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Scotland, a great place to start.

Posted on July 24, 2014 | 7 comments

Ah Scotland.

The soft green hills, the lilting accents all around which I can actually understand as I grew up with it. We used to live here in Edinburgh when I was a kid and up until some point I lilted too. There are men wearing kilts, unselfconsciously, big sporrans, big socks, all looking slightly fierce. Bagpipers play on street corners. The pubs are all open and everyone is enjoying their pints outside, its about seventy degrees. The taxi bounces over the cobblestones in the old part of the city as we pass the hoards of visitors for the Festival dragging their oversized suitcases. There are banners everywhere crying “YES”, for the coming referendum on Scottish Independence. Decide it’s best not to comment, foreigners shouldn’t get involved in local politics. Lording over it all sits the Castle, high on its lofty crag. Edinburgh is such a lovely city.

Sister went to work so I went on a boat tour on the Firth of Forth. The Firth is the name for the estuary where the Forth river meets the North Sea. Quite wide, about a mile, it features a cantilevered railway bridge and a suspension bridge for vehicles which is on the point of collapse due to the enormous amount of traffic. They are building a new road bridge which will open in 2016. Apart from the bridges we saw the medieval abbey on the tiny island of Inchcolm, seals and a few puffins. The weather cooperated, the sun shone, sunscreen was applied, the bar on the boat was open and people picnicked on the deck. It was a really ok way to spend three or four hours.

The Forth Rail Bridge

Puffins

Staying with the sister meant meeting new people and new dogs. All very friendly and easy to get on with though I did get teased about being a foreigner in my own country. Of course I made the usual jet lagged mistakes, looking the wrong way crossing the street, not understanding the money, putting the red wine in the fridge instead of the white and forgetting that you have to dilute the soft drinks with water. My Facebook friends are increasing hourly.

All too soon my three days in Scotland came to an end and it was off to the airport, on the Tram. The tram is running finally in Edinburgh. About two years behind schedule and costing one billion pounds ($1.5 billion ish) it’s actually very slick. I have lived with the track laying over the years and watched, bemused, as the locals voted on whether or not to just ditch the project. The chaos it caused around the City was a sight to see. Everyone cussing and swearing as they were diverted around the workings. But now it’s finished and its marvelous, fabulous, a boon to the city and its really really popular. One thing tho, on the few days it needs it, including the day I rode it, it would be nice if they could turn up the air conditioning.

Thanks Scotland.

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New Year’s Eve in Paris and Chartres

Posted on January 18, 2014 | 3 comments

There is one benefit to travelling solo and that is to be spontaneous and so early on New Year’s Eve I decided to go to Chartres. Checking the web I saw that trains left regularly from the Gare Montparnasse which I had discovered while exploring the surrounding neighborhood so armed with shoulder bag, coat and scarf off I went. Again, buying a ticket was a breeze, there was a British flag above a booth in the ticket office so I headed for that and with a minimum of fuss I was on my way. Had time to buy a baguette with ham, cheese and tomato, hung around the indicator boards waiting for the platform to be announced and joined the surge of passengers when it was it was divulged. I grabbed a seat upstairs for a better view, seats comfortable with a retractable table, foot rest, clean windows and a very tiresome Brit’ trying to impress a much younger Asian woman. Shades of Phnom Penh for those of you with long memories. Off we went, gathering speed through the suburbs which, I have to say, were a bit grim. Reminded me of those tower blocks in Moscow featured in so many movies.

Out into the flat countryside, green, low single story farmhouses, water towers dotted about, rain streaming across the train windows. Stopped at unknown towns, Epernon, I wonder what people do there, Maintenon, I thought that meant “soon” when translated, who knows. Woods, not really forests, but fairly large woods, with mistletoe growing on the trees in great clumps. Ah, talking of mistletoe it is one of the main reasons I wanted to go to Chartres. Been reading these books see. All about ancient times, pre Roman, Roman and post Roman. It seems, say the books, that back down the centuries the Druids major site in Northern Europe, apart from Anglesey, was centered among the forests around Chartres and the vast amount of mistletoe that grew there. When the Druids were wiped out the locals built the cathedral on the site of the mistletoe groves. Good story anyway.

I arrived in the town of Chartres and stepping outside the train station it was clear what route to take. The cathedral completely dominates the town, rising up with its two spires, one from 1160 and the other from the early 16th Century. I was warned in the guide books that the town would be extremely crowded, it was, by me. There were two or three other tourists who got off my train, that was it. I ambled up mainly deserted alleyways, found the town square, found, incongruously, an Indian restaurant. There was a small market in the main square but hardly anyone about, it was cold and raining, and it was New Year’s Eve, which might explain the lack of people.

The cathedral was everything I had expected, huge and looming over the small houses round about, some of which appeared to have been there since the Middle Ages. There is no point in trying to describe the truly unique blue stained glass windows which were created in the Twelfth Century and then the secret of their creation was lost, even to this day. There is a project underway to clean the dirt and candle grease of the Centuries off the interior and so far the results are stunning. There seems to be a certain amount of controversy about this cleaning or restoration. Some feel the resulting blinding whiteness of the stone somehow detracts attention away from the stained glass. I liked the result, no matter that we cannot imagine, or know, how it looked upon completion in the Mid Twelfth which is the point of all the work. Maybe the following photos will help you make up your own mind.

One incident remains in my mind. The interior is so vast that one has to sit down frequently just to realize the enormity of it all. It was on one of those breaks, sitting looking at the grandeur of the organ pipes high above me that I saw two, obviously, local women coming towards me, clearly on some kind of mission for the upkeep of the cathedral. One of them was carrying an enormous basket. They got closer so I could peer into the contents of the basket. It was full of MISTLETOE. Maybe there is some credence to the previously mentioned story

Back view

three storey flying buttresses

The choir, cleaned, unlike the rest of the interior.

windows

Front view

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Sunday at Pere-Lachaise

Posted on January 14, 2014 | 5 comments

Sunday, and what to do today. Go to a cemetery, that seems appropriate. Got out the trusty hotel map of Paris and decided that it was way too far to walk so I had better take the Metro. Fine and dandy except that I had no clue, no clue at all, how it worked. The tickets, the route, the stations, the changes, the doors even. Turned out even easier than the London Underground. The ticket machines had an English option and so long as you kept pressing the Validate button you couldn’t go wrong. Navigation was a breeze as long as you knew what direction you were headed. So off I went for the short walk from the hotel to St Placide, the number 4 to Sebastopol, change to the 3 and there I was at Pere-Lachaise Cemetery.

Pere-Lachaise, the largest cemetery in the City of Paris, over a hundred acres, over a million people buried there it is something to behold. I bought a map but failed to realize the dimension of the place and for the first thirty minutes was completely lost. The graves, tombs and mausoleums are almost on top of each other, all higgledy piggledy, with narrow cobblestone paths zig zagging throughout. To see a particular resting place one has to squeeze between others to reach it. I found Modigliani after almost falling into the grave of his neighbor. (if that is the correct word) I had a vague plan of where I wanted to go or rather whose grave I wanted to see and then it was a case of working out the map. I searched and searched for Sara Bernhardt only to discover that I had walked past it three times. They don’t have large signs everywhere you just have to look at the inscriptions, carefully.

I made my way to the Tomb of Oscar Wilde which was the most visited one I saw all day. There were upwards of fifty people sitting, standing, walking around it. This, on a steely cold Sunday in December. From the accents, they were from all over the World. The family have had to build a glass wall around the grave as well wishers have a tendency to leave lipstick kisses on it. This is much frowned upon and is referred to as “defacement” (and can incur a ten thousand dollar fine), well I suppose it is really and someone has to come round and clean the kisses off periodically, and someone has to pay that person. I am in two minds, the kisses added to the charm of the memorial I thought, but then again, having to pay someone to clean a memorial of an ancestor who died over a hundred years ago must be a rather tiresome legacy. I sat and contemplated Oscar Wilde. The Importance of Being Earnest, Lady Windermere’s Fan, I grew up on those, and his legendary ability to drink American cowboys and lumberjacks under the table, his affair with Lord Alfred Douglas, and of course his quotes http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/o/oscar_wilde.html .”We are all in the gutter, but some of us looking at the stars”. Yep, there’s a lot to be thankful for in the life of Oscar Wilde.

On then to Edith Piaf. I was fortunate to have a grandmother who introduced me to her music when quite young and I still delight in her music. Non, Je ne regrette rien. A somewhat stark grave, black with a vase of fresh red roses. Again a few people around but it was difficult to access and easy to completely miss. No signs!

Back onto the cobblestone paths wondering whose final resting place I was walking past, there are just so many, and my map was not very informative, just the layout. I saw a very moving tribute to the victims of the Mauthausen Death Camp which stopped me in my tracks and where I said a silent prayer. It was eerily evocative, just there, on the edge of the cemetery, near the exterior wall, near a gate. Never, ever forget.

To the tomb of James Douglas Morrison. Again, a bit difficult to access, but there were sufficient fans making their way there to make the route obvious. Lots of flowers. Many young children which I thought odd. I felt like singing “break on through to the other side”, but just did it to myself. Ah, Jim Morrison.

I saw Moliere, Balzac, Maria Callas, Colette and more.

That was enough, and saying a silent goodbye jumped back on the Metro.

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A Day out in Paris

Posted on January 13, 2014 | 2 comments

How can one ever decide what to do in Paris? There is so much to do, to see, to eat, to drink, to experience. How about something I have never done before, so I set out for the Luxembourg Gardens. I had read about it of course, it was designed for the children of Paris by one Napoleon so that piqued my interest. It also contains the first model of the Statue of Liberty, so well worth an explore. Not far from my hotel I found it easily enough but on arrival it became obvious that perhaps I had mistimed my visit, it’s December and very cold. Leafless trees, bare hedges, hardly a frolicking child in sight. Some of the statues were interesting, I did find one of Massenet, a famous composer, but never did find the Liberty. There were lots and lots of joggers, dangerous joggers, I had to dodge out of the way, stepping in puddles. Time to leave, can’t keep up with the competition.

A hike through the neighborhood up to Saint Germain des Pres. There is something magical about that, the name just sounds so romantic. Just try saying it, or is it just me. I walked along admiring famous restaurants, Les Deux Magots and Cafe Flore, thought about grabbing a snack but they looked a bit intimidating, not to mention expensive. Took lots of photos of the street signs to bore the folks back home, sat on a bench and took in the atmosphere, wondered what to do next. Well it has to be the Eiffel Tower clearly, I mean this is Paris, gotta do that.

(Back story here, the eldest son, Nat,was here with girlfriend Erin. I didn’t tell them I too was in town. Dear old dad crashing the party, no, I think not. So I was constantly aware that I should be incognito, hood up, shades on, looking around. Not necessarily on St Germain but certainly at the Tour.)

Bought a fresh baguette and cheese, loaded them into my shoulder bag and set off across the city to what is probably the most famous landmark in Paris. No, it definitely is. Through the streets crowded with weekend shoppers, lost tourists, late risers going for coffee and some for le brunch which seemed popular. Walked past Les Invalides, which seems to be French for The Army Museum, also Napoleon’s tomb. A fantastic building with a startling gold tower which really stands out among the rooftops, making a good route marker. A couple more blocks and there it was, the epitome of Paris in the distance at the end of an extremely long Park. Ignoring my complaining feet I set off down the gardens dodging dog walkers and selfie taking visitors. No matter how many times you see it, from whatever angle you see it there is just something about La Tour Eiffel. It just screams France, Paris, you are here, now, in Paris, and nowhere else on the planet. Like being on the Golden Gate Bridge or standing beneath Big Ben. Its one of those moments when you are just focused,in the moment and realize that you have made it, to Paris. Anyway, I found a bench underneath and ate my bread and cheese, not a tourist me! I was sure I would bump into Nat and Erin, so the hood was pulled well over my head and the shades were on tightly, I could just hear them saying ‘Dad, what are you doing here, eating bread and cheese and looking like a tourist?” (It didn’t happen) I checked out the queues for the elevators, gazed at the stairs up to the first level, not a chance, not with my aching feet. So was content to walk around the base, looking up. Tried for the arty photo along with the thousands of others, also looking for the arty shot. That was it really, just about one of the most recognisable places on Earth and off I went.

Yes, I did take a selfie but promise not to share!

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I went to Paris.

Posted on January 12, 2014 | 2 comments

The Christmas/Birthday celebrations went on for days, much fun was had by all. I tried to write a blog about it a but it was so action packed with many many events that I got writer’s block trying to fit it all in. So forgive me, I will return to it when I have everything in order.

Meanwhile, when everyone was dispersing on the Friday after Christmas I jumped on a train to London. It was crowded so I put my bag in the luggage area and squeezed into a seat. Watched the green countryside pass by, listened to happy travelers chatting, heard my neighbor’s ringtone, it was the Islamic Call to Prayer, and arrived at Waterloo Station. Went to grab my bag. It was GONE. Aghh. Ran down the platform checking out all my fellow passengers, I must have looked like a wild crazy person. No one had the bag. Oh this is a problem thinks I. Went back to my compartment and found a train guard, explained my predicament and he says, no problem, that guy has it. The relief. He did have it and told me that someone had taken it by mistake and had handed it in, he was taking it to Lost and Found. I almost danced a jig. Can you imagine?

Thought I would save a buck and get the tube. Completely failed to figure out the ticket machine so queued up at the ticket window, with all the other foreign tourists. The shame. Found train, got on and realized I had made another mistake. I had far, far too many clothes on. England, December, I had a coat on and a wool jacket and a jersey and a shirt and a scarf. I was melting. Fortunately it was a short ride and I found an air vent to stand in front of, I received some very strange looks.

On to St Pancras and the EuroStar. Went through ticketing, they use QR codes, Security, just like the airport, Immigration into France, he barely looked at me and I was in. Removed coat, jacket and scarf and felt marginally better. My train was soon called, found my seat and off we zoomed. I don’t get bored on trains, there is always something to see out of the window and even when we spent twenty minutes under the Channel I could go to the snack bar for a sandwich. Raced across Northern France at about 180 MPH and arrived in Paris after a very short two hours and fifteen minutes. I savored every minute.

A taxi then to my hotel in the 6th Arrondissement, which is an ok part of the city between Saint Germain and Montparnasse. Classic Paris architecture, bars, cafes, restaurants, gateaux shops, small markets that sold everything and two blocks away the upscale department store Bon Marche Rive Gauche

with its new food department, La Grand Epicerie. It was all just as it should be.The hotel was,er, economical. No restaurant, no bar, one English channel on the TV. The room heater was either all on or all off. Extremely hot or freezing cold. I wasn’t too bothered as I didn’t intend staying in it for too long, just sleeping. There was a window, that opened onto the street, a bed and a desk. Reading through the Trip Advisor reviews I can’t help chuckling about the American comments about the size of the shower, yes, it was very small, but it worked.

Off out for my first evening in Paris. Went the two blocks to the aforementioned Grand Epicerie and it was truly epic. There is nothing even remotely similar in these parts (Northern California). Harrods Food Hall in London is a good comparison. The cheese section, the bread department, wine area, I was in there for an hour. Right across the street there was a cell/mobile phone shop where after much gesticulating I equipped my phone with a French SIM. I was connected again. Relief.

Found a friendly looking cafe with an awning over the outside tables to keep the rain off, sat at a table, had a beer and watched Paris go by. It was all very French. My French is elementary, ten years of learning it at school but my accent is appalling, vocabulary sparse but I did ok I thought until they brought me the menu. It was the tourist version, in English. More shame. I had an omelet and lettuce, and red wine.

I was in Paris, nothing bothered me. I was having a great time and will continue this tomorrow.

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YORK

Posted on December 29, 2013 | 1 comment

Did I tell you about the enormous suitcase? Well its Christmas plus my Mother’s 90th birthday so I was voted to carry the majority of the gifts and festive accoutrements, on the train, to Leeds, to Hebden Bridge, up onto the moors, back to Hebden and then to York. It weighed more than I do, it has four wheels, it is silver. I can tell you that suitcase and I had some serious relationship problems climbing and descending railway station staircases, in and out of taxis, lifts, elevators, escalators and very awkward in the loo.

Anyway, caught train back to Leeds and onward to York where much to my surprise on pulling into the station I noticed Sebastian and Sara standing on an adjacent platform. I guess I hadn’t briefed them to head for the “Way Out” but sent them a text and soon we were all reunited at the exit along with my old friend John and his wife Jill. We figured out that we have met up every year for the last four, not bad as we live 6,000 miles apart. They took us for lunch and the expression on Sara’s face when the waitperson told us the specials was historical/hysterical. She smiled graciously, said thank you and turned to us with that look of complete incomprehension. (The Yorkshire accent is very strong) So we enjoyed a pleasant lunch after which John took us on a quick tour of the City. We walked on the Roman Wall, we gaped at the Minster, we saw the repairs worked in the 60s when the whole place nearly fell down, we walked through the medieval Shambles section, I got lost.

John and Jill took us out to their home about thirty minutes out of town and we sat around chatting until it was time for dinner at the pub. What a great experience that is in England. Traditional dishes, traditional beers, it was perfect.

The next day we were taken to see an outstanding ruined Monastery, Fountains Abbey. Founded in 1132 it grew to be one of the wealthiest in the land until it was demolished during the reign of Henry 8th as part of the dissolution of the monasteries. Quite haunting and we were treated to a cold clear day with perfect visibility and barely another visitor in sight.

Back to the house, more tea, another excellent pub dinner, Sebastian tried pheasant and liked it. This was followed by a bit of a time warp activity. John still has all his old records. Records, as in vinyl! What a time we had, reading sleeve notes, dropping the arm on particular tracks, seeing who played what. It was a bit of a flashback and it was a pleasure to see the young ones having such a good time.

Too soon it was time to leave and the next morning saw us on the train back down to London. Painful farewells to John and Jill, heartfelt thanks for all their generosity and wished them good luck for the following week when fourteen family members come to stay for Christmas.

Next stop Winchester.

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First Day in England

Posted on December 28, 2013 | 1 comment

England. Hilarious times in Yorkshire amongst people so different to the good folk of Northern California. Jet lag too. It’s been a rather bewildering few days. To tell you the truth, now nearly two weeks into the trip, it has all been a bit of a blur. Surrounded by ten other family members, each with their own personalities, there have been moments when I have been on the verge of being overwhelmed.

Shall I start at the beginning? Yes, ok. I flew into London’s Heathrow, took the Express train into Paddington Station, cab across town to King’s Cross Station where I waited for my pre booked train to a City called Leeds. Sat and watched the indicator boards which would tell me from which platform the train departed. “On Time” I read, this was a good thing. Sat some more, still “On Time”, until suddenly it switched to “Cancelled”! Oh great, now what? Noticed that previous train to Leeds hadn’t yet departed, dashed to the Platform, found correct per booked seat. Sat down. Hmm, I thought, right seat wrong train. Will I be ejected, abandoned at Little Sowerby by an irate train official?

No, it was fine. I arrived at Leeds Station and with five minutes in hand changed trains to Hebden Bridge. This little town, or large village, my first destination on this trip, was recommended by another travel blogger as a great way to confront culture shock when arriving in the UK. They were not kidding. I took a taxi up the hill behind the town to the Hare and Hounds pub and upon arrival it was in complete darkness, couldn’t even find the front door. Eventually made myself heard and spent a great evening reminiscing, great food and a few beers.

Up early, Full English Breakfast.

And then it was off to York

So sorry this is so disjointed but I am trying blogging from a Mac and, to tell you the truth I have no idea what I’m doing, yet.

More to come, be patient.

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One year on.

Posted on February 3, 2013 | 1 comment

Well look at that, a whole year has passed since I set out from San Francisco to Hong Kong. I have this great memory of Sara (the daughter in law) and me eating breakfast at Theresa and Johnny’s and then she dropped me off at the Airport bus. I wonder if she was briefed or not but she stayed in the lot until the bus pulled out and waved and waved, this has become a family tradition with so many departures to the airport over the years. Oh the excitement of finding my seat on the Cathay Pacific flight and thinking “this bird is going to take me to the far side of the world”. Exquisite. I think I had three meals, two naps, tried to watch a movie, failed, blogged a bit, played with all the seat gadgets, entertained the crew with Seb and Sara’s wedding photos on the quite huge tv screen, watched the map app and was thrilled when we flew over Vladivostok, you get the picture, “hick on a trip” !
Arriving was even more thrilling, getting hopelessly lost at the airport, sharing biscuits with a family, who were also lost, finding the right bus and then realizing that my hotel wasn’t in Hong Kong at all, it was in Kowloon. Then the many rides across the straits on the Star Ferries from Tsim Sha Tsui, it was just a huge sensory overload.
Then on, on and on and on………..
Until today, one year later during which I :
Listened to Morning Edition on NPR from 4.00am until 6.am.
Checked email, Twitter etc and read the Guardian.
Showered, we have a new shower head.
Continued to sneeze, I have used three boxes of tissues in 24 hours.
I have a cold.
Went out to work, client was a no show.
Took a pair of pants back to Nordstrom, the zipper thingy fell off after 2 months.
Wished every retailer or seller of things, had customer service like Nordies.
Met J at Best Buy to negotiate purchase of new camera.
Succeeded in persuading them to price match Amazon. Saved $70.00
Wished no retailer or seller of things had customer service like Best Buy.
Guy in front of us in the line looked like he had a concealed assault weapon.
Prepared for 1.00 pm meeting………didn’t happen. Postponed until tomorrow.
Had a hot Pastrami sandwich at Theresa and Johnny’s. Best in town.
Discussed the Ka’ba in Mecca with the owner and waitperson. Really.
Shared younger son’s attendance at the Kumbh Mela.
Inappropriate points raised about 40 million people’s “stuff” over lunch.
Was invited to Mardi Gras in New Orleans next week.
Always interesting at T & J’s
Came home, tried to take a nap, couldn’t due to construction next door.
Went to work again with a quite new client, he is always so pleased to see me.
Figured out that Windows has a problem displaying wide screen monitors.
Showed his wife how to use Spotify on her iPhone. She thinks I am a god.
Swapped out receptionist’s computer for a new one. See opinion above.
Went to grocery store, put checks in the ATM.
Bought more tissues and dinner.
Got stuck in rush hour traffic. It took me 10 minutes to get home!
Fixed computer for client, it works just fine on non widescreen monitor.
Blogged while listening to araabMUZIK. Ultra chill sound.
J called, she off to a restaurant/bar after working late.
And now it’s 9.45.

BIG DIFFERENCE between February 1st 2012 and February 1st 2013.

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Speed Bonny boat

Posted on August 15, 2012 | 5 comments

At sea, M/V Pont-Avon, lurching down the Bay of Biscay.
Sunny and calm at the off we sat and enjoyed the warmth with a couple of beers listening to a crew member advising us of conditions to come. Being told of increasing winds to Force seven or eight and that it would be rough in the morning was rather like being told by a airplane Captain to expect some minor turbulence ahead. When my beer started blowing out of the glass we began to believe him.
I remember my friends Barbara and Graham, commenting on their trip to NY on the QE 2 that it was rather like a geriatric Butlins holiday camp (sorry US ers, there really is no equivalent). The Bingo bar was packed out, there was karaoke, a Michael Jackson impersonator, community singing, mountains of beer glasses, large glasses of strong sweet cocktails, kids, mini and otherwise, shrieking in the small pool. Twenty four hours of this ? Hmm, we thought. HELP !
Casting about we found tablecloth land where things were, shall we say, a little, well, quieter. Some dinner then back to the cabin and sleep, early.
I was up at three thirty to see Ushant. Huh, you say, Ushant? whatzat ? It’s a very famous rock on the Northwest tip of France where, during the Napoleonic Wars, our brave seafarers frequently wrecked their ships with the loss of all hands while blockading the French fleet at Brest. You won’t read too many Nautical History Sea Stories without coming across a mention of the fearful tide races, jagged rocks, contrary winds and mountainous seas of that inhospitable coast. Well of course I didn’t actually see it, it was dark, but I saw the lighthouses all around and suitably humbled I went back to bed.
The day dawned and it was rough, quite rough. The open sun deck , high on deck nine, was constantly submerged with spray as the bow ploughed into a wave, the whole ship shuddering from the impact. Attendance at breakfast was sparse, most passengers staying in their cabins as the boat pitched and rolled corkscrew fashion. Carrying food to the table was challenging, kind of launched myself from one hand hold to the next across the open spaces. I tried to catch up on a bit of sleep and it was somewhat like trying to sleep on a plane, nod off and suddenly the bottom drops out as the ship fell into a trough, hang on as we roll steeply, clutch the sides of the bed anxiously. Peer out of the porthole but can’t see anything due to waves crashing up against the side.
Sanity resumed slowly and we judged our appearance on the sun deck perfectly, the rocking lessened, the sun warmed, wine was served and all is right with the world again.
Santander is ninety minutes away, tapas are discussed, Rioja anticipated, I’ll let you know.

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A week in England

Posted on August 15, 2012 | 1 comment

A week in England, often referred to as “the Auld Country”, watching the Games on tv, going to the occasional pub, tea in the garden and spending an inordinate amount of time at Sainsbury’s (supermarket). The pace of life in the English countryside is well documented as slower than most places and after a week within it I can attest. Breakfast, for instance, can take over an hour, lunch two hours, tea, another hour, with dinner lasting from six until after nine when the pre prandials are included. The spaces in between are taken up with short trips to the newspaper shop, the market for essentials, beer, wine, bread, and the next meal. There are of course events throughout the day that remind one of the almost bucolic ideal, horses and riders clip clop past the cottage, the milk truck passes by to pick up from the nearby dairy farm, a neighbour burns garden waste (illegally) sending clouds of sweet smelling wood smoke all around the village, youths play soccer on the green, ladies wait for the weekly bus, chatting quietly, a local gent’ comes and mows the lawn, oh that smell, and of course it rains and drizzles with the famous sunny intervals. It is incredibly, unbelievably greeeeeen, so different from the Coast where we have maybe four to six weeks of greenness in the Spring, and that’s it, no more green until next year, get over it. They definitely have seasons here, sometimes two or three in a single day. Washed clothes, dried on the washing line outside, are snatched before the next cloudburst, towels come out to dry the garden furniture before you sit down, there are discussions about whether it is sunnier in the front garden or the back one, the songbirds sing in the trees and an almost tame red breasted Robin begs for dried worms.
You can’t beat it really.
I would like to think that the impertinent comments made by that national embarrassment, Mitt Romney, before the Olympics started galvanized the country into a kind of “well, we’ll show him” frame of mind, but, well, something did. It was a miracle. The whole country went into a frenzy of competence, success, good humour, friendliness and winning. You know what ? on a commuter train into London a complete stranger started talking to us ! unheard of. Not only that but while dithering over the tube (subway) map someone came up and offered to help. The stiff upper lip had cracked a big grin. The infamous media went berserk with tales of the national mood. The Opening and Closing Ceremonies seem to have thrown the rest of the world into a state of some bemusement. I actually missed the opener, I was in the air, but the closure was, I think, an example of pure unadulterated kitsch, proof perhaps that in the UK the arts still rule and that the music still rocks on. I watched it all the way through until midnight and still couldn’t go to bed, I wanted more and the brilliant BBC coverage didn’t let me down. Here is a quote from today’s newspaper “Always look on the Bright Side of Life sums up the British weltanschauung, old Eric probably confused a big chunk of the world the other night “, well quite ! I know everyone has seen the events so not much point in going into any detail here, I would like to comment tho on the fact that the Brits did very well in events that involved sitting down, horse riding, rowing, cycling, sailing etc. Not too take credit away from the world’s cutest boxer, Nicola Adams, or any of the other non sitting down competitors.
Jolly good.
Off again now……..an unexpected trip to London and a very quick cab ride from the train station to the centre, Piccadilly, then back again. Sorry but I can’t get blasé about seeing those famous sites, Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, St Martins in the Fields, Trafalgar Square, #10, the Cenotaph and Hatchards book store. I mean, really, I used to live there, time to get used to it surely, but no, it’s as exciting as bursting out of the Waldo tunnel to see the Bay, San Francisco, Alcatraz and the G G Bridge. I think it’s ok to be enthusiastic. Talking of which, anyone who knows me at all knows of my penchant for boats and here I am, on deck number nine, in the sunshine, on a boat bound for Santander in Northern Spain, accompanied by my sister.
This could be interesting……..

The robin.

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