riding the train again...

...much faster than the scenic tour of the south on the steam train, heading back into London on Tuesday morning. Enjoying the scenery of the countryside, though at a much faster speed than the steam engine.  We had reservations for lodging at a place, recommended by the cousin, conveniently located near the station where we would depart for the airport on Friday. Dragging suitcases, thankfully wheeled, through the station and along the cobbled streets to get to our hotel where we could lighten our loads and proceed with more sightseeing.

I knew my travel companions would have to keep a close eye on me. And suspect they knew too, knowing how it would be: frequently taking me by the hand to avoid my wandering away. Probably like traveling with small children, who are best managed with those little fuzzy backpacks that are actually leashes to prevent loss of relatives. I guess attributable to having lead such a shelter life, and so easily impressed with things that are not part of my normal life, daily exposure to routine sightings. I am such a gawker, impressed with architecture, or trees, statuary in parks, passing scenery, or just  people watching, like a kid, prone to not be paying sufficient attention to traffic or child-snatchers.

There is so much to see in a city with such a long rich history, it would have taken months if not years to see everything. We bought tickets for the sightseeing bus, the kind where you can get on and off all day long, taking the entire tour, or jumping off for some diversion and getting back on for more touring at the next stop down the street. A two day ticket gave us plenty of touring, with earbuds to plug in for info. in twelve languages. Plus a trip along the Thames, and a night tour for no extra fees. Not that it was cheap... but well worth the price to get the ride, guided tour and see the sights from atop the double decker bus.

Tuesday, July 5, 2016

taking the steam train...

...on Monday to Dartmouth. It's pretty obvious now, but at the time, it did not occur to me to think that going to Dartmouth means to make a trip to the Mouth of the river Dart. It was very scenic. A steam engine pulling several cars of tourists through the lush, green English countryside. Passing through several tunnels, under a number of roads (often referred to as 'carriageways'), along the waterway, to the south of the country.   The train unloaded at the Dartmouth station, where we had to take a quick ferry across the river to get into town.

A quaint little village, hundreds of years old. With homes built on a steep hillside, dozens of old stone houses with slate roofing, leading down to the water's edge, where commercial district is located. And a multitude of boats of all sizes, tied up in rows in the river, and along the docks.We had lunch bought at a little French patisserie. I was told the mouth of the river has been historically chained off over the centuries to prevent enemy entrance in times of war.

Beautiful wildflowers blooming everywhere. Things that we would normally see growing prolifically on the right of way here, and things that are apparently native to the area. Lots of Queen Anne's Lace, which is very common in the US. And something really pretty, with a bloom shape comparable to verbena, but growing more upright. It was pink, and finally identified as Valerian. Something that I suspect could easily get out of hand, and quickly revert from pretty wildflower to nusiance weed. Oh, and the gloriously blooming hydrangeas... wow!

The weather was misty, moist-y and somewhat overcast. But like Florida, quickly changing from damp and dreary to clear and bright. Pretty and sunny in the afternoon, when I had some time to sit down and write all those postcards. I depended on my travel companions for figuring out the funds, keeping up with our cash when we exchanged US dollars for English pounds. The postage was a bit higher than the cost of stamps here, but the compulsive correspondent was compelled to generate mail. Knowing I would likely get back to the US before the cards were delivered. As is the nature of 'having-a-wonderful-time-wish-you-were-here' missives, mailed from  exotic locales.

Monday, Independence Day, July 4, 2016

over the moors...

...on Sunday. After a night in a real bed, though still in possession of confused brain from time zone travel. We all packed  into the car (they are all very small in the UK: small country, narrow roads, high gas prices, tiny parking paces, wee little garages) and went on a tour of the hills in south-western England. I'm not knowledgeable about landscape in UK, though I have read several books referring to wind-swept moors,  or rough, rocky, infertile hills, or craggy mountainsides. And seen Youtube videos of amazing dogs herding sheep across the unfriendly pasture lands, rough terrain that does not seem to slow them from their appointed tasks.

The views were stunning. Beautiful, wide open spaces. Gorgeous hills and valleys, with tiny dots of grazing sheep on distant green fields. And in between, along country roads so narrow two cars from opposite directions cannot pass. The highest points on the hills are remnants of funnels of volcanic rock, eroded over time, into lichen, moss-covered stones. The dividing lines between pastures look like hedges, mostly stacked rock from the clearing of fields. But they have shrubs, small trees that have grown up over time along those rock fences, so that all the separate pastures are outlined with hedges, kept neatly trimmed by livestock: cattle and wild ponies as well as the roaming sheep.

There are lots of domestic farm animals. Loose to graze the moors. We crossed over a couple of cattle gaps, but mostly they just roam.  Barely contained, with little fencing to control their wandering. Crossing the roads at will, standing there blocking traffic, or stretched out on the warm tarmac, snoozing. Vehicles are expected to give way, and there are times you just have to wait them out.

The landscape, when you are at the pinnacle of a winding road, from the vantage point of a hill overlooking miles of scenery, appears to look just like the postcards. Well, yeah. That's where the photos on the postcards came from. I bought, wrote and mailed a dozen or so, with stamps that have Her Majesty's Regalness on them. And as expected, beat them all back to the US.

After driving over the moors, we stopped to visit a little country stone church with an overgrown grave yard and markers so scoured by time, grown over with mosses and lichens, you could not read the engraving on the stones. Then back in the car for more of the beautiful countryside. Where you can see nearly forever from the highest hills: all the way to the English Channel twenty-five miles distant. Bleating sheep, marked on their backs with colored paint for easy identification by owners, meandering cattle browsing across the fields, and little wild ponies dozing in the sun.

On to the town of Exeter, where we went into the cathedral. I don't know when it was built. but it is definitely Old. Partially destroyed in bombing raids of WWII, my cousin pointed out a huge stained glass window made to replace one that was destroyed by German bombs. And replaced by one that showed the devastation of the times, with search lights in the heavens and flames blooming from the homes set ablaze by Germans. A beautiful old building, lots of people buried under the time worn floors of marble, with much traditional, medieval type architecture. I could have spent the day craning my neck enjoying the detail, carefully and painstakingly done over the centuries by gifted stonemasons and skilled woodworkers. We were shoo'ed out of the building by a man in a long red robe, I guess nearly closing time. But enjoyed the resounding voices of the boy choir as they had rehearsal while we poked though numerous small chapels, little vestibules, odd corners with monuments dedicated to long dead bishops, dukes, military heros.

Lunch in a pub, overlooking cobblestone streets, and across the lane from the Cathedral.

Monday, July 4, 2016

random movie recommendations..."Foxcatcher", "The Other Man", "The Water Diviner"...

... as a result of perusing the stacks at the public library. Where DVDs were chosen haphazardly off the shelf in  hopes of finding some that were worth the time investment to view. Several that were pretty good and deserve being better known.

One, that I saw the trailer for and meant to see when it came out, but missed. A bizarre tale about Olympic level wrestlers and a man who was obviously a bit off center. "Foxcatcher", with Tatum O'Neal and Steve Carrell. Carrell played the part of John DuPont, scion of chemical industry wealth, a man who seemed to have lost touch with reality due to being raised in an environment detached from reality. DuPont wanted to be associated with Olympic fame to the extent of offering his estate in Virginia, developing a training facility for potential Olympic level athletes.Whatever the word is that means well past 'obsession', that describes DuPont. 

Another library DVD we recently watched was "The Other Man", with Laura Linney, Liam Neeson and Antonio Banderas. I don't remember any advertising at all about it, so it might be one that was not released to theaters. I will not spoil the story by outlining the plot, but it was sweet, surprising and well worth watching. Hearing stories of 'the other woman' is not uncommon, so you might deduce for yourself how the story goes from the title...unexpected twists and turns, well-written, and if I am remembering correctly, the screenplay is based on a book.

"The Water Diviner" is another one that I do not recall seeing any promotional material about. I'm not even sure it was released in the US. I don't go to movies much, and it might have been in theaters and I just never saw the trailer, especially since I don't watch TV to see lots of advertising. Staring Russell Crowe, about an event that was more pertinent to Australian history. Having to do with war, useless killing that was a result of men, aggression, political uprisings, how the people who declare war are usually not the ones who go to war and end up bloody, dismembered or dead. It was a thoughtful story. I saw another copy when walking through a store in the UK. I noticed a rack of DVD's and was quite surprised to see this one, as I had never heard of it before checking it out of the library recently.

sleeping or not...

...sadly I am more towards the 'not' end of the scale. I know from experience, history that I've never slept well in an upright position. Envious of people who can, those who are devoted to their recliners and can easily doze off with television blaring, as long as they are in their comfort zone. That is not me. I've been on cross country flights and known there is no point in closing my eyes, leaving home with ample reading material to while the hours away, with no effort made to get any shut-eye.

In recent years, I have though trial and error over time, found a combination of OTC that helps with routine awakening. I'm understanding part of the wakefulness is aging, but knowing the reason does not make being wide-eyed any easier. And know part of the problem with not sleeping in flight was my failure to factor in the hours and hours spent getting across the Atlantic. I should have had my 'magic potion' more accessible (sadly, in checked luggage), to at least provide a little spark of hope for sleeping.

Though we were packed in like sardines, the airline does provide passengers with some handy items that might improve success for resting. Flight attendants pass out little bags containing sleep masks, to block light, and ear plugs to block snoring neighbors.  I have it on good authority from a reliable source that the flight staff has sleeping quarters for overnight/long distance flights, so they can actually get horizontal in bunks during the trip.

A recent addition for the insomniacs among us is a variety of inflight movies, TV and music. Another little plastic bag has ear buds for listening to a variety of movies or television/HBO shows or your choice of music. Conveniently, suddenly, all for free on July 1, which  happens to be the day we were leaving for Europe. A variety of entertainment forms for those who were wide awake around the clock, dashing through numerous time zones overnight. Mostly, me.

But seeing Stonehenge was well worth the lack of sleep. We stopped there after lunch in a little 'carvery'/pub on our drive to Devon. Those stacked stones are amazing. Hard to conceive of the work that it took to move and stack those monumental stones all done by hand with primitive tools and no modern equipment. Remarkable feats of engineering, especially to have been done hundreds and hundreds of years ago. Leaving a lot of the construction to be wondered at, pondered on, with little in the way of facts for explanation. Some of the stones are more or less local, while some came from Wales, hundreds of miles away. There are a number of burial mounds in the area, that do provide some details for greater understanding of the people and customs, but still leaving lots more questions than answers.

leaving the US of A...

(Statue in a London Park of Charlie Chaplin, was born in London, though most of his career was spent in the US. I forget why he became a persona-non-grata in the states, but do know he spent his waning years as a near-recluse in Switzerland.)

...was a pretty complicated procedure. Packing, for who-knows-what sort of weather? Hot, cold, wet, dry, soggy, damp, or xyz? Putting on layers works for me, so I packed enough to be able to keep warm, as well as discard as needed, peeling them off when the weather was pleasant. Plus the constant checking on 'where is my passport?' when squeezing everything into the suitcase.

I had the time to putter around the house on July 1, getting all the laundry done and put away, before leaving town around noon to head to Decatur. The flight from ATL departed around 9:00 pm, but concern about processing through security was weighty. Meaning we had hours to kill when we got through the TSA for international flights, and waiting at the gate for boarding. Interestingly, Delta had oversold that particular trip, and we heard numerous announcements asking people to give up their seats in exchange for tempting benefits of rescheduling. We did not.

I knew we would be a long time getting there, leaving at 9'ish in the evening on Friday, arriving at Heathrow at nearly noon on Saturday. And I also knew I do not sleep well sitting up, expecting to not get any rest during the trip up the eastern seaboard and across the north Atlantic. But for some unknown reason, failed to factor in spending the night in my clothes.

Admittedly there have been times I have slept in my day wear:  exhaustion, excessive coldness making me unwilling to peel off layers. But the failure to go to bed has not been one of the reasons. Until recently, upon spending the night sitting bolt upright in a narrow airline seat, wishing for sleep, drugs or a rubber mallet.

There was some turbulence, which is another reason sleep would have been beneficial. To be oblivious when the huge metal tube is jouncing you around, being blissfully unaware of sudden, expected lifting entirely from your assigned seat due to sudden drops while in flight. Several times over the vast ocean, and quite a bit when descending into UK airspace. But obviously survivable.

We arrived in London, with nothing to declare in customs, so quickly got through the entry process, to find the cousin who would be meeting us. Thankful for a 'native', who would guide us through the complications of London traffic, and out into the English countryside. Which is beautiful, lush, green, lots of wildflowers blooming along the right of way. The fact that the country is on a island contributes to the plentiful rainfall, which can be a blessing or a curse, depending on your tolerance for constant damp. Reminding me of Florida, where you realize if you don't like the weather, you only need to wait an hour for something entirely different.

the trip to UK...

...prelude: an introductory performance, action or event preceding and preparing for the principal or more important matter. You might find interesting the back story relating how it happened, before reading about the entertainment and amusement that occurred. At least as much fun as the trip last summer when we went west and spent several days visiting and touring in Seattle, driving through Washington state, and sightseeing around Portland, OR.

When visiting my brother a couple of years ago, (if you've heard this story, skip down several paragraphs), I went to lunch one day with his wife and her dad. Her parents  moved from AL to VA several years ago, her mom has since died, but my sister-in-law enjoys spending time with her dad. They do something together nearly every day: running errands, shopping, doctor's appointments, delivering meals-on-wheels, volunteer projects at church. Or just lunch.

The day we went to lunch together, when I tried to pay the tab. Ray said: 'No'.  And told me that he always pays for meals when they go out. Ray said he told his daughter, 'We are spending your inheritance'. Which sounds like a Great Plan, to not be anxious about the future, and things you cannot control. Realistic, practical, but deciding to not worry.

So now when we go places, do things, have fun, I try to remind myself of that wonderful idea: that we should be enjoying every day as much as possible. With little regard to worrying about funds, deliberately deciding I'm not fretting about expense. 'You Can't Take It With You,' or maybe more along the lines of: 'Damn the torpedoes, Full speed ahead.'

Lesson learned from hauling the laptop computer a great distance: leave it at home to lighten your load. Make a few notes to help you recall the sequence of events, but save yourself the trouble of taking things you will not use. I will apologize for being incommunicado for over a week, and hope that a day at home will allow me to get caught up. Now that I've slept for twelve hours and beginning to feel like a real person again.

july 11, 2016