Carpe diem

Hiking in Norway – green mountains, silver fjords

Posted on April 5, 2013 by carpediemrosemary

Standing on a Bergen street

Bergen

A suggestion from Diane – a friend I met on a group hike in the Cinque Terra – that we try a group hike in Norway sounds appealing, as it is currently hot hot hot in Houston!

So…I arrive in Bergen after switching planes in Amsterdam, and take a taxi to the Hotel Neptun. The taxi driver, a surly sort, leans from the cab to spit every few miles, which of course, places him high on my list of attractions. Diane is waiting at the hotel with fresh raspberries…how great to see her after our brief meeting at Martha’s Vineyard! After planting the luggage, we walk into town for a light supper, and catch up on the news. Then to bed to try to get some sleep, so we will be fresh for the group tomorrow.

The Fishmarket of Bergen and the Funicular

We finally get to sleep after surviving a heat wave in the hotel room, and the screeching of traffic until the wee hours outside our third story window. Even with the window open wide, it is unbearably hot…in the 90s, not exactly what I expected! We finally fall asleep at 3:30AM, and awake at 9AM for breakfast.

Bergen’s main street

After breakfast, we ramble to Bergen’s fishmarket…just down the road and on the edge of the fjord, where fishing boats, cruise ships and ferries all dock. The open-air market has it all, including whale steaks (black!), t-shirts, an immense variety of wonderful fresh fruit (we bought more raspberries and cherries), postcards, sweaters, cheese…and much more.

A restored area of Bergen is next on our list: old, old wooden buildings, once housing traders, now are home to shops and boutiques. A variety of beautiful things is on display: wonderful pottery, ceramics, lace, antiques… The flower gardens glow with roses, daisies, drip with honeysuckle, while the homes are quite austere architecturally, constructed of wooden slats, many covered with concrete and painted bright light colors. These homes are vulnerable to fire, and Bergen has had many conflagrations in the past.

View from top of funicular down to Bergen

At 2PM, we join the rest of the merry band (three couples and our guide Beate) back at the hotel. Again we walk through the market and town, then ride the funicular to the top of the mountain. We spend a little time looking over the remarkable view, then hike the 45-minute walk down the mountain through lovely ferny woods and huge oak and birch trees – beautiful!

After showering and changing for dinner, we meet to listen to a brief talk by Beate about the history of Norway, eat, and then return to our rooms to pack for Sunday’s hike – a 15-mile day to look forward to! And so to bed!

From Myrrdahl to Flam

We’re up at 6:30 as we need to be on the road by a quarter to eight. With little time to spare, we wash our hair, pack our luggage, carry it downstairs, grab a bowl of cereal then walk through Bergen to catch the train to Myrrdahl. Arriving at the station, we take various detours through other trains, in one side and out the other, finally finding “our” train only to find out it has engine trouble. Many solemn announcements later, in three languages, the train finally begins to move.

The splashing and rushing of the waters throughout the land

Two hours later we disembark at Myrrdal for the 15-mile hike to Flam and beyond. What an incredible hike…through beautiful valleys striped with waterfalls, rivers, and silver streams which descend from mountaintops, or rush pell-mell over boulders and rocks. The water is bell-clear; Diane has named the color Norge Blue. This is the land of 1000 waterfalls; water is everywhere. Forests of birch and pine coat the mountainsides.

On our 15 mile hike to Flam

We hike in a slight mizzle – the sun never fully appears, which is the Norwegian way, according to Petter, Beate’s son and our second guide.

Initially, the trail is not difficult: it begins as a flat, grassy track through rolling fields. Soon, however, the long grass hides stones and small boulders – I fall three times on these very slippery rocks. It is like walking on ice up and downhill…and crossing streams is not one of my best jobs! But the treacherous undergrowth finally peters out, and we continue on grassy trails through beautiful wilderland. A goat farm, then tiny buildings appear out of nowhere. Some buildings are smoking sheds, with roofs of long grass turves, with saplings growing from them.

A “smoking shed”

Wild raspberries border our trail, and we eat them with relish. Divine!

Stopping several times for breaks and snacks, our final break is in a “troll bowl” – a hollowed-out cave with an open top, and a large stone slab for a table. Trolls are part of this country’s folklore – old as the mountains.

Ro with friend – troll images are everywhere!

In Bergen, many shops have carved trolls standing watch in their doorways.

The final leg of the hike is on asphalt through rolling beautiful country (a little rough on the toes.) When we finally feel we can walk no longer (and we’ve made very good time) we approach our hotel, which is lovely – part new, part old. From the balcony of our room, we can see goats grazing in fields bordered by wild fern-splashed country.

After a hot bath and the obligatory hair washing, we convene in the bar for drinks. The view from the bar’s amazing floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall window, is awe-inspiring: a silvery-golden fjord, stretching for miles and surrounded by mountains and lush forests of pine trees, backed by the setting sun – absolutely glorious.

We walk downstairs for a light dinner. It was a challenging, tiring day and so by 10PM, we say goodnight, pack our luggage as we were moving on the next day, and go bed! Tomorrow should be a little easier, but soon comes the glacier hike!

From Flam to Balestrand

A late morning: we don’t need to be packed and downstairs until 10AM. Heaven! We sleep until 7:30, shower, eat breakfast, and pop our things into the waiting luggage, which will be taken to our next stop. Pulling on our backpacks, we begin the hike – up, up, up to a small settlement on the mountainside – buildings built centuries ago which are now part of a farm.

Our hike started on the other side of the mountain to the farm

The wooden buildings are tiny, almost miniature in size. All have pots of red geraniums in the windows, and the interiors are museums, with old instruments, stoves, sinks, beds, all as used in days gone by. We see how cheese used to be made – a nine-hour process. If more milk was produced than necessary for one batch, another batch had to be started immediately making an 18-hour day for some poor woman.

Taking a water break at the museum and farm

After the museum and farm, we continue our hike through the woods towards the ferry. Beate calls this a “tricky” hike. The trail is extremely narrow, with a sharp drop on our left, and the mountain rising sheer to our right. Sometimes our hiking turns into rock climbing! The mist and off-and-on mizzle make the mossy rocks extremely slippery, so we have to be very careful where we put our feet. But the views of the fjord, and the beauty of the forest (that lovely green smell) through which we are hiking make it all worthwhile.

The scent of the pines, the green ferns, the moss that covers the rocks and boulders, and below us, the silver-gray fjord, like a living mirror of the sky: all is so beautiful, so pristine. Just breathing in the air purifies lungs and mind. Many flowers show tiny heads along the track: Ling, a heather-like bush with tiny, tiny purple bells; buttercups and celandines; and an occasional violet, poking its head through the grass. But the surroundings are mostly green, green, green – from the forest floor to the treetops.

It never rains – unless you can call “mizzle” rain. But the air is always moist, and mist often hangs low over the mountains. The sky is bright white, and the longer we hike, the hotter we become.

On one of the ferries – it’s like driving a car in the States!

We emerge from the forest on the road at the ferry, which I just manage to get on by the skin of my teeth (the gangplank starts to rise as I set foot upon it.) An hour’s ride through the fjord to Balestrand – and we come to a beautiful gingerbread hotel on the water, surrounded by the loveliest little town: small colorful Norwegian houses, all painted in pastels and alive with flowers in gardens and pots. Red geraniums abound, as do vivid hollyhocks, some tall as houses, and purple-black in color. Marigolds, roses, daisies – all in full, riotous bloom. Diane and I walk around the town drinking in the beauty of it all.

Our luggage doesn’t arrive when we do, so we have an anxious two hours waiting for it to turn up. Finally, in it comes and we are able to clean up for dinner. The smorgasbord offered a truly astounding buffet, with more food than an army could eat in a week. All sorts of seafood, including the whale steaks, caviar, chicken, capon, turkey, a table full of cheeses, fabulous breads, a hot buffet table with roast beef, fish and veggies, a dessert bar with ten different desserts – I’ve never seen so much food!

After we eat, three of us attend a concert given by Age Kristofferson, a Carnegie Hall pianist who plays eleven brief Edvard Grieg compositions. It is absolutely delightful, as he tells short stories to accompany each song, some of which are funny, all of which are interesting. The concert is held in a small hall within the hotel. A Japanese man records Kristofferson’s playing, and although asked to stop, he doesn’t. I want to haul him out of the room! But what a treat to sit back and listen to the lovely melodies at the end of the day.

Fjaerland

Fjaerland

Yes, up at 6:30 indeed! Breakfast is at 7:15, then we must finish packing and be ready to leave for the ferry by eight. An hour and a half later we reach Fjaerland. The day has become steadily mistier the further north we progress. The mountains rise on either side of the fjord, green and majestic, covered with pine trees and wreathed in mist. Absolutely awe-inspiring and beautiful, the mountains are striped with silver waterfalls at intervals.

For the first time, the air is extremely chilly; I have to put a sweatshirt over my shirt, and top it with the rainjacket. (Note: this was the ONLY time it was chilly.)

Hotel Mundal

We disembark from the ferry, and proceed to haul our luggage to the Hotel Mundal – uphill! At least the hotel is not too far from the ferry! The hotel is run by Billie, an expat Englishwoman who, by marriage, has become part of the Mundal family and history <Note: Vice President Walter Mondale is connected to this family>. After dropping the luggage in the lobby, we immediately begin our hike.

Fairly flat at first, the trail takes us alongside a river – now rushing, now fairly quiet. No-one else is around – it is peaceful and beautiful and the overcast sky cools the air and makes for very pleasant walking. I have to divest myself of my sweatshirt, and soon after, the raincoat. Grass-green moss covers the stones and ground beneath the trees, in many places forming a broad mossy floor – absolutely enchanting.

As we continue, the trail begins to ascend. Soon we are climbing steadily up, over boulders and rocks and tree roots into the heart of the forest. It becomes steeper and steeper. We reach a small plateau where we drop off our backpacks (very safely) before continuing the climb. It is tricky, as the path narrows to a wet, and in many places, rocky trail. The boulders are slick and a stone can easily turn an ankle. We stop for a brief lunch of cheese and rolls and tomato, then on we go.

The river splashes merrily down from us, and the sky becomes lighter. We finally halt at the foot of the mountain. Diane, Paul and I continue up to see the ice cave at the very top. What seems a short jaunt at the beginning is in actuality quite a climb – and the smoothness of the grass, deceiving. It is actually brambles, grass and briar covering stones and boulders. Again we have to watch where we step and climb. It is challenging, but worth it to get to the ice and snow, and pose atop the mountain in front of the ice cave (which was actually an ice bridge.)

In front of the ice cave

We feel as if we are on the roof of the world, with the rest of the group just pinpricks in the valley below.

After our photography session, we trot back down the mountain like goats, join the group and begin the hike back to our hotel in Fjaerland. Not too bad going down: narrow trails, stony, mossy, and damp. The day is overcast.

And then a lovely thing happens: when we reach a leveling out of the trail, the sun breaks through the clouds, the sky becomes blue, blue, blue, and the fields stretch before us, emerald green and literally glowing in the sunlight. And it is exactly like this the remainder of the trip. Beautiful, beautiful.

The little tiny town of Fjaerland perches on the edge of the fjord and is exquisite. A book town copied on the image of Hay-on-Wye in England, its tiny bookshops are everywhere, and bookcases actually line the narrow roads. The Hotel Mundal is very old and historic, and our room has a glorious back view onto lawns and fjord – peaceful and calming.

The view from our room at Hotel Mundal

Although our hike is only four hours, it is challenging, and we return for a restful afternoon readying us for the hike tomorrow – 3000 feet up to the Flatbreen Glacier. Billie gives us a short talk on the history of the 100-year old hotel, which is fascinating. Much of the hotel is still the way it was “back in the old days” with marvelous old, old leather armchairs studded with nails, a fire glowing in the immense fireplace, and a great room set for dinner. So much history and tradition: it is wonderful. Tomorrow – Flatbreen!

The Flatbreen Glacier

We are up and out of Hotel Mundal by 10AM, and take a taxi to the base of the mountain where we will climb to the Flatbreen (which means “glacier” in Norwegian.)

The start of the Flatbreen glacier hike

The first 500 feet of the hike are straight up. It’s very, very difficult for me: my lung capacity is not large, and I have to keep stopping every few yards, breathing deeply and drinking water. My heart is banging in my chest by the time I arrive at the top of this first stretch. Beate tells me everyone has had trouble – including her! – but that from then on it will be easier – more streams and rivers to cross, more rock climbing.

Keep climbing up to Flatbreen

It is true: while it is a very challenging hike, it’s easier for me to climb the rocks and boulders than just hike on a straightforward uphill path. As we climb the mountain, we cross streams over many and various bridges and boulders, the last bridge a wobbly couple of pieces of wood. Then begins the major rock climb: I use all four limbs to get myself to the more traditional trail. In some instances, I am flat against the boulders while trying to get a purchase on the stone. Petter guides us across and up the more difficult parts of the track. What a challenge – exhilarating!

Every once in a while, I turn to look back at the spectacular valley views. They are incredible. Miles below us gleams the fjord, and forests stretch as far as the eye can see across mountains and more mountains. Up, up, up and up we rise – 3000 feet to the top…approximately three miles up, given that we are winding our way around the mountain.

Suddenly, Petter stops us and says: “clear your mind.” He leads us around a huge boulder and there is the glacier, icy blue and white, jagged and jutting to the sky in the brilliant sunshine – immense! The Flatbreen is called a “calving” glacier, because it drops chunks of ice at intervals. It is one of the most spectacular sights I’ve ever seen.

I make it to the Flatbreen – glorious glorious glorious

Sitting across from the glacier, we stop for lunch at a small hut built of boulders and wood. The man who built this hut had made a thousand trips up and down the mountain with the needed supplies, according to Beate. He had apparently climbed to the top in 40 minutes, a record to this day! We make it in about four hours.

Our happy group at the Flatbreen

After lunch, once a few hardy souls had returned from climbing the ridge on the morain, we begin our hike back down the mountain. Down, down, down we clamber- often on our rear ends, as we are descending yet again over boulders similar to those on the way up (although this is a different trail.) This trail is as treacherous as the upward track, the earth so dry, it slides beneath our feet. And after a couple of hours, despite the thickness of my boot soles, my feet begin to feel every stone beneath them!

A brief rest about midway down the mountain, where we sit on a grassy flat and just chat idly for half an hour, and we are on our way. The sun is high in the sky, and the world smells of trees.

Down, down we go, through fern and birch woods, often hanging onto the trees for balance. Flowers star the trail. The sun continues to shine, and it is a beautiful day. Our final climb over rocks and boulders in the river, leads us to a final stony descent. All in all, the hike takes about eight hours, and I am truly exhausted by the time I plonk myself in the taxi for the ride back to the hotel. And sweaty. And dirty. But we are nonetheless exhilarated…terrific experience!

Fjaerland and the Glacier Museum

Up and out by 10AM. We are staying in Fjaerland for a few more hours, and decide to walk to the Glacier Museum, which has some interesting exhibits, including a walk-in “glacier” formed of plastic. It is very eerie to be “inside” and hear the water melting, the stones and ice cracking within …I have no desire to walk inside a real glacier!

The little wobbly bridge in Fjaerland

The visit to the museum is followed by a two-hour walk around the town, which included inching across a hanging – and rather wobbly – bridge, one at a time. Shera, Beate’s dog who accompanies us on this hike, is truly a picture as she crosses the bridge, legs splayed, eyes beseeching!

We return to town, purchase lunch at a local grocery store and eat on the lawn behind our hotel, alongside the fjord. The sun is again brilliantly hot, and the sky is dotted with one or two icy white clouds. Idyllic is the word that comes to mind. Diane and I sit on a bench on the lawn and read for an hour until the ferry arrives. I could stay here for the rest of the trip!

Our luggage is sitting in the hotel hall, waiting for us to drag it to the dock, which is not too far away. We catch the ferry back to the Kvikne Hotel in Balestrand. Diane and I stand on the prow, looking at some of the most glorious sights in the world…sometimes it’s almost too much. Everywhere we turn is beauty.

The beauty of the fjords

We land, drag our suitcases uphill to the hotel (thank goodness for wheels), have approximately two hours to clean up, and head down to dinner. Again, the wonderful smorgasbord has every kind of food we can wish for, but I am ready for bed. Tomorrow we must be up at 6AM, as we have a 12-14 hour day ahead of us.

Vik and Finden

Up at 6AM, it’s the beginning a long day. We are ready to catch the ferry for a ten-minute ride to our first hike, which starts at 8AM. After a hearty breakfast of muesli, orange juice, and that great bread, we convene on the pier, ready to board the ferry. Ten short minutes later, we disembark at Vik.

Vik

Our hike leads us through Vik, a delightful little town on the water’s edge, full of small painted wooden houses and shops and galleries. From here, we hike to the mountains, and a trail that is green, green, green – beautiful views on all sides of farmers’ fields, woods, ferns, and flowers -the fjord gleaming down, down, down below. From the heights, we see Vik as an illustration in a Grimm’s fairy tale, nestled in a valley bound by water and mountains.

One of our goals this day is to see a stave church, built with no nails but supported by tree trunks, or “staves” which are felled and left to dry and naturally “resinate” for eight years, and which are then used to build the church. This particular church was built in the 1100′s, and has its original staves. Special services are still held within.

Rambling all around the town (of Vik)

After a brief rest here, we ramble all over the mountain, returning down to Vik in the golden sunshine. All is heartbreakingly beautiful in the clear golden light.

When we reach Vik, we spend a couple of hours exploring. We shop for some supplies, checking out the shops and the grocery store: I love foreign grocery stores. It’s always so much fun to shop in them, checking out the different and unusual! Wandering the streets, I discover the most delightful little group of homes, almost like dolls’ houses, painted in pale pastels and hidden from the eye behind storage buildings. The windows are lace curtained, with windowsills lined with pots of bright geraniums or daisies. The houses surround a small village green, the grass bright as emeralds in the sunshine. It is one of the most delightful parts of our day here.

After eating our lunch at an outdoor table by the fjord, we ramble around for an hour or two, Diane buying a statuette of a “troll couple with tails.” Then we catch the ferry to Finden where we disembark and walk to a goat farm for another “lunch.” We are met at the base of the mountain by the farm’s owner, who leads us uphill to his delightful home, built entirely of wood, and beautifully decorated. One side of the room is filled with a very long table, lit with candelabra, and lined with benches on either side, all of which he has built. The table is set with exquisite china, napkins, silverware and wine glasses. When we are seated, he brings out immense platters of grilled goat and vegetables: beans, potatoes, carrots, cauliflower, mushrooms, and gravy. !t is a wonderful meal – a very special moment in a land of special moments.

Benches front the house, on one of which repose two adorable tiny black kittens – the sweetest little things – but they do not like Shera, Beate’s dog, who, however, is very patient, as always, and leaves them well alone after an initial bout of barking.

After taking photographs, we walk back down the mountain to the boat, which takes us up the fjord to another mountain trail. Ferns and high grass and trees surround our narrow track – and up, up, up we climb. Presently the trail becomes more and more difficult. We climb over huge moss-covered boulders, up steep, steep paths, grass covered – stones line our way, slicked with moss and dew, and tricky. Up, up, up we go, through wild raspberry, blackberry and blueberry bushes – the berries are delicious with that wild woodsy flavor.

The trail becomes steeper and steeper, and eventually one by one, we turn back to the boat.

! am drenched in perspiration by the time I make it back down. What an experience; I am climbing down alone, and keep hoping I won’t miss the trail. Never was I so happy to see a ferry!

We ferry back to Vik, where a taxi is waiting to drive us back to Balestrand. Back earlier than expected, we actually have a couple of hours to clean up for dinner. Then we pack for an early launch back to Bergen on Saturday.

Back to Bergen

Up at 6:15, we pack, zip down to breakfast, and roll our suitcases downhill to the landing by 7:45, where we board the ferry for a four-hour trip down the fjord back to Bergen. Unlike prior trips, we all stay downstairs many of us sleeping. The morning starts off cloudy, but ends sunny and hot.

My suitcases, which seemed relatively light at the beginning of the trip, now feel as if I am carrying two-ton weights within. It must be all the sweat and dirt packed on the socks and t-shirts!

!n Bergen, we say goodbye to our small group, then Diane and I roll our suitcases to the Admiral Hotel, overlooking the fjord, drop off our luggage and ramble round for a final farewell.

Then it’s back to the Admiral Hotel and my room, which is lovely, overlooking the fjord. However…noisy as all get out! If it’s not a ferry or catamaran revving up for an hour or two before actually leaving port, it’s the mass of people making merry at the top of their lungs – or someone on a bullhorn talking about who knows what ad infinitum – this town is unbelievably noisy, busy and social! And I can’t close the windows because it is TOO HOT! But I’ll survive – it’s been a great, great experience and adventure (oh, and now they’re setting off guns!)

Another observation: Some hotels, such as this one, do not put out soap, but rather have it in a wall dispenser in the shower. Not so good if you are sitting in the bathtub, and the soap is three feet above your head – it makes for some slippery moments!

Finally: I never saw a homeless person nor a stray animal on any streets in Norway.

I will never forget the incredible beauty of this country…so much unspoiled loveliness, you just have to be thankful you’ve seen what the natural world has to offer.

Everyone and everything is friendly in Norway

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Hiking in Wales and England

Posted on April 3, 2013 by carpediemrosemary

Old Sarum

It’s been about 17 years since I went on my first walking tour of England and Wales…1996, to be exact.

The Cotswolds Way

The month was September, and the weather could not have been more perfect, the countryside more beautiful. If anything motivated me to begin hiking, it was this trip. Of course, not every hike is perfect…weather, nervousness about driving on the left hand side of the road (and the roundabouts), finding a good place to stay. Nonetheless, the two weeks spent here were an eye-opener. Who knew these out of the way places existed? Some of the towns and countryside looked as if they had never moved into the 20^th century…and still retained the innocence of an earlier time. I talked a good friend into getting on the road with me, and once that was settled…onto London.

London

Arriving at Gatwick I found a porter who whisked me onto the Airport Express train to Victoria Station – somehow missing the customs melee. “There’s no-one there – no problem!” (Obviously this was pre-9/11.) On the train into London, I spied a fox slinking into the underbrush, its bushy red tail waving in the breeze.

Once in London, I grabbed a taxi to the Covent Garden Hotel. I was meeting Lee here later – and the suite won’t be ready for hours – so I settled in the library sitting room to read and drink a cup of tea with real cream (three pounds!) The hotel is a former French hospital which has become a delightful four-story retreat, small and intimate, and splashed with chintz. The library offers deep sofas and chairs, The London Times and Observer, and London Vogue.

London

Lee arrived at 10AM, and off we went to see London. We sat atop a sightseeing bus in the open air – bloody cold! Disembarking constantly, we rambled around Sloane Square and down St. James Street, around Leicester Square and Covent Garden, where we looked for -and found – 84 Charing Cross Road and the site of that lovely old bookstore. If you haven’t read the book by Helene Hanff…it is terrific (and the follow-up, The Duchess of Bloomsbury Street>, the great follow-up.)

Back at the hotel, our suite was ready. Padded yellow rose chintz coated the windows, bed and loveseat. Beautiful more-than-full-size feather beds sat high, high up, with immense feather pillows. An equally immense bathroom held a deep soaking tub with a separate shower.

That night, we moseyed once again around Covent Garden and Leicester Square, where the crowds were really overpowering – mostly young adults, there is hardly room to move. After a light dinner, we returned to the hotel to prepare to take off early in the morning.

The weather this first day has been just great – although cold, the sun is shining and the sky blue. A great omen.

Broad Chalke, Wiltshire

Surprise: we overslept! We had barely enough time for breakfast before our car was delivered. At 9:45AM, a sharp-looking little red Rover rolled up to the front door. As designated driver, I immediately smashed the left hand rearview mirror while trying to negotiate the tiny, tiny one-way streets of London.

We managed to get out of London – but it was an absolutely wild trip, as I had never before driven a “left-handed car” and I kept driving into the curb. And the roundabouts! It took me days to get used to them.

The Bell at Wylye, Weybridge

Finally, we got out of London, stopping in the tiny town of Weybridge for coffee and a look through a bookshop; then on to our first bed and breakfast – Stoke Farm in Broad Chalke.

The roads to Broad Chalke lead through Wiltshire. The deep hedgerows, the farmlands, the woods – all these are the England of legend – and so quiet. The sun shone intermittently; parts of the day were overcast – but by afternoon, it was hot. Our route took us down narrow lanes with very high hedgerows. Keeping a sharp eye out, we were lucky to spot a miniature sign saying “Stoke Farm” hidden in a hedge. It was 6PM, still daylight. Jan, the proprietor, was a charming woman who was so busy she hadn’t much time to do anything but show us the bedroom and bathroom, and ask us to write down our breakfast requests.

Our first view of the farmhouse looked like something from a Jane Austen novel. Converted to a bed and breakfast, it is built of beautiful old stone, nestling in the Wiltshire countryside. It lies at the bottom of a hill (which we climb that night after dinner.) Baskets of flowers hang from every window, and the front lawn is surrounded by evergreens and flowering plants. Cows and horses lingered in the surrounding fields. Two dogs ran around the yard.

The entryway held a big Welsh dresser, with blue and white platters and china covering the shelves. The cozy dining room was papered with brown patterned wallpaper, and had a big fireplace, and an old dining table and sideboard. The only other guests were a very attractive Belgian couple, who nodded and smiled and basically said not a word to us as they only spoke Belgian…conversation was limited to good mornings. Our bedroom was, of course, charming – all chintz and prints – as was our bathroom across the hall. I leaned from my bedroom window to look across hills and dales and farmland, as far as the eye could see.

Just down the road is Broad Chalke itself – a few cottages, a couple of manor houses, and an old pub at the crossroads, where we had dinner. The dessert of apple pie crumble with real cream was heavenly – makes me hungry just to think about it!

We loved Stoke Farm. It was so peaceful and quiet, quiet, quiet. Walking up the low-lying hill that night, the silence was like balm to the soul. The sky was clear as a bell, and the stars, magnificent, blanketing the sky.

Wiltshire – Broad Chalke, Fovant, Stonehenge and Old Sarum

Lee at the foot of the chalk drawing in Broad Chalke

Again, we overslept: breakfast is between eight and nine, and we woke at ten to nine. Breakfast: haddock in scrambled eggs, toast and broiled tomatoes. The hot tea hit the spot.

Climbing the hill in Broad Chalke to view the chalk drawings

Once all that was under our belts, we planned our itinerary: to Stonehenge, and then to Old Sarum. On the way, fascinating chalk figures carved into a hill just outside the town of Fovant caught our attention. Quickly parking the car, we climbed to more closely view these figures carved into the hillside by airmen in World War I.

Stonehenge

From Fovant, we wound our way to Stonehenge – mysterious and fascinating. The sky was overcast, the day gray and windy- what better for Stonehenge? The monoliths are visible from a great distance, and seas of grass stretch for miles around…all is emptiness, except for a few tourists and the monolithic stones.

Old Sarum

Old Sarum was our next stop, another strange and wonderful place. We climbed the hill to the castle remains, crossing a drawbridge across a great dry moat. The crumbling, immensely thick stone walls of the castle and the remains of “old” Salisbury Cathedral stood out against the greenest of green grass and fields. Wandering these ruins was a truly mystical experience.

On the drive back to Stoke Farm, we stopped for dinner at a quaint old inn down a twisty, winding, hilly country lane. Navigating these lanes by car, so narrow with the highest of hedgerows, was an adventure by day; a real challenge by night. The lanes turn and twist, with often only room for one (very small) car to navigate through. But so far, we’ve been lucky – only one or two minor scrapes (the side of our little car looked as though it had been in the wars.)

Dinner tonight started with pate with hot toast, and finished with apple pie and cream (munching our way through England – thank goodness for all that walking.)

On the road to Lyme Regis

From the heart of England, we drove to Lyme Regis, through rolling English countryside – going like a bat out of hell. English drivers are truly another breed: if you aren’t driving quickly enough, the kinder, gentler blokes behind the wheel blink their lights, the aggressive honk madly until you move over!

On the road to Cornwall

We stopped for a little “smack of something” on our way down the I-30. The tea shop had great coffee. As a matter of fact, the coffee is usually excellent; of course, the tea was terrific, always piping hot.

Uplyme

Back on the road, we pulled over halfway to Lyme Regis for a long walk down a country lane, over neon-green fields. In a sheltered corner, we stopped to eat our lunch, bought at the tea shop. In my pack is “homemade bread pudding” with raisins – half of which is eaten by Lee, who had formerly announced she does not like raisins!

Onward to Lyme Regis through the little town of Uplyme – very pretty with pastel-painted houses. Lyme Regis lies just beyond, and at first glance seemed very touristy, not at all what we had in mind. But after finding a small white hotel with two small rooms – about 20 pounds apiece – we headed for the beach, walking through the center of town to reach the boardwalk. We clambered over several concrete “sand dividers” to reach a deserted stretch of sand that was both pebbly and seaweedy and rather forbidding.

The cliffs of solid sand are high and dangerous; climbing was forbidden because of the erosion. But the beach suddenly opened up and stretched literally for miles, and the late afternoon sunlight played on the cliff face. For the first time, I felt “I’m here!” It was so beautiful and lonely and we could have walked for miles, but the tide comes in rapidly, so we had to turn back sooner than we wished.

Next on the agenda was food! We ate in the courtyard of a rather charming small hotel – fish and chips for me, fisherman’s platter for Lee, and it was quite a picture: two major fish complete with heads, tails and eyes. While we were eating, what seemed to be the largest seagull in the world perched on a ridgepole, cawing and squawking plaintively. I threw chips in the air for him – seemed to be the right thing to do, and he caught them as if he hadn’t eaten for days.

CORNWALL

Marazion

We were in the parking lot at Lyme Regis, trying to find our way out. After several turns around the maze-like lot, we finally gave it up as a bad job, and asked the parking attendant to direct us to the gate – which happened to be straight ahead. The attendant’s attitude seemed to be: “We are not amused!”

Finally …on the road to Cornwall. Driving at 80 mph, and cars passing me by. I whizzed by a sign which says “Pork and Rice,” realizing shortly afterwards that it really says “Park and Ride” but who the heck could figure it out since we were going at the speed of light! Traffic signs were everywhere bearing such legends as “Traffic calming ahead.”

Halfway to our destination, we pulled off the road to take a brief hike over a ferny footpath, then back in the car to head for Ednovean House, our B&B in Perranuthnoe. By the end of the day, we were extremely punchy, having driven 180 miles. But for the life of us we can’t find Perranuthnoe.

Disconcertingly, several people stare blankly at us when we ask directions, but even with directions such as “you can’t miss it, only two miles down the road”, or “plenty of signs to it, dear, just keep going straight” we seemed to travel in circles. Only when we were told “turn right at Bertie Wooster’s Restaurant” do we finally reach our destination.

And here we are at Ednovean House – only to find out we were there a day too early! Apparently really screwed up, having booked our room for Friday and Saturday nights; no rooms are available tonight. Once again, we’re back in the car, on the road for Marazion, a small town two miles away.

Marazion with a view to Mt St Michael’s`

Just about to drop from exhaustion, we found a small hotel in Marazion with two single rooms. We dumped our luggage and walked downhill to a tiny, adorable restaurant for a delicious dinner of crevettes in sauce, mushrooms in garlic, and delicious chewy bread. Dessert is English sherry trifle!

Perranuthnoe, the cliff walks

The food at our hotel in Marazion was terrific. Breakfast included poached eggs on toast – the yolks bright yellow – English bacon, sausages and fried tomatoes. A note: these tomatoes are the best I’ve tasted anywhere.

After a short walk along the beach, we discovered that this is where we will walk the causeway to St. Michael’s Mount…

Cliff walk outside Perranuthnoe

Back to Perranuthnoe, leaving our car in a park by the sea and immediately began a wonderful hike over the cliffs. This was the best and most fabulous walk so far, and was my favorite of the entire trip. Up, up a winding footpath through lanes lined with tiny pastel-colored houses; up, and up through farmyards and into lanes with high, high hedgerows. Over stiles, into far-ranging fields of grass and new-mown hay. Crossing fields full of cows.

Looking from the cliffs to the sea outside Perranuthnoe

The sea is visible at a distance, and then: bang! We’re on the cliffs of some of the most spectacular scenery in the world – looking down, down – waves crashing on the rocks, the sea crystal-blue-green, like glass. We clambered over the cliffs, across rocks and boulders, finding winding footpaths down, through blackberry brambles full of ripening berries, through fern and nettle.

The wind gusted across the cliffs, the sun was brilliant, the day warm and glorious. We rested on the rocks below, taking in the fabulous beauty before returning to the cliff top – and feeling fabulously alive.

At the end of the day, we finally ensconced ourselves in Ednovean House. The view from our window was amazing: across emerald green fields, you see the sea, a clear, deep blue, mirroring the sky above. Set against this glamour are the storied island and castle of St. Michael’s Mount, which floats in the bay like some fabled “casement in faery lands forlorn.” Backed by the gold of the setting sun, it could be the Isle of Avalon come to life. The air is crystal clear and the view was/is perfection.

Cocktails in Ednovean House’s garden overlooking the sea and St Michael’s Mount

We had cocktails on the lawn in the late day sunshine; St. Michael’s Mount was our backdrop. A magic moment. Lee and I both lifted a glass to this wonderful memory-in-the-making.

Val and Arthur, the proprietors, serve a yummy dinner: steak and kidney pudding with the crust made from scratch, fresh crisp green beans, carrots, and zucchini, and zesty crispy potatoes. Dessert is brandy pudding with clotted cream. Too good to pass up, but I am glad, glad, glad we are walking and hiking as much as we are!

St. Michael’s Mount, Mousehole and Land’s End

Up at 6:30AM, we returned to Marazion to begin our adventure, and fulfill one of my childhood dreams: to walk the pebble causeway to St. Michael’s Mount. Only twice a day (early morning and midnight) is the causeway accessible, the tide being at the full at all other times.

Walking the causeway to St Michael’s Mount

We were the only people on the causeway, except for one solitary man. The tide was out, and had left fishing boats beached in the sandy cove. Unfortunately, we were unable to actually enter the castle, as it is too early in the morning, but we were able to walk the outside grounds.

Small houses before you reach the castle atop the island of St Michael’s Mount

Yet although this is a tiny island, small houses are built around the castle’s outer walls. All is gray stone…castle, houses, walkway, a perfect backdrop for the flowers, which are a painter’s dream of color: one wall drips with immense hydrangeas in all colors. Another wall is muralled with a history of St. Michael’s, painted in delicate detail. The morning is clear and the sky takes on the colors of the sea…it is a perfect, peaceful place.

The tide turned, and the causeway was awash, so back to Ednovean House in time for breakfast…then we were off to Mousehole, a tiny fishing village that was home to my grandmother and grandfather many years past.

Lee in front of The Mousehole pub

Mousehole is built on a hill, its tiny grassy paths leading to backs of houses, and uphill to glorious views of the bay. Its tiny harbor is filled with fishing boats, and many, many people wander its winding cobbled streets.

The sun shone brilliantly, and the day was balmy. September is a holiday month, and with this glorious weather, every last person was out enjoying it.

Lands End

After a brief halt for tea, we were again back in the car, driving up the winding lanes to the cliffs of Land’s End. At first glance, Land’s End is not appealing, as it is fronted by a huge whitewashed “castle” backed by booths, rides and whatnot. We ignored all this, and walked to the headland, covered in purple heather and yellow gorse.

The cliffs at Lands End

The view was spectacular. A narrow footpath took us to the cliff’s edge, and in some places, the drop was sheer. We walked about four miles along the cliffs, which look far, far out to sea. The sea was tipped with silver in the sunlight, and crashed in mighty waves over the rocks below. Incredibly beautiful.

The First and Last Refreshment House in England at Lands End

Back to Perranuthnoe, for dinner at Victoria Inn in the village. Perranuthnoe is a village forgotten by time: tiny and tinier, it houses several bed and breakfasts, old stone houses covered in ivy and hung with baskets of flowers, and the church. It is banked by the sea, and absolutely massed with flowers all in bloom. The colors! The flowers! Nasturtiums, sunflowers, daisies, hydrangeas, huge pots of massed orange and red geraniums. All houses are decorated with flowers…pots and hanging baskets are everywhere we look. The hedges along the roadsides are starred with all manner of tiny wildflowers. It is a delightful spot.

St. Kew and Crackington Haven

Up at eight, we had breakfast of coffee, juice, muesli and tomatoes on toast with toast. Hmm! Now packing up ready to leave for Crackington Haven and Tintagel.

On the road, manicured, pristine farm country surrounds us. About ten miles from our destination, we pulled onto a tiny side lane, parked and set off in the direction of St. Kew. A green field uninhabited by cows called to us, so we picnicked in the sunshine, with sandwiches, chips, blackberries from the bush, and a half-melted Aero bar.

St Kew Inn

Afterwards, we rambled awhile in the general direction of St. Kew. It is tremendously exhilarating to just be able to walk without being bothered by people, cars or signs saying “no trespassing”. The narrow road leads through the high green hedgerows and tiny villages, past old stone houses with slate or thatched roofs which are hung with baskets filled with nasturtiums and daisies; past manor houses set back in green fields, surrounded by immense bushes of blue and multicolored hydrangeas.

We came to St. Kew, a tiny, tiny village with a wonderful old church and tiny graveyard, with gravestones so old we are unable to read them. We stop at an inn for coffee, then turn back to the car. Up the lane, we notice a manor house for sale, set back from the road with a long drive bound by rhododendrons. I pretended I lived there just for a moment…can’t imagine how magical that would be.

Walking in the woods on the road to Crackington Haven

It was so quiet. Tiny birds were singing, but no other sound was heard. We were really in deep country; although hard to believe, it does still exist, unspoilt, fresh, and utterly satisfying. The air is clean; we’re still having beautiful weather, and the breeze was brisk and evergreen-scented.

Crackington Haven signpost on the cliffs

We drove on to Crackington Haven…not far, actually. The road to Crackington Haven, which is situated high atop a hill overlooking the sea, winds up, up and up. We turned down the short grassy lane to Manor Farm, which, we were told, is listed in the Domesday Book. It is very, very old, and very, very beautiful. The grounds, looking as if they are clipped daily with nail scissors, were splashed hydrangea bushes at every possible turn, all blooming in glorious colors.

The gardens of Manor Farm in Crackington Haven

The house itself had stone flagged floors. Our bedroom had twin beds covered with rose flowered chintz covers and frilled pillowcases. The room – as are all the rooms -was whitewashed, with dark oak Tudor beams, and a very low ceiling. The bathroom also had oak beams, on which I had already knocked my head, and a step-down, which had sent Lee crashing into the tub. (Expletives here.) The room had two low, low, low diamond-paned dormer windows with inset window seats. Another smaller window faced the beds.

Muriel, the proprietor, took us through the sitting room with large windows looking onto green lawns, and on into the dining room where a highly polished table was set for six, with place cards. Uh-oh. Our trip has been very casual, as far as clothes are concerned. We have come up against it here; when we ask Muriel if we dress for dinner, she answers “Ectually….yes!” in no uncertain terms.

I had to wear what I have, the best of it being a cashmere sweater and khakis. Lee had on jeans and black socks: “Black socks make any outfit, my dear!”

We were told to be back from our walk by 5:30 to do the wash; drinks in the bar are at 6:30 sharp; dinner is at 7; and breakfast is at 8:30AM. This is about all the regimentation I can take. We’re glad that we plan to be out all day Monday, and must find our own dinner Monday night!

After an hour-long walk, we took our dirty clothes to be washed at the requested 5:30PM. Cleaned up, we ran back downstairs for cocktails at 6:30. (Our clothes are given the once-over, then ignored.) Dinner, where we met two young couples staying at the Manor, was turkey steaks with mustard sauce, fig pie with raspberry sauce and clotted cream, cheese and biscuits, and wine. Coffee is served afterwards in the drawing room.

We log in another five miles today!

Crackington Haven, Bude, Tintagel, and Boscastle

Out on the road for a quick walk at 7AM, we zoomed back for breakfast at 8:30 sharp. Muriel, a former schoolteacher, rings a little bell to remind us that breakfast is served.

We have a full breakfast of orange juice, sausage, bacon, eggs, fried bread, tomato, toast and coffee. And are requested not to leave anything on the plate, or not to order anything that we won’t eat. Gee, where’s the joy in that?!

We took off to explore. First on our list was Bude and a walk over the cliffs. Bude is not a pretty place. The sand on the beach was churned up in giant mud flats, and the day was overcast and dreary. We decided to move on to Tintagel. And what a disappointment it was (to me, anyway)! The town is very gimmicky and full of tourists, and the headland itself was blocked by King Arthur’s Castle Hotel, a ghastly lump of red brick with absolutely no redeeming architectural value. We were shocked, and needless to say, did not stop. In retrospect, that was a mistake, as there’s always something hidden behind the touristy buildings that makes a visit worthwhile. Nonetheless, we plowed on to Boscastle.

The road through mountains into Boscastle

It’s not far to Boscastle, a harbor town built down the side of a mountain. Steep, steep, steep little roads led to a walled village over which the mountain cast its immense shadow.

Lee checking out the hydrangeas at Boscastle

We met a bus head-on, and the roads are so narrow, our lives flashed before our eyes! The houses and buildings here are very old, with gray slate roofs, and pots of bright flowers hanging from walls and dotting the small gardens. The trees lining the road are strung with ivy; dry stone walls support the soaring mountain forest at every turn; lichen and moss cover every possible rock, crack and crevice, and a wide variety of delicate flowers poke their heads from the hedgerows.

Starting our hike round Crackington Haven

After a fish and chip lunch, we returned to Crackington Haven, to hike over the cliffs. Our path gave us spectacular views of the great Atlantic Ocean, the waves tipped with silver and pearl. We are so high up, we feel as if we’re walking on the roof of the world. As we look back to the footpaths we’ve climbed, it’s hard to believe we actually climbed them!

Carpeted in purple heather and yellow gorse, the cliffs stretch as far as the eye can see. By this time, the sun had begun to emerge, which gives the entire day a different perspective (it is certainly cooler here than in Perranuthnoe, which, we find out, is part of what is known as the English Riviera.)

The Strangles

We hiked past The Strangles, that silver, wild, wind-whipped part of the ocean below. Looking for seals among the waves, we missed the return footpath across the fields. Many a cow-laden field is crossed, and we eventually find a path leading through a wooded ravine. After crossing small bridges across limpid, pebble-lined streams, we were finally back at Crackington Haven Cove at the base of the cliff, where a hot cup of tea at a small tea shop revived us. That, plus sitting in the sun, and afterward, walking across the pebbled beach to the receding tide. We heard the sound of the pebbles being sucked back into the sea…”that melancholy, long-withdrawing roar.”

The undertow was terrifically strong. Earlier, under a gray sky we had seen bathers in the water, which to our touch is icy. Yikes!

Hiking wild countryside outside Crackington Haven

We logged in ten miles or so from our hike, and as dinner was not being served at the manor that night, decided to go out for a picnic dinner. Flinging a long scarf around my neck, dressed in khaki green jacket and boots and looking like a WWI pilot, according to Lee, we sneaked into the bar to pick up some lager. This, together with tomatoes, pasties, apples and cheese, was our dinner. We set out for a small field around the corner to eat and relax. There is something so out of time about this: sitting in an English field far, far from all we have known, in the late twilight, surrounded by deep English country…an indescribable experience, albeit somewhat damp.

INTO WALES

Tintern Abbey

The Wye Valley, Tintern Abbey, Swansea and Mumbles
Early this morning we hiked for twenty minutes, making sure we are back in time for the breakfast bell. Two new couples joined us at the breakfast table, one from Chepstow in the Wye Valley, and one from New Jersey. Another hearty breakfast is consumed (both of us too nervous about Muriel to leave anything on our plates), and then we were out the door and off to Mumbles.

Tintern Abbey Fields

The couple from Chepstow spoke so glowingly of the Wye Valley, we turned off on the road to see Tintern Abbey. The Abbey is a beautiful ruin, the gray stone as fragile as lace, set on a green grassy sward, at the base of a towering mountain. A quick lunch, and we’re back on the road to Wales, and Mumbles, Swansea.
What a drive: we logged 240 miles, I wondered if we’d ever arrive. When we did, belching fumes and smoke from various pipestacks met our eyes – this is not the Swansea I remember from childhood, but I guess all things must pass.

The cliffs at The Mumbles

We finally reach The Mumbles, where I spent much of my childhood. Now it is so touristy…and is thronged with people. Every road and pathway is built up. I wondered if Thistleboone Gardens was still there….not only is it still there, it looked just the same as it did when I was a child. But… we were no longer able to walk from the Gardens over the cliffs; built over with subdivisions, the land has become too valuable to stay wild.

As we hadn’t booked into a B&B or hotel, we had a difficult time finding somewhere to stay…talk about frustrating. Finally we found a rather primitive B&B – only one toilet for the entire house, and NO soap! Our proprietors, however, were really lovely (and the food was good, always a plus.) We toted our luggage upstairs, then left for a walk along the front to the old pier. The castle still brooded on the hilltop. The boardwalk was filled with tiny booths and video games. The population was out in full force, as the weather was balmy. But it is true: you can’t go home again. It was difficult to see this place of my childhood so clogged with shops, houses, cars, and people. In retrospect, I realize that perhaps I set my sights too high. The years had made a difference.

A quick dinner of fish and chips, and then back up the hill to our B&B. We are so exhausted, we crawl into our beds and are out like lights.

Cliff walk at The Mumbles

Langland and Bracelet Bays, The Brecon Beacons and the Great Malverns
After a good night’s sleep and a good breakfast, we packed and locked the car, then left for a couple of hours of walking across the cliffs to Langland and Bracelet Bays. What a glorious, glorious walk. The weather continued to be fabulous. The sun broke through the mist, and it was a beautiful day, and very warm.

Cliff walk leading to Bracelet and Langland Bays

Langland itself is now a retirement community. A few people from the settlement were walking on the footpath over the cliffs, taking in the clean morning air. The cliff walk was exactly as I remembered it, right up to and including the 1930′s style bathing huts lining the cliff top.

Bracelet Bay

Past Langland to Bracelet, and I clambered down the cliffs to the sand – a little nervewracking, as the drop is steeper than it seemed when I began! Bracelet Bay is also exactly as I remember it when I was a child…a wide curve of smooth yellow untrammeled sand, surrounded by cliffs covered in yellow gorse and purple heather. Blackberry bushes abound, berries ripening in the sun…. The flowers were rioting color – orange nasturtiums, yellow gorse, purple heather, hot pink petunias, white daisies, orange-red geraniums, purple-white freesias, white and purple lilac, smelling like heaven. The grass was green, green, green. We passed a red currant bush full of currants, shining like jewels on the branches. Talk about yummy!

After a two-hour walk, onwards to Mumbles to pick up some supplies and cash checks (these were the days before ATMs – medieval times). I walked across the boardwalk to the sea, which has receded to leave fishing boats beached like whitefish across the exposed reaches of sand. Some things haven’t changed one iota.

Eventually we left Mumbles to drive through the Brecon Beacons, to Herefordshire and the Great Malverns. The route is tortuous, as we got lost trying to find our way out of Swansea, but finally, we were on the open road again.

BACK INTO ENGLAND
The Great Malverns and Herefordshire

The Brecon Beacons took us through wild, empty country showcasing secluded dales and valleys. What views! Sheep roamed freely across mountain tops and stony outcrops. Some rambled across the roads, some rested or grazed. For endless miles, the land stretched out isolated and lonely except for the sheep. It is a fascinating, desolate, eerie place, so different from all we have seen so far.

Driving on, we passed the town of Haye-on-Wye, otherwise known as “Full of Books.” We arrived at the town of Brecon, and turned toward Herefordshire, stopping for a picnic in a green field off a little stony lane. Sausage rolls, a tuna sandwich, apples, most of a black currant tart topped with whipped cream, a scone filled with clotted cream and jam, and custard pie: we now thought of this as a light lunch. We have come far since first beginning this journey…

Cowleigh Park Farm

Cowleigh Park Farm is situated in Malvern, Worcestershire (right on the Herefordshire border). We arrived in late afternoon, and were immediately impressed: what a beautiful place! An old half-timbered manor house, it was originally built in 1200 in a deer park about 100 yards away from where it presently stands. The house fell into disrepair, and in the 1600s was dismantled, and rebuilt in its new location. It is enveloped by farms, hills and orchards. Everywhere, immense clumps of fragrant lavendar meet the eye and fill the nose with fragrance.

Chris, the proprietor and owner, ran the B&B with his wife Sue. He handled all maintenance and also ran a renovation business on the side, while remaining active in the Royal Marine Reserves (he served during the Falklands War.) He is a busy, and – in his words – happy, man.

He booked us into the Red Lion pub for dinner, where we had chicken filets in lime and brandy with broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, new potatoes, and fresh rolls. Lager accompanied this repast. For dessert, we had rhubarb crumble with whipped cream and coffee. I am still trying to figure out why I didn’t end up looking like Shamu the Whale: we never seem to stop eating!

After the first night, we moved – to a room across the hall. Our new room had board and latch doors, with a bathroom containing an immense bath, deep, new and dark blue, and built very high up. When I stood up in the bath, my head almost touched the low-hung ceiling. Blue and white tiles surrounded the tub. The tiny-paned window was hung with print curtains. The sink was set into a wall-to-wall vanity, which was lined with blue and white bowls and pitchers. The room was whitewashed, with natural oak beams.
In the bedroom were wonderfully comfortable beds which faced a window opening onto the garden. The green wall-to-wall carpet, the pink-striped bedspreads and green velvet wing chair by a potted plant and huge wardrobe all made the room comfortable and inviting. A corner table housed a coffee maker and teakettle.

I loved this house…indeed it is one of the most splendid B&Bs we’ve stayed in. We met more of the family: Sue, Chris’s wife, brown-haired, petite, pretty; and Lucky, her three-legged cat, who slept in a black puddle of fur at the top of the stairs.

A field in the Malverns

This morning, after a hearty breakfast (is there any other?) we set off for the Great Malverns. We walked to the top of the highest hill – not so very high at 1300 feet but with a fantastic all-round view. The springiness of the turf was like walking on green velvet. We looked down into the beautiful valleys surrounding us, dotted with tiny villages and isolated cottages, set in the greenest of green fields, or amid trees on gentle hilly slopes. The sun was drawing moisture up into the clouds, and the sky was silver.

The weather continued warm and clear, and the winds, fresh. Although some mornings had been overcast, we never seemed to get a single drop of rain.
The walk to the highest Malvern peak and back down again took us approximately two and a half hours. These hills were thick with flowers: yellow gorse and tall purple loosestrife, cowslips, buttercups, celandines, dandelions … Blackberries, thick on bramble bushes, were in every lane. Stinging nettles were also everywhere; Lee, thinking these were mint, rubbed some casually between her fingers, a big mistake! (Dock leaves take out the sting…)

Sheep ran freely over the hills. Every once in a while, one became separated from its mates, and the plaintive baaaa-ing was constant. Back in town, we strolled to the pub for lunch and ginger beer, which Lee swears tastes like mouthwash. Then a ramble around the village, which had some of the prettiest gardens ever. The most beautiful deep blue hydrangea bush hung over a garden wall. Another small garden was filled with huge yellow sunflowers. Dry stone walls everywhere. The scent of lilac was unbelievably fragrant.

Cows in field in the Great Malverns

We left this idyll to drive into town for some shopping and a newspaper, then back to Cowleigh Park for another long walk up the Worcestershire Way.

Worcestershire Way

The Worcestershire Way winds through farmlands over untamed fields high with unmown waving grass; through fields of mown hay and bright yellow rapeseed; past a small signpost with the legend “Badger’s Wood”; through a huge apple orchard, the trees bent to the ground and loaded with apples. It continued through fields filled with cows -and one black bull seemingly somewhat annoyed with our presence. As he jogs towards us, we nimbly leapt into a small fenced pen, obviously there for just this reason. Across more fields, down wooded lanes past geese and sheep, we rambled: the sun is out, and the warmth of it is full on our faces.

Worcestershire Way

After an hour or two, we turn back to Cowleigh Park, a brief rest, then back to the Red Lion for dinner.

Lee in window of Cowleigh Park Farm

From Cowleigh Park Farm back to London
Time to go home. After breakfast, up and away on the M-40, on the road back to London. A quick lunch at a service center halfway to London took us from the sublime to the ridiculous. We eat quickly, and are glad to be back in the car.

On our arrival in London, the nightmare of trying to find our hotel in the morass of one-way streets begins. The traffic! The noise! The crush of it all! Between the U-turns and reverses in the heavy traffic, we are ready to leave the car in the middle of the road and simply walk to Covent Garden! Finally, in desperation, I parked in a no-parking zone, and Lee walked to our hotel to fetch the concierge who drove us directly to our hotel, no worries. I will never drive in London again!

London

After dropping our luggage at the hotel, we walked to Trafalgar Square and Piccadilly Circus, down Charing Cross Road, and to Fortnum & Mason. Then it was back to the hotel, where I looked forward to a bath in the immense tub, surrounded by pristine white tiles, and where half a dozen thick white towels were hanging from a gleaming chrome towel warmer. Two extra-thick terry cloth robes hung behind the door. There is something to be said for a little luxury!

Cigarette break

I must confess, I did not care for London on this particular trip (I’ve since changed my mind – again). Too big, too impersonal, too busy, too many cars, too many people. It had its moments, but discovering the countryside did it for me. In the deep heart of England and Wales, I found exactly what I was looking for: unspoiled country, beautiful, and timeless. It has all been wonderful.

Now on our way to Gatwick, we passed – unbelievably – a fox slinking into the brush, rounding off a perfectly satisfying adventure into the hidden countryside of England and Wales.

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Posted in Uncategorized and tagged 84 Charing Cross Road, Badger's Wood, Bertie Wooster's Restaurant, black currant tart, Boscastle, Bracelet Bay, Broad Chalke, Bude, causeway to St Michael's Mount, chalk figures, Chepstow, cliff walks, clotted cream, Cornwall, Cotswold Way, Cotswolds Way, Covent Garden, Covent Garden Hotel, Cowleigh Park Farm, Crackington Haven, Domesday Book, Ednovean House, Fovant, Gatwick, Great Malverns, Haye-on-Wye, hedgerows, Herefordshire, Hiking in Wales and England, hydrangeas, Land's End, Langland Bay, Leicester Square, London, Lyme Regis, M-40, Manor Farm, Marazion, Mousehole, Old Sarum, Perranuthnoe, road to Cornwall, Salisbury Cathedral, scone, St Michael's Mount, St. Kew, steak and kidney pudding, Stoke Farm, Stonehenge, Swansea, The Brecon Beacons, the cliffs at Land's End, the first and last refreshment house in England at Land's End, The Mousehole pub, The Mumbles, The Strangles, Thistleboone Gardens, Tintagel, Tintern Abbey, Tintern Abbey Fields, Traffic calming ahead, Uplyme, Victoria Station, Wales and England, Wales and England - Hiking in 1996, Wales and England: Hiking hidden footpaths, walking tour, Welsh dresser, Weybridge, Wiltshire, Worcestershire Way, Wye Valley. Bookmark the permalink.

Hiking in the Great Smokies

Posted on February 4, 2013 by carpediemrosemary

The green is the very greenest green

One of my goals in hiking was to hike the Appalachian Trail – not the entire trail, but at least a portion of it, so that when I read about it, I can visualize its beauty and challenges all the better. So a couple of years ago, I joined Adventures in Good Company for a few days of hiking in one of the greenest areas in the States….

Ro in front of Stairway to Heaven Lodge outside Gatlinburg

I met a friend, Lee, at the Knoxville Airport on Sunday, then met up with the rest of the group to bus to our lodge, with a quick stop for lunch and a getting-to-know-you at a side-of-the-road café; we eventually dropped our bags at the Stairway to Heaven Lodge (don’t you love that name!), and began our first day’s hike. A nice introduction to the area, and a short but sweet walk of around 3 miles up to the Little Greenbrier Community, where early settlers of the region…well…settled! The weather was just what you want it to be on a hike…not too hot, crisp breezes and surrounded by the greenest trees everywhere.

The start of our hikes in the Great Smokies

Our splendid Lodge is actually a mile or so outside of Gatlinburg (more about that in a minute). Having booked a single room, I was lucky enough to be on the second floor with a spectacular view of the mountains from my balcony outside the bedroom windows (the balcony wrapped around the entire second floor.) Downstairs, a huge common room included the kitchen, where our guides prepared breakfast each morning, and got the coffee going. Is there a better aroma anywhere than coffee brewing early in the morning, and sitting with your cuppa on the balcony when the outside scents of the day are crisp and green? (Rhetorical question, but the answer is: NO!) Here is the balcony view…

View from Ro’s balcony at the Lodge

Before we left for our hike, we were given the first commandment, which was and is: “Leave no footprint.” So no matter where you are, you do not leave the trail, and you certainly don’t leave detritus behind. The trails and surrounding mountains, woodlands and waterfalls are so pristine, you know visitors to the area take this deeply to heart.

Monday

On Monday morning, we were all up bright and early and ready to go. Porter’s Creek Trail passed through a forest wilderness of Eastern Hemlocks and Fraser magnolias, and then into hardwoods. Cultural artifacts we see include an old cabin made up of stone walls with an old cantilevered barn close by, and an old cemetery (Owenby), remnants of a simpler time when a village community lived here.

Iconic bridge crossing a stream

Our hike took us to Fern Branch Falls, where we have a light lunch, and then it’s back on the trail to the Lodge. We walk in a mix of light drizzle and sunshine, and all is quiet and beautiful, or beautifully quiet… The only sound you hear are the birds calling. All in all, this takes about 6 hours, as we stop constantly to view the wildflowers and peer inside crumbling stone walls….a little over 4 miles in all.

Jan and Katie and a bite of lunch by the stream

Jan and Katie and a bite of lunch by a stream

On our way back to the Lodge, we’d stopped off at a grocery cum liquor store and picked up some wine, so dinner at the Lodge, prepared by our guides Jan and Katie, was quite a jolly occasion. After which, I could barely keep my eyes open…so to bed, and no sooner had my head hit the pillow, than I was down and out.

Tuesday

Up at 6:30 (which I consider the crack of dawn) to the aroma of the coffee brewing. Running down the stairs to pick up my cup, I plant myself on the balcony to drink in the view. It really is spectacular…the mountains are just incredible.

The “Refrigerator” Great Smokies National Park

We hiked off the beaten path today, up to a natural limestone sink, called White Oak Sink. It houses various caves, rare plants and a waterfall, and is surrounded by wildflowers. The hike has some steep ascents, but the Sink is our stopping point for a light snack and photography. Because of the on and off drizzle, all is green green green (and a wee bit slippery). We spend quite a bit of time here, just wandering around the waterfalls and crossing on the logs across the river.

Wednesday

What a day! We start with a short hike in country close to the Pigeon River.

After which, my first experience whitewater rafting. It’s incredible! And to think I almost opted out of this exhilarating adventure. We were about 6 to a raft, including the guide (to whom I was extremely grateful!) who really knew her way around whitewater. While the water was not actually death-defying, it certainly seemed to be doing its job, which was rockin’ and rollin’ to our next stopping point. I was seated to the right rear of the raft, and every time we hit a drop, I’d bounce from the seat onto the bottom of the raft, which meant that the photographs being taken usually just showed the top of my head (if that)!

Ro does the rapids SMILING – look at that water!

Scheduled to last about 2 hours, because the river was in spate, we were through in a little over an hour – but what an hour! I loved every second of it…screams and all. It was just the best, and I’d do it again in an instant.

The Great Smokies

After that, we gathered for an al fresco lunch surrounded by fields and greenery; it doesn’t get much better than that.

Thursday

Getting ready for the hike

My favorite thing: finally, I get to set toe on the Appalachian Trail! This is so exciting for me, as I’ve wanted to hike on the Trail ever since I read Bill Bryson’s “A Walk in the Woods”. This part of the Trail goes right through the Park, and was the first trail used by the public with absolutely fabulous views everywhere you turn.

The AT sign at the start of the hike

It’s a very challenging trail, as well. Tree roots everywhere – you end up literally climbing up and down them from beginning to end. Why did I think the Trail would be less challenging? You had to keep your eyes on the “road” otherwise you can trip and smash your face into one of the huge tree roots. I had a lovely dramatic fall – bashing my sunglasses into my nose, and splatting full force onto the ground. I think I was out of it for about 5 seconds, but no more…and there was no harm done. Not fun, however.

Resting atop Charlie’s Bunion

The hike was above 5,000 feet, and we were able to see much of the flora and fauna of these higher elevations. Our aim was to reach a bundle of boulders called “Charlie’s Bunion” … we got there in the middle of the day, and clambered to the peak, looking down over glorious views of the Porters Creek Valley, as well as the main spine of the Smokies. It was just such a kick.

Clingman’s Dome

After a much needed short break, we hiked back down to go to Clingman’s Dome, which rises more than 6,500 feet above the Smokies. It’s the highest point along the Appalachian Trail, providing a 360 degree view of the mountains. Oddly enough, getting up to Clingman’s was harder for me than the entire AT hike. At this time of the day, the climb seemed to loom straight up….Hoo baby! my legs definitely felt it, coming and going. Once you made it to the top, the view from the tower was about 22 miles, but sometimes if the air is super-clear, you can see as far as 100 miles into seven states!

Laurel tree in bloom

All in all, we hiked about 10 miles this day. We started early, around 9AM, and finished after 5PM…worth every sore muscle!

Because of the length of the hike, we were all treated to dinner at a lovely little restaurant in Gatlinburg. The food was yummy – but Gatlinburg itself – well, the word “touristy” doesn’t begin to describe it. The shops covered the town with all sorts and conditions of souvenirs; Ripley’s Believe it Or Not Shop fascinated Lee no end. And the masses of people – this was an eye opener: I’d heard about Gatlinburg, but it really has to be seen to be believed. I saw it – and once was enough for me.

Friday

The Group

It’s time to say farewell to everyone, but also to squeeze in one more hike, one more picnic. This took us to Laurel Falls, through laurel trees, pine trees and oaks blowing in the gentle wind. The falls are named for the mountain laurel, the beautiful flowering tree which seems to be iconic to the Smokies. It’s tough to leave all this beauty behind, but deeply satisfying to know that places of deep, unspoiled loveliness still lie abundant in the heart of the good old U.S. of A!

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Posted in Uncategorized and tagged A Walk in the Woods, Appalachian Trail, cantilevered barn, Charlie's Bunion, Clingman's Dome, Eastern Hemlocks, Fern Branch Falls, Fraser magnolias, Gatlinburg, hardwoods, Hiking the Great Smokies, Knoxville Airport, Laurel Falls, laurel tree, Leave no footprint, Little Greenbrier Community, Owenby, Pigeon River, Porter's Creek, Porter's Creek Trail, Porters Creek Valley, Smokies, Stairway to Heaven Lodge, tree roots, White Oak Sink, whitewater, whitewater rafting. Bookmark the permalink.

I Love New York!

Posted on December 15, 2012 by carpediemrosemary

This is not my usual post, as it’s really a hiking trip down Memory Lane… before 9/11, back in the 90’s. Does that seem a long time gone!! Now time’s passing by so quickly, I can’t seem to get a handle on Christmas before the Fourth of July turns up. Anyway, it’s nice to look back on these two really fun trips – before I turned to hiking for real. And I really do love New York….such an incredible place.

1995
I’ve been to New York to spend some time twice in my life (not counting flights through Newark to England and other ports of call.) And that includes some time spent in New York State…which happens to be just beautiful. My first visit encompassed both a shopping trip into the city, and a hot air balloon ride over the Green Mountains – absolutely magical.

Arlene booked us in for the balloon ride, so we drove to a field in the countryside where the balloon was being “gassed up.”

Waiting for the hot air balloon to fill

The day was just about perfect…the skies clear, with little or no wind.

Once the balloon was almost filled with gas, four of us climbed into the (very small) basket, and in short order, we were off. Because of the lack of wind, we didn’t really swing from side to side, but nonetheless, my knuckles grasping the sides of the basket were white, the higher we climbed. We made it to about 2,000 feet and the countryside spread below us like a patchwork quilt, all shades of green, everything so sharply etched, so you could even see a small black cat snoozing on gravel below.

I think we were up and drifting for about half an hour, then we gently began our descent into a small valley, with a miniscule white church at the far end. By this time dusk was settling in. Just a few twinkling stars lit up the sky. Lower and lower we came – and faster – I was afraid we’d bump into the trees, but we missed that little problem, and landed. As we came to a halt and the balloon dragged across the grass, the doors to the church opened and a mass of small children ran out into the field to see if the Wizard of Oz had landed! Very very magical.

We ended up drinking champagne and eating cheese nibbles as the sun went down. Despite my fear of heights, it was just an incredible experience.

The next couple of days were spent just driving around the countryside, with a day spent on Fifth Avenue shopping, and a trip to Broadway to see “Miss Saigon“. Loved the play – that helicopter scene was intense. The weather held, and it was a lovely lovely time.

Autumn in New York 1998 – On the town
Three years later, it was all New York City… I left Houston on a wet and windy November day – the plane trip was uneventful, but the plane itself was cold, cold, cold. I needed 2 blankets and 2 pillows to be comfortable (and I didn’t have to pay to “rent” them). I arrived in Newark after dark, so when we flew over Manhattan- what a beautiful sight: colored jewels of lights as far as the eye could see, for miles and miles to the horizon- all massed in varying patterns and ribbons of moving color, with an inky-violet sky behind all.

The luggage came in fast, and I zoomed thru the airport to the pickup area where Arlene was waiting … Well, I’m here! We whooshed back to Ramsey, New Jersey for a good night’s sleep…

The first thing I wanted to do, as I had heard so much about the museum, was visit The Cloisters.

Ro on the beautiful Cloisters pathway – talk about Autumn in New York!

The very next next day, we made our merry way there, after a brief breakfast of coffee and scones (yum). The maples are still in living color- reds and golds everywhere. I’m so glad l got to see them before the leaves dropped from the trees.

The Cloisters is magnificent. A part of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, it is an “ensemble of rooms and gardens” compiled from various parts of European monasteries, and built to house a wonderful collection of medieval art, from the 1100′s thru the 1500′s. Beautiful, beautiful. The walls, constructed from old monastery stones, are at least 4 feet thick. The rooms house carvings, paintings, statues, sarcophagi, chalices, and other beautiful things such as cloaks, ivory pieces, goblets and a set of oval playing cards from the 13th or 14th century. St. Juliana was represented by a mask carved over her skull – with the skull still in the mask. A reliquary of an arm – in brass – had two small “windows” cut in it to show the arm bones of the saint!

The view of the Hudson River from the ramparts of The Cloisters is spectacular.

A view from the ramparts

You can see for miles, because The Cloisters is actually on cliffs overlooking the Hudson. Cobblestone paths lead from various entryways to main roads. The gardens house all sorts of herbs and flowers, most of which, of course, were not in bloom at this time of year. The day was gray and cloudy, but not too windy… actually, it was perfect weather for this particular adventure!

Lene just outside The Cloisters on an overcast November day

Always shopping til we drop, no matter where we are! We finished touring The Cloisters top to bottom, then drove to The Plaza and checked our car in with Fernando, our super-nice doorman.

Fernando at The Plaza

We then found the front desk, got our key, and moseyed up to our corner room at the far end of the hall. The room is nice: two double beds, big window, fireplace facing the beds, wonderful big – echoing – bathroom, huge closet, big armoire housing a huge tv, and best of all, lots of alcohol & food in the mini fridge! We immediately made ourselves Bloody Marys, and opened the nuts, cheese, and chips! and then noticed that the draperies exactly matched Lene’s robe.

Then we cleaned ourselves up, and rambled down to The Plaza’s Oyster Bar, very New York, leather chairs, booths, dimly lit, great food; Oysters Rockefeller and smoked salmon – yum-o!

After dinner, we took a cab to Grand Central Station, where we walked around for an hour or so. It is glorious: cavernous, with soaring arched ceilings, chandeliers, huge glass windows front and back. The ceiling is etched with friezes of the various constellations, with little twinkling stars of light interposed throughout.

We looked over the subways in case we wanted to take one to Greenwich Village later, then walked to the Nederlander Theater (built in 1921), where we saw “Rent“, which at first I wasn’t sure I would like- so loud! Based on “La Boheme“, all of the characters (or most) have AIDS or the HIV virus, and are dying… I began to appreciate it much more by the second act; in the first case, I began to better understand it! Powerful and affecting, it is more emotionally engaging by the time Angel starts to “die”. The cast stayed on stage after the performance and asked the donations for the homeless IDV- and AIDS-positive. So… pretty poignant.

A funny thing happened after the play. Lene and I went into the bathroom, and about 15 women crowded in, putting on lipstick, etc…. and every single one of them was dressed in black! Not a color to be seen. So New York!

Then- great adventure – we walked from 4th street down Broadway (at 11 at night) past Times Square with all the huge lit-up advertising signs- to 58th Street, then back down 5th Avenue to Central Park and The Plaza… about 25 city blocks, I think. What a walk. No taxis were available- it’s just about impossible to get a taxi in New York unless you get with a doorman, or stand at a taxi stand. The streets were jammed with people- all sorts – absolutely packed (you’d never see this in downtown Houston, unless it’s 5PM and they’re waiting for the buses home).

There were some absolutely beautiful women and gorgeous men here, and they wore all sorts of different outfits, but these outfits are all…black! Skinny pants for women are definitely in; black leather jackets, pea coats – I love all this stuff.

The other side of New York is the homeless. They are everywhere…it is shattering. When we got to 58th Street, there’s a sort of overhang, and under it were all the homeless carts in a row. So hard to take in.

In direct contrast, the horses and carriages were all out and driving around Central Park. We passed some wonderful-looking New York bars- very Breakfast at Tiffany’s type hangouts-all dark wood, leather, and dim lights. Men and women in cocktail clothes (black), smoking and sipping – whatever! We also passed apartment high rises, with uniformed doormen opening limo doors, etc. Many of the apartments had their curtains open, and you could see high ceilinged rooms, elegantly furnished with deep dark furniture, lit with diamond-bright twinkling chandeliers.

Finally, we found our home away from home – The Plaza. The first thing I did when we walked in was order room service! We ordered hot chocolate, a bagel and cream cheese, fresh strawberries, hot tea, and croissants. We didn’t need any menu – I just asked, and they said “Of course, Miss Dunn!” and “Certainly, Miss Dunn” (I could get used to this.) Anyway, in short order, up came the fabulous food -fresh strawberries with a big bowl of whipped cream, chocolate and tea in tall silver pots, small pots of fresh jam, marmalade, honey and butter, and a hot sliced bagel with cream cheese- $40.00 plus tip!

It was wonderful. Here we were at 12 midnight (or later) sipping tea and hot chocolate and eating strawberries and cream. Oh, I love New York! (Of course, we could have bypassed eating and just applied the food to our hips…but…oh well.)

Funny- I’m not even tired, and it’s 1:30 in the morning. Arlene is fast asleep, so I guess I should be too. I’ll read for a bit, then- to sleep, perchance…etc. and so forth!

Saturday morning….New York –I hate to repeat myself- is wonderful: I could live here, I think but sometimes I’m not so sure: it is so frenetic. The energy level is intense at all hours. It doesn’t matter if it’s 6 in the morning or 12 at night. The shops are open, the people are coming and going, the doormen are whistling, whistling, whistling for the taxis that are always full. It’s amazing.

Last night at 1:30 AM, I finally turned out the light to go to sleep. Suddenly- outside in the street, it sounded like they were reconstructing New York. Breaking glass being bundled, brushed, crashed, bashed, shoved, collected, pushed and dumped. Sounds of trucks and semis moving and hauling…the noise was intense. I finally crashed myself, and woke up on Saturday sometime between 11 and 12.

New York has fascinating people: just a terrific amalgam of all and every kind. You see these elegant old ladies, beautifully dressed in little suits and high heels, just-done hair. They seemed to always be walking around in pairs…this will be Arlene and me in 20 years! Lots of Asians, Jews in yarmulkes, African-Americans, Germans. Heard accents from England, Australia, Germany, Japan among others. Some marvelous – I mean really good looking men – tall, slender and gorgeous, with dark hair and eyes… the John Kennedy Jr. type abounds in New York. With equally glorious-looking women- almost always blonde, slender, and tall, tall, tall.

As previously noted, everyone wears black. I mean, to see anyone dressed in a color here is to be shocked… shocked! The uniforms for women seem to be: black pantsuit; or long black skirt, black hose, black jacket; or short black skirt, thick black hose, black jacket; or tight fitting princess style black coat; or black leather jacket with everything. And black short boots. Very cool.

Off to shop.

After a satisfying couple of hours at a couple of boutiques, we toddled off to Bloomingdale’s, which happened to be across the street. Unfortunately, we didn’t see it. So managed to spend 30 minutes searching for it – we are so directionally impaired! Bloomingdale’s was a madhouse (what else is new) – it makes Houston’s Galleria look like an empty cave. People, people and more people -wall to wall people and very hot clothes.

We shopped Floor 3: Designer Sportswear. Lene bought a white sweater, and I bought a pair of gray flannel Ralph cargo pants, a DKNY short sleeved black turtleneck, and a white Ralph t-shirt.

Our sales assistant was named Gloria. I loved her: Hennaed hair, about 65 years old (maybe older), and fairly small-a typical New Yorker, born and bred, and funny as hell “Let me see ya in that sweater, honey I’m waiting out here – let me see it – is it on yet?”

Me: “I’m trying on the cargo pants, Gloria.” Gloria: “Oh, yes, those look good – no, honey, you don’t want to get them tailored here- too expensive. Ya know what I do, take them to my cleaners, tell them what to do, pay ‘em a few dollars- there you are: so much cheaper than here… plus, you have to pay the shipping!”

Gloria: “I’m still waiting to see the sweater.” Me: “Well, give me a minute to get it on - the sleeves are too long.” Gloria: “Now let me tell you what you do: everyone does it we turn up the sleeves like so, there…how’s that look?” Me: “Let me think about it.”

Gloria: “You do that honey!”

We finally left Bloomingdales, picked up our clothes on hold) from various other shops and walked back to the Plaza. We changed clothes and grabbed a cab (via our wonderful doorman) to Tavern on the Green – only to find out we needed a reservation to eat there. So we walked upstairs to the adorable little bar and had Bloody Marys. The bar is dark, with (I think) dark green walls, banquettes, duck plaques, an oak bar, and as usual- fascinating-looking people all having drinks, smoking and talking it up.

After drinks, we took a taxi (strangely available) to the Empire State Building. The lines for this are miles long- masses of people, and by this time it’s dark, but we persevere. “You got a 40 minute wait.” Okay by us.

We finally get an elevator to the 86th floor. You don’t go up to the 102nd – 86 is the observation deck. We walk outside onto the deck, and it is bitterly cold. But you can see east, west, north and south- and at night, the view is spectacular. And I mean spectacular. The lights stretch in endless patterns endlessly to the sea or just distant parts of New York. You see the Hudson River, all the bridges of New York, the Chrysler Building looking like a Christmas tree of arced lights, the World Trade Center, and more, more, more. Everything is lit, and ribbons of lights move endlessly with the traffic patterns. The lights are sometimes massed, sometimes spread out. It’s magical. Overheard: “I know it’s ridiculous, but when I’m sitting up here and looking out, I feel New York belongs to me.” (Corny, but true.)

After all this, we had about 45 minutes to find a place to eat before we had to get to the play, so we took a cab to the Minskoff Theatre, picked up our tickets, then ran across the street to Lindy’s, a little landmark deli with the best sandwich I ever put in my mouth, a Sid Caesar (all the sandwiches are named after old-time comedians). A Sid Caesar is hot pastrami and corn beef on rye with Russian dressing – and it’s almost as tall as the Empire State Building! Lene had a Charlie Chaplin- not sure what that was, but it came on toast. We both had beers. We had 10 minutes to wolf down two bites of sandwich, and 3 gulps of beer, then we had to whip out of there and dash across the street to get to the theatre on time! (I have to say, I hated to leave that sandwich.. .it was the only food we’d had all day since breakfast!)

Well… La di dah, la di dah.

The musical was “The Scarlet Pimpernel” (otherwise known, in the play, as Pimpy). And it was great -really, really delightful and funny and sweet. The actors had wonderful voices, terrific personalities, and the sets were unbelievable: of the guillotine (in action), La Bastille, aboard the ship, in a carriage that rocked as if it were really drawn by horses, in the manor, at a ball, in the rose garden… it was all terrific. The sets moved back, forward, up, down, and under. Fantastic! Everyone thoroughly enjoyed the show.

And speaking of beautiful people (again): seated right next to us was one of the best looking couples I’ve ever seen in my life. She: tall, extremely slender, straight shoulder length (or longer) blonde hair, a figure to die for, and a very sweet smile. Dressed in dark brown/camel pants and top (hey, no black here.). He: dark brown hair, taller than she, slender, dressed in a dark suit, friendly- and good-good looking. I told Arlene if I was 20, I’d slit my wrists, but since I’m a tiny bit older than that (ha), I can enjoy it- I think!

After the play, we- along with hordes of New Yorkers – streamed through the streets looking for a taxi. Here’s an amazing thing: there’s never an empty taxi. At one point, I actually ran out into the street banging on one’s door… but he wouldn’t take us. Taxis can only pick people up at designated areas now (such as street comers… not in the middle of the road.) So we walked across the street to the taxi stand at the Marriott, which had about 10 people waiting, and waiting… and we joined the merry throng. By the time we got our taxi, there were about 50-60 people in line.

Police cars with sirens were blasting (good old NYPD Blue). The streets were humming with people and cars and taxis, – and we were humming along there with them in our taxi. Taxi drivers in New York don’t believe in the words “slow and steady”; nor do they believe they’re on the streets of New York: obviously they think they’re at Le Mans. Zooming is not too strong a word for what we were doing thru the streets of New York that night! But the energy level was unbelievable.

We arrived at The Plaza – and a long line waiting for the elevators. So we decided to walk up the stairs to our floor under the auspices of a very nice (although initially suspicious) security guard. All of the people here are so very nice, from the saleswomen at the Banana Republic and Bloomingdale’s to the doormen at the Plaza, to the waiters and just people in the street.

Back in our room, we again! ordered room service. Me: bagels and cream cheese, strawberries and cream, and hot chocolate. Lene, tiramisu (which I had a hard time pronouncing to the room service attendant at that time of night: “I’m sorry ma’am… we don’t have that! Oh… what was that again?” Arlene: “I wondered what you were attempting to order!”) and hot tea. Quel spread!

And now Arlene is sleeping the sleep of the just, the recycling trucks (as I found out they were) are outside on the street loading 5 million tons of glass into various carriers, and I’ve got hand cramp. But I’m in New York! Anyway, I’ll stop here and read for a while, then ….to sleep!

Sunday: These past two days have been hot and sunny and bright – unbelievably unseasonable weather for New York in November. Are we lucky or what?

We had a wakeup call at 9AM, so we could get up, shower, pack and check out, with enough time to eat lunch at the Algonquin Hotel (which I loved).

We ordered a Continental breakfast again, which came with hot coffee, fresh orange juice, croissants and English muffins. For some reason, I wasn’t that hungry, so only ate a muffin and had one cup of coffee. Unusual for me. One really nice thing, among many: the coffee was always piping hot and really good. No lukewarm stuff for us! The sweet little bellhop then came and got our bags and held the elevator for us as we – unknowing – slowly sauntered down the hall. Then we picked up our car and took off for the Algonquin.

Goodbye, lovely Plaza.

Atlas Shrugged

It took us about 20 minutes to get to the Algonquin, which had been refurbished and was so old New York, I could’ve cried. We arrived before noon; not too many people were in the hotel dining room – only two or three couples, all dressed for Sunday brunch.

It’s dim inside. Dark paneling, half-way up the wall; then wallpapered to the ceiling. Fleur-de-lis pattern on the wall-to wall carpeting. The round table where Dorothy Parker, Robert Benchley et al met to eat, drink and be merry, was right there in the middle of the lobby/cum/dining room. The lobby actually segues into the dining room; the round table was placed between one and the other.

To get to the bathroom, I walked down a narrow, winding, low-ceilinged little staircase to the basement. Floor, walls, ceiling of the bathroom were totally refinished in white marble. The staircase was marble, the staircase wall covered in green-painted narrow paneling.

We sat at a comer table (round) in two wine-red velvet wing chairs- which were rather low to the ground. As we sat gingerly down, our chins almost hit the table- but not quite. Seating was all velvet chairs (green or deep red) of different styles – wing, club or whatever – or small sofas. Everything was hushed and mustily elegant. I loved it! Arlene had a shrimp salad and I had pastrami on rye (had to, I’m in New York).

It was exactly as I thought it would be – still living in the past. Charming and gently faded and genteel, it was like stepping through a door into another world.
So we ate, and finally, back in the car to the airport, with a short side trip to see Lene’s clinic in Clifton. I was thinking as we were walking around – how long ago it seemed when Arlene and I bought matching brown jumpers and ran around Houston’s Old Market Square, both married and both so young (it was the 70s).

On the way out of Clifton, we suddenly found ourselves in an avenue of over-arching maples, all yellow-leafed, with the road carpeted in yellow leaves. The sun hit the trees as we entered the avenue, and suddenly we were driving through a tunnel of shining gold.

Lene in Ramsey NJ

Then on to Newark Airport – and goodbye New York: auvoir to you!

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Posted in Uncategorized and tagged 58th Street, 5th Avenue, African-Americans, Asians, Australiia, balloon, Bloody Marys, Bloomingdales, Breakfast at Tiffany's, Broadway, carvings, Central Park, chalices, Chrysler Building, cloaks, Empire State Building, England, European monasteries, Fifth Avenue, Germans, goblets, Grand Central Station, green mountains, Greenwich Village, hot air balloon ride, Hudson River, I Love New York, ivory pieces, Japan, Jews, Memory Lane, Metropolitan Museum of Art, Nederlander Theater, New Jersey, New York City, New York State, Newark, oval playing cards, Oyster Bar, Oysters Rockefeller, paintingsstatues, Ramsey, reliquary, Rent, sarcophagi, St. Juliana, The Cloisters, The Plaza, The Scarlett Pimpernel, the World Trade Center, Times Square, yarmulkes. Bookmark the permalink.

California – A Short but Sweet Coastal Hike

Posted on September 17, 2012 by carpediemrosemary

An incredible mass of flowers line the coastal walk from Pebble Beach

I love California. It’s such an incredibly beautiful landscape, offering desert, ocean, forests, waterfalls, idyllic towns, wonderful weather…you name it, California has it. Great hiking! So at the invitation of two friends we’d made while in Crete, Elisa and I went on a long weekend visit that was really magical few days.

After hopping and bopping from one airport to another (with a stop in Albuquerque, a nice break for an hour), we land at the San Jose airport Thursday afternoon. Eileen picks us up and drives us to Joanne’s entrancing Pebble Beach home. We settle in, then walk down driftwood paths to the sea and along the coast for about an hour, ending up at the Spanish Links golf club for drinks on the patio. The air is chill but sweet. We sit around an open fireplace, watching the ocean …soothed by its sussuration …as the sun goes down. In the distance, a bagpiper wanders the links, the melody poignant, the half-light bringing memories.

After which, we walk to the Fishwife’s Grille for a light dinner of grilled halibut and salads.

Point Lobos State Park

The 3 Musketeers (minus Eileen who’s taking the picture)

We have a splendid night’s sleep at Joanne’s. The down comforters, the silky smoothness of the sheets, and the crisp night air all combine to make sleeping an easeful thing. Up and ready to go, and after a breakfast of cereal, bagels and honey and watching the deer and one beautifully-antlered buck saunter across surrounding lawns – we drive to Point Lobos State Park, and hike steadily for 6-7 hours, only breaking for bagels in the van.

Free as a bird!

The park has trails, beaches and rocks along the southern side of the point. The scenery is unbelievable. We climb down into small coves and beaches, and watch the birds nesting on rocks out to sea.

Birds nesting on the cliffs

The weather is slightly overcast and very cool, but by midday, the sun burns off the mist, and brilliant sunshine reigns.

Soberanes Creek in Garrapata State Park

After this splendid trail walk, we drive to Soberanes Creek in Garrapata State Park, hiking up the mountain into the redwood forest.

The flowers! along the trail…banks of purple wisteria-like blooms, California poppies, hollyhocks, yellow gorse, and others I can’t even remember. The color is unbelievable.

When we reach the redwoods, the experience is quite intense. The height and girth of those magnificent, wonderful trees… I keep patting them as I walk by, feeling a strong kinship with the living forest.

Yes, I am a tree-hugger!

Eileen and I climb and climb, until the creek is far below us (the water crystal clear); we then turn and climb down to the creek bed and wander a bit more. Eileen takes a break as I continue following the trail of the water – silence all around. What a great feeling being immersed in these splendid woods.

Talk about a photographer’s heaven… wherever you look is a picture…the Frank Lloyd Wright house on the Big Sur coast, the Lone Cypress, redwoods, the ocean, so much beauty, so little film (this is before I finally purchase a digital camera.)

Tonight we eat at Nepenthe’s, sitting on the patio overlooking the ocean. Heaven on a plate!

A rest after dinner

Jack’s Peak and Carmel

At the start of a hike

Come Saturday, we hike Jack’s Peak for about three hours (the pines smell like heaven), afterwards eating lunch at FiFi’s, an adorable tiny restaurant recommended by my dentist. Next we pop back into Carmel for shopping and gallery hopping. Another great dinner in Big Sur, then back to Joanne’s for coffee and sleep.

Up at 4:45AM on Sunday – talk about a rude awakening! The plane leaves at 8:30AM, and we don’t arrive in Houston until around 5PM – those little cramped seats on SW A/L do not make for comfy travel!

Joanne and Eileen are perfect hosts…nothing is too much to ask, whether we are begging Joanne to stop the car every two minutes to take a photograph, or needing Eileen to drive us to the airport.

Hard not to be happy here

Who wouldn’t want to be in California?

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Hiking the Utah canyons

Posted on August 14, 2012 by carpediemrosemary

The hoodoos of Bryce

Sometimes it’s just great to get away to a part of the country you’ve never spent time in, yet is not so far away it takes more than two or three hours to reach. Such was the Utah trip for me, and the state is so spectacularly beautiful, it was one of my most satisfying hikes. Country Walkers offered this relatively short hike (5 days) and a friend of mine, who lives elsewhere, sent me the information. I was hooked, and hooked up. I think Utah is one of the most beautiful states in a country of so many beautiful states…there is, however, something spiritual about the landscape there. Needless to say, it was an experience I’ll never forget.

Las Vegas

I arrive in Las Vegas after what seems an interminable flight, but is in reality only three hours. After finding Lee, we take the hotel limo to AmeriSuites. It is super-hot here, and noisy, jumping with people – mostly young people – but at least our room is quiet. Once settled in, we walk across the street to one of the many casinos, eat a late dinner in the Montero dining room, and then get some sleep. (Lee loses $1 on the slot machine.)

The next morning Lee and I take an hour’s stroll down to the Strip. The first hotel we come to is the Sahara -once inside, it is pretty unbelievable – miles of aisles, shops of all description, and gambling slots everywhere. It’s not even 8:30AM, and people are playing the slots. Not my life, but perhaps the idea of hiking in the wilds of the canyons isn’t their idea of fun either!

The Canyons of Zion

The start of a beautiful friendship

Promptly at 10AM, our group picks us up. We have a three-hour ride to Zion National Park, eat a picnic lunch and then drive to the Lodge, which is set in very beautiful parkland. Surrounded by the walls of the canyon, the Lodge sprawls across the green grass, lit to neon green by the afternoon sun.

Bonnie views the awe-inspiring scenery

We put up our bags and take the first hike of the trip: Riverside Trail, up into the canyon. The cliff walls are ever-changing colors, depending on sun or shadow. We pass cascades of water, mountain greenery, rock formations, often looking over sheer drops. We are not gone long, returning to the Lodge about 5:30, to change for supper in the main dining room.

This place is really magical. After eating a delicious meal, we walk back through the gloaming to our room…the canyon walls surround us, and in the park fronting the Lodge are about 20 mule deer, lifting their big elf-like ears as we pass by. The deer make little or no sound, except for a low “crunch” as they crop the grass.

In the shadowy twilight, the canyon walls keep in the growing darkness, and only the rustle of wind in the trees is heard. The temperature – in the 80s when we arrived – has cooled to about 55 degrees. We are sleeping with open windows tonight.

Our small group – we split into two groups

Our group is comprised of seventeen people, coming together from one end of the country to the other. From Williamsburg, Virginia to the California coast and in between, it’s a particularly enjoyable group. Bob and Bonnie from Williamsburg are a wonderful retired couple who enjoy travelling. Cara and Cheryl are the first women guides I’ve experienced on these hikes. They are extremely knowledgeable about the area, very pleasant, as well as caring and fully invested in the wildlife and the environment.

The peace here is unbelievable.

Refrigerator Canyon, Walter’s Wiggles and Weeping Rock

Here we are – our second day in the canyons of Zion. This is a wonderfully picturesque area – the grandeur of the canyons is almost too much to take in. We join each other at 8:30 in the morning after a splendid breakfast at the Lodge, and then split into two groups of nine and eight, making it easier to hike and to take in everything without a large group slowing things up.

Cara, our guide, and me at the start of a hike in Zion

Our group begins hiking immediately (the other group is bussed to an alternate location). We begin at Scout’s Outlook, a four-mile up-canyon hike that begins with a climb to Refrigerator Canyon, always 20 degrees colder than everywhere else.

: Walter’s Wiggles

Next come the “switchbacks”, so-called because the trail zips back and forth constantly, ending with “Walter’s Wiggles” – an even more extreme switchback. Atop the thousand-foot high Scout’s Outlook, we hang over the edge looking straight down into beautiful green valleys and canyon walls. The views are astounding. Then we turn and hike back down…

The grandeur and majesty of the canyon are impossible to describe – the walls are so sheer, so solid, so many different colors, and so immense we are surrounded and encompassed by these wonderful cliffs.

The beauty of the landscape is timeless

After Scout’s Landing, we hike the Riversidewalk, ending by paddling our tootsies in a river whose name I don’t recall. Cold, by God!

Bonnie, Cara and I then hike uphill to Weeping Rock, an overhang in the canyon wall. Standing beneath it, we look out at spectacular views through a curtain of water – the fall is neither heavy, nor does it obscure the view – like clear beads on many threads -crystal raindrops falling endlessly, lit by the sun. It’s a very spiritual experience, being in these canyons.

After which, we return to the Lodge, clean up, and wend our way to the IMAX Theater, where we see the history of the canyons – breathtaking – and then on to dinner – and to bed.

The Virgin River and Dual Arches Alcove

After a hearty breakfast, we jump in the van: Bonnie, Bob, the six California girls, Cara, our guide, and me. A 45-minute drive takes us to the Virgin River, where we begin a five-mile round trip hike. It is safe to say that was the longest five-mile hike I have taken!

We start on a sandy trail through pine and oak woods, alongside the Virgin River bed. We actually walk the riverbed most of the way, as it has dried up in the summer heat – it’s basically a very thin stream at this point. Cara’s quick to point out that care should be taken nonetheless, as the weather can change in an instant, and gullywashers can sluice through the canyons and riverbeds, with an outcome I don’t like to dwell on…but good to know! Surrounding us are spectacular views of canyon walls in their living colors of red streaked with black, white and grey where water has scored the cliffs.

Standing inside the deep pink Dual Arches – incredible!

At first the sand is golden. But as we near Dual Arches Alcove, it turns the most glorious shade of pink – absolutely unbelievable. Stones in the sand which are a vivid turquoise blue turn grey when picked up – a trick of the sun and the sand. The weather which had begun cool, turns very hot halfway to Dual Arches, but when the canyon walls narrow and we come to the great Dual Arches Alcove, it becomes almost chilly.

Dual Arches Alcove – spectacular and awe-inspiring – reaches to the sky in two great arches. The lower one will one day begin to disintegrate and then fall; its hold is precarious on the rock face. The arches are all colors – exquisitely beautiful. We eat our lunch in their shadow, drinking gallons of water to ward off dehydration. Then we hike for approximately half an hour over deep pink rocks and boulders to a waterfall in the cliff face. The canyons narrow our path til we can squeeze no further. The rocks and boulders – making for a tricky hike – are a bright reddish pink – all fallen from the canyon walls and swept into a rocky riverbed by gullywashers.

Ro and Bonnie – ahead of the pack!

Bob, Bonnie and I are a little ahead of the pack on our way back. We mostly stay with the riverbed, which meanders this way and that. In full sun, it is hot, hot, hot. In the shade, the scent is intensely green. Our entire hike takes six hours with a brief time out for lunch.

Then it’s back into the van, and a drive into town for an iced cappuccino – absolutely the best tasting thing in the world! Then back to the Lodge for dinner. When we leave the restaurant, twilight has fallen on the canyon walls which surround us on all sides. Again, the deer wander onto the Lodge’s grassy front lawn, showing no fear as we pass them by, shadows in the enchanted Zion twilight.

Observation Point, Panguitch, Bryce Canyon and The Hoodoos

Up at 6:30 to eat breakfast and get in the van by 8AM. We ride to Observation Point, a 45-minute drive, in the Zion National Park, then hike up some of the most spectacular trails, which drop into nothingness on one side, cliff wall on the other.

Lonely trees dot the landscape

The scenery is spectacular wherever we look. And the trail varies from flat rock to narrow ledges to a bridge over nothing! Finally, we arrive at Observation Point. It seems to hover at the very tip of the canyons, and the view is incredible – it looks out over canyons and gorges in all directions. I climb to the very highest point, a drop-off into thin air, for a quick photo op. Then back down the trail to the van. Another brief ride, and then hike to see pictographs carved long ago on the canyon walls by the Anasazi Indians. I love Utah!

I felt as if I were in a movie

Back in the van for a 90-minute ride to the little town of Panguitch (meaning “water” – with population 2000) and Bob’s Cowboy Diner, where we are serenaded through lunch by two cowboys singing “Tumbling Tumbleweeds,” “Call the Wind Mariah,” “Cool Water,” and “Ghostriders in the Sky.” Fantastic! I feel as if I’ve wandered way back in time into the Old West – and I don’t want to return to the present…

But our next destination is Bryce Canyon National Park, and on arrival, we immediately begin our hike. I can’t begin to describe this place. It is unlike anything I’ve seen anywhere.

From the canyon rim to the canyon floor, we hike downwards through the trail called Wall Street through walls of blood red sandstone, ever and ever down. Our trail takes us over the canyon floor, then curls around back to the top. The number of people on the trail is overwhelming at times, especially on Wall Street – large groups of people from Japan and Germany seem to be the most ubiquitous.

Hoodoos at Bryce Canyon

We are all in awe of these terra-cotta colored hoodoos of Bryce which stretch for miles and miles and miles. Absolutely unbelievably wonderful.Cara is our guide throughout it all. A terrific guide, unbelievably talented, she and her husband are mountain and cliff-climbers, rapelling the canyon walls in Zion and in Yosemite in their spare time. On their honeymoon, they spent three days and nights on the canyon wall in Yosemite National Park, sleeping in hammocks on the cliff face. They are also in the process of building a home made from bales of hay, reinforced with rebar and steel, and covered in stucco. And they are building it with their own two hands. Remarkable people.

Beautiful Bryce

After our hike, Lee and I have dinner with Bonnie and Bob – I am so full of food, I can hardly stand it. And very tired. To sleep!

Bryce Canyon Redux

We are off at 8:30AM to hike down the canyon in the opposite direction to our hike of yesterday. Slight contretemps at the vans: usually when a group splits in two, the guides switch sides halfway through the trip. But all our group want to stay with Cara! So we do.

Reaching for the stars

We begin the hike immediately – the other group is bussed to the opposite side of the canyon. The hike is long and glorious – about seven or so hours altogether. Bonnie, Bob and I reach the top of the canyon, then take off for an additional three-mile hike – woof! All uphill! By the time we make it back to the bus stop, we are really physically exhausted, but exhilarated at the same time.

A perfectly happy human being

Today I forgot my sunscreen – my legs and arms are tiger-striped, and when my legs finally stop stinging, they go sort of Kentucky Fried crispy. But somehow it doesn’t seem to matter. Who cares! This wonderful trip is worth it!

Bryce Canyon Lodge and Dixie National Park

Up before dawn to walk and hike around the canyon rim watching the sun come up…another awe-inspiring experience.

Then back for breakfast, packing and so back to the real world. We drive through Dixie National Park, endless mountains and forests of breathtaking beauty – stretches of quaking aspens in full golden splendor, mountains stained with the color of the sun, stretches of pines and firs. I had no idea Utah was such a beautiful – and green – state – why did I always think of it as desert? I was very wrong.

We stop in Cedar City for lunch at Betty’s Restaurant – a small butter yellow house, filled with pictures and flowers – for an elegant little lunch, where we celebrate Roni’s birthday (one of the California Six), and have a teary-eyed farewell.

This incredibly satisfying trip solidifies my desire to experience more and more of the western states. Utah is an enchanting experience … full of mystery and freedom and awe-inspiring beauty.

Utah – awe inspiring, mystical, magic

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Posted in Uncategorized and tagged a truly magical trip, AmeriSuites, Anasazi Indians, Betty's Restaurant, Bob's Cowboy Diner, Bryce Canyon, Bryce Canyon National Park, Call the Wind Mariah, canyon walls, canyons, Cedar City, deer, Dixie National Park, Dool Water, Dual Arches Alcove, Ghostriders in the Sky, grandeur and majesty, Hiking in the canyons of Utah, Hiking the Utah canyons, hoodoos, IMAX Theater, Las Vegas, Montero dining room, Observation Point, Old West, our magical hiking experience in the Canyons, Our Magical Mystery Tour into the Canyons of Utah, Panguitch, Refrigerator Canyon, Riverside Trail, Riverside Walk, Scout's Outlook, terra cotta colored hoodoos, the Canyons of Utah, Tumbling Tumbleweeds, Utah, Utah Our magical hiking experience in the Canyons, Virgin River, Wall Street, Walter's Wiggles, Weeping Rock, Yosemite, Yosemite National Park, Zion, Zion Lodge, Zion Natgional Park, Zion twilight. Bookmark the permalink.

Hiking the White Mountains of New Hampshire

Posted on July 18, 2012 by carpediemrosemary

This was a brief few days of hiking in July…it was challenging and satisfying. Our group consisted of 8 women and two guides; some of the women had not been on a group hike before, some were looking for people to travel with, and some, like me, just wanted to hike! Our little group consisted of our guides Jan and Ruthie; Anni, Australian from Brisbane; Rebecca from Canada; Ann, Cindy (whose room I stole), Deb, Susan, Debbie and me.

Sunday

Deb drove Susan (who’d never been on a group hike) and me to the starting point, which we needed to reach by noon. We got to the White Mountains Visitor Center in Lincoln, NH off the Kancamagus Highway (try saying that very quickly) where we had a quick picnic lunch.

The Zealand Falls, Susan in background

After picking up the condo keys from Loon Reservations (love that name), we all drive to drop off various and sundry cars at the condos/lodges – then beaver on to the first hike of the trip – to Upper Greely Pond, where we experience the variability of the trail… rocky granite paths and leaf-lined walks…of the mountains.

The weather is glorious…warm, dry, cool breeze, vivid blue skies…perfect for hiking (around 3.5 miles round trip). We hiked over rocks, streams, tree roots, marshy ground – seeing all kinds of flora and fauna. The trail was beautiful: between the trees are moss-covered boulders that make me think of Wales, where I lived when I was a child (at the base of a mountain). Ferns lined the trail, and lichen covered trees and rocks. The air smelled of pine as we climbed upward to Greely’s Pond, where Susan was the only one to take a dip in the chilly waters.

Our merry band

The sun was intense and very soporific. After Susan’s swim and various snacks all round, we hiked back down the trail…I have to say my feet were feeling it by the time we got to the car and back to the condos. The condos are set back in the woods…pretty (although they don’t match up to the lodge we stayed at in the Smokies last year.) But Jan is great…it’s super having her as our guide again. She and Ruthie prepared a wonderful meal in the condo, and after a long discussion about upcoming hikes, I was pooped – and so to bed to be ready to get on the trail by 9AM tomorrow.

Monday: Leave no footprint

We are on part of the Appalachian Trail

A really long day – up at 7 – breakfast at 8 – leave at 9. We all drive to the beginning of the hike 45 minutes away – only to find we’ve left Cindy behind at the condos!! Once it’s decided that she is NOT in the bathroom, or hiking on her own, Ruthie pops back in the van to go get her, and we all commence on our hike on the Zealand Falls trail. A glorious hike through forests and past marshes, alongside the Zealand River. We see beaver dams, waterfalls, beautiful ponds, serene woods, blue sky, fluffy white clouds…manna for the soul.

A view from the trail

During this hike, we actually get onto the Appalachian Trail, and are hiking to one of the AMC huts which has an amazing view from the rocky crags surrounding the waterfall. The vistas all around us are breathtaking…so much green and blue, you want to kiss the ground for the pleasure of knowing these places still exist in the world.

The last stretch of this hike is boulders, boulders, boulders…huge and challenging. Here we take a break for lunch, scattering ourselves over the boulders and enjoying the breeze.

A trail of boulders

At this point, Cindy and Ruthie arrive…Cindy barely has time to sit down before it’s time to leave, back down from whence we came. The overall round trip hike came to about 6 miles (although going uphill, a mile seems like much more than…a mile!)

After this hike, we piled in the vans and drove to the beautiful and historic Mount Washington Lodge – historic because in 1944 it hosted 44 nations at the Bretton Woods International Monetary Conference, where the World Bank and International Monetary Fund were established, with the US dollar designated the basis of international exchange.

Walking up to Mt Washington Lodge for our reward – lemonade!

This lodge is absolutely gorgeous…the hotel, the grounds and the views…perfection. We sat on the veranda or in Adirondack chairs on the lawn overlooking the mountains beyond, drank our lemonade and thought ourselves some of the luckiest people on earth.

From the back of Mt Washington Lodge

Then it was back to our condos for a home-cooked dinner (barbecued pork chops, salad, chocolate)…and I had my usual one beer. Tomorrow we leave earlier than usual…and so , to bed.

Tuesday: Make sure to have super-high spf sunblock

The Saco River

Good breakfast at 7:30 and we are out the door by 8:30, on the way to the Saco River for a day of canoe-ing and kayaking. Four canoes are booked, two kayaks. Deb and I hope to partner in one of the canoes – NOT the greatest idea in the world, as we keep driving the canoe into sandbanks. So Deb and Jan exchange places, and we’re finally on our merry way.

Deb relaxing on the Saco River

We paddled down the peaceful river for about an hour…all was quiet except for birdsong and the trees as the breeze rustled through. The river is clear as a bell…the bottom lined with boulders and flat rocks…just purely beautiful. We come to a sandy shore for snacks, and for some, swimming. I’m very covered up as the sun is really intense, although not unpleasantly so…I’m slathered with 50 spf suncream, and it seems to work well. (I remember in Utah not being so smart, and as I was wearing shorts, my lower legs burned to a crisp.)

A peaceful moment on the Saco

Time to return to the canoes – Jan and I crawl in, and then, somehow, we locked our canoe with another – and the next thing, we’re both in the water…soaked. My camera was encased in a waterproof pack – the only thing not soaked through.

Anyway…we paddled onward for another hour…another break…then onward to the dock, to arrive at 3:15. No-one to help us get the canoes and kayaks out of the water (except for one helpful youngster), so some of the women manhandled them up the stairs and onto the grass. Very odd that no-one from the canoe company was at that end to help, but those are the breaks.

We all piled on the bus, back to town, where we stopped at an ice cream shop for a cone and a rest. The ice cream was yum-o (me? I had traditional chocolate chip…) Then it was back to the condos, quick clean up, nice meal cooked by Jan and Ruthie…and so to bed. Heavy duty hike tomorrow!

Wednesday: Duct tape and poles

This was the most difficult hike of all for me. We left the condos around 9AM – usual hearty breakfast, pack our lunches…and drive an hour to the start of the Welch-Dickey hike in the Waterville Valley (Welch and Dickey are actually 2 mountains), where we will achieve two summits. Jan wrapped my and Ann’s toes in duct tape – worked super-well to prevent blistering or cutting. I came without poles – will never do that again on a hike of this nature.

The start of the Welch-Dicky hike in Waterville Valley

The hike was completely uphill all the way to Welch’s peak (no little flat places to take a breather) – not high, but strenuous…with much of it “scrambling” or climbing over humongous granite boulders to the very top.

Jan and Rebecca movin’ on up

I take it easy up this trail so as not to wear myself out (recommendation from Jan), but Jan and Rebecca hang in with me, which I much appreciated. Even so, I tripped on a tree root at the summit, trying to avoid the “hands & knees” thing and went down on my knees on soft trail. But nothing to really write home about (although I hate falling).

Scrambling

The trail from base to peak was a mixture, actually, beginning with fir-lined paths with a few rocks and boulders…then climbing steadily upward to the huge monoliths halfway up Welch. We took a few breaks for lunch, snacks, water and photography.

I was really sweating by the time I reached the peak…but the views, absolutely incredible.

O happy day calloo callay she chortled in her joy

Looking down from our viewpoint on granite, across the valleys filled with firs, maples, birches and other trees, to mountains ranged along our field of vision…and the vast sky overhead…it is all so still and peaceful. Of course, if you happened to fall off the granite, it was a loooong way down.

Looking across the valley to Welch Mountain from Dicky

After stopping a few minutes on Welch, we headed down and onward to Dickey’s summit, about 1800 feet, all in all.

The White Mountains, so-called because of the white granite on their upper reaches

Then it was back onto the trail, heading downwards…lovely, even with gigantic boulders, I loved it, partly because I enjoy hiking down which is definitely easier for me to negotiate, and it’s also very pleasant for my toes. It must have been in the mid-80s today, and the weather all week long has been so perfect, you couldn’t order anything better. In the 50s/60s at night, and high 70s/low 80s during the day…ruffly white clouds, deep blue sky…

Heading back down this incredibly beautiful trail

Our hike round trip: around 4 miles. We made it in just about 6 hours.

Now we’re back in the condos, and most of the group has gone to the Bathtub for a quick swim. Then it’s on to the Gypsy Café for our farewell dinner…the food there is fabulous!

Thursday

Part of the Flume Gorge

Up and out of the condos, packed and ready to go by 9. One more short hike, at the Flume Gorge, about 800 feet long from the base of Mount Liberty. The granite walls rise to 70/90 feet and are studded with ferns and tiny vines and flowers, while the water drips everywhere…we take a 2-mile walk over boardwalks and gravel. Lots of people visiting, whereas on previous trails, very few.

Cindy and the Moose (and Deb)

A quick lunch, and it’s time to say goodbye. After great conversations, good food and drink, the incredible beauty of the wilderness…I am ready to go home and mull over all the experiences. Back to civilization, back to real life.

Just want to add a couple of books that I highly recommend: Bill Bryson’s “A Walk in the Woods” – so funny and a terrific source of information about the AT. And “Wild” by Cheryl Strayed – I loved this book about her hiking the PCT, the reasons why she did it, and what she found out about herself at the end of it all. Couldn’t put it down.

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Posted in Uncategorized and tagged A Walk in the Woods, A Walk in the Woods the White Mountains, A Walk in the Woods the White Mountains of New Hampshire, Adirondack chairs, AMC huts, Appalachian Trail, Bill Bryson, boulders, Bretton Woods International Monetary Conference, canoes and kayaks, Cheryl Strayed, duct tape, Flume Gorge, granite, granite boulders, Greely's Pond, Gypsy Cafe, Hiking the White Mountains of New Hampshire, k White Mountains Visitor Center, Kancamagus Highsway, kayaks, Lincoln NH, Loon Reservations, Mount Washington Lodge, New Hampshire, New Hampshire and A Walk in the Woods, poles, Saco River, scrambling, the Bathtub, Upper Greely Pond, Waterville Valley, Welch-Dickey Mountains, white granite, White Mountains, Wild, World Bank and International Monetary Fund, Zealand Falls, Zealand River. Bookmark the permalink.

Carpe diem

Hiking in Norway – green mountains, silver fjords

Hiking in Wales and England

Hiking in the Great Smokies

I Love New York!

California – A Short but Sweet Coastal Hike

Hiking the Utah canyons

Hiking the White Mountains of New Hampshire

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