POST PANDEMIC DIARY

THE CHURCH BELLS TOLL
October 23, 2023

It is nearly 6 AM in Oxford. A bus carrying no passengers whisks silently by outside our Bed and Breakfast. I hear nothing at all. Like the tail of a comet, dashing lights whiz by like a story-tale mirage, leaving a faint, ambiguous trail and ghost-like impression of empty seats. Not as one might expect on a Monday morning.

A rooftop view of Oxford.

There is not that urban rush as in New York, London, or any major city. Even at the earliest hours in those cities you experience the obligatory “Monday has arrived”, once morning ascends. And, too, following our 60 day journey, this realization that “the end has arrived” is our obligatory morning awakening. We will be taking our unclean and bedraggled clothing and stuffing them into plastic bags and shoving the bags into our luggage. Our toiletries go into plastic zip-lock bags. We stuff our large pieces of luggage with the majority of what we left with calculating what we need for the next day or so that go into our backpacks. We mostly packed last night to minimize what we take onboard with us. We will be driving to Heathrow Airport soon, drop off the car, and head to our room at one of the airport hotels to dawdle and idle away the last hours before boarding early tomorrow morning. I will take that time to review feelings and photos. I will share some of both.

Sunrise from our patio window in East Chisenbury

This has been a remarkable time for us. It is the first time we have traveled since 2020 and the imposition of Covid. We are the fortunate ones. We survived. We are the ones who were hardly inconvenienced despite our inconveniences. We are the ones who laughed and danced through the sequestration. We are the ones who did not feel the discomfort or pain. The ones who breathed fresh air walking the sparsely populated streets alone. We are the ones who, visiting the supermarket with masks, moved sideways, like approaching autos on a narrow street move to the side to allow passage, as another rolled a cart down the aisle. Picking up medications, we stood on designated circles advising us of social distancing. We were the ones who called restaurants for “take-away” [as they say here in place of “to-go”], and who sat in our cars lowering our windows to allow for the bag with our meals to be passed. It was the absence of concern about being close that grabbed me. Our interactions were close. Our conversations were close. Our dining was close. The movement on the streets was close, even crowded at times. No masks. Nothing between you and a breath - not a bob or weave or duck or sideways bobble. I think even the “Post Pandemic Diary” has ended. On to the next phase.

Bibury, considered by many the prettiest village in England.

Another view of Bibury

I am overjoyed by the splendid receptions we received. There is something about the British accent that is so engaging and I suspect, so utterly influential in one’s attitude and demeanor. They are a clever lot. When they want to joke, their accent seems to lend itself to humor. If you were to close your eyes, the British accent would automatically make you laugh at the punch line. There is an acute sideways glance to the intonation. If you were listening to a British woman or man, you might fall in love as they read a John Donne sonnet, so restrained with pent up emotion. This morning I listened to Richard Burton’s reading of Dylan Thomas’s “Under The Milkwood”, and felt the world around me glimmer with hope and salvation. When you meet a Brit, you will be inclined to thoroughly be arrested by the immediacy, wit and receptivity of their grip. They are not merely tolerant of tourists, they are benevolent. They have not been the least condescending. They have always been accessible and wildly helpful.

This edifice is said to have influenced the writing of a great piece of literature. See the next picture after you have guessed author and title.

In attitude I have found Brits to be jovial. Jovial, to me, is happy with an upturned tonality. The British accent is naturally sardonic, curiously empathetic, mildly ironic, if sometimes covertly dark, yet, ending with an upward lilt. A young woman with a British accent is deliciously attractive and alluring; a young man, [so I’m told] is divinely and gently masculine. These are, of course, generalizations, but we were both taken in and even though not a barometer of veracity we were happy to be foiled if that were the case.

J.R.R. Tolkien used these towers as inspiration for “The Lord of The Rings” trilogy. These are The Twin Towers of All Saints College.

The most photographed site in Oxford - The Bridge of Tears.

We have arrived at Heathrow, have checked into our room, and are upstairs at the rooftop lounge. Every plane taking off ticks off the time for which we depart. My brain right now is beating faster than my heart. I must quiet myself knowing that our flight is about one half of the earth’s rotation. Being that I am willing to trust as far as the next day, I will sleep peacefully.

Town center Oxford

Bless you all for having joined us and written me on this blog. It is rewarding to realize there is life on the other side of the mirror.

Castle Combe, Chippenham

Castle Combe, Chippenham

Stonehenge

Cheddar - Yes, where the cheese was created.

Stourhead Garden

Goodbye from Stonehenge

Hope to be with you soon.

POST PANDEMIC DIARY

READY? YES, WE ARE.
October 15, 2023

The end of a vacation, whether off for a long weekend jaunt, a weekly, summer escape vacation or an extended journey to a new land have one thing in common, nearing the final days is a bit like mental and emotional gymnastics. As one is about to depart there is a feeling of excitement and anticipation. Then, at arrival the skin tingles with awe and amazement - the awe of new environments and, especially these days, the amazement of having arrived in one piece with all your luggage. Then, as one settles in to whatever the routine demands, you forget thought of work and responsibility giving way to mind and muscle relaxing. Off you go, to the beach, a hike, an ice cream shop, an attraction of historical significance, and while away the hours. As time clip-clops forward and the departure day nears, all of a sudden you, feel a bit of the exhaustion setting in. More of the time away is behind you and the mental “to do” lists begin to enter your consciousness. What in the outset was thrilling now might be boring and repetitive. Ancient stones mutate to less inspiring rocks. Walking paths that invited exploration become gravely over-trodden tracks too long to bother with. The decision at the near end of the day to make that last visit to another town is declined in favor of returning to the Bed & Breakfast grabbing an episode of Law & Order before dinner. Yes, Law & Order and NCIS are still big here.

Stratford Upon Avon - William Shakespeare’s birthplace.

Oddly, the long weekend, the summer escape and the journey all end with the feeling that you are away a little too long. Isn’t that strange. There was not so much as expected to do in this town; the natural wonders were not so wonderful; and “we don’t need to see another”…fill in the blank.

The graveyard at Chastleton House in Cotswold. The house is noted due the the growing poverty of the family inheritors who could not upgrade the facility and thus, left behind a perfect preservation of life over centuries without restoration’s mascara. A fascinating walk through time.

I kind of knew this, so planned for us to execute a deeper dive into the region called the Cotswold. That is somewhat of a strenuous depiction of planning to do a lot of nothing at the end of our vacation. In reality, it was motivated by all there was to do in greater proximity and less distance. With less movement and changing of hotels we have been able to relax and, when we move, travel no more than an hour.

A typical home made of Cotswold stone and slate roofs seen throughout the region.

The Cotswold is about an hour and a half train ride from London, making it the prime location for wealthy Londoners to own second homes. During Covid, the Cotswold experienced the same phenomenal growth that we here in the U.S. experienced - a migration from the city to more scenic, slower environments.

Another example of living in the Cotswold.

What was already the high-end of property went astronomical with the likes of the Bekhams and movie, TV, and rock stars taking up residence. It is easily understandable. The villages are perfect in authenticity, yet maintained at highest quality. And, the surrounding areas as well as the center villages are irresistibly inviting.

The peace and serenity of the Cotswold.

This morning we are off to Oxford for the last three days. It is pouring rain, and reports indicate storm warnings for Northern England and Scotland. The drive is about one hour. Whether it rains or not is inconsequential as we have learned from the Scots and Welsh. You simply get on with your plans. If you decided to allow yourselves to be guided by weather forecasts, the likelihood is that you would hardly ever go anyplace.

Originally a 2,000 acre estate, the family was forced to sell their land holdings keeping a mere 20 acres that is now under the control of The National Trust.

The forecasting engines simply appear to forecast rain in varying percentages and then on the day back off from the forecast to report that days. Even then, the accuracy is not much better. Conditions can vary from minute to minute. Literally. We have had days in which our layers had to be removed and zipped up or pulled over our heads multiple times.

As we ready to leave, the leaves are readying to reveal their autumnal display.

We arrive home on Tuesday in the early evening. We are very much looking forward to our return. This trip was a huge undertaking. One that we thoroughly enjoyed and, as well, one that has asked a great deal from us. It will be good to be home amongst family and friends. Thanks for keeping up with us.

Autumn bloomers in color.

A study in black and white.

POST PANDEMIC DIARY

I AM NOT A NUMBER
September 27, 2023

Today we decided to chance the forecast, all day rain and high winds, and stick to our plans to visit Penrhyn Castle. Penrhyn is one of the newer castles in the UK dating from the mid to late 1800’s. That being said, it offers some of the best interiors and interior architecture in its original state.

Study, Reading Room, and Cigar Room

When we arrived at the registration desk we were advised that the castle would be closing early and that visits to the upstairs chambers would conclude by noon. Being that we arrived at 10:15, this exception really did not impact us. However, it did alert us to the fact that the weather might be a factor in our overall plans for the day. Given that the roads are so narrow (How narrow? will be explained shortly) we thought it best to review our days plans so as not to find us on one of the narrow “B” roads that are so designated because they are not major motorways but more rural, typically two-land roads that endlessly wind through the country.

Game and Pool Room

Since we exited the estate after the noon hour, we now had a decision to make. Do we continue on our way, go back to our hotel, or modify our plans? It started to rain as we took in the beauty of the chambers and was continuing even as we were facing this decision. Even as we weighed the likelihoods, the wind picked up and began stirring the trees. We looked at the hourly forecasts and finally decided to do the latter and change our plans. We decided to go to Portmeirion, a seaside village about 40 minutes down the coast and have lunch and hope after a relaxing dine the most dire of the conditions will have passed or subsided.

Greeting Hall and Concert Room

I quickly made reservations at the hotel “Castell Deudrath”, the castle that lay at the edge of the village. We arrived and were escorted into a glass enclosed dining room of substantial size and abundant charm. We dined on a three-course menu taking our time and watching as the weather worsened between courses. As we were completing our meal, timed to perfection, the rain stopped while the wind began to blow the trees sideways. I asked for the bill and was brought the bill along with a pass for two to enter the Village of Portmeirion. As I paid, and with a bit of manifest sarcasm, I said, “One has to pay to visit the village”? To which the really sweet service person said, “You get in for free. If you’d rather not go I will gladly take the passes.” I was told, wasn’t I.

The incongruous design of this elegantly garish village.

Little did we know what we were about to experience. Portmeirion is an enchanted village of colorful buildings, shops, cafes, a picturesque piazza, periodic events and exhibitions and audio displays set on 70-acres of seaside woodlands with miles of pathways that wend through the forests and equally winding streets that thread amongst the multiple dwellings.

One’s first impression is confused delight - orange, white, purple, green, yellow - a garish impressionistic splash assaults first impressions. The architecture further baffles ones sensibilities with pseudo roman platforms, Italianate sculptures, and French Mediterranean facades. What would otherwise be crude and appealing only to the busloads of people on vacation hurrying from one “I saw this” to another, in fact, possesses a most odd appeal.

As we finally finished a walk down to the shore to magically escape the wind taking a second circuit around the village, we ended up, as is inevitably the case, at the gift shop which lies at the end of every round. In discussion with the lady in the shop, the whole of this experience became clarified. But, only the older readers may appreciate this discovery.

Does anyone remember “The Prisoner”, a 1967 British television series created by and starring Patrick McGoohan? In the series, The Prisoner was known only as Number Six, ergo the title, endlessly repeated by the protagonist who railed against being identified as such and would scream defiantly to the hidden voice that was the ‘control’, “I am not a number”. In fact, Number Six was a former government agent who, in the series, “resigns from his job and soon after finds himself imprisoned in a beautiful and charming-yet-bizarre community — a mysterious seaside village that is isolated from the mainland by mountains and the sea. Presumably wanted for the top-secret information he knows, Number Six is hunted, yet thwarts his captors at every turn. However, he’s still trapped in the village by floating, glowing “rovers”, mysterious, balloon-like devices that capture those who try to escape. As you can imagine, The Prisoner ended with an ambiguous finale as to Number Six’ survival. Today it represents a debated question by The Prisoner aficionados.

The emblem commemorating the series was on the door to Number Six, his residence in the series.

POST PANDEMIC DIARY

[A quick note to explain how it is I have not gotten off a blog over the past month. Adele and I have been so on the go, our schedule timed with movement from one town to the other, a morning tour of a city, a planned walk, etc. that I have simply not been able to think about writing. Therefore, I have decided to cram some highlights into a single blog to provide a taste of what’s going on this side of the pond. As always your comments are welcomed. Thanks.]

FALSE ALARM
September 18, 2023

We checked into The Clayton Hotel in Glasgow, a one-year-old contemporary hotel, the likes of which have caught on all over the world - a kind of jivey, cool, youthful vibe that blends well with traditional elegance and warm ambience. It layout is quite clever and extremely well thought out - the bar and lounge right up front so you cannot miss the happenings as you go to the elevators, nor can you miss the young and vigorous people gathering in their most fine threads drinking the latest cocktails, and laughing those uncomfortable, forced laughs that are sure signs or either boredom or desperation, There is lots of recessed seating that keeps you in the game buts adds a bit of privacy. Anyways, our room was quite nice, comfortable and also cool with cool grey walls and multi-hued grey duvet that gave you the impression you were spending the night in a cool hotel…which it was…really. Cool.

View from our room at the Clayton Hotel overlooking Glasgow rooftops.

Adele and I were out carousing the city in lousy weather just bearable enough for us to take our laundry to the laundromat and after three weeks of traveling unload half of what we started with into the wash, soap, rinse and dry cycles. Following this rather long, moist and inclement day, we had burgers and “triple fries” (a thing in Scotland) at the hotel. Sleep was welcome. And, sleep came quickly.

“What the hell”? The alarm was piercing, high-pitched, metallic, pulsing with brief intervals and accompanied by a flashing light. I bounced up from my slumber feeling a sense of urgency although I didn’t have any idea what was happening. Turning to Adele, I said, “Honey, get up”. She still needed a little shaking and a moment to get oriented. “We have to get dressed”. I checked my Fitbit – 4:14 AM – I was in my birth uniform but went to the door to see if it was only my room alarm that was persisting to bleat loudly enough to want to escape. I opened the door only slightly, peering out and initially saw no one, but in the few moments my door was opened other doors began to open with people already dressed and proceeding out of their rooms in quiet, orderly fashion.

Adele and I quickly dressed and like the rest of the retinue of evacuees looked as if the dress code of the day was “grab what you can and get the hell out”. Our room was on the 14th floor. We followed the steady flow of people on our floor directly to the stairwell. The stairwells were already filled, surging in a steady flow of people coming from the two floors above. We joined the stream of folks who were discharging in a most unphazed business-like fashion – some finding humor in the circumstance, some calculating their rest of days’ activities, or making phone calls to express love and possibly convey their last wishes.

Round and round we went until floor #7 when the current suddenly turned and some of the people downstairs began to walk upstairs. “False alarm”, they called to those of us above. The tide then shifted as everyone turned and started heading upstairs and back to their rooms. The next morning, I inquired about the cause of the false alarm and was told that sometimes, rarely, someone might be taking an extremely hot shower, when upon opening of the shower door, the steam is released and sets off the alarm. I know this is somewhat of a blah, disappointing ending. Just know, I too wanted something more dramatic in conclusion. Still, I have to be grateful that no one was hurt and all got to keep their belongings.

Fifty Shades of Green…and Counting

Remember when you were growing up your parents would say that “the grass isn’t greener on the other side” or in common parlance “all is not as it appears”. Except, in Scotland where the grass IS actually greener. Not only is it greener, it is thickly carpeted. It is dense and full and cushiony. And, most remarkably, is the diversity of color of meadow and lark, pasture and hills, mountains and forest - dark, almost emerald; it is light and dirty, almost mossy; it is reflective and neon bright; it is golden hued like straw; it is coppery like rusted metal; it is fruit colored like lime or green apple; and vegetable colored like kale or broccoli. One is endlessly discovering new shades of green.

The peaceful and perfect countryside scene…seen everywhere.

Inverary Castle

Mind you, all this greenery comes, well, I was going to say at a cost. But, Scotland is not like Seattle or Portland where suicide rates are the highest in the nation due to the consistently rainy weather and fewest sun days. No. The Scots seem fully adapted to the weather. Just the other day, we spent two nights at the Trigony House, set in rural Dumfries region. On the way, in the cold drizzle, we saw two older couples out on their lawn having tea, conversing in laughter, having a good old time in shorts, and short-sleeve shirts, as if in the Bahamas.

Weather, like all climates around the world, are subject to forecasts. However, forecasting in Scotland makes Americas’ inaccuracies seem like laws of physics. Scotland’s weather really requires, not day by day forecasting, not hour by hour forecasting, rather minute by minute evaluations. Oh hell. The notion of forecasting is specious. The whole damn thing should be scrapped. We have never experienced variations in the weather as we have here. We are not talking simply of clouds overhead clearing making way for the sun. We are speaking of nearly instantaneous changes from clear to sun showers to pouring rain in mere minutes. Sun that is followed by total cloud coverage that breaks and is sunny once again in minutes. Temperatures that require layers including scarves and windbreakers that must quickly be removed because the sun’s appearance raises the temperature making the incredibly chilling weather hot.

Trigony House Garden Suite

Our private sun room and access to private garden

We took a boat ride down Loch Ness after visiting Urquhart Castle that stands high overlooking the Loch. The castle itself is a ruin in the technical sense - no innards - but the remains are copious and tie together in a way that make the empty spaces come alive. You can imagine being greeted in the grand entry; dancing in the great hall, being imprisoned in the isolation of a stone cell hardly large enough to move. Then the view from the boat speaks to the grandeur, status and nobility of fallen stone.

Loch Ness

Urquhart Castle from Loch Ness

A Loch By Any Other Name
We have finally arrived in England’s Lake Region. Famed for its scenic beauty, the landscape is, indeed, gorgeous. We are spending five nights here to absorb the many towns, villages, falls and lakes. Then, on the fourth day, while a mere 1 1/4 miles from where we were staying in Ambleside, and while a huge double wheeler was passing in the other direction with its wide cab creeping over the dividing line, I veered onto the shoulder which, in this case and commonly, had a dip created by rainfall and drove over a rock or some such when we heard a loud gunshot like “POP”, and in that moment knew I had blown a tire. The car began to wobble as we were fortunate, in a very short distance, to find the generous private entrance to a gated home and were able to pull over.

This is a story of deliverance. We exited the vehicle and stood viewing our flat tire…and I mean flat. We had an emergency number to call and got through to an “AA”, a company partnered with Hertz, to provide emergency services ONLY. That is, they go to the car and bring you to the nearest affiliate garage throughout the UK. However, garages do not necessarily replace tires and they certainly do not stock tires. We were due in Chester in two days, so had this day and the next to solve a problem. We chalked it up without dismay to time lost and got down to business.

I contacted AA and were told that help would be on its way in about six hours. They suggested I drive the car the short distance to a garage I identified as able to get a tire within the day right there in Ambleside. He said that given the wheel’s alloys, there should be little in the way of damage if I proceeded slowly. Which is what we did. We arrived at the garage and put our order in for a tire to be delivered later that day and the vehicle handed over to us in that afternoon. But, then the real crusher occurred. We got a phone call from the garage saying that after the new tire was installed, the owner discovered that the wobble was not related to the flat tire. The wobble was being caused by the front end being damaged, possibly a strut or cross arm. That meant the car was not safe to drive.

Now began a journey of persistence and clever manipulation. Since we needed to replace our vehicle, we would need to take the car, on a Saturday, to a Hertz that was open and had a vehicle for replacement. And, AA would not take us any place without our having a replacement vehicle so that we would not be stranded. It was a Catch-22. This episode now has only begun and extends well into the evening and the morning. Suffice to say, the next day, we were able to persuade AA to take us to the Hertz at Manchester airport where we fortunately were able to exchange cars. Yes, and drive on to Chester a day earlier than scheduled. The owner of the B&B where we were staying even said that he would post the room and if let for the evening would return our charge. The lessen is, “When you journey, anticipate detours.” How fortunate were we to be able to proceed according to plans?

We were rewarded with this room’s view at the beautiful Chester Grosvenor Hotel in Chester.

September 26, 2023
In closing for now, our trip has been whirlwind. Not in the sense of having little time and failing to give due to our visits by scurrying through. Quite the contrary. Our “busy-ness” is having the time to do more and having to choose what not to do. I hope some of the photos below fill in to a degree a sense of the fullness and richness of our journey.

Speaks for itself

The port at Oban

Stirling Castle

Castlerigg Stone Circle - someties referred to as the “mini-stonehenge” - dating back to BC. Even touching ancient stones gives one the feeling of ‘back in the future’.

The magnificent views of hills near Windemere.

What the bloody hell! It rains everyday. Even if it rains for a minute, the clothes get sopping wet. OH well! I guess they can wait until a sunny day. Cheers.

The River Dee near Bala, Wales.

The Abbey in Chirk, Wales

Adele having a casual conversation with a Swan.

We wish you all good health. Until next time.

POST PANDEMIC DIARY

From England To Scotland
September 2, 2023

It is five o’clock in Hexham, England. We are at The Beaumont Hotel in the center of town. A small reception area is in front as you walk in. A small dark wood bar to the right. Casual seating to the left. The front is expansive, windows floor to ceiling looking out on the street where “two-top” tables, occupied by townspeople and visitors alike, line the street-side. Yesterday afternoon and well into the evening The Beaumont was reveling. A group of ten were drinking Champagne in celebration of a wedding to take place the next day. Other couples, deep in conversation, exchanged memories, hopes and laughter. The couples outside were people-watching, as Adele and I are often wont to do, a wordless exchange of quiet meanderings and sometimes fierce and unfair opinions of the passers-by - “He could use to lose a few pounds”; “The designer of the bare mid-riff should be strangled with his own excess cloth”.

A small fraction of Hadrian's Wall

Upstairs, on the first level, there is another wedding party taking place. I pressed the elevator for “1” on my way down, forgetting that Europeans have a “Ground” floor. The elevator opened upon the aforementioned party just as the bride and groom were passing by. I commented on their sartorial appearance, but paid additional attention to the bride who was beaming. Soon enough her husband to be walked away toward friends and the bride and I drew out more information about ourselves until a final embrace and wishes for her health and happiness. That interlude was such a delightful surprise. I went downstairs and raised an imaginary glass to her health and future happiness.

September 3, 2023
Hexham is poised near the Eastern start of Hadrian’s Wall. The construction began in 122 AD “to separate the Romans from the barbarians”. Does this remind you in some remote way of our immigration problem at this very moment? Walls. Walls. Walls. The Roman kingdom had expanded at this point to a population in Rome of “over 1,000,000 permanent residents; Alexandria was perhaps between 500,000 and 750,000. The cities of Antioch, Ephesus and Carthage had populations on the order of 350,000 to 500,000 residents. There were many more cities in the eastern provinces boasting large populations”…and reaching into the North of England. Although estimates vary widely, it can be said with some assurance that the total population was greater of the Roman Empire was greater than 10 million while some estimates put it at 50-60 million.

A Small portion of Hadrian’s Wall

September 5, 2023
In order to control their populations and prevent uprisings amongst its population, the Romans conscripted boys and young men from their families that resided in the countries within their kingdom, having them serve in their legions. Separated from their families, alone with other men in similar circumstances and living well - well fed, well clothed, and well cared for - they adapted to their surroundings and over years married, had children and grew communities. This system lasted for two centuries until the start of the Roman decline. However, of note is the fact that these servicemen were of all nationalities and races.

The extremity of a Roman Village bordering the River Tyne

The Roman Village

Hadrian’s Wall, aside from being an historical marvel, is also simply a pleasure to walk. The Scottish scenery, vistas, and colors are second to none. There are all sorts of visceral responses to the varied topographies found planet Earth - mountains are uplifting and inspiring; plains are vastly unifying…if boring; one stands breathing in the salty air of rocky shorelines - but the assortment of greens offered by the soft rolling hills of the Scottish Borders possess a motherly comfort, a generous, warm embrace that I favor. There feels a succor, a comfort, relief and refuge. A peaceful sense of flowing rhythms - boundless patterns at interplay with the shifting sunlight and, of course, the stone walls that criss-cross the countryside.

Walls distinguish one property from the next.

One hears of Scotland’s uniqueness. Indeed. It is not only the land, it is the people. I am aware of sensations and responses I do not ordinarily feel. I am now speaking of the whole of the UK actually. They are not merely hospitable. That would impugn sincere generosity of spirit. This goes across the spectrum of service folk and stranger. Met an older woman in the wonderful village of Helmsley just as she was exiting her home. She moved from her native home in Wales to this border town originally to work in their local theater. She loved the people and place so very much she stayed on and became active in the development and planning of productions. We walked and talked until she led us to a Saturday market, departing with advise and direction to the best cafe in town. Then, behind a stall of freshly made cakes and breads, scones and muffins, was a young lady with a proverbial bubbling personality. Incredibly sweet, she began to cut small pieces of the merchandise delights including her favorite Orange Almond Cake and a Sheep’s Milk Ricotta Cannoli with Pistachio. I want to make it perfectly clear that she was absolutely the sweetest of the lot.

Adele and I are fine. We have set a strict and active schedule for ourselves and so far are surviving. We have taken in a lot and there is much more in store. For now, be well and I will catch up with you later.

POST PANDEMIC DIARY

WE HAVEN’T YET SEEN
September 1, 2023

One of the pleasures of traveling is coming face to face not merely with the unexpected but with the new. And, when I say new, I am referring to a thing or experience I have as yet not encountered. Needless to say, what is new can be informative and educational or purely fanciful, even funny. Already, after only one week of travel, I have without any effort on my part several firsts that I would like share with you.

The first item of consideration is, well, I will let you guess from the below picture if you can resist looking at the second photo. Yes. It is a chair. It is made of plastic that is formed, then tightly wrapped in leather rope. It is a leather chair, unlike any leather chair I have ever seen. At Chatsworth Estate there is an exhibit of contemporary arts and crafts that have their origin in classic design that reflects the objects from earlier centuries. This is one of the contemporary works.

Detail of the armrest of the chair.

A clearer sense of the seat of the chair.

In the whimsical vein, Adele and I stopped off for a spot of tea. Arriving soon after us was a couple, the gentleman of which, and I use the term warmly, struck me as an individual of distinct character. Would you not agree?

Remember I said that benefits of travel are often unexpected. Well, the poster (below) faced me in the men’s urinal.

An important message.

There are times in every man and woman’s life when life feels like it is more than anyone can bear. In America we have (I believe they are called) “Break Rooms” where you can break items by throwing them against walls or smash them into the floor. In the U.K., the emotional outlet is indoor axe throwing. My observation is that axe throwing is more specific to a person and therefore more greatly remedying the problem. Or, it answers the question, through whose heart are you aiming?

And, just in case, Adele’s aim is perfectly on target, I may be in need of a telephone call…and some immediate help. Well, on the corner in the town of Stamford, England, I might give my chances of recovery a greater than even chance.

I hope you were surprised and shared some of my “firsts” with pleasure.

POST PANDEMIC DIARY

“IF YOU’VE SEEN ONE…”
August 29, 2023

We are all familiar with the phrase (and the intention behind it), “If you’ve seen one (church), you’ve seen them all”. You may, of course, substitute for church mansion, castle, house, garden etc. all by way of saying that the attester has little interest in history, context, nuance, subtlety, nor has the patience to choose deliberate discernment over imprecise impression. I was one of those who, in my youth, relied on my intuition, simply bored by detail, possessed not the wherewithal to care about nuance and philosophically was more inclined to the big picture than particulate matter.

I have changed in my latter meditative decades, yielding to small things despite child-like intransigence, paying greater attention as if it were forced labor and, finally, extrapolating from the tiniest to the grandest, giving smallness its due and finding surprising joy in that expansion of awareness. This came to mind as we explored one of the grandest of UK estates, Holkham, about 1/2 hour from Norwich, England, near the sea. The building, rooms, carvings, paintings and, finally, the gardens were all things Adele and I have experienced many times before. Originally a 42,000 acre estate, it is now, like all of the historical ‘royal’ land holdings and properties, in family trust and run by a Board that administers the business of all things Holkham et.al.. This is the only way the family can continue to maintain these holdings, by offering them to the Trust and making them available to the public that supports them through significant entrance fees.

Holkham Hall

The former would suggest that there would be great resentment of the owners who still live on these properties in royal fashion. But, there is rightly not. Not only are they upholding a tradition that is uniquely British, but the families have for the last half century been able to provide improvements to the physical properties and all the contents which represent this rich history. As well, the families enable and financially support all sorts of programs for the arts and on behalf of contemporary artists. Furthermore, the estates have staffs of hundreds of people, from landscapists to art restorers, who earn substantial livings maintaining the properties. Then there are those staff providing tours and commentaries. Every two rooms or so a docent, a trained person who literally becomes somewhat of a historian, offers detailed information that makes the visit exceptionally worthwhile.

I hope this visit to Holkham and to the even grander Chatsworth Estate worth your while.

[I took all the pictures as I do in all my blog posts}

Although it is late in the season, the Gardens are still flowering under the care of groundskeepers who actively wander the gardens.

The main greeting hall and staircase at Chatworth

It takes 14 hours to set the table.

It was usual for youthful royalty to mature in their positions by traveling the world and learning by first-hand experience. The purchasing of foreign rarities was a symbol of status. This foot from a giant Buddha is one of those objects. (It’s the one on the left.)

The Royal Bedroom

Our bedroom in a B&B we stayed at that was decorated in what I called the “Neo-Brothel Style”. It was really quite lovely.

A portrait by John Singer Sargent of the daughters.

And, the fabulous scenery.

Post Pandemic Diary

Reality Television
August 26, 2023

Today we started out with a long walk to Grantchester, the town made famous by the Public Television show of the same name. Admittedly, I have only viewed a few episodes. However, not only all over England, also visitors to the UK from the U.S. and beyond, are fanatical about the show and come around the town to visit the sites where the series takes place. We were fortunate on this day that we did not have to contend with a profusion of tourists, so we could experience the quaint charm of this village.

A special place in the village is the rightly famous Orchard Tea Room and Garden, a sprawling, grassy and fruit tree studded space of informal comfort serving some of the best scones and cakes imaginable - orange cake; pear, cardamom and chocolate cake; fruit scones and, of course, tea. Not merely recognized for its tasteful array of delicacies, the Garden (as it was called) attracted many literary, philosophical and musical luminaries of the day. In 1909, while still a student at Cambridge, Rupert Brooke took up lodging and soon attracted the likes of Virginia Wolfe, John Maynard Keynes. E.M Forster, Bertrand Russell, Ludwig Wittgenstein, and Augustus John amongst others to share in conversation and witty banter as members of The Grantchester Group or the “Neo-pagans” as Wolfe named them. Brooke later lodged at the neighboring house, The Old Vicarage, immortalized in his poem “The Old Vicarage”.

“Stands the church at
ten to three
And is there honey still
for tea?”

The Garden at The Orchard in Grantchester

“Inside the church
beneath the steeple
no choir sang
there n’er were people
’cept two ladies fair
pealing snickered pitches
like God’s sweet witches
hung long gray hair”
David Roth

St. Andrew and St. Mary’s Church

We visited the church as it juts on a turn in the road, hardly avoidable as one carriages through to the town center where The Red Lion Inn sits comforting the weary traveler. Of no particular note, the nave is unadorned. However, the stones, throughout the chapel, we 13th century with detailed markings and intricate sculpturing. That really was a delight to see. Just on the other side of the church is the Vicarage.(Just above the number 44) The flowers that hung appeared unnatural, so perfect of form and color, Adele insisted they were fake. But, no. The flowers and the scene were real.

The Old Vicarage

Following our visit to Grantchester, we decided to again walk the way back to Cambridge and spend time with the Queens at Queens’ College. Indeed, the college was built by two Queens of England - in 1448 by Margaret of Anjou and wife of Henry VI of England (the founder of King’s College) and secondly in 1465 by Elizabeth Woodville of king Edward IV of England.

Queen’s College

There remains a myth regarding the “apostrophe” that supposedly was moved from the possessive position before the “s” to the plural possessive after the “s”. However, it seems that apostrophes were not of great antiquity and likely would never have come under consideration at their time.

Details at Queens’ College

Inner Courtyard at Queens’ College

I will close for now. Ta Ta.

POST PANDEMIC DIARY

GOODBYE, HELLO
August 22, 2023

It is Monday night. Adele and I completed our packing in anticipation of our departure Thursday August 24. Yet, we still have much to do. Oh, nothing related to our two-month journey through England and Scotland. No. Today, Adele saw her podiatrist because her hip has bothered her for a couple of months. The foot doc told her she has a significant length difference in her legs, so he packed her right shoe in order to elevate her one side and level her hips so she is no longer compensating on one side causing stress and muscle and joint pain.

And, I will arrive at the UNC Orthopedic Surgery Center tomorrow (Tuesday August 22) at 8:15 AM. For those of you who don’t know, the pinky on my right hand was caught and slammed in my car’s door. I broke the medial bone between the first two joints, after which my finger was effectively pointing in three directions. I will have the surgery tomorrow, post-op on Wednesday, and board a plane to London Heathrow on Thursday.

The lounge at JFK

———————————————-

We arrived safely at Heathrow, albeit 2 1/2 hours behind. Picked up our vehicle at Hertz, a Skoda with 505 miles and proceeded to drive to Cambridge. I had never driven in England or in any ‘left-sided’ driving country. In preparation, and in an effort to allay my anxiety, I Googled “Simulated drive in England” and actually discovered some cites with driving instructors having you, the viewer, sitting behind the wheel with the driver. I left feeling confident and assured, pulled out of the parking area, and began driving like a champ. Yes, no modesty here, I simply did great…if you don’t consider my having driven over the curb within the first 1,000 feet. Otherwise, the drive went well and better than I might have anticipated.

We arrived in Cambridge just in time to check-in at the hotel without going up to our room in order to walk for twenty minutes to Cambridge center to meet with our tour group for a 2-hour walking tour. This may sound daunting, however considering that we woke up at 5 in the morning, were picked up by car at 11, and sat on our bums through lounges, plane flights and delays for a total of 12 hours, although thoroughly exhausted, we looked forward to the opportunity to walk and get our joints moving again.

Here are some random images from our tour. I will end it here for now, as it is morning of Saturday the 26th of August and I am waiting for a cup of coffee. I would like anyone within earshot of this blog to feel free to respond with comments, your thoughts, etc. Thanks for taking this journey with us.

Punting on the Cambridge River and the Architect’s Bridge

Good advice even if it is given in the toilet

A Cambridge scene

King’s Chapel Organ Pipes and Vaulted Ceiling