UK 2012 ISSUE 16

Three Goddess - Bath

Now and again I gets comments or questions that deserve to be shared with a broader audience.  In this case, a prior instructor in photography and subscriber to my blog, prompted me to search the internet with the comment, "Before you depart merry old England, you  must have a go at Dwile Flonking."  I found a blog, Strange Games, that provides the following description:  "Resurrected in the late 1960’s Dwile Flonking (or Dwyle Flunking) is an outdoor pub game of dubious origin but startling originality.  . . . The game requires two teams formed of twelve players each. One team forms a circle (called the Girter). A member of the opposing team takes his turn to stand in the middle of the Girter and be the Flonker. The Flonker carries a 2-3 foot long stick (or Driveller) on the end of which is a beer sodden rag (or dwile). As the Girter members dance around him, the Flonker must flonk his dwile using his Driveller to try and hit a member of the Girter."  The strange thing is, this is apparently for real and there really are competitions.  Leave to the Brits to dream up something as crazy as Wellie Wanging and Dwile Flonking, "Monty Python" is obviously alive and well and living in Britain, even if it's perpetrators are no longer working together. btw how many of you caught Eric Idle singing "look on the bright side" at the Olympic Games closing ceremonies. Loved it, even sang along!!

Heythrop House

Mick's broken foot, for which he refused a plaster (cast), meant our expeditions are somewhat limited in the hiking department, so what to do.  Enter Living Social and a resort getaway in Heythrop.  Three nights, three breakfasts, one dinner, afternoon tea and a spa facial and massage, what could be wrong with that . . . just in case you were waiting for the other shoe to drop . . . absolutely nothing.  

I have always fancied staying in a stately home with all the pomp and circumstance, bric a brac and charm, poor plumbing and even worse beds.  Fortunately, our room was in the new building, all blonde wood and modern European fixtures, cushy feather beds and not exactly charming but functional and ultra modern; while still having total access to these spaces in the old building.  

Dad is doing much, much better; which has led us to try to be away more and more so as to get him re-accustomed to looking after himself.  No matter what we do I'm sure he will find the bungalow empty; three people in 750 square feet, with one bathroom does not a lot of room or privacy make.  So forcing him to be on his own, responsible for decisions about meals and making his own entertainment seems the right decision.  If I take the time to stop and think about it, Mick has probably been here nine out of the last twelve months, while my stay will be nearly six months.  With map in hand we perused the areas of Great Britain which are nearby but with which we didn't have a lot of familiarity.  I'm having trouble with tenses here, any English majors out there who want to take a crack at cleaning up my lack of consistency?  Ah, well, thought not.  So you will just have to put up with bad grammar.

Forge @ Slate Museum

North Wales won the nearby and unexplored contest, being something around a three hour drive and that's about as much as you really want to do in the Punto.  Geography and History lessons coming up.  Geographically speaking, if you draw a vertical line along the straightish bit of the western coast of the island of Great Britain and exclude the narrow jutting out part that is Cornwall and Devon, you will define Wales as the westernmost bit.  It contains England's highest mountain, Snowdon, and is considered by locals to be mountainous terrain.  That would be true if you regard rugged hills of no more that 3500 feet as mountains.  Economically speaking, I don't know what could possibly support the population except service industries and tourism.  There was a time when, in the south, coal mining was their livelihood and in the north, slate mines meant employment.  Today you can tour old quarries and mining and processing operations but as far as the economics of these industries, it is questionable.  Historically Wales has been a part of the British Isles and/or Great Britain since the 1200's but in reality they have often sought for a separate national identity.  Enough of politics and histories of which I know little or nothing, suffice it to say they now have their own legislature and have revived their native language.  The language thing is particularly intriguing.  There seem to be lots and lots of double "L" s which are pronounced as though you are clearing your throat.  To go along with the double "L"s is a sad lack of vowels with the exception of "Y" which is used in abundance.  More importantly, traffic signs, reader boards and public messages, Welsh is first, English second. 

Check out the Welsh Spelling

We booked ourselves a B&B in Betws-y-Coed (betwus e cooed),  pronounced by the English as "Betsy Coed," operated by a couple from Liverpool (think Beatles)!  The A4, a major East-West road, is narrow and windy, sort of like the road to Hana, without the waterfalls and bridges.  The valley walls are steep and green and dotted with Roman aqueducts and sheep.  Betws lies at the confluence of the rivers (afon) Llugwy, Lledr and Conwy in a narrow little valley within a half an hours drive of the coast or Llanberis, the starting off point for a hike up Snowdon.  The village itself stretches along Afon Llugwy for about a half a mile and is lined with outdoor shops, hotels, guest houses, restaurants and grey stone buildings with slate grey (stone) roofs.  Quite beautiful when the sun is out, pretty dour under leaden skies. 

Typical Welsh Stone Building

Road to Llanberis

If you're in Wales you gotta go to the top of Snowdon, and they provide a train for just that purpose.  It is a single track, rack and pinion system, makes me think of cogs on a clock anchoring in to holes in the track and you get dragged up the hill.  The cars are more like San Francisco cable cars than anything, but there is no getting on and off at multiple stops.  It takes about an hour to do the climb of five miles to the top, with stops to allow the downward travelling car to pass, sheep to get off the track and the addition of water to the boiler to keep the thing moving.  It also stinks of what I would guess to be coal which they burn to create the steam to power the engine . . . it's like going back to another era, if only the steward would come by with coffee and we weren't sitting on hard wooden benches.  Didn't really know what to expect, we saw tons of people doing the walk in both directions.  You do have the option to ride up and walk down or walk up, ride down, but we opted for riding both ways!  Once at the top there is little to see or do.  Once off the train you are pretty much at the TOP with nowhere to go, a short climb up some steps to the rocky top and it's back down for a quick cuppa and on to the train for the return journey.  A snack bar and gift shop is the extent of the facilities and if you want to wander it is 5 miles back down and no changing your mind half way or stopping at a little B&B for the night.

View from the top of Snowdon

 We did get lucky, it was foggy and grey when we left Betwys with predictions of rain but by the time we got to the top of mountain it had all blown away.  We kept joking we wanted more of the Welsh rain as it really did look more like sunshine than anything else.

Mick at the top of Snowden

A very cosy bathroom

Our B&B was lovely, we had a great view out over the river but the bathroom was an experience.  Do you remember the description of the funky one in Hayfield, the one which would have made a cruise liner designer proud.  These folk did them one better, how they ever crammed so much functionality in to such a small space is quite beyond me!  I wasn't entirely certain either of us would be able to sit on the toilet with the door shut but we managed.  The toilet fit in to a corner, the sink was a corner sink, there was even a heated towel rail.  The little half wall held tooth brushes, which I successfully dumped on the floor more than once.  It was not lacking for a mirror either, it was on a collapsible arm and even had a magnifying side.  God help me an overly large glimpse of ones face first thing in the morning is not a particularly welcome sight.  Tight quarters in the shower but plenty of water pressure, a sunflower shower head and explicable controls.

A Room of One's Own

Plumbing is one of my pet peeves, no two "facilities" are the same.  Sometimes toilets have double buttons but no explanations as to which is the little flush (#1) and which is the BIG flush (#2).  Sometimes you have to quite literally pull the chain because there is a box mounted high up on the wall and by pulling the chain dangling from the box you release the water in to the bowl.  Shower controls vary, sometimes there is no water volume control, a single knob controls the temperature and that is the extent of the selection process.  Dad's shower has two knobs one inside the other.  The inner ring controls how hot the water is while the outer ring turns it on and off but doesn't really control the volume.  Most often the water comes out in a trickle. I remember Leigh, who has hair down to her butt complaining that all it ever does is "pee" on you, making rinsing shampoo out a time consuming proposition and of course, there is no guarantee that the hot water will last all that long.  We can save the discussion of interconnected hot water and heating radiator systems for another rant. I have yet to see a shower with two controls for mixing hot and cold water, while taps in the sink are almost invariably two two single spigots and you get warm water by putting the stopper in and filling the bowl.  You still occasionally see the old on demand hot water in public bathrooms where there is a 6"x12" box mounted above the sink with a spigot that looks a bit like the steam nozzle on an espresso machine which produces a miserly stream of boiling hot water. 

Penryhn Stair

We saw one of the most ostentatious, over the top, ridiculously ornate, stately homes ever.  Mick's description for the place was obscene.  Penrhyn Castle in Bangor, Caernarfonshire, was built with money derived from exploitation of the local inhabitants on sugar plantations and slate quarries.  The family counted themselves among the nouveau riche and nothing was too much.  The carved stairwell took ten years to construct.  A special bed, carved from slate, was produced for Queen Victoria while another extremely ornate construction was built for the Prince of Wales.  Both of these beds were slept in for a total of three nights during the course of a Royal visit.  One room was all black with ebony wood and black slate, whatever materials they chose to use which didn't naturally come in black were dyed to match the room.  The entry halls are incredibly ornate with stained glass and guilt; everything is decorated and embellished and when it seems you couldn't possibly add another little bit of decoration somehow they managed.  The silly thing is this monstrosity, full of beautiful and valuable art and collectibles was their vacation home and was really used only for entertaining visitors. To be fair, the exterior is quite appealing and they have a really lovely walled garden.

Penrhyn Castle

Our landlord suggested, if we wished to take a different route back to the Midlands we take the High Road.  It is said to be the highest mountain pass in Wales if not all of Britain and runs between Llanuwchllyn and Abertridwr.  They forgot to mention it wasn't much more than a single lane dirt track running across the moors!!  We left Bala and turned left at the bottom of Llyn Tegid (a lake) looking for a sign for Lake Vyrnwy.  We found what appeared to be the correct confluence of roads (no street names, no directional signs) on our map, but the road we thought we should take showed as a dead end.  Not to be deterred by such minor inconveniences we took it anyway.  For ten or so miles we wound through an area of farming and cattle ranches, with substantial houses and barns and the usual signs of habitation.  The road was narrow but the landscape was verdant, the sun was shining, the birds were singing and all was well with the world.  Perhaps we should have been concerned that we saw no other vehicles, but it was an adventure.  Soon the road began to climb and as we left the valley behind  the tree studded landscape took on a barren windswept appearance.  At times the

road was  so steep you felt as though you couldn't see what was over the next rise, at other times it followed the contours of the hillside and you could see it snaking off in to the distance.  It was barely a single car wide, full of potholes, with an axle destroying trough on either side presumably to carry away rain run off.  We were quite literally travelling across the moors, no fences, no signs, no trees, no shrubs, just us, a big sky and the occasional sheep or cow grazing along the verge.  We must have travelled 40 to 50 minutes without  seeing another vehicle before we reached the top, where fortunately there was a reader board proclaiming this to be Bwlch-y-Groes, the Pass of the Cross. 

Penrhyn Castle

Things I have learned:

1.  In the course of its history Britain has had a window tax, a brick tax and a wall paper tax.  As a consequence it is not unusual to see a brick wall where what are obviously window openings have been bricked closed.   Buildings, in the Cottswolds in particular, have structural elements at the corners and elsewhere made of brick but the intervening space is stone.  More than that if you pay close attention you can see where/when the size of brick became significantly larger. Late Victorian houses had "wallpaper" that was actually a hand painted design on a plaster wall.

2.  There is a multiplicity of bread roll names/designs.  In the north a small round crusty roll generally used for sandwiches is a Bap.  A more common sandwich roll, in the South, is a Cob , which is larger and has a soft texture.  The term buns seems to apply to a sweet roll rather than something used in sandwich making.  Sarnies is a London term for sandwich.  Until this trip I had thought Mick was saying "sannies", sort of a short hand for sandwich, when in fact he was saying sarnie.  As often as not brown or wholewheat bread is referred to as Hovis or granary bread.  There is now a chain of sandwich shops which use exclusively baguettes called Pret a Manger (ready to eat). 

This is a narrow lane

3. The city of Boring,Oregon is sister city to (twinned with) Dull,Scotland.  omg . . . that's a long way to go to get Dull and Boring.

4.  Have you heard the warning "don't spit in to the wind"?  Having  found it necessary to relieve myself behind a pile of boulders at the top of Bwlch-y-Groes I will now add the admonishment "do not pee in to the wind" . . . you just might get wet!!

Minerva - Bath Museum

Mask - Bath Museum

Pistyll Rhaeadr

UK 2012 ISSUE 15

 

Groby allotments

We have left London behind, but not our adventures with Frank and Carol.  A salutatory reminder to all travelling in Great Britain . . . buy petrol (gas) sooner, rather than later!!  Garages can be few and far between and do not keep the hours to which, we, as Americans, have become accustomed.  Moreover, it is not too unusual for them to run out of fuel.  Thank goodness for Frank and the GPS he brought along.  You virtually never see the standards (think that is the proper name for the signs at the top of big long poles) for gas stations from the motorways, it is generally a matter of, get off and good luck.  Although they do have "services" on the "M" roads they tend to be at least 50 miles apart.  The services are often quite extensive, with fast food establishments (McDonalds, KFC), coffee shops (Starbucks, Costa) and grocery outlets (Marks & Spencers, Waitrose) as well as gas and sometimes motels.  Funny thing is, despite all these places to shop and spend your money, you cannot access them from anywhere except the motorway.

Anyway, on our way to Potterne and, having failed to get gas near Hampton Court, we are faced with "Services - 48 miles", less than a quarter of tank of fuel and an unfamiliar car.  Enter, Super Frank and his handy, dandy, little, hand held, font of all wisdom (his GPS).  Speak, oh Oracle, where can we find petrol?  "Oh, great and mighty master, take the next exit . . . "  Twenty minutes, four or five roundabouts, a series of traffic signals, a trip through the centre of Swindon at rush hour and we find ourselves at a Tesco service station.  Didn't I say they were few and far between.

I'm an old fashioned sort of girl and more than that, I like maps, but I'm beginning to appreciate what a sat nav might do for you.   While I'm debating if there could possibly be an exit at Wroughton, a voice from the back seat allows as how, we really ought to take the Marlborough Road.  Good call, there is no little numbered circle on the map indicating a "slip road" just lines showing where two major roads cross over/under one another but don't actually interconnect.  This Marlborough, not Marlboro, refers to a market town in Wiltshire, not a source for cigarettes.  It is undoubtedly somehow related to a Duke or Duchess (of Marlborough) but presently it is a delightful little town with a enormous market square, a church presiding at the top and lots of little shops and a real trial to navigate.

We passed through Marlborough, on to Devizes, which has a limerick in its' honor and then to Potterne.  I would be remiss if I did not share the limerick, taught me by one Michael Church, oh so many moons ago. 

There was a young woman from Devizes

Who was had up at the local assizes

For teaching young boys

Matrimonial joys

And giving French letters as prizes. 

 

Assizes are/were criminal courts and if you require any further elucidation of the language, it won't be coming from me.  Finding Potterne was not difficult, finding Cheyne Cottage on the other hand was something of a feat.  I regret not having taken a photograph but even that would not have done it justice.   Imagine, you are travelling down a long, narrow, twisty road, where the speed limit is 60.  For several miles there has been either a forest of trees on each side, totally enveloping you in a tunnel of mottled green,  or stone walls right up to the edge of the road . . . no shoulder worth mentioning.  We hit a fairly steep down hill with a long, slow curve to the right.  There is a massive rock face on the right side and a 30 or more foot high stone wall leading up to the church on the other, and, do I need to mention, no shoulder.  As you have probably guessed, the visibility is limited, the road barely holds two vehicles and we don't know precisely where we are going.  So we are in this rock walled canyon and what next, but the road makes a sharp jog to left with a zero sight line and a line of brick building directly in front of us.   Not to put too fine a point on it, we are on the left side of the road, going in to the left jog and this is precisely where we need to cross the oncoming traffic, (which we cannot see) toward the row of brick houses, (very ominous) and into a lane that may just accommodate a single car width.  Just in case that is not intimidating enough there is another single lane road coming in at an odd angle to the right of the road we want (no street signs for either) and a cottage, (made of stone) that is at that intersection of these two lanes, comes up to the edge of the road.  No room for error!!!

Nothing special to say about our accommodations, two single room deep, two story cottages that had been combined in to a single unit.  Although recently refurbished it still had that damp smell of older buildings but there were beds, a fully equipped kitchen and generally all "mod cons" and it's price and location did a lot to recommend it.  The local Cost Cutters store has limited supplies so having picked up some milk and bread for morning we opted to have dinner at the local pub, the George and Dragon.

It's a pretty lousy picture, but that's "our table" second one back on the left, next to the inglenook.  It's a thatched roofed place, dating from the 1400's and although the food is nothing to write home about, the landlady fit her part perfectly.  A little rude, a little aloof, with a sharp tongue and a biting sense of humour.  She warmed to us enough that, she took us downstairs to see the skittles alley.   Skittles is a game somewhat akin to bowling. but in this case played in a dark, dank, low ceilinged basement ( aka cellar) with equipment that looked like it might have come from  1400, when the building was first constructed.  

 

Stonehenge

Sir Michael Frown a Lot

 

An early start and we hit the high points, Stonehenge, Woodhenge and Old Sarum; all of them less than an hour from our home away from home.   This will be a few days of iron age stone forts and stone circles, Silbury Hill, a man-made hill of enormous proportions, long barrows for burials and white horses carved in the chalk hills. 

Louis Quatorze?

From ancient history we move to a more modern time and stately piles (homes), gardens and cream teas.  Avebury is a combination of the two, a stone circle restored by the owner of a stately home, while Lacock Abbey and the Fox Talbot Museum is where some of the scenes from Harry Potter and other BBC series are/were filmed. 

Lacock Abbey - used in Harry Potter

Avebury

Fox Talbot Home

Lacock Abbey

It took me three goes to write about London and I am finding it difficult to capture our excursions into the south and west of England.  As the pictures demonstrate we wandered round pretty grounds and quaint villages, ate ice cream and cakes, while the guys actually found a beer they wouldn't drink.  Fortunately, the landlord, after saying it was perfectly fine, did offer to pull them a pint of something else.  The Cottswold villages were on our agenda and although beautiful in there own particular way, they weren't what you would call spectacular.  We took ourselves first to Bourton on the Water, anticipating we would continue on to Chipping Camden, only to find that the Olympic flame was headed through there.  No way were we going to deal with the crowds that have been following the flame.  Bourton is quite lovely, but I guess I would have to admit to being spoiled.  We had been there once before, in the Autumn, and the colours had made it absolutely spectacular.  A small stream runs through the village centre with a green down one side and stone bridges crossing the water.  There are the requisite shops and tea rooms and some really outstanding ice cream to be had.  We took a walk/hike from there to Upper and Lower Slaughter which were much less crowded and equally pleasant. 

Door knocker

The thing that is supposed to make the Cottswolds villages so special is the yellow stone that they are built from.  Unfortunately, when it is raining and there is no sun in the sky, the yellow gets rather washed out and begins to look more like grey.  Not that poor weather would stops us, have rain wear, will travel. 

Lacock Abbey

Snowhill & yellow stone

 Moreover, all the thatched roofed cottages we were expecting to see seemed sadly lacking.  After a wander and lunch in Chipping Camden we determined to go find Snowshill, the home of a tour guide we had chatted with the previous day.  He reckoned as how it was one of the more beautiful and unspoiled of the villages since it was pretty much off the tourist track.  We found it, after travelling down yet another of those single track roads so common in this area.  The village center is built up the side of a hill, looking down on the valley and Snowshill Manor, another stately pile.   It is most definitely not someplace you would find if you aren't looking for it.  The church was located in the centre with most of the houses forming a triangle around the church yard.  You could probably stand at the church gate and watch all your neighbours comings and goings.  Not a place for keeping secrets.  Don't believe I saw any shops, but at least there was a pub.  We tried to get in to the Manor, a National Trust property for which we had passes.  Despite the fact we could see gardens and buildings and people wandering around finding an entrance eluded us.

Snowshill

Well, not quite, we did that unheard of thing, we yelled over the wall at the people wandering about and asked where the entrance was.  In the end it was rather late in the day, so instead of looking at the house and the eclectic collection of bric-a-brac, we enjoyed a cream tea and a view of a the garden.  

A cream tea, if you are so unlucky as to never had the opportunity to enjoy one, is an sinfully lovely taste extravaganza.  Start with a freshly brewed pot of English tea, add scones, strawberry jam and clotted cream.  Pour yourself a cuppa, with or without sugar, but definitely with milk, your choice.  Split the scone in two and slather on a thick layer of clotted cream, top with a sizable dollop of jam and enjoy.  For those unfamiliar with true clotted cream, it is thick, rich and indulgent with the consistency of soft butter.  Think of it this way, if my understanding is correct milk has 4% butterfat, to be considered clotted cream it has at least 55 per cent butterfat.  The really good stuff has a pale yellow colour and little globules of crusty yellow goodness sprinkled through it. HEAVEN.  

Milk Float

Speaking of milk, I have been watching for a milk float since arriving here.  The one time I saw one in the village I didn't have a camera with me, so have borrowed this image from the Internet.  Milk floats are electric vehicles, they were electric vehicles in the 1970's when I lived here.  They come by daily (back in the good old days of not having a refrigerator) to deliver milk, cream and if I remember correctly eggs.  Milk came in glass bottles, which you returned to the dairy.  They came with either a silver or gold paper seal.  The silver seal was full fat, none of this 2% or non fat stuff;  the gold seal on the other had was Jersey.   Just like the clotted cream, with  Jersey milk, the cream floated to the top and occupied fully half the bottle with a creamy yellow liquid.

Sculptors Doorway

Having struggled, initially to find something to write about I seem to have done quite well.  Saw this rock sculpture outside a stone masons establishment in Chipping Camden.  The "two finger salute" is the British equivalent of  a single finger at home.  Note the fact that the knuckles are facing outward, the other way around it is considered "V for Victory" a la Winston Churchill.  As if that weren't enough he also has his finger up his nose.  Wonder how much business he gets. 

Have you ever sat in an eating establishment and wondered about all the food that goes to waste.  Half eaten plates going in to the rubbish bin and all of it perfectly edible.  This has been one of Mick's pet peeves for years, he often remarks that there is no need to order a meal, just give him everyone's leftovers.  Apparently Frank has occasionally had similar thoughts.  Yeah, you guessed it . . . we are sitting in a bakery in some small hamlet in wilds of Wiltshire, having a quiet meat pie for lunch.  There are two 30 something ladies at the next table enjoying a cup of tea and a three tiered plate of sandwiches and pastries, afternoon tea.  They eat the finger sandwiches but barely touch the top two layers, leaving behind several slices of cake and cherry bread.   They leave, we eat and their leftovers sit, no one clears the table for what seems an interminable length of time.  We discuss the waste, consider whether they are coming back to claim the remains. The cakes beckons, then quick as a wink Frank, who is admittedly much closer to their table than anyone else, places a slice of cherry cake on our table.  Soon a piece of coffee walnut cake follows it.  We giggle, then like two naughty school boys they gobble their cake.  So, should you ever feel the same way and choose to indulge your fantasy, you are in good company. 

Bath Cathedral (ABC)

We finish our time with Carol and Frank with a trip to Bath.  The morning was occupied by an architectural tour sponsored by volunteers from the city.  Our guide, a retired head master, was a delight.  He educated and entertained us, told us stories both make believe and true.  In the end he took us on a good old wander round the city center pointing out buildings ascribed to various noted architects, giving us a brief lecture on architectural styles and making a point of showing us the really lovely fronts on some of the building, then taking us around behind to see a ragtag conglomeration of windows doors and staircases behind them.  

Enough with history and enough with writing . . . will leave you with this little bit of data.  The Roman Baths in Bath date from roughly 60 A.D. but the history of the place pre dates the Roman era.   The baths were essentially buried by time, floods and other humanity using the place.  They have been restored and are remarkable their Victorian era building above and Roman construction below. 

UK 2012 ISSUE 14

The Shard

We finished off our sojourn in London with a trip down the Portobello Road and an exploration of the "literary" squares of London.  Hammersmith, the area of London where our rental house was located, is a pretty middle class, white area of the city.  But, as with most places, you don't need to travel far for the entire character of the place to change.    Hammersmith had been our Underground station of choice so, just to change things up we decided to take a stroll to Goldhawk Road, just a hop, skip, and a jump from Shepherds Bush.

A handful of blocks and we were in what is obviously a very multi ethnic/cultural area.  Lots of shops selling strange sounding foods, generally African, would be my guess, although there seemed to be quite a number of folk of Caribbean extraction on the street.  There's a  lovely lilt to their speech that makes it delightful to listen to.   All of a sudden shops were no longer sedate   establishments selling pretty trinkets, middle class necessities and trendy food; instead they seemed of another time and place.  We passed an astrologer, an apothecary selling dried who know what, a business specialising in eels and masses of fabric shops.  The fabric shop windows were a blaze of colour and texture.  At first glance, you might have thought every Bollywood costume designer in Europe must shop here.  On closer inspection, it went way beyond spangles, embroidery and gauzy fabric.  There were stores full of African prints.

Goldhawk Road

 One seemed to have nothing but gabardine, or whatever it is that men's suiting is made of.  Another obviously specialised in upholstery fabric and there was a little hole in the wall that sold thread and needles, lace and zippers, as well as "buttons and bows" (so, I stole that one from Oklahoma and my penance shall be an ear worm for the rest of the evening.)  Just outside the underground station was an alleyway that marked the beginning of the Shepherds Bush outdoor market.    From all appearances it runs from Goldhawk Road to Shepherds Bush, down an alley probably not more the 20 feet wide.  Shops were built into the wall under the train tracks and down the centre of the path were stalls without formal roofs but covered in tarps and various kinds of canopies.  You could have outfitted your kitchen for most any cuisine.  There were those funny looking pots for tangines, woks, food processors, pots sized from one pint to five gallons, name it you could probably find it.  There was every sort of linen you could possibly want for your entire home, quilts and comforters, blankets and bedding, towels  and curtains, furniture covers and area rugs.  As in any English market there was an never ending supply of cleaning products and hardware, never mind the clothing and knick knacks.  There wasn't much in the way of fresh produce but I did spot a butcher and a fishmonger.  This is a market for serious shopping, not shopping as entertainment.  We were too early, so there wasn't much open and we did have a destination in mind, but this is a place that might be fun to explore some other time.

Next stop, Ladbroke Grove.   For me that name is synonymous with the Van Morrison song Slim Slow Slider, although I no idea what the connection might be, as there are definitely no sandy beaches anywhere nearby.  "Saw you walking, Down by the ladbroke grove this morning Saw you walking, Down by the ladbroke grove this morning, Catching pebbles for some sandy beach, You're out of reach"  but the "new boy and Cadillac", are definite possibilities.  What is really here, however, is the bottom end of The Portobello Road . . . which also has song lyrics, thanks to Disney and the film Bedknobs and Broomsticks.

Portobello road, Portobello road,
Street where the riches of ages are stowed.
Anything and everything a chap can unload
Is sold off the barrow in Portobello road.
You’ll find what you want in the Portobello road.  

 It wasn't a weekend, so the market was somewhat diminished but entertaining none the less.  The bottom, or Ladbroke Grove end, as opposed to the top, or Notting Hill end was mostly stalls selling produce and the permanent shops were run of the mill grocers, haberdashers, clothing and newsagents.  Just because the market is a tourist attraction doesn't mean that isn't meant to service the local community.  

The actual market runs roughly two miles up the road and has several distinct sections.  There is of course the previously mentioned Fruit and Veg section near Elgin Crescent, where we saw a policeman on horseback all decked out in traditional "bobby" gear. They, the horse and his rider, were ambling down the road chatting with the pedestrian and stall operators.  At one stall the proprietor selected a bright green apple and gave it to the horse, which he calmly munched dripping apple bits and juice everywhere.  The policeman, however, was on his own for snacks.  

The Second Hand Goods market is exactly what it's name says, a glorified flea market offering anything from a used stereo to a three piece suite (living room sofa and two chairs), as well as cast off Marks and Spencers clothes, golf clubs, shoes and everything in between.  If you're really the young and trendy, up at the top near Notting Hill and the Antiques Section, you will find the Fashion Market.  There is plenty of new stuff some of appearing to be quite upmarket, but the stuff that caught my eye were vendors selling such fashionable ware as vintage hand bags, another had vintage lace and linens, two more with costume jewellery and another who specialised in vintage fur coats.  There were rack upon rack of shoes, t-shirts and messenger bags emblazoned with LONDON or PORTOBELLO MARKET or other unmentionable phrases.  

Portobello Road

                           

The last section, the ANTIQUES MARKET, was mostly closed down since Saturday is their main trading day. There were a few shops open and others with window displays of gilt framed pictures, clocks of various vintages, silver serve ware, etc.  The top two thirds of the market had no stalls in the street, though some of the shops goods spilled higgledy, piggledy out on to the sidewalk.  On the weekend I understand the entire stretch has market stalls with canopies over them and the crowds are horrendous. 

Last stop the Squares, lovely oasis in the midst of the city.  Surrounded on four sides by stately buildings and landscaped with trees and shrubs, benches and fountain, they are a refuge from the hustle and bustle.  We stroll past London College where the inscription over one of the doorways was, School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine, one wonders.  But then again not really, the Brits did a good job at colonising remote outposts where hygiene and tropical diseases were a real issue. 

Borrowed Image of Bedford Square

We leisurely strolled for several hours, around and through fifteen or more squares.  Often we found building with plaques detailing notable citizens who had once resided in these building.  Each square had it's own distinct style and clientele.  Some had pushchairs and prams, others students reading, one at least had a small tea shop and, Tavistock Square contained a bust of Virginia Woolf (one of my favourite authors) as well as a statue of Ghandi, and a peace memorial.   This is the area referred to as Bloomsbury, the stomping grounds of the likes of Lytton Strachey, Clive & Vanessa Bell, Rupert Brooke, Maynard Keynes and  Leonard and Virginia Woolf.  You probably don't want me to get started on this subject, Vita Sackville-West, Bertrand Russel, etal., but for what it is worth,  I own a number of books on these people and the era in which this was there habitat, which I would be happy to lend out.

Virginia & I

We finished our evening with a West End play, or more precisely a musical,
Matilda.  The story is based on a Roald Dahl childrens book and is about Matilda Wormwood, an exceptionally smart and talented and shall we say surprisingly sophisticated little girl with ordinary (think Monty Python) and rather mercenary and unpleasant parents.   The over the top, monster of the play was Miss Trunchbull, the headmistress of Crunchem Hall Primary School, played by a man in drag.  It was everything you could possibly want in crazy, predictable, slapstick fun, with, of course, a happy ending.

 Last call before heading out to the West Country, Hampton Court Palace.  This is one of my favorite buildings because, despite its size it feels intimate.  It was originally built by Cardinal Wolsey, enough history lessons, you're on your own on this one.  He in turn gave it to Henry VIII who turned it in to a Royal Residence. We didn't have a

Henry VIII Dining Room

lot of time but did mange to get through the Royal Apartments.  We ended up having to miss out the grounds and possibly some other pieces of the building,  btw the Olympics has hit even Hampton Court, they were dismantling bleachers from a UK2012 celebration concert and getting ready for whatever it was they need to do to be part of some cycling event. 

Things I have learned

1. Fly tipping refers to dumping, so a sign saying no fly tipping, really has nothing to do with those annoying flying things and everything to do with not dumping garbage.   
2. Ned Ludd, whose name was appropriated by the Luddites, was born and raised in Anstey, the next village over from Groby.  
3. Heard a new spin on the phase "As different as chalk from cheese".  In essence as different as apples and oranges but the proposed derivation is that the hilltops are chalk and as such dry and not particularly arable while the lowlands are lush with grass and support large herds of cows which produce milk and thus cheese. 
4. ABC, an acronym Carol heard from a Aussie tourist, Another Bloody Church, Another Bloody Cathedral, Another Bloody Castle. 
5. Palace vs Castle - A castle is meant for defense, safety is the major concern; decoration and form are secondary.  A palace, on the other hand, is a building designed for leisure providing a diversion to the King and the other people residing with him.  A palace should have spacious halls, decoration and comfort is the primary driver. 

Tapestry

Hampton Court

UK 2012 ISSUE 13

Poster in Russell Sq.

It is a new morning and we opt for something a little more leisurely, a trip on the River Thames to Greenwich, home of the Royal Observatory and the National Maritime Museum.  We make our way once again to the Westminster tube station and thence to the wharf where the boat is docked. The first seats we took looked to be prime territory for sightseeing but it wasn't long before a curious or should I say lavatorial odour assailed our nostrils.  We were just aft of the stairs to the "facilities".  Needless to say, we moved. 

The ride was pleasant and the guide was full of the typical braggadocio of his genre, but he kept us amused.  We passed under  at least seven  bridges; Charing Cross, Hungerford, Waterloo, Blackfriars, Southwark, London, Millenium, and Tower each with their own distinct story.  The oldest, London Bridge, has had four incarnations, 50 AD, 1209, 1831 (this is the one that now resides in Arizona) and 1973.  I love the Wikipedia description of  a possible fifth London bridge or more accurately the names of those involved with London in that time period: "With the end of Roman rule in Britain in the early 5th century, Londinium was gradually abandoned and the bridge fell into disrepair. In the Saxon period, the river became a boundary between the emergent, mutually hostile kingdoms of Mercia and Wessex. By the late 9th century, Danish invasions prompted at least a partial reoccupation of London by the Saxons; the bridge may have been rebuilt around 990 under the Saxon king Æthelred the Unready, to hasten Saxon troop movements against Sweyn Forkbeard, father of Cnut."  And you thought I was having a go with the name Bodaciea!

Inside the walkway Tower Bridge

It's a nice way to see London, you can pick out a lot of the monuments and noteworthy attractions as you cruise by.  Once past the Tower and under Tower Bridge you are in to dockland, with wharves, quays, piers, whatever it is you want to call them down to the waters' edge.  There is substantial urban renewal and refurbishment going on, while the whole Canary Wharf area is modern glass and steel highrises surrounded by intense residential development. 

 Arrival Greenwich and a quick look around the Maritime Museum, which warrants a return visit some time, and up the hill to the Royal Observatory.  Let it be known that the Olympics have made their presence known in Greenwich, the soon to be site of the Olympic equestrian events.  Instead of a lovely green leading to the top of the hill you have to dodge construction equipment, men in hard hats (some of them weren't too hard to look at) and massive bleachers under construction.   They were definitely headed for nosebleed territory, if not a heart attack just climbing them.  Am I beginning to sound a trifle bitter, perhaps. 

The above is a picture of Frank, Gayle and Carol at the Royal Observatory with feet firmly planted either side of the Prime Meridian, making us half in the Western Hemisphere and the other half in the Eastern Hemisphere.  Want to know more, read the book Longitude by David Sobel.  It discusses much of what took place on these premises and the how mariners were able to determine longitude when navigating. 

Cutty Sark Rigging

Can't really take you through all the places we explored in our week in London.  Obviously we had to do the Tower of London and I insisted we do the "Tower Bridge Experience" which allowed you on the walkways between the two towers of the bridge.  Lunch that day was at Kitchen, a cafe owned and operated by a gay man, who upon hearing us talking about Fortnum and Masons informed us "and She's not the only Queen who shops there!".  More than that he provided us with some pretty tasty Cornish Pasties and one of the most creative presentations of sausage and mash I have seen. 

Sausage & Mash

Mick and Carol scratched an itch, created by taking an art history class at OLLI, with trip to the National Gallery.  The Carravaggio collection was closed but Mick scored another Titian on loan from the Hermitage Museum in St. Petersberg.  Best part, for me as they had NO photography,  was it was free and we escaped for Sunday lunch at a local pub, The Sherlock Holmes.  What precisely Sherlock Holmes or Conan Doyle may have had to do with part of London is unclear, but if it weren't for "poetic license" and flights of fancy life would surely be dull. 

Tower Bridge & Walkway

As much as I love London, sometimes you just need to take some time out from the highlights and take a look at much more mundane things.  Chalk Farm and Camden Town were old haunts of mine when I stayed in London while Mick finished his Masters dissertation.  Although I would have like to take in a play or something at the Roundhouse (a round building that was once a train turnaround) that wasn't in the cards.  Instead it was a ride in a canal boat from Little Venice to Camden Lock.  Nothing to write home about but pleasant enough.  Went past a number of quays where live in house boats were moored, and Regents Park Zoo where the only thing you get a glimpse of is an Aviary designed by Anthony Armstrong Jones, ex brother-in-law to the Queen.  The big surprise was Camden Town.  In my mind it was just another dowdy middle class shopping district . . . not any longer.  We were by far the youngest people on the street and our clothing was pretty much antiquarian!!

The street market was full of vendors selling every sort of food imaginable, Ethiopian vegetable stew, Polish sausage and potatoes, Indian curries, Caribbean jerked chicken and fruit and vegetable smoothies.  I think this gentleman was offering lamb.

After a sampling of cuisine from a couple of stalls  we made our escape meaning to get the tube up the hill to Highgate and the cemetery where Karl Marx is buried.

Camden High Street

 

 This permanent Public Market,  has some inside buildings but most of it out in the open.  A large portion of the market is located in the former  stables and horse hospital which served the horses pulling   vans and barges which once plied their trade along the canal. Many of the stalls and shops are set in large arches in the railway viaducts.

 Check out the "tights" in this shop.  Tights here generally refer to pantie hose but in this case it extends to leggings as well as other forms of foot and legware.  Like the legs sticking out of the wall and definitely want a pair of those strippy hose.  Only problem, one size fits all and that size is  not my size. 

 Really got off on these store fronts.  Hate to think how much money was spent on their "signage", but it kept me entertained.  Obviously directed at a younger crowd, should you want shoes or a tattoo you are in the right place. 

The streetscape was so changed I was unsure of which way to go so as any good tourist might do, we followed the signs.  Woe betide the juvenile delinquent who played mess around with the directional signs, took me the better part of  half mile to decide we really were going the wrong way. 

 Did finally find our way to the underground and the Highgate station only to realise on exiting that it was another half mile up a very steep hill to get to the park that we needed to cross to get to the cemetery.  Spent some time exploring . . . it is a very beautiful and entirely overgrown space but it feels entirely natural and cared for in a way only the English can accomplish when it comes to growing things.  Beware, you may get a blog devoted entirely to the English love of gardening and the super abundance of plant life to be found here. 

 Found Karl Marx grave as well as several other English notables but my personal favourite belongs to Douglas Adams, author of Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy.  If you haven't read it give it a go.  There are several books and which is which and what order they should be read I could not longer say, but they are delightfully silly, I mean, who could come up with a character named Slartibartfast. 

Enough with dead people and perhaps enough with this blog. 

 Things I have learned

1. Was told that Wharf  was an acronym Ware House At River Front but subsequently learned it is was is a termed a backronym invented by Thames river boat guides.  
2. A memorial dedicated to the people of Malta and their importance to WWII was an eye opener.  Just look at how strategically placed it is and you begin to understand.  
3. Where there is a will, there is a way.  Despite having no garage in which to store or charge an electric vehicle this owner draped an 

extension cord out a first floor (US second) down a light standard and manged to plug in his vehicle. 

4.  Trip Advisor complaint about a B&B . . . The tea service in the room did not have any biscuits (cookies) to go with the tea, coffee and hot cocoa.

View from Tower Bridge Walkway