swap you.” Instead we got, “You better find a National Tyre outlet Sir and have the damage repaired.”
Things you may have already guessed. Number one, the guys at National Tyre couldn’t be bothered. As timing and luck would have it both were otherwise focussed on their local drug dealer who had recently stopped by to drop off a couple of very small plastic bags. There were two “service specialists” at this location. One couldn’t stop doing whatever he was doing (not working) to focus on us. The second one I have appropriately named Ruprect, was clearly wearing safety glasses to prevent him from plunging his own fork into his bastard eyes. We sat in the car for almost an hour before our inattentive customer service rep even gazed at the wheel and then he decided that a rubber mallet would save the day. Well to my surprise customer service representative number one, who by the way resembled Rent Boy of Train Spotting fame did good. I could almost here him grumble:“Choose a life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers... Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit crushing game shows, sticking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away in the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourself, choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that?”― Irvine Welsh, TrainspottingOur damaged wheel and tyre went back on and away we went in under two hours (for a 5 minute job). We left Perth and motored on to Dunfermline to the welcome face of Lizzy at the desk of the Holiday Inn Express. “Thank you for being a Spire Elite Customer Sir!” Thank you Lizzy for having everything ready. We shoved our gear into our room and checked the score. I should have known & I guess I shouldn’t complain as it is St. Paddy’s Day. The Irish faces were smiling. They had beaten the English at their own game on their own field.One thing I know for sure is that when you are depressed, beer is the best remedy. Down the road was the Elizabethan and its draft taps o’plenty. No Irish here but lots of Scotsman drinking lots of Tennants. We decided to join them as we know we can’t beat them. To add to the little mercies came a decision to order the Haggis Balls with whiskey cream sauce.
Nice one!SlàinteMark
Give Way to Oncoming Traffic!
Most will know that the vast majority of European cars are much smaller than the ones driven on the highways and byways of North America. There are several reasons for that of course. Fuel is expensive, so a smaller car burns less. The roads in some places are quite narrow and a small car helps navigate those journeys in a safer manner.
Most of our travels up until yesterday in the highlands and on Skye have been on normal dual carriageways and therefore you could be driving a tank and still have plenty of room to manoeuvre. That abruptly stopped yesterday. Trying to fit our Ford Focus between the gravel shoulders has been akin to watching me trying to fit more than one leg into a pair of 32” waiste jeans.But miracles do happen and so far so good. Being attentive is key to survival. If a semi-truck fully laden with Cod is set for south when you are set for north on a road just a little narrower than the width of a Focus, then terror ensues. When I say terror I mean that phenomenon of fight or flight. That truck (lorry) is coming no matter what. What do you do? The clock is ticking. Do you break with force and reverse with vigor? Do you pull off to the left and hope that the peaty bog does not swallow you up and hold you hostage? Do you play chicken and hope not to become the latest in a plethora of hood ornaments on the massive Volvo truck speeding towards you?
Ten times out of ten I go with slam on the breaks and reverse trying not to deficate whilst screaming in terror. No, those are not tears you see. Tears or a show of emotion would be for big babies not experienced emergency vehicle operators such as myself. Suffice to say the only thing keeping me from my hotel bed and the fetal position is the liquid courage that comes in the form of a smokey golden viscous liquid produced from the purest of waters in the coldest of air.Over the last couple of days we have had the immense pleasure to make stops along our way at two of Scotland’s finest Scotch Distilleries. Yesterday was Dalwhinnie and today on Skye we took in Talisker. Dalwhinnie has the distinct geographic notoriety as Scotland’s highest and coldest distillery. On both accounts it did not disappoint. Several layers of clothing along with woollen accoutrements were required to brave the tour. Regardless of the conditions the tour was wonderful and we both learned a lot about the distilling process.
Deanna is not one who has enjoyed the spoils of a wee dram before, so the tasting experience after the tour was timely and thoroughly enjoyed by both of us. There was absolutely no pressure to buy as we concluded but that did not put us off and a bottle of the 15 year old and two complimentary glasses went into the shopping bag.We continued along the highway to Skye from the Highlands through the Cairngorms National Park. Our next stop was for an obligatory photo op at Eilean Donan Castle. I have seen hundreds of photos of this place in the past and it was just spectacular in person. We spent half hour just gazing across the bridge at its buttresses and ramparts. I am so glad the rain was on a tea break.
We made our way back into town for the COOP and picked up a few things for a picnic dinner in the room. As I sit here rambling I am almost driven to distraction from the winds outside pounding our windows from the west and the Irish Sea.I am sure that you are sick and tired of this nonsense by now so I will provide you with some sorely earned respite from my rubbishy stories. Tomorrow finds us heading southeast to Edinburgh and the hopes that we arrive in time to find a pub that does not hate the English so much that we can watch their team take on Ireland in 6 Nations Rugby action at 2:45 pm.
Live well!
The Children of the Corn and Lawrence
Leaving Victoria we were just a little stunned to be waved off by what appeared to be blue skies and sunshine. Regardless of this minor miracle we couldn’t stick around because we had to get to Seattle to change planes for London Heathrow and beyond.As most who fly regularly into SEATAC already know, landing there means dealing with the TSA. It begins with the instructions of a slack jawed troglodyte to recheck your already checked baggage and then subject yourself to a full cavity search. If they like what they see or touch you may proceed to the next stage in the process.Next comes the train that takes you on a magical mystery tour from terminal to terminal that actually turns out to be a waste of time and way faster to walk. We made it to the area of our connecting gate in terminal S and found a comfortable chair in a quiet nook of the departure lounge.For the first couple of hours it was joyous.
Then arrived a family of seven that appeared to be supervised by parents (and I use that word loosely) who couldn’t care less how much noise their children made, damage they caused or mayhem they created.All 5 kids appeared to be under 6 years old and were left to do as they thought fit while mom applied layer after layer of makeup and dad looked away in silence and what appeared to be regret. I will never know if they were from a flyover state, but I can almost guarantee you that somewhere in Iowa, there is an evil farmer’s corn field missing it’s horror movie children.At 6:30 we boarded British Airways flight 48 and took our seats in the 26th row. This does not sound like choice seating however for those frequent flyers that know the Boeing 777 it is.
As it turns out we were in the first row at an exit that provided more leg room than we could have used if we wanted. Our flight attendant was an example of the grooming standard set by British Airways. Lawrence was a man of mid to late 20’s and not only was his uniform impeccable but his recent hair cut, perfectly trimmed beard and manicured eyebrows spoke volumes. I knew several things about Lawrence just by taking time to listen to his softly spoken banter with other members of his team and the odd traveller. Foremost, at no time should I refer to Lawrence as Larry or Lar. Lawrence would not stand for it and was easily the most passive aggressive, surly slightly built man I would encounter for the next 9 ½ hours. I could sense that on most transatlantic flights Lawrence would have not been providing his standard of service to any passengers seated so far back as row 26.
Lawrence flew amongst those in rows 1-8 and as such was uncomfortable trying to make small talk with the plebs back here. I thought to myself at some point that I would try and take the chance to break the ice, however I was met with “do you want the butter chicken or the spinach ravioli? There isn’t much chicken left you should know.” “I’ll have the Chicken Lawrence”. That didn’t make Larry happy but c’est la vie.
We arrived a little before schedule and made our way through passport control in no time flat. Grabbing our bags we were whisked out of terminal 5 and into the Enterprise shuttle. We grabbed our Ford Focus diesel (side note it goes almost 700 miles on a tank.) and made our way for the M40 and north to the Lake District in the north west of England. Once past Lancaster we looked for the first opportunity to get off the motorway and into the lakes. We drove through slate roofed village after village that stunningly lined the southern lake shores. The sun was setting on our left over the water and the pub goers were starting to fill the sidewalks peeking in windows to investigate which one looked the best for dinner and a pint.
Many families and couples with their dogs all looking for the perfect Cumberland sausage with mashed potatoes and onion gravy. Windermere and Ullswater are absolutely jaw dropping and it’s clear to see why so many writers, painters and poets have made their way here over the years. We soon after arrived at the Dale Head Inn on Lake Thirlmere. The Inn is 300 hundred or so years in age but in great condition. We were welcomed by the manager/owner and not unlike my favourite episode of Fawlty Towers he advised us that the kitchen was closed and he couldn’t offer any food. I thought about the offer of cash for a Waldorf salad but I think that may have been rude.
But from every negative there is a positive and in this case we were directed back down the ¼ mile driveway to cross the dark road that brought us here. From there turn north for a hundred yards and we should find the King’s Head. This was an epic recommendation and we stepped inside to a roaring fire and the happy faces of the young bar staff who took our orders. Two pints of bitter and dinner was to be roast lamb and an outstanding gourmet burger. We relished the ambiance and made friends with those on either side of us and their dogs. After dinner and the short walk back to the Dales Head where we’re out like lights. The following morning found us early to rise (03:45 hrs, stupid jet lag) and we got our gear on. A flask of tea prepared in our room and back packs packed for our jaunt to Lake Buttermere. We left just before 6 and it took us around 45 minutes by car to arrive in the little village of Buttermere itself. We parked up in a National Trust parking lot and got our hiking boots on.
A 15 minute walk from the parking lot got us to the trail that goes around the lake. Dawn was breaking and we were the only ones there except for one landscape photographer clearly “catching the worm”. We stopped for a bit so I could set up my tripod and get my gear out for a few shots from this iconic location. I packed this gear all this way and after all that I forgot the bracket that attaches my camera to the tripod and my camera battery was on its last legs. Nice one genius. But as one does when one is faced with a challenge, they adapt and overcome. And just like Clint Eastwood in one of his lessor box office successes (Heartbreak Ridge), I did just that while Deanna paced the lake shore in a hypothermic state.
We soon rambled on for real and just shy of 9 kilometres later we were untying our boots back at the car park. We discussed the Ayrshire cattle that made little effort to get out of way on the trail and the spectacular scenery that surrounded us. Once put back together again we walked into the village to find a pub for a full English breakfast and a coffee to further our great start to the day. Job done! Half an hour later, after a superb meal and some lovely conversation with the publican. She told us that she and her husband had recently returned to the area after living 20 years abroad in South Carolina. Apparently Trump has this effect on people.
Having had the opportunity to travel to South Carolina a few years ago I know it is a very nice state, however if I had the choice of either there or where I spent my early morning I would choose Buttermere a hundred times over. We drove off to the west and our next stop was Ennerdale. I first had the good fortune to walk in to this town with Dale at the end of Day 1 of the Coast to Coast walk in 2015. Since then I have visited on three other separate occasions. I love this village as well. The community spirit is high and the area is breathtaking. We stopped in for tea and piece of Victoria sponge cake that I must admit may be near the top of the many reasons that keeps bringing me back. We had a great chat with the staff and left with a very wide smile on our faces.North to our next stop at the Ennerdale Brewery. A cheeky ½ pint of their finest each and back on the road to Keswick for a wander around the streets of this walker’s and climber’s nirvana. We parked, paid for parking and then I reached into the back of the car for my coat. I thought to myself, I hope the brewery is still open when we get back in 45 minutes to collect my coat from the chair I hung it on when we arrived their 2 hours ago. Being old is an affliction and as far as my memory goes I can’t remember when it went south (hahaha). So back in the car to collect the jacket just before the brewery office staff call it a day.
Mission accomplished and back to Keswick and the intended walk was next on the cards. The streets of Keswick are lovely. It is an outdoorsy village reminding me of Banff or Jasper on a smaller scale. We bought a few bits and pieces and then made our way back to the Dale Head to drop off our things before dinner back at the King’s. One more beautiful meal with great ambiance that set us on another crash course for sleep at all costs.Today we rose at a normal time and went down to the breakfast room for an awesome meal at a seat overlooking
Thirlmere Lake. We soon after packed up the car and set off for Perth in Scotland. About a 4 hour drive and kind of out of the way considering we are heading towards the Isle of Skye on the West coast of Scotland. Perth is not far north of Edinburgh and is not known for too much other than being a nice small city of 50,000 with a fantastic military museum and a lot of new car sales dealerships. Our reason for coming to Perth has nothing to do with loitering around new cars as you can imagine. No, in fact we are hear because Deanna knows how much I like a British comedian known as Stewart Lee. He is currently in the tail end of an 18 month tour of the UK and this gig just dovetailed perfectly into our trip. The tickets were a lovely Christmas present and tonight we grabbed a cab from our luxurious Perth Holiday Inn Express to the Perth Concert Hall for a 7:30 start. I can tell you that it is now 12:18 a.m. and my stomach is still sore from the incessant laughter of nearly three hours of Stew’s stand up routine. Stew can be found on YouTube, but I warn you to say if your sense of humour is not very dry and you don’t go in for hyper sarcasm just give him a miss. Tomorrow we head for Skye with several distilleries and castles in between.
THE PLANNING CONTINUES FOR TRIP #2 OF 2018.
Trip #2 kicked off for real at McRae’s Roadhouse, as it usually does when Dale and I hatch an evil plan. Evil may be taking a little poetic licence. It’s more of a master plan. Our original goal when we began to dream of travelling the world was to visit places that would challenge our resilience.Getting away for a couple of weeks from time to time is a big ask for spouses who are left carrying the bag, and for that support we are very thankful. Our mindset has been to always try to get to places that may be unsettling and uncomfortable yet all the while enjoyable and guarantee to forge indelible memories.Our initial thoughts for this upcoming journey was to travel to India by way of Dubai. As with our adventures in the past, gin and tonic has a sneaky way of opening up the scope of things to come. What started out as a journey to Mumbai, Goa and perhaps several places in between became (with the help of Bombay Sapphire Gin) “sure we can do that, but what about if we also include Kathmandu and Varanasi?”Now we’re talking. All those North face jackets and Arcteryx shirt, short and sock combos can be busted out of the travel tickle trunk. We are at last those guys that they make movies about. You know, the ones who adorn the posters at the Sundance Film Festival trekking up the Khumbu valley towards Everest base camp. There we are, locked in to an itinerary but we won’t purchase the tickets before we draw a sober breath and reconvene in a week’s time with some research done and some thoughtful perspective added to the mix.Our next meeting took place at Starbucks in Broadmead Village. We arrived well prepared with passports, laptops and research collected from third parties (colleagues and friends mostly). What happened next was unexpected and if I’m honest just a little sad. It is with a heavy heart that I must tell you that we no longer need our trekking poles or a basic understanding of Hindi. It turns out that we had decided to book a trip to a country that at that time of the year happens to be experiencing its hottest weather. In addition to the heat, the humidity and fast approaching monsoons should make it a destination that we reschedule for a different spot on the calendar.So where to go and what to see? We discussed South Africa, South America and Scandinavia. Then came the old standby. Let’s get ourselves to London and go to as many places EasyJet and Eurorail can take us for the least amount of money. Some time on the old IPad netted the following results. It looks like the following might be the itinerary for our Europalooza 2018. London to Munich. Apparently they have beer, sausage, pigs knuckle and leather bib shorts there. Perhaps I may drop by the tailor?
From Munich we will travel by rail to Salzburg. I am a little bit of a classical music fan so I am looking forward to a string quartet or two. Salzburg, as luck would have it is also well stocked with Beer and Schnitzel. Next comes another train journey to Venice and the lagoon that surrounds it. As I am not a newbie to that area I know what to expect and I know that I love it. Hopefully the sun will be out by then and with sun comes the need for Beer (Moretti) and perhaps a little insalada mare’.Venice gives way to Sicily and a few days in a less travelled and unspoiled Italy. I cant wait to drive the south coast and take in the rich history and traditions on the island. The white wine from the foothills surrounding Etna is apparently top-notch. Perhaps a glass or two accompanied by the best cannoli in the world and you’ve got a winner. From Catania we EasyJet to Barcelona.Spain has a lot to offer and we hope to soak up the architecture, culture, vino and tapas. Barcelona then sees us fly away to the north and Toulouse as our final stop on the continent. Although I have spent some quality time in Provence I have never been to Toulouse. I am really looking forward to the things to see and do which may be accompanied by a bottle or two of Kronenbourg. From France we fly back to London for a couple of days of what London does. It’s a huge city but its still one of the best in the world. Of course I could go on and on in detail about these stops, but that will follow on the pages of this blog as we go. I hope you will find the time to accompany us along the way by catching up right here.Cheers!Mark
JUST A COUPLE OF THINGS TO PLAN FOR.
PLAN #1Over the past several months it has become abundantly clear that moss can only gather on a stone that rarely rolls. When I say moss I really mean fat, and when I say stone I really mean me. Work has consumed most of my time over the last couple of years, however mine is not a total tale of woe. If you have been keeping score at home you will recall I have broken free of the shackles occasionally. I have been lucky to sneak away on one or two little adventures here and there.
If you have found your way to this site in the past, you already know that the ramblings of this mad old traveller are all that is on offer. As a man with little in the way of a prowess for anything literary, I hardly fancy myself as being the next big thing in social influence pedaling. When I make superfluous statements that may not be in any way profound, just remember the following. “Life is hard, then you die”. Having spent just over a half-century on this planet I have seen a few things. Some good, some bad. I have met some wonderful people and sadly I have met some horrible ones as well. What is the most important thing to me is that wonderful people exist in much greater numbers. It is that knowledge that pushes me to see more of this planet in order meet more of the same.
Mainstream media did a great job throughout my formative years convincing me that things possessed are ninety-five percent of a good life lived. Over the last 10 years, I have come to realize (much later than I would have liked in retrospect) that in actuality their math was all wrong. People, places & experiences are really the only important part of life’s equation. “Things” are in fact and in deed not important to me anymore.I hate myself for writing that last paragraph already. I am never going to be that utopian hippy who makes it their life’s work renouncing the west, hard work and upholding the law. Especially if the alternative involves pedaling my “Fixie” to the thrift store wherein I forage for loose-fitting Thai pants and a Mexican blanket hoodie bedazzled with Tibetan prayer flags.
I don’t know which is more aggravating. Those who return to Canada adorned with the clothing of the 3rd world people they just have spent their gap year “posting to the gram” or those who I trip over at nearly every decent coffee shop planning their next adventure solely by tripadvisor scores.Many of the above-noted people and things shouldn’t bother me, but I am weak & they really do. As you can tell, I have not yet found that inner peace or zen my yoga practicing friends enjoy on the daily. I try to remember all the time I will soon have retirement to become enlightened and tolerant.As I alluded at the beginning of this instalment I have again slipped the shackles of work and as such I am in the throws of putting together two separate and splendid journeys that will take up a nice portion of the spring. The first is a trip to the UK with Deanna|. We have enjoyed short trips to the northwest of England in the past but this time we intend to get our hiking boots muddy in the Lake District. The plan is to climb from Dale Head Hotel to the top of Hellvelyn. It is a stunning peak in a stunning place. We have a few other ideas for additional hikes but as we knock them off I will write about them in more detail.
We need to keep that Lake District mojo going as we continue our journey all the way up to the Isle of Skye and various other outer Hebridean Islands. All the classic YouTube traveler spots are on the list. As a bit of an amateur landscape photography buff, I have to see the Old Man of Storr. If we tick that box early then we should have a few hours to tour several peat smoked barn conversions and enjoy a wee dram or two.
From there we intend to head south to the unspoiled beaches and parkland of Northumberland. Several nights in Newcastle as our home base will provide us with unfettered access to the countryside and the coast. Our time in the Northeast will transition by way of a relatively long car journey to Oxfordshire and the City of Dreaming Spires.It is there that we hope to explore the Chilterns by foot in order to get our first sense of the countryside that surrounds Oxford. With the wholesome outdoorsy piece attended to, we have several pubs on the Inspector Morse crawl yet to sample. It is my intention to get back to the Ashmolean Museum, the Bodleian library and sit on the banks of the Isis to take in the 8’s row past at the very least.My next instalment will document the initial planning phases of travel plan #2. Set for late April and early May, this one has more of a continental vibe.Cheers!Mark
A CHELSEA FAN?
I'M LOOKING FORWARD TO BIEBER!
I CALL THIS ONE STRUBARB
Its been a couple of days since I last wrote but as we have been so busy well into the evenings I have not had the energy since being back in the UK. This morning I find myself looking out from my bedroom window southward into an overcast but as yet dry morning. Not much happens in this very small Lake District town in the National Park.On Sunday we touched down in the UK at Newcastle International Airport. We quickly rented a car and were off to the coast so I could do a bit of tour guiding around my first home and many of the sights in the area. We first stopped in for fish and chips in North Sheilds and sat overlooking the mouth of the Tyne River as ferry boats were leaving back towards Holland. The weather was perfect so we sat there for 45 minutes in the sun.
From there it was a drive along the coast to the north thru Tynemouth, Cullercoats, and Whitley Bay. We weren't the only ones soaking up the evening sun as the roads were busy and the walkers filled the coastal paths. Once we could clearly see St. Mary's lighthouse we pulled off the road and walked down to photograph it as the sun set.After a while the travel of the day began to catch up so we decided to pop in to the pub just around the corner from my old family home in the village of Cullercoats. The Sandpiper has never changed on the outside since 1972, but inside it has been redecorated into a super cool casual yet quite uncharacteristicly hip lounge feel. The chairs are covered in floral prints and most of the accouterments are in the color of sandstone. We each had a half a pint and vowed to return. A quick spin by the old house and then into Newcastle and the Holiday Inn Express in the center of the city.For a Sunday evening I could not get over the thousands of students out on the streets. Apparently Newcastle has become one of the country's favorite college towns. Three large campuses interwoven throughout the city overwhelms all other businesses to be seen. We got to sleep early and then early to rise. We were up, had our free breakfast and gone.
We headed over the Tyne Bridge and set sail for a little village where my grandparents lived to survey any change and wander the beach. Job done and then we walked about the little shops. Thankfully this place has not changed one iota because it is a very pretty and quaint.More driving and looking about and then back into Newcastle to have dinner with friends. Now it must be said that I had asked earlier in the day if we could have an Indian meal as it is my favourite and where I live good South Asian restaurants are rare.We met our friends at the Bodega pub for a few real ales and then pushed on to a place thirty yards from the HIE.
I believe AKBARS is a chain of restaurants in the north of England. Most of their dishes are Pakistani in spice origin which little did I know continues to effect you in a weird way 36 hours later. Oh my babaji was that hot. The yogurt accompanyment was unable to do its job. The Tiger beer was also useless. On fire people. When I asked the waiter how you ever get used to this he replied with his hands up in the air and his head moving from side to side " oh sir I do not eat this food. This is Pakistani and I am from Bangladesh. We do not eat such spicy food. I recommend a Bangladeshi restaurant for you sir".Well that advice was just a little tardy in our current sweaty state so we plod on and devour the flames like a fire eating side show freak at the carnival.
The thing was the meal was excellent. It tested your metal but was excellent none the less. We bid farewell to our friends who graciously treated us and promised to return next year to repay the favour. It was awesome to spend that time together. Guts churning but happy it was straight to bed for early to rise.After breakfast we loaded the car and left westward to Cumbria through the Tyne valley. The highway follows Emporer Hadrian's wall built in Roman conquest times to keep the angry Scots from entering without going through passport control.There are well preserved stretches of the wall visible from the highway as well as Roman forts. The sights and sounds don't stop with the Romans. We made a great decision to visit the town of Hexam.
It is a stunning place near to perfect in every way. I could live here as well. The town center is built around an abbey that can be dated back to the first century A.D.We met an elderly man inside who was a keen historian and volunteer who regaled us with many very interesting facts. I really could go on forever as he and this place were fantastic. We left the abbey and wandered the tight back streets to mail a postcard and enjoy market day in the town square. From Hexam we continued to Carlisle where Angus toured the university while I sat in the sun. Gus was suitably impressed and came away with lots of information.
We had a drive around Carlisle and then pushed on 31 miles south to the Lake District and our next AirBnB operated by Jan from South Africa. Jan told me that he met his local wife when her family emigrated to his country 40 years ago. They had been wanting to move back for many years and when the opportunity knocked they bought two listed GrII houses next door to each other. One they BnB and the other they live in. He took me in and immediately you could tell you were in a home built in the 17th century. Every doorway was small and the stairs narrow. But all that to say it was excellent. Two of its best features were that it was less than 5 minutes from the Bitter End and Swann pubs. We spent a couple of hours chatting to the bartender while enjoying the locally brewed Jennings bitter. Great host and very chatty.
At the Swann is where it got hyper British. In the snug next to our table sat a dozen blue haired coffin dodgers all having a pint or cup of tea while discussing the virtues of the right crackers to have when one is sampling different chutneys. Of course tonight was the night that the local gardners guild was having a little best of show competition to judge the years best chutney in the village. Gripping stuff and clearly very serious given the general conversation. They soon had me convinced this was not for the faint hearted. Then Tom took the floor to introduce his entry for 2016. Ladies and gents, I call this one "Strubarb". I have painstakingly blended the sweetest of seasonal strawberries and the tartest rhubarb to make this.
A deafening hush came upon the room. What was this abomination, this isn't cricket old boy. This is a traditional group, we don't go in for Strubarb. Sorry old man, not this year. Tom snatched his jar and crackers and stormed off. Serious group, serious chutney. It was good to know chutney is not up to anyones interpretation. To end the night was a walk to the late night chippy for the obligatory beer mop. Haddock and chips twice please. Order filled and back to Jan's place. BBC ten o'clock news, devour and sleep!Cheers!Mark
TRAVEL APPS, I USE THEM!
I HAVE BECOME QUITE DEPENDANT ON TRAVEL APPS.
It has been ages since I have travelled anywhere without turning to several of my favourite travel apps for advice or help for one thing or another. Far be it from me to try to convince anyone that I am tech savvy or anything even closely resembling a beard wearing hipster. Sure, I may be typing on a MacBook Pro. I might be staring down my second pour over and fantasizing over my next microbrew from some plaid wearing "expert's" growler in Portland Ore. But that does not make me one of them.I am 51 years of age. I couldn't muster the energy to grow a beard or have my hair cut "faded" close to the skin twice weekly for all the gourmet fair trade coffee in Brooklyn.
Allow me to get to the meat on the bone. I have developed somewhat of a process when I choose a destination. I first turn to TripAdvisor. I like trip advisor for several reasons. If I am looking for the most important things to see and do, I scour TA. If I have an area in mind and a few hotels that might fit the bill, I turn to TA for honest reviews.One mustn't always make hotel choices by TA alone. There are several other ways to limit ones exposure to an uncomfortable night in a poorly run hotel or B&B. When I am looking for accommodation I first look for price. If I wish to travel often on my own I have to try to do it in a somewhat frugal yet never stingy way.
My go-to best price Apps are Hotwire, Hotels.com, Priceline, Hotel Tonight, and often times AirBnB.As many folks well know, Hotwire and Priceline require a gamblers spirit. You commit to a limit and both will tell you where you will be saying without very little other input from you. I have come to really like Hotels.com. I have stayed in several gems as a result on a very economical budget. AirBnB is also fantastic. Our last trip to Paris was an outstanding affair as a result of a small but clean and well situated apartment in the 18th.When it comes to travel I turn to Skiplagged for international flights.
As I typically start my journeys on the west coast of Canada I find Skiplagged to be the best at hunting high and low for great prices. I also head over to Chris Marden's site at YVRdeals.com Chris has some epic deals. I also use the regular sites at Air Canada, British Airways and as a last ditch try, AirTransat.com.Once I reach a hub airport city such as London, Amsterdam, or Paris I turn to Easyjet, Jet2, or Ryanair. All have good apps. I prefer Easyjet, but thats not to mean it s the best of the bunch in the air. All that said they are my favourite. When it comes to european travel I always look to use my time to expand my horizon's and mind. With that I try to visit as many museums, galleries and important landmarks as possible.
As most of you are already aware when you arrive at these locations you pay your admission fee and at that time you are offered an audio tour at extra expense. I turn to Rick Steves. Rick has downloadable podcast tours for nearly all the major important sites. They are free and excellent.These are just a year few of my favourites. I use them to prepare for every trip. As long as I am prepared I am satisfied. I tend to remain away from technology during a day of travel. I enjoy talking to and learning from the locals and other visitors. Its easy to strike up conversations if you remain humble and well mannered. If you have other favourites that I haven't mentioned please send me a note in the comments section.
Cheers and Walk Across It All.
OXFORD AND A BIT FROM YESTERDAY
As we pull slowly away from the railway station where the famous bear took it's name, I am shocked to see beautiful blue skies once again. Paddington station is busy this morning. Our 9:50 to Oxford is jammed to the rafters. I hope that as we stop in Slough and Reading that many of these passengers will be ending their journeys just so we can recoup some of the space to sit and enjoy the scenery. Paddington Railway Station is a hub and trains heading north and west begin and end their journeys here. We are headed to see the dreaming spires of Oxford this morning.
Not only is this city considered one of, if not the top academic institution in the world it is also unbelievably scenic. Oxford's academic history is long and prestigious.If you will indulge me for a moment I will catch up a little from yesterday. Yesterday was day two in Belfast and with 10 or so hours to see as much as we could, we hopped in the knee jammer (Peugeot) and got out and about. After many assurances from locals, trip advisor and the news paper we decided to go directly to the "Crum" first. The "Crum" is to Belfastonians, the county gaol. The prison held both members of both paramilitary organizations as well as "ODC'S".
Ordinary decent criminals, men women and children as young as 10 were held at the Crumlin Road Gaol for everything from theft to murder. As many as 20 hangings were carried out on condemned inmates over the years, most of which were at the hands of a family of executioners from England known as the Pierrepointes. Albert the father and his two sons made a career out of ending condemned prisoners careers. Five minutes after the prisoner had finished breakfast they were whisked from their seat to the noose two rooms over through a false door.The prisoner would hang for as long as it took for the observers to see no signs of life, then he would be placed in a coffin, covered in lime and buried in an unmarked grave.
The inquest would held by noon. The executioner would have to pay his shilling fine to the county high sheriff for killing a man (weird tradition) and would be back on a ferry to Liverpool by 10.Our tour was an hour and a half and it went by in what seemed like seconds. We left there bound for East Belfast and with that came a noticeable presence of Ulster loyalists. This was not a Republican / Catholic friendly place. We continued east up to Stormont Castle to visit the pristine grounds of the Northern Ireland National Assembly. This place is picture perfect and a must visit if you are in NI.In an effort to get the car back on time we headed northeast to Antrim and had a sit down and a pint of the blackness at Madden's Bar on the town high street.
Antrim Castle stood at the north end of the street. Memorials to fallen soldiers from both world wars where placed nearby. A smaller yet equally as important stone sat against the Castle wall inscribed with the names of two soldiers from the Royal Engineers. These boys had been murdered by terrorists in cold blood on the streets of Antrim less than just 6 years ago. The reality of this place bites again. It's pretty on the outside but twisted and dark on the inside.Well back to today and as hoped, ¾ 's of our train piled out at Slough and as we near Reading most of the remainder are leaving as well. This is a good thing. So now I am going to turn my attention to the Oxfordshire countryside and the beauty it exudes.
This place is a landscape painters nirvana.It's 7:00 in the evening and our train is just pulling out of Reading heading back towards London. We left Oxford 30 minutes ago and the train is full again. Today was a good day by any measure. Many of the colleges were open to visitors so we took advantage of that and visited Balliol, Wadham, Jesus and New College to name but a few. We climbed to the top of the Sheldonian lecture theatre which provided stunning 360 degree views of the city and its spires that seem to reach for the sky.We visited the Bodleian library, the Ashmolean museum and the Oxford Press. All of these institutions are built on hundreds of years of Academic standards and traditions. I am considering the tourist part of today to be exceptional. The Ashmolean for instance may have my vote as one of the top three museums in the world.Our other stops of the day were some extremely old and sensational pubs in the city.
Today we tipped a pint or cup of tea in the White Horse (haunts of Winston Churchill and later Bill Clinton), the Bear Inn (900 years old), the Eagle & Child (local meeting place of C.S. Lewis and Tolkien) and the Old Book Binders (beautiful Jericho pub near the canal).The college chapels were breathtaking and the grounds found both inside and outside the college quadrangle were meticulously maintained. This place stuns you at every turn. Whether you walk under the Oxford "bridge of sighs" or visit the Radcliffe Camera you are relentlessly convinced that those who study here are special.Why didn't I place more emphasis on my formative education? Why didn't I strive for higher grades when I had the opportunity? I have no doubt that the students who attend college here in Oxford know they are privileged but I am also sure that they earned this opportunity by working very very hard and even harder to remain a pupil throughout their years in residence.
As we hurtle down the track back towards Paddington Station, the sun setting in the west is an absolutely and abnormally huge orange fiery orb. It reminds me of a poem that I have always associated to Oxford by A.E. Houseman.
How clear, how lovely bright, How beautiful to sight Those beams of morning play; How heaven laughs out with glee. Where, like a bird set free,Up from the eastern sea Soars the delightful day. To-day I shall be strong,No more shall yield to wrong, Shall squander life no more; Days lost, I know not how,I shall retrieve them now; Now I shall keep the vowI never kept before. Ensanguining the skiesHow heavily it diesInto the west away; Past touch and sight and soundNot further to be found, How hopeless under groundFalls the remorseful day.
Cheerio!
Mark
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ICE CREAM WITH DRACULA
We find ourselves in the coastal fishing town of Whitby today. We are closing in on Robin Hood's Bay to the South and the weather has bounced back big style. Evidence of this claim can be seen in today's instalment of photos posted to the "Gram”. We are both nursing several injuries and every meter is painful and unforgiving at the moment. There is not enough Advil on the planet to heal what aches. Yesterday found us battling the elements. Flooding was taking hold of the area and many roads were impassable. My last hour in Stokesley took me by chance into the local high street fish and chip shop around 12:30.
I ordered a modest lunch and stood at the bar facing out towards the village green. I was quite "taken" by this vista as it is now home to many gypsy caravans. The proprietor "Paddy" was a wonderful man who was extremely welcoming and friendly. Paddy is from Northern Ireland and at the point he found out Dale and I were off to NI later this month Paddy morphed into a human trip advisor. He described the many places and sights to visit upon our arrival which was hugely appreciated.Paddy gave me a cup of Tea on the house and we chatted about past and present in his home town of Belfast.
As usual of late I parted ways with a new friend, much more informed and much wiser than I was prior to this chance meeting. Three miles down the road I walked into the Bay Horse Pub in Great Broughton. I was a little lost and had no cell coverage. I approached the bar and inquired with the young girl working behind it if she had ever heard of Maltkiln House B&B somewhere south of Clay Bank Top. She unfortunately had never even heard of Clay Bank Top.She did however offer to google it and call the proprietor for me. That was soon sorted and several minutes later I was in the company of Jerry.
I could and probably will go on and on about Jerry and his lovely wife Wendy.Maltkiln house was built in 1654. A farm house in the Billdale valley. Jerry is a retired academic who has lived in the home for more than forty years. During that time he has lectured and researched at numerous universities around the world. An eclectic couple with a genuine love of hosting folk from around the globe on the C2C walk. Jerry and I sat beside the electric fire for several hours in the guest annex (former pig sty) discussing local history, local and national politics, his views on feminism and as a result my brain was overflowing with new information.
Dale soon called and Jerry took off to collect him as well. Wendy gave me a rundown of the evenings meal and we decided to sit down around seven o'clock. Dale got in, showered, warmed up and then we wandered down the stairs to dinner.We were met by Jerry and three glasses of dry sherry before dinner began in Earnest. Jerry explained to Dale that the oak beams exposed in his 400 year old house was the same English oak that was used in the construction of the Royal Navy's fleet that battled the French and Spanish Navy with great success. Jerry attributes the composition of English oak to its ability to repel the opposition's canon balls.With Dinner over, three courses and a bottle of South African Cab Sav, we retired to the lounge.
On channel four this evening was excellent coverage of the 75th anniversary of the Battle of Britain. It was hosted by Prince Harry who quite sincerely spoke of his experiences with the spitfire and hurricane.Harry in fact quite rightly gave up his seat in today's flyover to a 97 year old retired Wing Commander that flew 137 successful missions in WWII. Really moving telly. We transitioned to BBC 1 for more quality entertainment. Soon after bedtime came. Wine done. Sleep. We woke this morning to find that Wendy had washed and folded our laundry and breakfast was ready. Breakfast was followed by a local geology, geography and history lesson from Jerry. He lectured us on a host of things but two of the topics that stand out were the genesis of the widely used British terms "jet black" & "taking the piss”.
Look it up, I implore you!
Cheerio from Whitby.
"Home port of Captain Cook and the Abby famed in the book Dracula written by Bram Stoker on a holiday here many years ago."
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CARNIES TO THE LEFT, CARNIES TO THE RIGHT!
Monday saw the rains return. Dale soldiers on with terrible shin splints and the lurgy and I got intimate with North Yorkshire public transit. 23 miles of a 150' ceiling misery and we connected again later in the afternoon at the cold and damp Blue Bell Inn. The BBI is owned and operated by a hard working one man band who advised us at breakfast this morning that he last took a day off three and half years ago when he bought it.
Dale took it upon himself to learn some Guinness pouring skills as no one was behind the bar till opening at 6:00 pm.Dale was later told that his bar tending endeavours are acceptable in Yorkshire but may have gone over like a lead balloon in other parts of the country. Prior to arriving I took a wonderful stroll around Richmond proper and then a scenic trip by bus to the BBI in Ingleby Cross complete with a 3 hour stopover in Northallerton.The BBI is unique. The room has a persistent leak that began to stream through the roof around 2:30 this morning.
That may have had something to do with the torrential downpour. The relentless patter of rain pelting against the window was a little concerning.Upon closer inspection in the daylight we thought it best to let the land lord know ASAP as the damage was moving quite quickly towards electrics. With bags packed and marked for the next B&B (Maltkiln House) near Clay Bank Top it was time for breakfast in the pub dining room.Scrambled eggs, bacon and toast was the fare this morning.
The first day without black pudding was a little disconcerting. How will my constitution react? Will I go into detox, will I need to lock myself away from the public eye until the fever breaks and I can hold down room temperature tap water or maybe tepid tomato soup? The distasteful life of a black pudding junkie. Don't stare, we are to be pitied.So after several hours on the mend, here I sit in Costa Coffee having a coffee and trying to work out which one of the several black pudding dealers (butchers) I should go visit on Stokesley's high street to get a fix.
I know I know. I can't begin to heal until I hit rock bottom and opt for the simple bacon sandwich instead. The Fair is resident in Stokesley this week. Proper gypsies, lock your doors! The weather continues to disappoint but hay hoe that's what we expected. And dear old England has not disappointed. Happy days are near. Two more days to Robin Hood's Bay.
Ta for now.
Mark
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SOMEONE HAS TO DO IT
When it comes to planning, one should always find a location that suits the needs of the planners. On Wednesday what suited us was a local brew pub that has been well thought of for many years. We arrived at Spinnaker's with a lot to do and the need to be refreshed while doing it.Our server was prompt and the order went in without much chatter. Soon after, we were basking in the glow of the amber nectar and turning our mind to contacting more B&B's and hotels to accommodate our weary feet on our epic journey. We sent out a bunch more emails and then turned our focus to rental cars, train tickets and best of all tickets for as many matches at the Rugby World Cup as we can reasonably afford. Lots of web surfing later we were closer to the goal for the evening. The rugby tickets were going on sale again on Friday morning so I would focus on being successful on the day! This is going to be awesome. This trip cannot come soon enough.