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Hiking in Spain: Autumn in Andalusia

Posted on May 29, 2013 by carpediemrosemary

  

Granada

Who knew I’d get stood up in Spain? One thing to be stood up at the movies – but Spain?

I’d planned to meet a girlfriend in Madrid, then we’d fly to Granada to meet our hiking group. There were clues that this might not come to pass – oh, for example, when she said: Now if I’m not in Madrid when you land, don’t wait for me – catch your plane to Granada. But of course, who thinks this means: Guess what, I’m not coming!

That being said, I arrive in Madrid about 9AM – no-one seems to speak English, even a flight captain. At total loss as to my connecting Iberian flight to Granada, but eventually find out they don’t announce a gate until an hour prior. Better be sure you’re within running distance.

Still no sign of Diane, so I board Iberian – sun shining brilliantly – and arrive at the (tiny) Granada airport and stand outside waiting – waiting – waiting for a taxi. Finally! Arrive at Guadalupe Hotel in the Alhambra (which, I find out is a medina, or city, not a palace, as I had thought…always learning). Diane never shows up. It’s about 5PM Granada time…after hours of calls and worry, I decide to change my tickets home, moving them up two days so I’ll arrive home early Sunday rather than late Tuesday. Incredible hassle. I spend about $200 on long distance calls to airlines and Sonia at the office…let alone the cost of re-purchasing the Iberian A/L ticket and changing Continental!

Finally late that evening find out from Wilderness Travel: Diane is not coming! I take a sleeping tablet, and sleep until noon Saturday…feel much better.

Saturday, Sept 30:

Never hear from Diane.

The view from my room at the Guadalupe Hotel

My room, (on the 3rd floor) is charming although spartan…but what views! The busloads of tourists have come and gone, and peace reigns. Am going to wash hair and get early night.Reminder for next trip: Check the hairdryer you plan to use BEFORE washing hair! I had to use the hotel dryer, which always hangs on the wall in the bathroom. First try: blew the electricity. Popped dryer back in wall…electricity came on. Each successive try blew it faster. Called the concierge – she flips breakers high upon the wall across the room several times – same problem. “Too bad,” she says. The only thing I can do is dry one strand of hair before blowing the fuse, cross from the bathroom, climb on a chair, flip the breakers, dry another strand, and so on and so forth. Fun!

The Guadalupe Hotel at the Alhambra

Next, try Room Service. When I can’t get anyone on the line, I call the front desk. They suggest I come down to the bar, which is the Room Service. So down I go. One lonely girl is behind the counter…only two customers. I ask her “is this Room Service?” She: “Do I LOOK like Room Service?” Hmm…inauspicious beginning. I ask if she could fix me a sandwich. She looks at me as if I were requesting a 6-course meal, but we finally had a meeting of the minds, and when I offered her a big tip, she decided she could, of course, bring the tray to my room. One small success. 

Meeting the group 

I meet the group – now down to 7. Two doctors; Anne – wife of Mark, a lawyer; Bea and Didier, guides, and me. Off to the Alhambra. The palace is beautiful with incredible lacy walls with the coats of arms etc. of bygone times. I loved the gardens…oh, they were heavenly, architectural in design…flowers brilliant…cedars and boxwood – all wildly scented.

We leave the Alhambra and walk to charming restaurant up, up, up a narrow street. It is delightful sitting outside under canopy eating a wonderful lunch. Weather, by the way, is hot – hot – hotter, not the usual October weather for Andalusia.

After lunch, we all pile in a van to Bubion, a tiny village atop what seems to me an incredibly high mountain. Green (as in nausea) is the operative word here. Round and round we went on the narrow road – each lap around the mountain more terrifying than the previous. The drop is precipitous. Thank god Didier is an excellent driver. I was so nauseated by the movement of the van, I really thought I’d lose it. Sweat broke out all over face & neck, and I could barely climb from the van after an hour and a half drive up the mountain.

All the little towns have these wonderful narrow streets

Three hours later, after washing hair (again), I was able to go to dinner, always late at night. It was fabulous, but almost too much for me to finish (I valiantly manage). Spanish meals seem to be HUGE. But oh, we are relaxed, sitting outside in the courtyard looking over the mountains at the sunset, and then at a glorious full moon, having drinks, then going inside the tiny restaurant for dinner. Wine flowed, good conversation reigned. What a wonderful night.

We meet in hotel lobby at 9:30 after quick breakfast. First hike – and it was a doozy. The first couple of hours we hiked downwards – which was great. The trail was rocky and pebbly, so needed to watch feet. No-one else in the group likes downhill.

It is very dry here, and unseasonably hot. The ground is parched, but vistas across valleys are stunning, the mountains incredible, and you see clusters of whitewashed towns scattered at intervals across the great divides. Not a lot of water.

We are accompanied on this trip by Antonio and two mules. Bea asked me several times if I wanted to just ride one of the mules, when I thought I’d pass out from heat – but add to the weight already on the backs of the animals I would not … although they were well fed and cared for – Antonio rode one of them almost all the way back up the mountain.

Two mules for…

Now imagine, if you will, hiking in 87o F weather – with humidity – most times with no shade – sun fierce – not a cloud in the sky – followed by Antonio on a mule yakking away on his cell phone.

After about three hours, we come to our lunch spot, with fabulous view across cliffs and valleys. In distance, our town of Bubion, where we would begin heading after lunch. Picnic on tomatoes from Bea’s garden, homemade olive oil, two kinds of Spanish cheeses, cured ham, long loaves of crusty bread, Spanish olives…absolutely delish (also wine, orange and peach juices).

Up again, on hike back to Bubion – this was so steep I had to keep stopping in the (very few) shady spots…the climb was intense. Bea kept me going – it was easier with the stops, but woof: talk about hard (my hardest hike…the rest got easier by the day.) Finally got to Bubion and she and I stopped in a small taverna for a drink. It was such fun to just not be “in train” and I loved Bea for doing it. She is a remarkable person – so Spanish, absolutely tiniest person I’ve every met. Used to be a dancer, until, as she says, her boobs got too big! She is funny and encouraging and has been such a friend on this hike.

On the road

A note on Granada, Bubion and Andalusia in general: I feel in many ways I have come to the back of beyond. It’s not that restaurants and inns lack amenities but the landscape does not allow for a Milan or New York frame of mind. People do things here they have done – in the same way – for hundreds of years. Bea herself lives in a tiny village up a hill from Bubion – she is restoring her house – it takes an immense amount of time – you cannot drive to her village, the roads are too narrow and inaccessible. She has to park her car elsewhere and walk uphill to her home. As she pointed out, in the winter, they may lose the electricity, but they have the fireplace, good wine and friends to sit and talk with (sounds great to me).

We meet a man on the hike who lived in a hut with dogs and a cat and probably other animals – no electricity, running water etc. – 84 years old, wizened – and happy. Time definitely stands still in Andalusia – except, except, except.

You cannot escape the cell phone. For example, Antonio, sitting astride one of his mules, climbing up the mountain, talking away a mile a minute on his cell phone to his girlfriend. Technology – even in the back of beyond.

The charm of Andalusia is everywhere

But perhaps back of beyond doesn’t really describe Andalusia – it is timeless. Its villages are whitewashed, streets are rocky and cobbled and narrow, pots of flowers in all colors abound, dogs run free and doorways are open. All towns seem to be on mountains – all streets are steep – and life is very laid back.

I keep forgetting to mention the tapas. Every time you stop at a taverna for a drink, you are always given a grand array of sliced ham and/or cheese, maybe, but always olives and bread. And the size of the platter is dependent on the number of people.  On the climb to Bubion, we all stopped for a “clara” or “shandy” or Alhambra beer and were served the platters of the above as well as potatoes with scrambled eggs. Yum. Of course, who wants to hike after beer and potatoes!

And another thing: There is no mustard in Spain, or if there is, it must really be searched for! Jaro spent 2 hours looking for mustard when he went to Malaga…he wanted a ham sandwich with MUSTARD, but all they kept giving him was mayo or butter. Oh the challenges of Andalusia!

I am back at the inn, sitting on my little back patio underneath a chestnut tree writing in my journal. The sun is still high in the sky – but it’s cool in this shady enclosed grassy space, rimmed by scented boxwood. I am drinking an Alhambra beer and thinking: how lucky am I.

Off to wash my hair.

The incredible Ronda Gorge 

Up early this morning – suitcases must be in van by 8:45. Suck down some cereal and yoghurt and on the road again from Bubion on the way to Ronda.

Our hike is not as strenuous today – mostly downhill, with a few uphills just to keep us on our toes. Views are incredible, as usual. We stop for lunch at 1PM. Didier says this is the most primitive part of Andalusia, and from all points of view he is right. We are at a small taverna where the construction workers come to eat lunch – the food is delish, and there’s lots of it – egg pies, crusty bread, salad, and lemon souffle for dessert. I am gaining weight as I write this down.

Then it’s into the van for the 3.5 hour drive to Ronda. Uneventful trip – no nausea this time.

We arrive in Ronda. Our hotel is in the “parador” or palace, which fronts right onto the gorge. My room has a balcony overlooking dales and gorge and mountains. Fabulous.

Feel a little tired tonight. In the rush to leave, I left behind my hairbrush, and my earrings. Really ticked at myself, but Didier finally finds a shop selling hairbrushes (big relief – obviously I am ecstatic over small things in life.)

Dinner in the lovely dining room. And so to bed…hiking the gorge tomorrow.

Woke up early, I thought. Next time I look it was 9:30 and that was “leave time”. O God! Never moved so damned fast in my life – surprised that Bea was not banging on the door! Glomp on face cream and sunblock, brush teeth, drag brush thru hair, clothes, boots – downstairs!

Only to find out it’s only 8:30. I must have forwarded the time when I was clicking on the alarm clock. Am now exhausted, and haven’t left the parador.

Breakfast. Then out the door to walk around the gorge and check the Roman/Moorish/Muslim baths within the battlements, circa 1250.

Then it’s across the bridge, down and through fields and around a trail for about 5 hours…then back up-up-up the gorge for lunch at a taverna, sitting outside overlooking the gorge, fields and faraway hills. I just love this…it’s wonderful to be so far away from my “everyday” life in a completely – and I mean completely – foreign part of the world.

Incredible views. Our hotel is right on the Ronda gorge itself, and is truly magnificent. Inside are marble floors, stately columns, wonderful architecture. My room has a fantastic view over the fields below to the mountains beyond.

Lunch as usual was fun – but having a beer knocks me out. I’m going to sleep like a log tonight, but first we’re going to the bullring (but not to see a bullfight, thank god) – then dinner at 8:30. After quick trip to ceramic shop for a Ronda keepsake, back to parador to sleep for a couple of hours, then meet the group, after which, back again to parador and drinks with Bea, Didier and Jaro. And after a 2.5 hour-long meal, back to bed!

Ro, Didier and Bea after hiking Ronda’s plain

We’re on the way to our next hike. We pack and leave Ronda at 9:30AM…the hike is through some beautiful country, more green than before. Trails very very VERY narrow. We hiked for four hours to a quaint and lonely taverna…a converted “train barn” beside a railroad track. It is one room, very large, high ceilinged…painted terra cotta-ish within, marvelous architectural details.

Lunch was incredible – and huge! We start as usual with olives, then crusty bread and a salad…then we have soup…then grilled seabreem. Each of us has an entire fish, head, tails and all – we debone it at table, and squeeze lime on its white interior – it is delicious. We each have different desserts. I have chocolate mousse cake…talk about decadent. Wine is always served, but I decided to just wait until dinner, otherwise I’d be under the table.

A little rest after a fabulous meal

After this gorgeous lunch – we all have an hour to siesta or read. I sit on the patio looking at mountains in the distance. The sky is completely clear and deeply blue, sun is warm on my face as I sit with my feet up on a couple of chairs. I think again: “how lucky am I?”

Then the blissful moment is over. It’s back in the van – driving thru incredible mountain scenery to climb and clamber up and over rocks and boulders to a huge and deep cave filled with stalagmites, stalagtites, paleolithic paintings, and “lakes”. We enter about 500 KMs into the cave…which is – they say – about 20,000 years old. (Have panic attack here, but it passes. Bea holds my hand through the whole thing, and I hope I didn’t break her fingers!)

Then back in van, driving through horse country…lovely rolling hills and fields – cork trees abound here, throughout our trip, we’ve seen chestnuts (with the nuts falling from the tree), almond trees, olives, oak, aspen – chestnuts are used in much of the new construction. Not many flowers.

We left Bubion (we found out) just before a mini-hurricane struck, causing much destruction in that area (so far we’ve had nothing the most gorgeous weather…)

Grazemala – my favorite small town

About 6:30 we come to Grazemala, the town where we’ll spend the night. It is absolutely the most charming of all the tiny towns: hilly cobbled streets, a tiny town square overlooked by the Catholic Church, lots of small boutique shops with high end goods, extremely reasonable and beautiful. I love it, and wish I could have stayed longer than two nights. And gorgeous bougainvillea.

Beautiful magical Grazemala

We dine at 9 (I can’t get used to all this food – and eating so late  - I must have gained a ton – but oddly enough, LOST inches, as I found when I returned home.) We have: wine, salad, crusty bread (a given), a huge bowl of gazpacho, fabulous paella (which the maitre’d brings out on a huge pan – it looks like a flower, all gorgeous rice and seafood and veggies), and then flan. I am so exhausted I can hardly keep my eyes open.

Up at 8AM and out the door of this delightful hotel by 9:30, in hiking boots, ready for another “harder” hike. This one lasts about 6-1/2 hours. The trail at first is fairly placid, earthen and downhill (my kind of trail). Then we come to the boulders. The trail becomes rocky here, and the climb is up – up – boulders all shapes and sizes cover the mountain. It is so important to watch where you put your feet. This area is extremely dry, and the sun is fierce, with very little shade.

We are in the open for much of the hike. Then we come to a grassy area atop a mountain after about 3 hours, and stop beneath a shady oak (the only one) and Bea lays out a wonderful picnic lunch: the usual crusty bread, tomatoes in olive oil with olives, peppers in olive oil, incredible thinly sliced ham, and goat cheese and cheddar (the cheddar is the best I’ve ever had, and there have been some marvelous cheeses on this trip.) Dessert (if you wanted it) was orange-chocolate cookies. No wine this time, only peach juice. Delish!

Ann on the trail

After wrapping up my blisters (yet again) it was back on the (ever-rockier) trail. We had seen wild ponies and mountain goats. Now we come to a fenced area (huge) which enclosed massive wild black pigs – the noise they made would have wakened the dead – there were about 100 of them, and I’m glad they stayed on their side of the fence. Bea told us that during an earlier hike she’d been on, they were loose – and they completely obliterated the food brought for a picnic.

The rocky plain

We continue clambering down over boulders and the rocky trail (hard on the feet) and finally about 3:30 came to our little taverna, where we sat in the shade drinking cokes and yakking up a storm. Back in the van for a drive back to our hotel through incredible mountain scenery.

As I sit here writing this, the church bell is tolling the hour, and it is incredibly quiet afterwards. Siesta until 5PM.

Back to the hike for a moment: at one point, Bea and I were hiking alone and we stopped to look at the beautiful valley spread before us. The silence was intense – we were literally in the middle of nowhere, and not a sound to be heard – not a bird, not a stream, no wild animals, no wind. Magic…I believe, despite Diane’s not showing up, that this is one of the loveliest trips I’ve ever made.

The quest for mustard – and a newspaper

Halfway through this trip, he decided to go alone to Malaga on the coast, instead of hiking Ronda. He got on a bus that should’ve gotten him there in an hour, but which took almost three. Then he spent hours looking for an English-language newspaper – had lunch, during which he looked unsuccessfully for mustard – took a walk around town – then caught the bus back to Ronda. He says that bus ride was a real trip – all women except him, all chattering wildly back and forth. The only words he got were “Mi madre!” and the girl pronouncing them did not say them in a happy tone of voice. He said the bus ride was wonderful – so full of life. Jaro is really a fascinating individual – a real gentleman, great conversationalist. So now, I go to wash my hair and tidy up. Tomorrow we leave for Sevilla at 8:30AM, I’m cleaning out my suitcase for the trip home…

The ubiquitous cell phone

Bea and I went for a quick drink after a trip to the ATM (there’s that technology again) – then we all met for drinks in the hotel lobby – then walked the cobbled streets of Grazemala for a last meal together. It was one of those lovely evenings where everything went well: conversation, food, laughter. A really magical night. We walked back to the hotel under a clear midnight blue sky and the moon was full, a silver orb in the incredible sky.

Must get up at 7AM. And so to bed.

As scheduled, we leave the Hotel de la Villa at 8:30, and are on the 2-1/2 hour drive to Sevilla – first part through very mountainous and beautiful terrain, to a flatter but still rolling landscape into town. (Note: we have come to Sevilla from our highest elevation – 4500 feet.)

We find our hotel: Didier takes off to try to find a parking place for the van – 2-1/2 hours later, still no sign of Didier! Luckily, the luggage was dropped at the hotel.

Sevilla

The group takes off with Angela, guide to Santa Maria Cathedral (3rd largest in Europe) and the Royal Palace. Cathedral is astonishing – the nave is 500 km and completely gold leafed over cedar carvings of the birth of Christ up to his crucifixion. The inlays, the statuary, paintings, frescoes – gorgeous. Christopher Columbus’ bones are buried here – interred in coffin supported by four  magnificent carved figures, twice life size – incredible.

The gardens of the royal residence

The Royal Residence is beautiful: layers upon layers of Moorish/Christian architecture – inlays, everything restored or as it used to be. The rooms are far richer than the Alhambra – and the gardens are Persian/French/Italian/English – gorgeous trees and plants – all scented – just beautiful.

The palace, Seville

And then back to the hotel – quick goodbyes – went to my room for wash and a sandwich – get suitcase zipped – taxi due shortly to take me to airport, and then to Madrid where I’ll spend the night. And so I bid Andalusia, Bea and all farewell – the culmination of another little dream of travel.

Note to self: NEVER fly through Madrid if you can help it – airport is a nightmare – lines so long, it’s a wonder you don’t miss the flight (not that it seemed to matter on this trip), and once you get past customs into the waiting area – you cannot get out to find the bathroom, unless you want to go back through the humongous custom lines again!)

Further notes: I have to say a couple – or more – words about this hotel I’m at, in Madrid – it is gorgeous! Decor is a kind of Zen/Japanese/modern – gray grasscloth walls, black leather chair and tuffet, shoji screened closets, big square bed – white linens, tons of white pillows, hardwood floors, high-tech phones – and the bathroom! Fabulous molded-glass sink, frosted glass doors and shower and bath, gray tiles…it’s really really elegant. So comfy and so calming after the stress of the plane (little do I know about stress until I try to get home on Continental, but I won’t go into that here) and then trying to get a taxi to the hotel. The first taxi driver threw me out of the cab because he didn’t have a clue where the hotel was (even with the address), he didn’t speak any English, and we were both yelling. I thought I’d be stuck on that curb for life!

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Scotland Aye – hiking the Highlands and Islands

Posted on May 27, 2013 by carpediemrosemary

I arrive at Gatwick, and remembering my earlier vow to never drive in London again, I catch a taxi to The Green Park Hotel in Mayfair, arriving about 7:30 AM. No room is yet available, so my taxi driver takes me on a quick tour of London. We drive ’round St. John’s Wood (disappointing), Notting Hill (adorable), BuckinghamPalace, Regent’s Park (glorious), Hyde Park, and various other points of interest…many of which I have seen before, but love seeing again.

I am dressed in woolly tights and sweater, with a cashmere pullover tied around my waist…and I am melting. It is 80 degrees outside – soon to become even warmer! (Why didn’t I check the weather here before I left!) Everyone is in shorts and sleeveless dresses – except for me. No matter: the sun is shining -it’s glorious weather! London is in the middle of an unprecedented heat wave.

Around 10AM, it’s back to the appealing small hotel located on Half Moon Street (love that name) in Mayfair. The room is still not ready. I enter their (again charming) sitting room and read and wait, read and wait til I think my eyes will fall out – or in. Finally, I stagger to the front desk. “Is there a room – any room – available YET?!” A card key is handed over: “Room 224.” (A note on card keys: why do I have so much trouble with these things? And what is wrong with a key?!)

London townhouses

Calling Judy to let her know I’ve finally arrived, I crash for five-six hours – the minute my head hits the pillow, I am out like the proverbial light, waking up only when I hear the door opening and her “my god…she’s still asleep!”

Out for a quick walk around the little streets, so evocative of London. One small street dead-ends into a couple of pubs or restaurants, and everywhere crowds of young professionals are drinking and enjoying the night air. This heat wave is unprecedented.

Returning to the hotel, we eat dinner, talk a mile a minute, then fall asleep. Initially out like a light again, I wake in the wee hours to the sound of trucks – large and small – zooming down the lane ALL NIGHT- and the crash and tinkle of breaking glass as the recyclers pick up the recycle bins (reminds me of New York). Not a peaceful night.

Invernesse

Up at 9AM, Judy and I call for Room Service, eat a quick breakfast and take a cab to her son’s townhouse – four stories of delightful house in a mews around the corner from Buckingham Palace. It is light and airy (the townhouse, not BuckinghamPalace) and from the top floor can be seen endless views of the chimney pots of London. The kitchen/dining room looks out onto a small walled ivy-covered terrace, and from there across the road to the park – I believe we’ve landed in a chapter of Mary Poppins!

Everyone is delightful and delighted to see us – but we only have time to stay a brief while, pick up a couple of things at the shops, then take a taxi to Gatwick airport -at a cost of one hundred pounds, no kidding! So far, I have spent 200 pounds of the 500 I brought and 160 pounds of it have been taxi fares!

The River Ness in Invernesse

Onward to Invernesse. From brilliant sunshine and weather so balmy we might well be in the Bahamas – to Invernesse: cold, drizzling and misty – very Scottish indeed. We walk along the River Ness (not too far away from the Loch – which, when we asked our – yet another – taxi driver if anyone still sees the Loch Ness Monster, replies: ‘I don’t think it’s a monster, but I think there’s SOMETHING there.’ Eerie!)

A street in Invernesse alongside the River Ness

Finally, slightly chilled and pretty damp, we end up in our hotel’s pub, quaffing ale and Scotch, and having a nice chat with a couple at the bar who happen to be from Pennsylvania, are photographers, and had just spent two weeks on a very wet and windy Isle of Skye!

Dinner – repacking – and so to bed.

Loch Broom and Ullapool

No sleep, as usual, but I’m sure it’s all related to stress and jet lag. Breakfast of muesli and coffee, and packing in time to meet our group at 10AM. Outside – it is glorious weather! Verrry nice, after the drizzle and drear of Saturday afternoon and night. White clouds scud across a blue, blue sky.

We meet Tom, Bob, Jennifer, Kent and Gail, Roger, Lew and Susan here, and we all climb into the van and drive through beautiful countryside – up hilly, twisted roads – making me a trifle seasick! Bob – one of our guides – pulls over to the side of the road at a “wishing well” where all sorts of pieces of filthy and ragged cloth are tied to trees and stumps. It is traditional to tie or drop a personal item here (I offer a mint) and make a wish. I wish for continuing great weather!

The Ceilidh Inn in Ullapool

We arrive at the Ceilidh Inn in Ullapool, drop off our luggage, and hike to Loch Broom, entrancing and smelling heavenly. Our hike takes us down to a pebbled rock beach across gorse and heather, through tussocky boggy grass, and finally to the top of a small tor overlooking the loch.

Hiking around Loch Broom

The sun is shining and all is merry and bright. On returning, Roger and I promptly go for a walk up a meandering footpath bordered by blackberry bushes (unripe), fern, celandines, daisies and other small shrubs of varying descriptions…very English (although I wouldn’t say this to a Scot.)

Our first hike in Ullapool countryside

After this short excursion, we wander back to the hotel, in time to prepare for cocktails, and then dinner. Dinner is: cauliflower soup, lentils with mushrooms, and fruit salad – so healthy!

Afterward, Brian gives a brief talk on what to expect on our hikes, and Tom speaks of the early history of the Highlands. Bob, our third guide, has lulled himself to sleep, and is snoring gently in a corner, so we miss his part of the program!

After all this activity, I am ready for bed – but it certainly isn’t ready for me! Sleep I can not – possibly because I am cold and overtired. Naturally I drift off a short while before I am due to get up.

The Bone Caves and the Highlands

By 7:30AM, we have had breakfast, and are off to the Museum to view a brief film on Scotland. Then it’s on to the hike. The day is not quite as crystal clear – rain is forecast -but the sun is shining. We pick up our picnic sandwiches at the front desk, and are now ready for a full day out in the Highlands of Scotland…

Our group at the Bone Caves

The first stretch takes us up a steep and winding hill to the Bone Caves, where we shelter from the wind and have some refreshment (water). We are told that the oldest inhabitants of Scotland come from here, (at least, their bones were found here.) I think we are in an area called Inchnadampf. After this, most of the group opts to ramble back down the hill at this point, and eat lunch on their way back to the van.

Some of the best, freshest and chilliest water in the world

Five of us – all women – choose the “long walk.” This hike is indeed a toughie – challenging and quite grueling. We begin by hiking up an 1100 foot hill - not too high, but since there is no trail, we climb over rabbit holes, heather, tussocky bundles of grass and boggy ground – straight up – and all designed to turn our ankles at the drop of a stick. (This is where really good hiking boots, covering the ankle, are a must, she said knowingly.) We are all breathing quite heavily by the time we reach the top – but more to come!

The top of this mountain leads to yet another, and up and up we go. Finally, atop a crest surrounded by the spectacular views of mountains and gorges – we sit for lunch.

We are hot to begin with, but the wind is blowing and the sun begins sailing in and out of clouds; and pretty soon it is really cold! Quickly finishing our lunch and taking a private moment, we are soon back on our merry way over the mountains.

One of many streams throughout the Highlands

The trail-less ground becomes more and more treacherous – as well as boggier and boggier. Streams cross our path, across which we leap from stone to stone, or boulder to boulder, or inch across tiny wooden bridges - all slippery and wobbly. All in all, challenging! (Note here: there are no trees in the Highlands…at least, not anywhere we are….but lots of ferns and scrub.) By the time we find the downward trail, we have been hiking for about 6-1/2 hours – approximately 10 miles.

The sun comes and goes – at one point, it begins raining – I am hot – take off jacket – I am wet – put on raincoat – rain stops – I get hot – take off raincoat – rain pelts down – ram on raincoat!

An enchanting castle ruin at the end of the day’s hike

We finally get to the van and pile in. Tom, our guide, drives us to a beautiful little ruin of a castle on the way back to Ullapool, where we disembark to take photographs.

The castle ruin – an enchanted spot

Susan, Jennifer, Tom and I ramble over to the castle -again, hopscotching across two streams to get to the island on which it sits. The grass surrounding it has been cropped over time by sheep, and is like green velvet – the sky has cleared to a deep cerulean blue, and all is quiet and at peace. Beautiful. One of many perfect moments.

Rambling around this beautiful tiny castle ruin

Then back in the van, and back to the Inn – dinner- hot water bottle – and bed!

Loch Torridon

Loch Torridon Country House Hotel

On the go at 9AM – another beautiful day begins as we pile into our respective vans for the hour or so trip to Loch Torridon Country House Hotel – an absolutely enchanting hunting lodge-turned-hotel. It is like something from a Sir Walter Scott novel. I instantly fall in love.

Today we have the option of a short or a long walk, and several of us opt for the long. It starts gently enough as we begin our climb over endless hills and dales – although I do manage to fall in the first major stream I come to, slipping on one of those dratted boulders!

The bothy

After a couple of hours or so, we come to a “bothy” – a small empty hut in the middle of the hills where we unload our gear and have lunch. It is charming. The sun is shining – and though it is cool, the air is as clear and fresh, and we have plenty of time for pictures.

Rosemary, Judy, Gail and Kent in front of the bothy

After the “bothy,” we must decide whether to continue or turn back. Several of us decide to continue. What a hike: we seem to be taking part in a marathon! After hiking miles across mountains, we circle back. Here Tom says: the track from here is straightforward, so meander all you want…

Ha! I am the only one who “meanders” – and find myself surrounded by panoramic hills with no-one in sight and several tracks to choose from! I have a moment of extreme panic, until, finally, the top of Tom’s head emerges like the sun over the horizon, and I jog-trot to catch up.

From here it is downhill. We hit the trail, which is totally rocky and stony – galloping at a pace that seems destined to turn one’s ankle – are we trying to catch a train?! No time for scenic views – all we can do is watch our feet! I am exhausted when we roll in around 5 o’clock.

A shower, a moment’s rest, and then we are in to dinner.

This is a beautiful, beautiful, beautiful hotel! I adore it. Our room is large and well-appointed, comfortable and elegant. The bathroom is huge and we can look from its windows out onto immaculate green lawns edged with colorful flowers, on into the paddock where the cows are grazing.

Loch Torridon cattle graze in the hotel’s paddock

Outdoors is even more spectacular. Besides the sculptured grounds, all is green…green, green grass, surrounded by woods, mountains, and the silvery-gray, entrancing loch. Loch Torridon is a beautiful, enchanting place – my favorite of the trip.

Loch Torridon and a Gentle Walk

The “back yard” – Loch Torridon Hotel

Wake up, get outta bed, drag a comb across my head…zooming around as usual, in to breakfast – I love my breakfast! Mueslix, scrambled eggs and bacon – the usual stuff but tastes great and is needed for energy.

Again, we have the option: long or short walk. This time, I choose the short. What the heck…do I think I’m Tenzing Norgay here?

On our short walk

Hoisting up our backpacks, we pick up our picnic lunch, and are off. Susan and Jennifer take the long walk with Brian and Bob. The rest of us opt for the lower ground.

The sky is blue, the air is crisp. Our walk begins up a winding footpath through glorious woods, to open stretches of boggy fields in which sheep and cows graze or placidly sleep. Pheasants run through the underbrush – it is absolutely idyllic, one of our most beautiful and peaceful days.

A brief break on the short walk

After stopping for a drink and snack, several of us walk on for a mile or so, coming to an old stone bridge crossing a gurgling stream, eating our picnic lunch in the shade of the willow trees (and it is really nice to see trees). The sky is the bluest it has been since arriving inScotland. Not a sound breaks the stillness, except for the song of the brook. Heaven.

Lunch break

This is one of the amazing things in this land: the absolute silence of the Highlands, but for the water. It’s completely satisfying. No birds sing – there seem to be few or no birds! But the sound of rushing water is everywhere… wherever you turn are waterfalls, lochs and streams or seas – gushing, gurgling, roaring, rushing, babbling or splashing – a country seemingly circumscribed by water.

Here a cow, there a cow…

We walk back over gently rolling paths, through green woods scented with pine to our hotel (approximately seven miles round trip.)

The grounds of Loch Torridon Hotel – I never wanted to leave

Susan, Jennifer, Brian and Bob, who’d taken the optional hike, finally make it back around six that evening. Their walk sounds intense – 15 miles up and around a mountain, often plunging into boggy swamp to their knees, descending down sheer granite on the other side, according to Susan. The winds were so tempestuous, they needed to grip the cliff face to avoid being blown off the ledge. Part of the trip down is spent on all fours! They found it all exhilarating! I would’ve liked to say I did it, but I didn’t – and the “short walk” was so lovely, I’m glad I didn’t miss it.

The Isle of Skye and the Lighthouse

We are up and packed by 9AM, have a quick breakfast and are into the van heading for the storied Isle of Skye. The drive is so quiet and peaceful… gloriously beautiful …how I love the Highlands.

Two hours later, we pile out of the vans in Kyle of Lockalsh for our only real shopping opportunity, which was great fun…then we drive over the bridge to Skye, paying an enormous toll to do so. No more “speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing…”

Our inn on the Isle of Skye

Our tiny littleInn on Skye is delightful (what else is new?!) Our tiny room has Laura Ashley pink and green chintz hangings, and a big burl wardrobe holds our clothes. All the tea things are here.

Beginning our first hike on Skye

Dropping off our luggage, weare driven to the base of the cliff to begin our hike. The weather has changed drastically – it is grey and raining steadily. Raingear is hurriedly pulled from backpacks, and we hike through the driving rain to the sea. Here’s how it went.

Hiking on the Isle of Skye

First, up a very stony and rocky trail, up and up…then down a steep, steep bank through sludge and over slippery rock, then down the hillside where we slither and slip over rocks and heather. We make our way through many streams to boulders and small cliffs down which we clamber to the waiting shore.

Swimming with the seals

It is still raining steadily, and it is cold. Nonetheless, Jennifer, Brian, Tom and Bob don bathing suits and plunge into the grey sea for a swim! Jennifer wants to “swim with the seals,” which are cavorting and diving a safe distance from these crazy people who keep trying to take their picture.

To the Lighthouse

To the Lighthouse

Then again comes the option: continue to the lighthouse or turn back. The sane amongst us choose to turn back. I was one of the few who opt to go on! By this time, I – and everyone else – am soaked to the skin. We clamber over some of the most treacherous countryside imaginable – down slippery rain-soaked rocks, slimy with lichen – plunging into boggy grass – going down, ever down – and finally coming to a green grassy sward and promontory – at the end of which is – the lighthouse! Challenging, but exhilarating at the same time!

The lighthouse overlooks a grey and stormy sea … we are at the end of the world. The sky is grey, the grass green, the lighthouse, white. The seagulls are an eerie note, rimming the lighthouse and the rocks below and cawing non-stop. Photographs are taken through soft  mist.

Are we happy yet? Yes!

After which, it starts raining steadily and strongly. We take a different course back to the van, scrambling up through rocky watercourses, again plunging into mud and mire, slipping down and up rain-slick rocks and boulders…unbelievable. I keep asking myself: why am I doing this? But I know the answer.

Three hours later we arrive at the van. I am completely soaked. My boots have sunk ankle deep into the mud; my backpack – and all in it, including my money and passport – ditto. My pants are hanging from my body like clown pants; my hair is in rattails. The joy of the hike!

Back at the hotel, Judy corroborates this statement, also mentioning a drowned rat. She makes me a cup of hot tea, and draws a hot bath – bliss!!

Then I dry off, have dinner, and get back fairly early to bed. Really tired tonight – no problem sleeping at all.

One tiny little glitch in this lovely place: hot water is NOT in abundance. Apparently, in getting a deep, hot bath, and washing my hair…I used up almost all the hot water on our side of the Inn! I never told anyone, but one of the other hikers mentioned having to bathe in icy water…couldn’t understand why there was no hot! I kept mum on the subject.

The isle of Skye and the Back of Beyond

This is our last full day on theIsle of Skye. We arise as usual at7AM, eat a good breakfast and pile in the vans for an hour’s ride to the boat we are to take to an uninhabited part of Skye.

On the road to the ferry, Isle of Skye

Susan, Linda, Jennifer and I share the van with Brian and Tom – it is nice to be able to stretch out. About halfway to the boat – down narrow roads and high lanes banded by greenery starred with flowers – we are halted by a road paving crew blocking the path. We take the opportunity to get out and hike to the boat, about half an hour’s walk. The weather by this time has turned crisp and sunny again, and the walk and the views are wonderful.

A windy, blustery day, as we walk to the ferry

Eventually our guides are able to drive the vans through the roadblock and catch up with us. We all pile onto the ferry, where we immediately don our raingear as it has become chilly and damp over the grey, icy water. The ferry is large and carries a full load of people; it takes quite a while to reach the other side as we are taken to look at the seals resting on the rocky outcrops in the water. It is fascinating to see them – and they look at us with what seems to be equal fascination.

The start of the hike

On arrival, we hike up the mountainside. The weather has grown even chillier and more overcast – and the wind is whistling around our ears. We end up on a flat granite rock atop a hillside -our hoods up, raingear tied up to the chin. Here we picnic, on what feels like the edge of the world! Although cold, misty, windy and wild – you can’t help but be exhilarated… Let the thunder roll!

A quick break for lunch on the final Skye hike

Everyone is taking photographs, but despite the back-of-beyond feeling, we do not linger long. Another option of a long or short walk is offered on the way back to the ferry. A couple of us actually think it over, but in the end, common sense prevails and we all opt to return to the boat, in the hopes of maybe getting in a little shopping – sounding more appealing by the minute!

Susan points the way – unfortunately the wrong way!

We dock about 3:30PM, but again are stymied by the same road-paving-crew when we attempt to drive back. After a 45 minute wait, during which we try to complete a crossword in a Scottish newspaper (we are unable to understand a single clue – the puzzle is totally cryptic) we are finally on the move.

By the time we get to the first tiny town with a few shops, it is closing time. However, Susan manages to purchase a handknit sweater which is so thick, it can stand alone. It is very pleasant to ramble around for a bit, just looking and shopping and taking in the sights and talking to people who live and work here.

Scottish Bob, one of our terrific guides

By the end of this day, we are all extremely tired. After dinner, all gather in the chintz-splashed parlor in front of a roaring fire, to listen to Annie, a local Gaelic singer. The plaintive and poignant melodies and words of the folk songs underscore the melancholy beauty of Skye.

The romantic, legendaryIsle of Skye has always been a dream journey for me. The legend of Prince Charlie, sailing over the sea to Skye, is an old folk song that was sung by my mother when I was very young. I’ve never forgotten it.

Skye fulfills all expectations. It is so very, very green and unspoiled, and relatively uninhabited. Tiny white houses dot the landscape. Sheep are everywhere, rambling across hills and roads, unfenced and free. Our small inn is right on the water, and is charming, vines and roses clambering across walls and doors. We are surrounded by the loch on one side, mountains and hills and quiet land on other sides. It is delightful – isolated and remote – and beautiful.

The Highlands are the same. They are green (or black, depending on which mountains you’re looking at), desolate, forbidding, ancient and timeless. No-one seems to live in the Highlands. The only sound you hear is that of water – waterfalls, streams, rills and lochs are everywhere – the rush and gurgle and song of water never stops. And all that you see are the endless peaks and valleys with hardly a tree in sight. In the Highlands on a beautiful day, you are totally at one with nature; it is a spiritual experience to be alone here.

Hiking the Highlands

If the weather turns bad, however, the desolation and isolation become omnipresent. It often seems you are either born in the Highlands and they are in your blood; or you cannot live there for long and survive. And if you’re of the city, then eventually the silence and isolation can become overwhelming. Those are my thoughts, anyway!

Eileen Donnan

Susan and I had planned the night before to get up at the crack of dawn and go for an hour’s walk before we are due to leave Skye. At6:30 AM I crawl out of bed, get dressed and meet her outside. It is a lovely morning – hard to believe, as the worst gale to hit Scotland in 30 years is forecast! We walk down the quiet country lanes, enjoying the peace and circling the Inn- an altogether enjoyable ramble, getting back in time for a quick breakfast and then it’s into the vans.

A short detour to a castle ruin high on a hill, and we’re scrambling over tussocky grass and pebbly streams and up a short rise to a very, very narrow ledge – where we each cling to the stones and edge slowly across – or fall to boulders below! Once atop this hill, Brian reads us some tales of Scotland, and has us act them out. For some reason, we also line up in a row, each of us sitting on the knees of the person behind us, pretending to be rowing a Viking ship – don’t ask me why!

Then we inch back across the ledge – and drive to the most famous castle inScotlandfor a brief tour – the Eileen Donnan. Its walls are 14 feet thick, and it was first built in the twelfth or thirteenth century, but burned in the 1700s. It was fully restored between 1912­-1932. History emanates from the walls.

And then it is on to Invernesse, London and back to reality. The Highlands of Scotland –a little uncanny, magical, poignant – but not for the faint of heart.

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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 England: From the deep country to St. Michael’s Mount and The Sign of the Angel

Posted on June 28, 2012 by carpediemrosemary

St. Michael’s Mount

Heading for the Cotswolds

“This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England” 

I’ve wanted to hike over England’s cliffs and fields for years – full days of hiking (but ending up in some lovely B&Bs – no camping for me!) in some of the most beautiful countryside on the face of the earth. I was lucky to find a friend who also wanted to spend time hiking the back roads and cliffs of Cornwall (which I had visited before). But I had never been to the Cotswolds and Diane knew it well. So off we set….

Arriving at Gatwick right on time, Diane is waving madly across the baggage. Nice to see a familiar face! Our first stop on this particular journey is the Cotswolds. We pick up the rental car, and we are on our merry way to Broadway, a beautiful small town full of atmosphere and charm. On the other side of Broadway in Wilversey, we find Lowerfield Farm, surrounded by quiet fields and country roads. It is a pretty yellow painted two story stone farmhouse, with an appealing landscaped garden. Diane and I are so tired and cold when we arrive, we ask our host if we could get some heat turned on, but she looks rather taken aback: “We don’t turn on the heat until late September!”

The bathroom has a marvelous deep tub – great for warming up. After which, I creep into bed and fall fast asleep. At 4PM, awake and ready to eat, we drive into Broadway. The overcast skies have cleared, and the sun appears. We slowly ramble the street, peering into every shop window – all of which could have been lifted en toto from Dickens – all the golden Cotswolds stone – all hung with ivy and other vines, and surrounded by blooming flowers, from lavendar to double headed pink and purple petunias to bright red geraniums. Broadway is a charming town, full of atmosphere. The people are delightful- and it is not busy (at this time of year, anyway.)

A view from a bridge

A tiny pub and restaurant called The Horse & Hounds looks inviting, and a young Polish waiter with a long brown ponytail waits on us; he is very sweet. Diane and I share a bruschetta dish (yummy), then it’s on to pasta primavera, finishing off with strawberries and cream (me) and strawberries and custard (Diane)- absolutely wonderfully delicious. Unfortunately, we forget to tip our delightful waiter…

Back at Lowerfield Farm, we find our hosts have turned on the central heat – just for us (primarily me, being a cold-blooded type). Diane plans out our Cotswold Walks – and we are now again in our beds, all warm and cosy for the night with the green fields of the Cotswolds and a profound country silence surrounding us. Note: We have an explosive toilet….

Lowerfield Farm, a view from the window the morning of the hunt

We view the hunt 

Up at 7:30, we prepare for breakfast at 8:30: Muesli, cream, coffee, pears from the garden, yoghurt and hot chocolate. As we are in the middle of breakfast, a hunt comes through: we see the masters of the hunt in their brilliant red coats, and the rest dressed in hunting green, with about 20 hounds sprawling across the front lawn. The horses are beautiful! Our next-table neighbors are three delightful ladies, who have bussed in from another Cotswolds town for a few days’ vacation. They told us they spent the night baking in their rooms – someone had turned on the heat! We kept silent.

 Bibury, the Swan Hotel, Burford and the Windrush 

In Bibury

After breakfast we drive to Bibury to begin our first hike -I am nervous about driving on the left hand side, not to mention the roundabouts. Bibury is a beautiful little Cotswolds village with a river running through it. We park and begin our 6 mile walk through completely entrancing countryside – small woods, rolling hills, tiny streams. The weather is incredible: blue skies, sunshine, warm – we start off in jackets, end up in t-shirts. This walk takes about 2-l/2 hours.

Another Bibury view

It takes us back into Bibury by a different footpath, where we have lunch at The Swan Hotel, an historic old ivy-covered hotel overlooking the river. Diane has carrot soup, I have chicken tikka and chips! After this repaste, we drive to Burford to begin our second hike, which takes about three hours. All told, we hike about twelve miles today – nice!

Walking through fields of golden wheat

This particular hike is through fields of wheat cut for the winter – the imagery is gorgeous…then it’s back roads, and copses, til we reach a narrow river called the Windrush, where we see beautiful white swans.

A swan on the Windrush

We walk through companies of cows, sheaves of sheep, and pheasants galore! Then it’s on to Stowe-on-the Wolde, where we have a light dinner (salads with feta cheese and lots of ciabatta bread…)

The Swan Hotel in Bibury

Back to Lowerfield Farm. It’s dark by this time. The Cotswolds are beautiful, beautiful. I love Broadway and Bibury – beautifully small and lovely villages. I feel really tired tonight — stress and jet lag catching up with me!

Stanton, Stanway, Snowshill, Buckland and Laverton

Hiking to Stanton

We are up at 7:30 as usual, and have a big breakfast: Muesli, egg and bacon, coffee. Then it’s on the road for a short drive to Stanton, which is (yet another) beautiful little village. First a word about the weather: it continues to astonish us how incredibly gorgeous it is. The skies have drifts of a few white clouds but the sun is shining madly, and it is 80 degrees. Everyone we meet is incredulous about our splendid weather. It is absolutely refreshing, and to keep it “hikeable” there’s a lovely crisp breeze. At night, the sky is clear as a bell, and the moon is a harvest moon, huge and golden in the black Cotswolds sky.

An old English church graveyard

Anyway: we drive to Stanton and park the car, preparatory for our hike from Stanton to Stanway, Snowshill, Buckland, inadvertently through Laverton and then back to Stanton. I thought Broadway delightful, but for me, these towns are the real thing! What a lovely, lovely hike. We start before 10AM, and finish around 4PM.

Laverton

Stanton is a completely charming town, and Laverton is absolutely gorgeous: Cotswolds cottages built of the sunny Cotswold stone, beautiful gardens, surrounded by the rolling hills and farmlands of the country.

On the first leg of our hike, we meet a group of about twenty men and women, approximately our ages, led by a local guide. She said the men love to talk to us “young sprigs” and we appreciated the sentiment! This is the leg of the hike that leads up the steepest hill for about 30 minutes, and left me breathing hard (such a wuss). When we arrive at the top, the whole of the Cotswolds lies before us. Pictures I have seen cannot begin to describe the beauty.

Somewhere in the Cotswolds

We then walk part of the Cotswolds Way, through fields, woods, over many stiles and through many gates. We walk through the enchanting village of Snowshill (in which I will actually stay a few years later) -a Cotswolds gem of a village, tiny and seemingly untouched by tourism: lovely architecture, picturesque homes dripping with flowers and beautifully and personally landscaped. Our companions leave us in Snowshill, where they picnic in the old church graveyard, while Diane and I have a pub lunch – ploughman’s (cheese, bread, pickles). The sun shines brilliantly as we continue over hill and dale.

On a downward trek, we meet a delightful woman named Maury who is in training for a hike for a cancer group, along the Great Wall of China. We have a fun conversation for half an hour, then she wound her way to somewhere else, and we continue through the fields to Stanton. We hope. We aren’t sure where we are parked, so we walk the town and finally ask a friendly old man sitting on a bench beneath a tree: “Where are we?”

It turns out we are actually in Laverton — NOT Stanton — and are given directions to a stile around a corner down a street, turning back into the fields at a tree. Hmm. (Laverton is another village that is a step back in time —  totally free of tourists — except us — no crowds, etc.)

We come to Stanton’s church spire, wind back through a farm, and come out to our car parked at the Cricket Club, where a match is taking place. Fun to watch, incomprehensible to figure out! But nice to see those cricket whites once again.

From the top of the Broadway Folly you can get 360 degree view of the Cotswolds

Back in the car, Diane drives to the Broadway Folly, atop a hill, from which we get an astounding view 360 degrees of the Cotswolds. Fabulous!

Then it’s back to our B&B, freshen up and drive to Chipping Camden for dinner and a quick walk down the main street. Great conversation at dinner, despite the fact that Diane is a Republican and I a Democrat! Then it’s back to Lowerfield Farm, and so to bed. We are hoping for more of this supremely gorgeous weather tomorrow, as this is to be our longest hike.

Lower Slaughter, Naunton, Bourton-on-the-Water

7:30 and it’s down to breakfast (the usual fabulous feast) and by 9-ish, we are on the road for Bourton-on-the-Water, where we begin our hike (about ten miles round trip, longer with side trips). We hike through prosperous-looking farms, over farmland, through woods, besides rivers and streams – through Lower Slaughter.

On the way to Bourton-on-the-Water

A picnic lunch of crusty rolls, cheese and tomatoes in a field far from anywhere is a nice break. Then it’s on to Upper Slaughter where we stop in a pub for a drink – fabulous, incredible 80 degree weather.

Sky clear as glass. Then it’s on to Naunton, across grassy ridges, through more woods and fields and eventually back to Bourton-on-the-Water.

Bourton-on-the-Water

The day is supremely beautiful. Why I even bother carrying a rain jacket in my backpack I don’t know. I am actually tanning! My arms are brown as a berry. Not that many people are out and about, surprisingly. We see a few – a very few – on the trail, and they are all very pleasant.

The mists of time

Back at Lowerfield Farm. Richard, our host, is a delightful man. We only see him in an apron serving us breakfast, but he is invariably chipper and friendly. His wife, Jane, on the other hand, is very distant! Richard’s all jolly hockey sticks, cheery and pip-pip. I like that…This has been a really lovely four days. Beautiful weather, fascinating hikes where we have seen the “real” Cotswolds – not the tourist towns but real back-in-time tiny hamlets that are truly “old England.”

Dartmoor and the Warren Hill Inn

A view of Dartmoor across from the Inn

We leave Lowerfield Farm (sob) and drive to the M-5, all the way to Liskeard (I am driving.) We stop off in Chudleigh for lunch, where Diane takes over the driving. From here it’s on to Dartmoor National Park. I love it!! So wild and desolate and full of sheep and wild ponies. Beautiful. You could imagine Heathcliff and Cathy running across the heather.

Wild ponies on Dartmoor’s heath

The sun shines all day long. At the top of the world in the middle of nowhere on a road through Dartmoor stands the Warren Hill Inn. Here we stop for a drink. It is a little cool out on the moors, so a wood fire is burning in the fireplace, and it is a true old-timey pub atmosphere, deep and dark. We chat for a while with a man who is looking at properties to buy for leasing to visitors. He is very sweet and takes our pictures without a murmur. He is from Bath – incredible crusty accent…

Diane and I in front of The Warren Hill Inn in the middle of Dartmoor

 Talland Bay – and Allhays

From Warren Hill, we drive down narrow, then narrower, then even narrower lanes with high hedgerows. Through tiny villages and hamlets we drive and through some of the loveliest countryside (Dorset) which is every bit as delightful as the Cotswolds. We drive all the way to Looe, then we find Allhays on Talland Bay. It is an absolutely beautiful, elegant and charming B&B overlooking the Cornish coast. What a view from our bedroom window – unbelievable!

Beautiful Allhays B&B in Talland Bay

Allhays is a very lovely B&B off the beaten path <it has since closed>. Situated on Talland Bay, between Looe and Polperro, it’s cream-colored stone outside, with bushes heavy with hydrangeas surrounding it. The interior living room (for guests) has two lovely cream colored, soft chenille sofas, and the whole house has the French touch, with patterned draperies, beautiful pictures, and the woodwork painted in heavy high gloss cream. The carpet is cream bordering on ecru up the stairs. Annie, (one of our hosts, and French), has placed a fresh yellow rose in our lovely bedroom on the second story. The bedroom overlooks the lawn in back which leads to the view of the cliffs and then the sparkling sea.

Our bathroom is the size of a pea.

When we are ready for dinner, Diane cannot find the car keys. After frantically checking the car and the trail back to our room, and looking under the bed, in her backpack and various pockets, they  turn up in her purse. Hmmmm.

Onward to dinner in Polperro. Yum-o. The loo has toilet seats of fish embedded in plastic. Back in the car on the way back to Allhays, we miss the turn in the very dark road, drive all the way to Looe and back before we finally find our turn. Talk about two tired girls…

A tiny Polperro lane

 Polperro – a real step back in time

We are up around 7:30 and have a traditional, and delicious, English breakfast in Allhays’ sunlit breakfast room. The room is nothing but windows which look out onto the back “garden” and all the way over the cliffs to the sea. Incredible views. Breakfast includes muesli, yoghurt, homemade bread and jams, etc. Mowgli joins us for breakfast. He wanted to join us in the bedroom last night, but as Diane said “it’s the cat or me!” I had to opt for sharing the room with her! Mowgli is a beautifully marked sealpoint Siamese, sleek as a whistle, and very loving. I didn’t want to put her out (especially as I love her name, straight out of Kipling’s “Kim”) but she seemed to settle down on the landing.

On the way to Polperro

This morning we are setting off on our hike to Polperro (two miles coastal). A fabulous walk – all downhill – along coastal beauty that is almost ethereal. We reach Polperro, and stock up for lunch. Me: Cornish pasty, crusty roll (still uneaten), and a tomato.

Hiking the cliffs to Polperro

I have a banana in my backpack (still uneaten). Diane has grapes and a raisin scone. We wander around Polperro, and I find the Noughts and Crosses Inn – still there after all these years! Jean and Toni (good friends of mine in Houston) honeymooned at this inn 60 years ago. We ramble around and window shop, taking pictures of the harbor, the sun shining brightly on this attractive little fishing village.

The harbor at Polperro

Then we are off on our challenging cliff walk from Polperro, round the point, then up and over the fields. The sun is very, very strong, and the sky is clear and deep blue, while the water seen down below is silver blue.

Crumbling ruin in the middle of a field on the cliffs

We walk and walk and WALK – mostly uphill – stairs and more stairs – up and up and UP! And then across fields, again uphill, past a deserted barn into a narrow lane, and then on the downhill road to Polperro. We have been walking since 10AM, and it’s now 3 o’clock. I LOVED it.

I will never tire of hiking these marvelous cliffs

We arrive in Polperro, have a lemonade (why does the lemonade taste so much better here than at home?) and still have two miles left to go back to Allhays – all uphill and over the cliffs. The coast road back to Allhays is often a narrow lane banked by hedges of brambles, blackberries and ferns. All along the coast these hedges are alive with butterflies, fluttering everywhere, and the hum of the bees. We finally reach Allhays in time for a shower and then out to dinner. Our dinner lasts three hours – we talk non-stop. Then it’s back to Allhays down the dark high hedge-lined lanes. We figure we’ve clocked in about 45-50 miles to date.

The back of Allhays seen from the breakfast nook

 Over the hills and far away: Fowey, Bodinnick, Polruan, Mevagissey

Wake up at 7:30 to another glorious day. The view from our bedroom window is stunning. Off we go after our muesli, yoghurt, granary bread (home baked), and Scotch pancakes, to drive to Fowey/Bodinnick, drop off the car and begin a hike around the coast (which is projected to take about three hours.) The cliff walk is not as challenging as yesterday’s, but it is just as beautiful, and a little cooler, although the sun is shining madly.

Fowey’s harbour

We walk narrow cliff paths rimmed with blackberry bushes, ferns and brambles; deep lanes lined high with hedgerows; past ancient churches; over fields and streams – the silver sea looks like a mirage –incredibly clear, incredibly beautiful under the sun, and stretching for miles and miles.

Over the hills…

We have eaten a good breakfast, and aren’t hungry, until we come back around through Polruan, where we stop for a quick bite. It is very interesting and odd that we meet yet again – for the third time – a man we had first met yesterday leaving Polperro for the long hike. We met him again on the way back to Polperro, and now again in Fowey…small world!

And far away…

Fowey (pronounced Foy) is a pretty town. Lots of people are out and about, as they are in Polperro, which is the quintessential fishermen’s village: houses hang from the cliffs, steep, steep lanes and roads everywhere, flower boxes on every possible wall, door, corner, eave, restaurant front – the ever-present sea breeze cooling us off – and the seagulls squawking. We are not supposed to feed the seagulls. They’re “dirty” and “dangerous” birds, according to one old-timer. One bird even has a “Wanted” poster – full face, left and right profile…

An incredible view of the bay

The Fowey/Polruan hike is great – weather, sunshine, paths, views, length of hike and nice people everywhere. “Where are you from?” is the ubiquitous question. So many people have been to Florida or Texas. One man sitting on the bench atop the cliffwalk asks “What do the American people now think of Bush?”, and we ask about Blair (“Some question his honesty!”)

Fields like this are part of Cornwall’s charm

We catch the ferry back from Polruan to Fowey, and then another from Fowey to Bodinnick. Our car park is up an extremely steep road – takes about half an hour to reach the car. We then decide to take the ferry across to the road to Mevagissey, a supposedly beautiful Daphne Du Maurier haunt. I think she was born around there; there are certainly enough bookstores prominently displaying her books, her photographs and other memorabilia – but Mevagissey is such a letdown. It is tourism taken to the extreme, full of tacky shops and non-descript architecture, not in the least bit picturesque or attractive. And yet some literature noted it as “One of the prettiest villages in England!” Not!!

Even the architecture – houses and shops – is totally undistinguished. We walk around for half an hour, then get our car and drive back – in rush hour traffic – to the ferry, then we stop to pick up some picnic items for dinner, and so back to our beautiful Allhays to pack.

Marazion and St. Michael’s Mount 

Up and away from our beautiful Allhays by 9:30 (sob) after our usual yummy breakfast, which this time includes stewed plums. The day is overcast – our first overcast day since arriving. We drive from Polperro to Penzance, another tourist mecca, down narrow high hedge-rowed lanes, trees arching overhead, ferns sprouting from the hedgerows. Once in Penzance, we find Tourist Information, and they find us a B&B overlooking Mount St. Michael. Not the best B&B, but two beds (very comfy) and a shower en-suite (important!)

The toilet in our bathroom is amazing: you flush, and it sounds much like a steam engine coming to boil … then it’s a bang and a BANG BANG BANG CLATTER CLATTERCLATTERCLATTER!! Incredible. The noise seems to go on for ages. And the tap over the sink also startles you out of your wits when you turn it on, causing another major BANG from the toilet.

From the sublime to the ridiculous! Actually, it’s funny as hell. We couldn’t help laughing because it’s so uniquely LOUD.

The ferry from Marazion to St Michael’s Mount

Anyway, we leave the luggage and drive into Marazion, park and take the ferry to St. Michael’s Mount. Filled with history, beautiful and eerie. We walk uphill to the top of the mount, and tour the castle and the grounds. The “docents” in the castle (for want of a better word) are very charming and knowledgeable. One old gentleman, in talking about Lord and Lady Leven, impressed on us how delightful Lady Leven was (she had died unexpectedly at age 69). “Yes, madam always said ‘good morning’ and ‘isn’t it a lovely morning?’ when she came across us.”

The road up to the castle

After exploring, we walk back down the (very very steep) hill to the causeway. By now, the tide is out and we are able to actually walk back to the mainland (Diane loved this!)

The tide is out, enabling us to walk the causeway back to the mainland

Then it’s back to our odd little B&B. After some discussion, we decide to drive to Land’s End (at 5PM) for a quick 1-2 hour hike across the cliffs there. On reaching Land’s End, we quickly park and walk through the tourist excrescence fronting the cliffs. There are only one or two couples around, and it is very quiet and dim, heavy clouds scudding across the sky.

Dusk at Land’s End

We walk across the slowly eroding cliffs for about 1-1/2 hours as the twilight deepens, and the wind blows, making it all very mysterious and atmospheric.

Hiking at Land’s End

We then drive back 12 miles to Marazion, leaving our car at the B&B, and walking to the King’s Arms for dinner (which takes 2 hours arriving!). Then it’s back to our B&B and a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, Lacock and Castle Combe!

Lacock’s main street

Lacock – at the Sign of the Angel – and Castle Combe 

We are up and out of the B&B in Marazion by 9, after a hearty breakfast (surprisingly good.) Then it’s driving, driving and more driving. We drive through Glastonbury, but do not stop. This is not an attractive town! And this is twice I have visited areas fabled as the birthplace/resting place of King Arthur, and twice have been disappointed! The first was Tintagel, now it’s Glastonbury…maybe it’s me. Nonetheless, we have driven through beautiful country, and we are now in Wiltshire, and are just coming into Lacock, around 5PM. This is where “Pride and Prejudice” was filmed (is there any other Mr. Darcy than Colin Firth?)

The Sign of the Angel in Lacock

What a beautiful charming little town! It’s fifteenth century, and owned by the National Trust. We are lucky enough to get two rooms in The Sign of the Angel, where we duck down through the doors, and the floors all slope downward. The rooms are enchanting, and as no twin bedded-room is available we opt to have our own room each. Both are en-suite, with big bathtubs to wallow in, which we did! My room is painted deep pink, with burgundy carpet, white iron queen sized bed, feather pillows and bolsters, old antique furniture – and somewhere, there is a resident ghost! It said so on the little marquee in the old hallway.

The George pub and inn in Lacock

This afternoon, the sun is back out and after wandering around the town (which takes about 5 minutes), Diane and I buy English newspapers and take them to the adorable little pub, The George. The door is open wide and inside it is everything a pub should be – and more. I order a cuppa, and Diane an apple cider, and we sit in a corner and I read the Guardian – so very civilized and literary as we are. I love this place.

The small restaurant at Sign of the Angel

Next is dinner. Downstairs is the Angel’s unbelievably charming dining room – the food is fabulous – salads, baked goat cheese on toasted olive bread, wonderful veggies, crusty rolls and deep yellow butter. (I have eaten far more on this trip than I would ever eat at home – I hope! But then – we are hiking.)

After dinner, Diane and I walk down the tiny lamplit streets under a clear black velvet night sky full of stars (I am sure she wishes Robert were there instead of just me…)

Lacock’s charming houses

The windows in several houses are uncurtained and we are able to look into the glowing small yellow-lit living rooms and dining rooms of these ancient homes built in the time of Shakespeare.

And now I am all packed for the drive back to Gatwick tomorrow, (after we see Castle Combe) and sitting up against my feather bolsters finishing my journal (more or less.) I have seen and done much – Diane has really pushed me to do more than I even conceived of– and I am so grateful. It has been really wonderful, and I’ve learned so much about England. It is good to know there are still the ancient towns, the footpaths (all 1,500 of them) and back roads, the hedgerows, stiles and kissing gates on this jolly old island.

Castle Combe

Up early to breakfast downstairs… We have porridge with brown sugar and cream! I think I’ve died and gone to heaven (there’s the sign, you see.) We are also offered fresh raspberries, strawberries, blackberries and a hot breakfast.

It is a misty morning as we leave Lacock for Castle Combe. We take a wrong turn somewhere, but manage to eventually find the road, passing through towns called Tiddleywinks and Shepton Mallet, to yet another entrancing small village. We park in the car park, and walk down a steep hill right into Jane Austen country.

An early morning walk in Castle Combe

Beautiful (for want of a better word) tiny stone and brick homes and shops framed in ivy, or flowering or berried vines. We wander about the town in a happy daze, then begin our hike through the surrounding countryside. Beginning in misty dim morning weather, the sun eventually breaks through the mist, and the day clears as we walk in quiet woods where beech leaves dropping to the ground sound like the patter of tiny feet following us.

A walk around Castle Combe

Across fields and climbing over stiles and gates and crossing streams, we manage to again get lost! We finally find the main road behind a farm, and wind up at Castle Combe, where we stop at a most adorable little pub for a quick drink. Then we ramble around a delightful tiny shop that has the most perfect things: pictures, objets, pottery, photography — all so beautiful, you want to buy out the shop. I didn’t (surprise!) but Diane makes some inroads…

Lunch at the Castle Inn Hotel – more cheese

Then it is back to our lovely elegant pub for a quick lunch. We sit outside in the sunshine, watching as about 30 Japanese wander into town. Moments later, about 15 bikers zoom in and park in the square. Even here, time doesn’t stand still….

And as it moves on,  we must start thinking of getting on our way. We walk back up the hill to the car park, the sun by now shining so brilliantly, it is intensely hot. And then it’s on the road to our hotel at Gatwick, a quick bath and dinner, and so to bed. We must be up at 7AM to catch the hotel bus to the airport by 9AM. We have seen so many beautiful, traditional, wonderful sights on this trip — been transported back to a quieter, cozier and less frenetic time…

People tell me old England, the backroads and coastal towns, are disappearing or changing beyond recognition. Maybe so…but not for me. On this hike, England was everything – and more – that I hoped it would be. I love England…I always will.

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Martha’s Vineyard – A perfect island

Posted on May 25, 2012 by carpediemrosemary

 

Edgartown lighthouse

Martha’s Vineyard and The Charlotte Inn

I’ve been to Martha’s Vineyard twice in my life, and while both times were each wonderful, the first was the best.  Of course, the first time always has the advantage of the new and fresh, and as well, it lived up to every expectation and more. This is a journal of of my first trip, with photographs from both.

Arriving in Boston after an easy flight from Houston, I meet Lene, and together we board the tiny Cape Air plane for Martha’s Vineyard, the start of a long-awaited little adventure.

We arrive quickly at the tiny airport; the weather at Martha’s Vineyard is glorious: blue skies, brisk breeze, and a slight chill in the air. Our taxi takes us to the Charlotte Inn, everything it’s been cracked up to be and more (and one of my favorite places to stay in the entire world). Waterford crystal decanters filled with Bristol Cream Sherry are in every room, and we toast to the next three days.

The tiny hall downstairs leads to a tiny front desk; the Inn is full of fresh flowers – in our room, which we reach up a winding staircase; in the tiny hallway upstairs and down; in each sitting room.

Our room is delightful, papered in dark red stripes with a tiny green pattern. It contains two twin beds with big thick mattresses, clothed in white covers and duvets. Dark green and mulberry striped draperies are hemmed at the ceiling with padded pelmets. Two deep green club chairs sit in the corners. Two latticed windows open onto a little side street, the third onto a grass lawn, flowers and fountain. The bathroom is huge, and snowy white. The Inn is surrounded by black iron railings.

It is absolutely enchanting.

The back garden of the Charlotte Inn

We drop our suitcases then walk around the town and down the road to The Square Rigger, a tiny restaurant splot in the middle of the road fork. We have broiled lobster and salad and a (small) piece of pecan pie. After dinner, we walk back to the Charlotte Inn under a clear dark sky dotted with stars, in the very fresh air, with a brisk breeze following our footsteps. Lene and I talk non-stop, until we both pass out from exhaustion!

Edgartown and Chappaquiddick

A good night’s sleep, and we’re up. Breakfast is downstairs in L’etoile, and the menu is: spinach, feta and tomato omelet, fresh orange juice and coffee.

Edgartown, a view to the water

After breakfast, we ramble down to Edgartown. How beautiful – and how clean – it all is, like something from a wonderful picture book. The houses are pristine, painted white-white or Nantucket gray, and flowers bloom everywhere we turn. The biggest rhododendrons in scarlets, pinks and white. Lilies of the valley, actually hedging a white picket fence (I couldn’t believe my eyes.) Hawthorn, lilacs and wisteria bloom madly. Gigantic tulips, daisies, buttercups and forsythia abound! Geraniums splash in pinks and vibrant reds.

Tulips in Edgartown

When we’d drunk our fill of the beauty, we wander down to the beach along the deserted sand, until the sea surrounds us. Then it’s back to town to check out the ferry for Chappaquiddick, and lunch!

The balcony of The Sand Bar overlooks the main street. The menu: clam chowder, fresh shrimp, bloody marys. The air is bell-clear, and the sky a brilliant blue, with a fresh breeze blowing through the town.

After this slightly decadent lunch, we rent bikes at a little bike shop. We are told to lock our bikes to the railing and drop the key in the mail box slot on our return (I’d like to try this in Houston.) We are given a map of Chappaquiddick with “The Bridge” circled, where it is and how to get to it. Not a word is spoken of Teddy Kennedy and Mary Jo Kopeckne, it’s simply “The Bridge.”

The On-Time Ferry to Chappaquiddick is $3 round trip, and takes two seconds. On arrival, we set off down a paved road, and then the island quickly becomes untrammelled, wild and lonely. It takes us about an hour to get to The Bridge. Along the way, we pass groves of trees, tiny woods, with two-story clapboard houses, grey-cedar shingled, dotted here and there.

We arrive at The Bridge, and by this time, the sky is overcast, and it all looks very wild, remote and “edge of the world.” And here is The Bridge. Parking the bikes, we wander around taking photographs. As I’m standing in the middle of  The Bridge, patting the heavy, heavy wood railings and saying (sotto voce) to the wind: “I can’t see how the car went through these things,” a man bicycling by says, as he sails past: “They weren’t there then.” Eerie.

The Bridge

The water on either side of The Bridge is very shallow: you can see the stones glimmering below. The only spot deep enough to drown in is where the car went down.

On Chappy

Few people are on the island today. We bicycle over two or three roads leading to more sandy roads, which in turn lead to sea or woods. Once in a while, we pass a house. I like this island! It is so quiet, all we hear is the wind over the water.

A view of the Japanese Garden on Chappaquiddick

On our way back to the ferry, we pass a Japanese garden, about three acres deep. It is the most colorful thing on the island, filled with an immense variety of flowering trees and shrubs: blue, white and pink hydrangeas, rhododendrons, tulips, daffodils, spirea, and so many flowers I don’t know the names of. Small streams cross the paths, tiny bridges ford the streams, statues dot the landscape, and all very quiet and peaceful. Just enchanting.

We ride our bikes all over Chappaquiddick. After about three hours, we were very glad to see the ferry! As Lene noted, “It was uphill on the way in, why isn’t it downhill on the way back?!” Once again on Martha’s Vineyard, we drop off our bicycles and keys, and stop for beer and nachos at a little restaurant hovering over the water. The sky is dark, and it begins to rain.

We walk back to the Inn, looking forward to bubblebaths and rest. Fires burn in the fireplaces in the sitting rooms, which are filled with flowers and beautiful artwork. I hear the church clock down the road chiming the hour; the church bells chime in unison. This is a magical world.

Katama, Tisbury, and Vineyard Haven

View across the street from our room at the Charlotte Inn

Up around 9AM, we breakfast downstairs in the little restaurant, with Lenox china and Waterford glasses beautifully displayed on the white linen tablecloths. Our menu: fresh orange juice, hot coffee, bagels and spinach, feta and tomato omelets. A long stemmed fresh red rose is on every table.

After we eat, we discuss going to Nantucket with the lady at the front desk. As the ferry is not available until June, we’re on standby with the airlines for a Saturday jaunt.

On a beautifully clear day, time for (we think) a fairly brisk walk before taking a taxi to Vineyard Haven. We set off at a fairly rapid trot up flower-straddled lanes to the main road of Katama. Very soon, we are out of Edgartown, walking and talking on an empty road leading up-island. The beautiful homes we see are soon further and further apart. Runners and bicyclists become fewer and fewer. After a couple of hours, we wonder where the heck we are! But we keep on because our thinking is: sooner or later we’ll come to a town, and then we can take a taxi back to the Inn.

Wrong! We are heading for who knows where, even after a couple of people try to give us directions…so we decide to turn back to Edgartown – not soon enough for an iced cappuccino and a banana, blueberry, strawberry and raspberry smoothie! Our short brisk trot up Katama turned out to be on eight mile trek. I, of course, can get lost in a parking lot.

The wharf at Vineyard Haven

After the break, we take a taxi on a tour of the island on our way to Vineyard Haven for lunch. After comforting ourselves with cappuccinos, our first stop is Midnight Farm, Carly Simon’s shop. It is adorable…and expensive. I buy a white wooden picture frame, the book “Midnight Farm”, and some powder and lavendar spray, but the shop has some marvelous overstuffed furniture which catches my eye. Lene’s attention is caught by the pillows, so we leave with bags stuffed with lots of goodies. The weekend has begun, and the town is filled with tourists. The narrow Main Street is crowded with shoppers and stalls, and these have some wonderful things. Discovering the ability to request shipping, I immediately send a package of orange, banana and rum cakes, baked in glass jars, to my mother and aunt, and a little carved mirror to myself! Shipping is a wonderful invention.

Completely forgetting about Nantucket, our return to the Inn is punctuated by a note pinned to our door which reminds us that we have round trip tickets for Saturday via U.S. Air. On this high note, we change clothes and check on dinner ideas with the front desk. Before we blink an eye, Paula calls Cresca’s on South Water Streetand reserves a table.

Cresca’s menu has many delightful entrees, and we end up with feta cheese salads, shrimp and crabcakes. Then comes dessert. The piece de resistance is a sampler with a little of everything from the dessert menu. We order it, and it is delicious: tiramisu, English custard with fresh raspberries, ginger pound cake, brownie fudge with whipped cream, fresh strawberries and blueberries, and a vanilla ice cream “snowball” – all in miniature. We eat every bite, after which, we waddle home, checking out the shops on the way. Some yo-yos in a window catch our eye, and we buy one…trying it out once we get back to our room.

Although it is almost midnight, the streets are still alive with people. The air is chill and clear and beautiful, and the sound of laughter floats over the water…

Nantucket and Up-Island

Today is our jaunt to Nantucket!

It is another glorious day outside: the sunshine is brilliant. I hear the church clock chiming the hour of nine. Outside our bedroom window, the scene below reflects maids in black and white carrying armloads of white towels as they scurry over the brick walks from building to building. John is cleaning the black iron railings. The air is incredibly fresh, and the green seems more intense as time goes by. Mown grass fragrance fills the air.

Edgartown is one of the prettiest towns I have ever seen; it is so pristine, it looks as if it is painted white every day. Many of the houses are white clapboard with black shutters. We hear the lawnmowers and hedge clippers, and smell cut grass and lilac everywhere. It is all so beautifully landscaped, edged and manicured, and the flowers are blooming madly. I think I am in love with Martha’s Vineyard. No, I know it.

Lilacs so beautiful

U.S. Air drops us off inNantucket. We picked quite a time to come here: it is the Memorial Day Weekend, and the weekend of the Figawi Regatta – the place is jammed with wall-to-wall college kids, all tanned, slender and having a raucous time.

Nantucket’s cobbled and brick-laid streets and gray clapboard houses are impeccable and delightful. A whaling town, one of the island’s must-see sights is the Whaling Museum. It houses multitudes of artifacts and information about Nantucket’s whaling history, from the first African-American whaler, to punishments for mutiny (pretty grim.) One room holds the full skeleton of a small, 43-foot whale. The museum is dim, fascinating, and not a little uncanny.

The rest of the afternoon is spent wandering Nantucket’s streets and shops, which have beautiful and expensive things to sell, all very enticing. The sea is such an integral part of everything, we cannot walk more than two minutes without standing on a waterfront or beach. It is very soothing.

Our plane takes off at 3PM, and soon we are back at Martha’s Vineyard’s adorable tiny airport, where we hire a taxi for a tour up-island <see “Up Island”, by Anne Rivers Siddons>.

Martha’s Vineyard holds a real fascination for me: it is so full of beauty and old-world charm, like a piece of the past come to life. Today, the sky is brilliantly blue and massed with clouds, and the sea breeze is constant and crisp. Our taxi driver and former Head of Edgartown’s Town Council, Steve, takes us up-island by way of Middle Road, through West Tisbury, Menemsha, Chilmark, and West Chop (I love that name) to Gay Head, now known as Aquinnah.

Middle Road, as the name implies, cuts through the center of the island. It is lined with high, high hedgerows and dry stone walls, very English. Sheep graze placidly in the green fields hemmed in by locust wood posts and cedar rails.

The Sculpture Garden on Martha’s Vineyard

We pass the Sculpture Garden, an odd sort of spot with abstract figures sculpted in white dotting a wide green lawn. Interesting! Always, seas, ponds and lakes abound. Over rolling countryside we drive to a beautiful bluff Steve calls Overlook Point. This looks down to a crystal clear blue lake with white-sailed boats skimming the surface.

Next come Chilmark and Menemsha, two tiny fishing villages, with small gray clapboard houses. “Jaws” was filmed at Menemsha, and just across the inlet, the remains of the “Orca” can be seen on the tiny beach.

From here, it is a winding road to Gay Head/Aquinnah, and the Cliffs which look out forever over a silvery-gray Atlantic. The day is still brilliantly sunny, but the wind is immensely strong, bracing and fabulous.

Ro in front of the Black Dog in Edgartown

The South Road leads us back to Edgartown. We arrive at our beautiful little Charlotte Inn, walk to The Black Dog to buy t-shirts, then back to the inn to drink Bristol Cream sherry and plan for our last dinner at L’etoile. Our dinner menu: duck fois gras, lobster etouvee, rack of lamb and fresh berries. The perfect end to a perfect day.

Leaving Martha’s Vineyard

A view from our room at the Charlotte Inn

We wake to another Chelsea morning: brilliant sunshine, clean, clear skies and a slight breeze. Poking my head from the window, I see the maid scurrying along the brick pathway with an armload of fresh white towels.

If we’d ordered the weather, we wouldn’t make a single change. Martha’s Vineyard is everything we thought it would be – a little white-painted jewel set amongst many-colored flowers and underscored by the music of the sea. And the flowers! White spirea, double headed orange poppies, daisies, tulips, daffodils, narcissus, peonies, wisteria, roses, and everywhere…the lilac trees! The scent of lilac is in the wind. Everywhere we look are green, green lawns, white houses trimmed with black shutters, all backed by vivid blue skies.

I love it here. This is one of my favorite places on the face of the earth. Goodbye, dearMartha’s Vineyard!

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Italy: Hiking the Cinque Terra

Posted on April 26, 2012 by carpediemrosemary

Our happy hiking group on the hotel patio in Santa Margherita

On Our Way to Italy
After much frantic packing the night before, I am on my merry way to the airport at 8:30 in the morning to begin my first-ever trip to Italy. Although it is drizzling rain and I am tired and cranky, I mellow out on the plane, meet Lene in Newark, and it is onward to Italy, a land which has always entranced me!

Genoa Nervi
We arrive at the Milano airport, where we clean up and hairspray, hairspray, hairspray! (Unfortunately, Lene leaves hers in the bathroom…much discussion of this throughout the trip.) We drive into Milan with a silver-tongued taxi driver who wants fifty dollars American and almost runs out of gas on the outskirts of town. Much commotion! Once in the train station, it is disconcerting to find that no-one speaks English! We finally find our train and settle for the ride, by which time we are exhausted.

Off the train at Genoa, on the train to Nervi
Here we are in Nervi…a beautiful town. We taxi to the Hotel Pagoda, an elegant and charming villa awash in hot-pink bougainvillea, unpack and are out again for a 2-1/2 hour walk around the village.

A panoramic view at the start of the Cinque Terra

We reach the sea front from an increasingly winding tree-lined path which rambles through a wrought-iron gateway into a small tunnel out onto the front. Such glorious views – sea, cliffs and coastline are magnificent and spectacular. We continue back through the rose garden and park, and so back to the hotel. As we look from the window of our room, the hills strewn with colorful villas look like a Renaissance painting. Soon it’s dinner: scampi tempura, sea breen and pasta. Yum! Again…no-one speaks English…trying to make ourselves understood is very difficult! 

A beautiful doorway leading to the coast

Walk Up the Coast in Genoa Nervi
We wake at 1:15 PM! Our group meets at 2!! Pulling ourselves together, we gallop down to the bar where we meet Mario (gorgeous) and Diane, Jean and Jann. Immediate rapport.Then Barb arrives, and we take off for a walk up the coast and all around the town. Once back at the Villa Pagoda, we meet the rest of our small group in the garden for drinks and hors d’ouvres. Mario gives us a brief talk about the hikes to come…we’re surrounded by roses, awash in scent, and the weather is heavenly.

First champagne, then dinner: everyone seems to be in our age group. The table is beautifully set, very elegant, with lots of Italian food and wine. Then at 10PM, it’s upstairs to pack for the move to Riomaggiore the next morning.

Riomaggiore and Manarola
The sun is intense, and the weather is perfect. The bus takes us to Riomaggiore, the first town of the Cinque Terra.

Although we forget a bag, and turn back, the driver narrowly missing the back of parked cars, we are soon on our way over the Ligurian Mountains.
We drive through many tunnels, over bridges…ears popping. Vineyards cover the hills, and clumps of red poppies are everywhere. The gray-green of the olive trees emphasizes the colors of the flowers.

We come to La Spezia, the second largest port in Italy, which houses the Naval Academy. La Spezia’s main street is lined with orange trees absolutely drenched with fruit. Here we stop for a quick coffee break.

One hour later, somewhat frazzled, we roll into Riomaggiore. We ramble through the town stopping for lunch at an outdoor cafe. Stray cats meow around our table (I find this upsetting, but I am the only one). Lunch is tomato and mozzarella cheese, and a delicious crusty bread. Our real hike then begins, across the cliffs to Manarola. The views are so spectacular, it’s hard to know where to look and what is the most beautiful.
Immediate impressions: villas on hillsides, all colors – pink, mauve, yellow, green, painted trompe l’oile. Amazing flowers bloom everywhere – on ledges, stone walls, in window boxes, on bridges, and trees. Immense vivid hydrangeas, bright red and yellow poppies, hollyhocks, pots of margarita daisies, bougainvillea – a deep deep purple. Our hike is challenging: about four hours on trails often as narrow as a footprint, and very very steep. We must be climbing “thousands of stairs” up and down the hillsides. The weather is amazing. Apparently pouring rain until the day we arrived, today the sun is streaming down and it’s very hot. Wonderful!
From our view on the hillside, we look down to the sea – azure and glorious. The sea, the sun, the flowers, the jungle growth of the greenery, and the olive groves and vineyards -all combine to create a fantasy view. It is a movie setting…incredible in every way.

Apparently a Sanctuary is situated on the high ground of every village. From the sanctuary above Riomaggiore can be seen the “panorama of the islands of Elba, Corsica, Palmaria and Tine as well as the entire coast from the Cinque Terre to Punta Mesco.”

Ro on the road

Although it is Monday, many people are hiking the trails – Americans, French, German, all sorts of nationalities. Overheard on one of the steeper and rockier slopes, an English woman remarks to her companions “I’m just looking for a little flat place.” The Cinque Terra is very beautiful, but physical ability is pretty much necessary to hike these steep, narrow trails.

We reach Manarola, and Mario pulls us into a tiny villa where an old Italian woman is making homemade wine. She pours out a glassful, and we pass it around, each taking a sip. Mario buys a bottle to take with us on a picnic. Walking on to Corniglia, we have a delicious lunch, then it’s back to the hotel for a rest.

Vernazza
Up at the crack of dawn…and out on the trail by 9AM. A healthy breakfast of muesli is satisfying, but the coffee is, to put it as nicely as possible, strong enough to take the enamel off your teeth! I must be ordering the wrong kind… but, no, this IS Italian coffee!
We walk for three and a half hours, climbing ever higher and higher. Thousands (possibly millions!) of steps up, thousands down. Ledges two inches wide; green prolific vegetation all around. We walk past olive groves, vineyards, vegetable gardens growing on the terraced hillsides, stone tanks providing water. Hills are covered with vines growing wild. Narrow, narrow paths, so slight, you can tumble down the mountain in a New York minute. The hike is challenging and invigorating, and clears the mind of all niggling worries.

We come to Vernazza, and stop to eat lunch at the Blue Marlin. The bruschetta – toasted bread with tomatoes and anchovies, lightly drizzled with olive oil – is absolutely yummy. I can’t believe how much I enjoy the anchovies here…delish. The joy of the day is embodied in an impromptu waltz around the cafe by Jean and Tad, to much laughter and singing.

We leave the Blue Marlin and walk around the town. Turning from the path, I see a small piazza almost deserted in a sunny street. As I sit there alone, face turned toward the sun, a woman on a terrace waters her plants, while another hangs clothes on the ever-present clothesline. Flowers, flowers everywhere. The biggest geraniums, hydrangeas of all colors, nasturtiums bright orange, big white daisies in pots, yellow gorse, wild cyclamen, bougainvillea, vetch! In the town square, we hear church bells chiming from a beautiful green and white marble Catholic church with a rose circular window.

We hike back to the hotel, clean up, pack for the next morning’s move, and leave for dinner at an outdoor café. The tables are set out in the street, and we eat under the silver Italian moon. First is antipasto: broiled octopus, squid, shrimp, tiny little clams, anchovies and swordfish. The entree includes prawns & shrimp, broiled. When they are set on the table, they are as big as lobsters, and taste great. And we finish up with wine and cappuccino.

Vittorio’s Villa
Up at 7AM for breakfast, and ready to walk at nine. This is to be our longest hike, and it will be difficult.
We walk up – up – up – climbing up stairs and steps and over boulders, about 9000 feet according to Mario, to a ruined monastery sitting on top of the mountain. Lorenzo, Mario’s son who has acccompanied us so far, is gathering cherries for us from the wild cherry trees. The view from here is – well, I can’t keep from using the word “spectacular’. Below is the misty deep blue sea, and the mountainside is covered in flowers.
From here, we hike to an isolated primitive villa belonging to Vittorio, a friend of Mario’s. An old man who lives alone (except for weekly visits from his wife), he is an artist whose canvas is his marvelous garden. Mario met him on one of his previous hikes, and Vittorio offered him homemade cheese and wine, salami, beans, and cherries for his picnics. It’s magical. We sit outdoors at two trestle tables.

Mario slices the tomatoes and bread he has brought, arranging them on platters with fresh basil from the garden; nasturtiums decorate our plates. Vittorio brings out salami and his wonderful homemade cheese. We sit in the sun and drink wine at his villa on the side of a mountain in Italy. All tastes are intensified. The foccaccio bread tastes like no other bread, whether filled with either olives or onion, or plain. The tomatoes embody the flavor of Italy.

Behind the villa are the cherry orchard, and a field of yellow daisies which seems to go on forever. Vittorio allows us to fill our caps with cherries from the orchard; they are only the best cherries I’ve ever eaten. It is an incredible moment.
Then we say goodbye to Vittorio and his two black cats and one black dog, and walk down the other side of the mountain through forests of trees and ferns, wild sweet peas, mayflower bushes brimming with sweet-smelling white blossoms, daisies, dandelions everywhere.

The mountainside is covered with fragrant yellow gorse. Soon, red brick walls begin to appear, covered – dripping – with flowers of all kinds, again bougainvillea, geraniums in colors I haven’t seen back home, a wall choked with orange nasturtiums, terra cotta pots of white daisies, roses everywhere, hedges of fragrant white jasmine, hollyhocks.

We begin to sing on the trail, yodelling “The Happy Wanderer” at the top of our lungs. Mario then sings every Italian song he can think of; he is so delightful. Lene and I drift along to the top of a hill and are suddenly showered with a handful of yellow gorse blooms which Mario has thrown over our heads. Then we all share a big kiss on the cheek.

Reaching town, we stop for a quick gelato, then catch a train and are soon back at our hotel. Molto bene! Lene and I have a balconied room on the third floor overlooking the Meditteranean. The shuttered doors are open wide as I’m writing this at 10PM at night, and I hear the plash of the waves against the sand, and see glimmers of white boats anchored in the bay. Just outside our window, to break the mood, we also hear an Italian woman next door yelling into the phone at her mother for some time!

Our room is nice, lacking only in towels. A knock on the door is the maid, who (naturally) speaks no English. “We need more towels,” I try to tell her, picking up something I think is a towel and saying”vorrei dua.” Responding in Italian, we are both nodding and shaking our heads like yoyos. Then off she goes, and I leave the door open on the off chance she’ll be back. Meanwhile, I disappear into the bedroom.
The maid returns and knocks at the door. Lene answers. The maid offers her three bath rugs and more voluble Italian. Now we have four bath rugs and one towel.

Sestri Levant the Bay of Silence and the Bay of Fables
Up and out at 9AM feeling fresh as a daisy, albeit slightly damp. We have another challenging hike today, 6,000 feet – up, and up again, steps and more steps. According to Mario, “This is an easy walk!” We hike for three hours – through deep green ferny woods up, up the mountain -the path initially ditficult as it is studded with boulders, but soon, less so. Pine needles carpet the trail. The air is evergreen-scented, clean and fresh. We take many photographs at every possible stopping point: overlooking the ocean, in the ferns, against brick and stone wails, going up, going down. The sun is shining, the birds singing madly, the only sound as this is a quiet walk – no other people are on the trail, whereas before, we’ve had lots of company.

The beautiful bay

We reach Sestri Levanti around noon and reconvene at the Hotel Miramare. Lene and I have a great room – small and comfortable – with a balcony overlooking the sea. We converge for lunch out on the terrace, where the tables are laid with deep salmon-colored tablecloths. The terrace overlooks the Meditteranean; small white boats are floating on the Bay of Silence. Across from us lies the Bay of Fables {entrancing names!)

After lunch, some of us ramble up to see an eleventh century church and an old villa that’s been converted to a hotel – very, very beautiful. The hotel is a little eerie – no one is here, and it is quiet as a tomb. We walk up more and more steps, finally entering the grounds through an archway into an incredibly lovely avenue. Lined with stone walls starred with daisies, and immense terra cotta pots overflowing with geraniums, the avenue takes us into another world. So peaceful, so quiet.

The pathway to an absolutely exquisite hotel

We wander around, looking for and finding the old stone monastery, and after a brief respite, return to our hotel. Sitting on the balcony of our room, I sip a ginger ale while Lene washes her hair. Afterwards, we sit outside in the sun, then somehow discover that the balcony doors are “locked” (don’t know why, don’t know how.) After much hoo-ha, we manage to finally get back into our room, and quickly shower so that we can go shopping! I buy a pristine white sweater and Lene buys two.

We return to the hotel in time for a drink on the terrace with Diane and Barb – then into dinner and to bed. What a day…what a splendid, splendid day.

Santa Margherita Ligure and Portofino
From Sestri Levanti, we drive to Santa Margherita Ligure. According to our guide book, this is “a temple of the sun where the sea, sky and pastel colored houses are so intensely luminous as to instill optimism and joy of life in its inhabitants …a mythological place where eternally young beings conduct a happy existence in adoration of Beauty. Of Roman origin, it was conquered by the Fieschi, then Genoa, and suffered many raids by Saracen pirates…”

Hiking down into Portofino

At the Colonial Hotel in Santa Margherita, we drop our luggage and immediately begin one of our loveliest hikes, to Portofino.
The hike from Santa Margherita is through some of the most beautiful scenery in the world. Endless fields of fern stretch to meet woods of chestnut, pine, and wild cherry trees, and all sorts of flowers perfume the air and line our trail – this is our pathway. !t is all enchanting. General impressions are of blazing color: bright yellow gorse everywhere and villas dotting the terraced hillsides in all the warm beautiful tints of Italy. We have a slight shock when I inadvertently step on the tail end of a snake – screams reverberate.
We come to Portofino, lit by the gold of the Italian sunlight.

Lene on the road to Portofino

I love Portofino. Our first view, from high atop a hill: narrow walled paths, starred with daisies. A painted ship floats below upon a painted ocean. The Hotel Splendido – all shining white -clings to the side of the hill fronting a fairy tale bay of the bluest of blue water. We are in a movie! The tiny town of Portofino floats within this panorama, the bay dotted with white boats and yachts. We eat grilled shrimp outside in one of the myriad cafes dotting the square. The colors! The flowers! The people!

Like a small blue sapphire within an emerald green cup, Portofino is the quintessential cosmopolitan seaside Italian Riviera town. Lene and I shop and walk and shop and walk and look up at the sun and are happy…and why not? We are in one of the most beautiful villages in the world, in glorious weather, among friends and feeling great! We end our day with a drink in the square, and catch the 5 o’clock boat back to Santa Margherita and the Colonial Hotel.

A quick shower before supper – not the best supper, but who cares at this point. Afterwards, several of us cross the grassy stretch behind the hotel in the silvery moonlight. The night sky is navy blue velvet hung with a silver moon and twinkling stars, which are reflected in the swimming pool carved from lava rock. Across the bay, the lights of some other tiny town twinkle in the hills. We stroll through streets rife with atmosphere and mystery to wander around downtown.

San Fruttuoso and Comiglio
On our walk by 9AM. This is to be the most challenging of all our hikes, and one of the most spectacularly beautiful. Only three of us choose to go on this hike with Mario (ah, Mario!): Diane, Lene and I.

Mario points the way

We cross log bridges into a primeval forest, the trees resting at 90 degree angles beside the trail. Paths are as wide as a footfall. Ivy covers the chestnuts, pines, and oaks. We edge across narrow edges. Lichen and moss cover boulders blocking our paths – boulders big as cliffs, small daisies sprouting from their crannies. At this point, we’ve come approximately five miles (all up) from Santa Margherita.
The trails are strewn with pine needles in some places, rocky and rough in others. Our destination is San Fruttuoso, the tiniest port on the edge of the world. It’s located in a tiny cove, once frequented by pirates and bandits, and houses a single small hotel, two villas and a monastery. It perches on the edge of the sea like a miniature jewel. It is completely enclosed by mountains and sea; we can only reach it by hiking or by boat.
What a climb: two hours up, over massive boulders blocking our trail, up steps cut into the mountain, up vine-trailed pathways, over rock and stones, ever up to the top of the world! Barely pausing for a sip of water, up, straight up we hike. We are breathing air scented with pine and flowers, crystal clear and intensely fresh. Pines, oaks and chestnuts surround us.

Then down, ever down – down – to San Fruttuoso, where the tiny cove now welcomes tourists in place of pirates. (Which are worse?) The water is bluer than blue, deeper than emerald, azure as sapphires – clear as a bell. The little hotel where we have lunch is a marvelous picture. We eat on a covered terrace overlooking the bathers below on the small beach. A variety of seafood, olives, bread, and prosciutto e melone is served – every wonderful taste intensified by atmosphere, water and scent. We are high, high up overlooking the Meditteranean; small white boats float on the waves below.

After this splendid lunch, we catch the ferry back to Comiglio, where we are surrounded by a splendid view of the mountains. We walk through town to the train station and in three minutes, are back in Santa Margherita. Lene and I change clothes, find the bar, order vodka tonics, and sit on the hotel’s veranda, pretending we are rich, worldly jet setters. We have a most glorious view: from the veranda of the hotel, we look onto a landscaped lawn and garden, leading to a natural pool and rocky terrace.

The crystal emerald clear water- the immense terra cotta pots of red geraniums – the white sailboats floating on the Meditteranean – the jewel-green mountains surrounding us – the manicured gardens – I really, really feel we are on the Italian Riviera for the first time. We walk down to the natural pool formed by lava rocks and sit dipping our toes into the Meditteranean Sea. All around us are suntanned gods and goddesses – as well as a few not so goddess-like! This has been one of the really perfect days. I feel like the luckiest girl in the world!

Then up to change for dinner and out to Nostromo’s, a tiny Italian trattoria Mario has found off the beaten path. Here, I buy a delightful painting from an itinerant artist who is showing his wares in the small restaurant. The painting is very simple, very !talian: a bicycle leaning against the wall of a villa. Lene buys a view of Portofino seen through a side street. After we eat, we walk back to our hotel, but not before standing on a street corner overlooking the sea and singing “Blue Moon” to the stars at the top of our lungs.

Cinque Terre is so incredibly rich in beauty, no wonder it was beloved by painters and poets, writers and philosophers, actors and composers: Nietsche, Guy de Maupassant, Keats, Shelley, Byron (who drowned off the Ligurian coast), Wagner, D’Annunzio, Laurence Olivier, Nicola Abbagnano, sculptor Maragliano, Virginia Woolf, D. H. Lawrence, Dante and Petrarca … all have lived, loved and been happy here.
“…/ saw the vessels glide
Over the ocean bright and wide…
And the wind that winged their flight
From the land came fresh and light,
And the scent of winged flowers,
And the coolness of the hours
Of dew, and sweet warmth left by day
Were scattered o’er the twinkling bay.” Shelley…”Lines written in the bay of Lerici”

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England: Hiking through England’s Green and Pleasant Land

Posted on April 12, 2012 by carpediemrosemary

CORNWALL & THE COTSWOLDS

A Cornish house

On the way to Cornwall, the road over the moors

We arrived around 10AM at Gatwick and in a very short time, we’re on our way to Cornwall. The day was overcast and cloudy…cool but not cold. We drive the M3 until we get off on one of the “A” roads, taking us through Salisbury Plains, where we see Stonehenge in the distance, but don’t stop.

We stopped for a break at this lonely pub

A detour through Dartmoor allows us to see the green-spreading rolling moors and the sheep and wild ponies. We stop at the top of Dartmoor, in the middle of nowhere, at a little pub … if you’ve ever seen “An American Werewolf in London,” this is that kind of pub, without the creepy inhabitants. There is something absolutely fascinating about this kind of place…

A view over the moors

We made it to Polraen House (B&B) without incident. At some point, I discovered – after calling him “Gil” for about a day and a half – that our host’s name was actually Martin – and “Gill” – with whom I’ve been e-mailing – was actually his wife, pronounced Jill but spelled Gill. Ah well…

Polraen House where we stayed in Looe, Cornwall

We arrived just before 8PM…a long day on the road, and we were tired out. Leslie drove to the moors, I took over the drive from there…a bit tense getting used to the left hand side of the road all over again.

Anyway, once at Polraen, we were able to settle in! Polraen House is just outside Looe, on a hill, rather isolated, in beautiful country. The house is old – half was built in the 1750s/half in the 1850s. Unusual for a B&B, it has a comfy little pub and a pretty dining room. Martin is a hoot – so funny, and very welcoming – he met us at the front door on our arrival.

The façade of the house is Cornish stone; flower baskets hang on the grey stone walls. It’s totally Cornwall, and utterly charming. We tidied up and immediately went downstairs for one of the yummiest dinners ever – Martin is an amazing chef. Leslie and I had spinach frittatas, Elisa had a salmon “starter” and an absolutely incredible little steak. For dessert, I had fruit and clotted cream and Elisa and Leslie, apple crumble with cream – Yum-o. And the bread – and the Cornish butter – a deep, rich yellow with flavor unlike anything over here in the States (at least anything I’ve eaten). Doesn’t come any better than this. (Before dinner, we had a drink in the pub – so by the time the day was over, we were out like lights.

The coast hike to Polperro

Got up for a wonderful English breakfast – eggs, bacon, sausage, fried tomato, fried bread, basket of these terrific baguettes, Cornish butter (may as well just apply it to my hips) – then Martin drove us to Looe to start our walk. The Coast Road out of Looe onto cliffs overlooked a silver sea. It was a beautiful day – intermittently cloudy and sunny, perfect for walking the six miles to Polperro. We reached Talland Bay (halfway to Polperro) and stopped for a break, then I ran up the hill to see if Allhays <an old B&B manor house that was my favorite of all time> was still there. It was – just as pretty as ever, and still called Allhays, but now a private home. I snapped a few photographs, then it was back down the hill to catch up with Elisa and Leslie on the coastal footpath to Polperro. The views from this path are breathtaking: long green cliffs soaring to a crystal blue sky, and water the color of pearls.

The coast hike to Polperro

I have done this walk so often, and I still love it – and Polperro is still as delightful as ever. By this time, the sun was out in full. We kept running into the same nice couple on the road, and they took our “group” photo.

Noughts & Crosses Inn in Polperro

We had a little lunch at the Noughts and Crosses Inn – finally, a Cornish pasty – accompanied with shandy and Guinness. We rambled around Polperro, looking in shops and the post office (which offers far more than just postage stamps), and finally climbed up the hill to the bus stop at Crumplehorn.

The cliffs on the coast road to Polperro

After a half an hour wait, the bus arrived –off we went, clattering and banging in the narrow narrow hedge-rowed lanes – at a knee-shattering speed – across the bridge and river that splits Looe into East and West; it finally dropped us at our front door at Polraen. Very nice! Great not having to drive for a day.

Dinnertime: Martin had prepared scallop salad for Leslie and me, and prawns in garlic for Elisa. Again, the wonderful baguettes and rich yellow Cornish butter. Then we shared Grand Marnier bread pudding.

And so to bed!

Fowey (pronounced Foy)

Breakfast: Greek yoghurt with Alpen – yum-o. It was absolutely incredible yoghurt! Elisa and Leslie had a full English breakfast – these certainly keep you going all day.

We decided to go to Fowey to hike around town. We drove to Polruan, parked the car, and walked the 1.5 miles to the foot ferry, which took us to Fowey. The day is on/off sunny and cloudy; we lose our way almost immediately, but end up walking around Fowey on roads rather than footpaths. The roads are pretty and lined with lovely old houses, fun to look at, and the flowers and greenery are lush, lush, lush.

Finally, back at the town center, we have a latte at a small pub called Safe Harbor. Very comfortable and relaxing. Not a real hike, but good for the legs and rear!

We caught the ferry back to Polruan, and Leslie and I walked to the car park – another 1.5 miles uphill – to pick up the car and pick up Elisa.

Polraen House’s back garden

And it’s back to Polraen House for a drink in the back garden…it’s turned into a lovely day, and Polraen’s garden backs onto a green green hill with horses grazing across it…so beautiful. The sun was out, and everything was peaceful and quiet. Then another gorgeous meal: Leslie and I have a veggie meal – veggie soup puree (pea-based) and for the main course, new potatoes in butter, beans and carrots. Absolutely the best – and the baguettes and Cornish butter – well, words are beginning to fail me, although apparently not my appetite.

Martin is one of the best chefs – I’ve never had such wonderful food.

And so again to bed.

Sunshine!

Up around 7:30, today we plan to go and see the Lost Gardens of Heligan, St. Mawes and Truro (for its cathedral – but we never make it to Truro). The day is cool and cloudy.

By the time we reach the Gardens, the sun has come out and the sky is absolutely vividly blue. The Gardens’ 200 acres are beautiful, sectioned off into specific type gardens, such as the Jungle Garden, Italian Garden, Asian Garden, etc. They also encompass fields and river walks, which gave us a wonderful walk over fields and along the river…The sun was shining, and the air smelled of flowers. We ate lunch at the Garden Centre – Cornish pasties again…nice!

The Lost Gardens

Then on to St. Mawes, which is one of the prettiest villages in Cornwall. Unfortunately, we arrived rather late, so we saw very little of the village…just toured the little Tudor castle on the hill, and then walked to the sea front, where we stopped for a latte. Martin and Gillian were taking the night off, so we picked up some cheese and rolls and raspberries for an evening snack.

There was a slight drizzle of rain by this time, so we turned for our B&B (the only bit of rain during the entire trip). Tomorrow we leave for the Cotswolds!

From Looe to Snowshill – one of the prettiest of the Cotswolds villages

Up around 9:30for the usual yummy breakfast, ready for the road to the Cotswolds.

As we our paying our bill, one of the other guests come by to say “someone has a flat…” It’s us, unfortunately. A lot of driving over “kerbs” has finally ended with the expected tire problem. Martin and the guest (fromLuxembourg) labored mightily to change the rather recalcitrant tire. It took an hour – with Martin asking, rather testily at one point as he was bending over the car, if his “bum looked big in checks <his pants>!!” …but everything was finally fixed, and then we were off!

We drove from Looe to Snowshill without further incident, and were able to make excellent time – 4.5 hours – as the weather was clear and sunny.

We drove through or around Bristol and Evesham and Broadway, landing at Sheepscombe House around 3:30-ish. Jacki (one of the proprietors) met us and showed us to our rooms. Elisa and Leslie shared a twin bed room in the main house. Mine was up an outside stair – rather a suite, very very pretty. No tub!

The road through the village of Snowshill to our B&B

We unpack, ramble around Snowshill – which is one of England’s most picturesque villages, and the setting for “Bridget Jones” movies – then we go to the village pub (Snowshill Arms) for dinner. Pretty much typical pub food, but good. The table by the window looks over the old churchyard and graveyard where “Bridget” sees her parents re-marry. If you want the countryside of England…there is nothing better than right here.

Then back to Sheepscombe House. My god – it’s bloody cold at night! And the sky is dark dark dark – the tiny country villages of course do not have street lamps…but the sky was clear as a bell, and the stars were out in force…walking beneath the overhanging trees up the lane to Sheepscombe was a bit challenging and fun…we actually had to take flashlights with us, because when it gets dark…it gets dark!

The Snowshill Arms on the village green

Touring the Cotswolds villages – stepping back in time

Up at 7:30…another yummy breakfast, this time with rhubarb yoghurt…organic, natural – absolutely fab! (I wish I could get these yoghurts in Houston.)

We joined Tim (our host) for a full day’s tour of the Cotswolds, including Stanton, Naunton, the Slaughters, Chipping Camden, Bourton on the Water, etc.

A funny moment occurred as Tim was asking Elisa about Bonnie, her dog. “Do you spend much time together?” he asked at one point.

She was silent for a moment, then murmured, “Well, yes, as much as I can…and she sleeps with me.”

It took a moment for us to realize he was actually asking about the three of us!

Again, the weather was incredible…blue sky, clear as a bell, 70 degrees – the sun felt absolutely lovely.

A manor house on our tour

Tim took us at one point to an organic shopping centre. I have never seen so many beautiful things – from foodstuffs to an elegant dress shop with the most beautiful organic clothes, cashmere, fine wool and cotton – expensive as all get out – the clothes were all white or earthtone grey but beautifully tailored, I just craved something from this shop, but it was out of my reach! – one sweater, the sheerest softest white cashmere, ran about 450 pounds ($1000)…white cashmere blankets…A coat I would have died for was 1300 pounds ($2750) – grey/white tweed…and gorgeous furniture in another shop, more white white white (my favorite color). O to be rich!

A garden view

Our tour took us all over the Cotswolds, the small towns were heaven. We also were able to walk through gorgeous manor gardens, and finally got home about 6:30 (85 pounds each of us to Tim). That evening, we ate dinner at The Swan in Broadway – so English, and just a perfect end to the day.

Broadway, quintessentially Cotswold

Up around7AM– wash hair, finally! Great hairdryer! After breakfast, we hotfoot it to the garage to see about the tire. It’s a goner – 200 pounds ($400+) for a new one – so we drop the tire off, Mike (the garage owner) says to drop back around 4PM…

A tea room in Broadway

Off we went to look around Broadway, a historic old town that is the starting point for touring many other small villages in the Cotswolds. I bought a few small gifts, then we had lattes (again), and drove off to Snowshill Manor, a mausoleum of a mansion filled with an eccentric’s collection of things from all over the world – one room was dedicated to bicycles, and included a penny-farthing. I remember my grandfather had one of those…

I found out the meaning of the old phrase, “Good night. Sleep tight.” In the old days, mattresses were run through with rope, from one side of the bed; the rope was twined through the other side of the bed, and pulled tight, to keep the mattress firm. Thus “Sleep tight.”

A view of the gardens at Snowshill Manor

The gardens at Snowshill Manor were absolutely incredible – orchards with pears and apples in abundance – beautiful stonework and finials – roses, pansies, sweet peas, climbing vines, green lawns – all in abundance. The scent of the roses was intense. Lunch is at a tiny restaurant on the grounds…

Doorway to the secret garden!

From Snowshill Manor, we drove to Snowshill Lavendar – unfortunately, closed until May. The lavender fields were totally shorn. So we left for theBroadwayTower– which, when you climb 250 feet – has a 360 view of the Cotswolds countryside. Below, we saw about 20 deer gathered under the trees…

Back then to the garage – tire has not even been delivered yet, so we go back to Sheepscombe House, where E&L take naps.

A view on my walk

I however left for a couple of hours’ walk through and over fields, meeting a nice man (Bill) and his dog (Gus) – we walked and talked back to his car, and I met and chatted with Daphne, his wife. Lovely couple …then I continued my walk.

The weather is incredible here in the Cotswolds – cloudy one minute – brilliant sunshine the next.

The clouds drifted away and the sun came out in full, the sky once again clean clear blue. This is the best time of day in the Cotswolds…between 4-6PM…everything is golden in the soft sunlight…the fields the greenest, the Cotswolds stone the most golden…the little village of Snowhill lies like a basket of white eggs in a green bowl…incredibly beautiful, surrounded by hill, woods and fields…I could have walked on forever.

I meet E&L for dinner at the Snowhill Arms at 7PM– finally, steak and kidney pie. Yum-o again! After dinner, a couple next to us passes over a half bottle of red wine they couldn’t finish – she is from Thailand, he from Virginia. We had a lovely long talk with them…then we are back on the pitch dark Cotswold path to Sheepscombe. Luckily, Jacki has given us the heavy big flashlights to carry and light us home through the narrow high hedgerows!

Spending a day hiking around Snowshill and Stanway

Up around7AM– a cup of tea and a read before breakfast. I see on the news that Pavarotti has died. Another giant gone.

Joanna <a friend from Austin visiting relatives in Cirencester> gets here around10AM to meet me for a hike, and we set off for one “round robin” walk around Stanton, Stanway and Snowshill. We start at Snowhill instead of Stanton– and of course, somehow end up doing a complete circle of Snowshill!

Driving on to Stanton, we stop in the village pub atop a hill (lovely!) for lunch. Stanton is a beautiful town – all houses are the old Cotswolds stone – flowers are blooming everywhere. The sun’s out intermittently. In the distance, rolling hills and vales…

Hiking around Stanton

After lunch, we set off for Stanway, walking “The Cotswolds Way”, an historic 100+ mile long footpath, which runs through the heart of the Cotswolds. We reach Stanway – another historic and charming small village, without incident.

However, once we climb a (majorly) steep hill to where we are supposed to turn towards Snowshill – we wind up getting completely and utterly lost. After wittering around, climbing up and down for an hour, we finally find a promising path which actually leads us back to Stanton!

We’ve hiked through fields, orchards, deep hedgerowed lanes, roads, and through woods – just a lovely 9+-mile ramble, which I desperately needed! I loved it…

Back in the car for Broadway, finishing at the Horse and Hounds for shandies before saying goodbye.

Morton on Marsh and Bourton Manor

Awoke rather early for me –6:45 AM. I love the cup of tea and the moment of quiet in my room in the early morning. The sun was pouring in through my windows – a gorgeous day – again – awaited us.

The weather changes here almost hourly – one minute it can be glorious sun – then clouds appear – blow away – then come back – the sky darkens – then again, the sun is out full blast.

The most beautiful time of day here has been between 4-6PM. The air is soft, the sun shines but not as intensely, and the sky completely clears. All is bathed in the soft golden sunlight, and Jane Austen’s ghost hovers nearby.

The Manor House – absolutely beautiful

Today we drove to Morton on the Marsh after breakfast and – quite by accident – parked across from a stunning house called Bourton Manor. The gardens were open to the public – the prettiest I have seen yet – manicured lawns, massed flower borders, topiaries, mazes, finials, stonework, espaliers with various beautiful climbing vines and flowers – roses abounded, highly scented – there is a “white garden” with stocks, roses, daisies – I loved this garden, and the house is an architectural gem.

and gardens

From there,  on to the Falconry down the road to watch a peregrine falcon display, and then on to the nearby Arboretum. After this, we drove to Burford, a pretty (and not so small) market town, with lovely shops along a winding hilly main street.

Snowshill – could anything be prettier?

When we arrived back at Sheepscombe House, it was 5PM– I went for an hour’s walk again up around fields and hills, discovering that exquisite view of Snowshill…I think one of the most beautiful in England.

Another lovely day. Tomorrow, we leave for London!

Blenheim Palace

Up for breakfast – and on the road to Blenheim Palace, which we tour and hear all about the Marlborough family…and not enough about Churchill! But what history! The gardens were also incredible…but the air had actually turned chilly, so we didn’t linger. We got back in the car and determined to find Windsor…suffice it to say, we did not! So we stopped closer to Gatwick for a lunch/dinner…then found The Little Foxes (the less said about that, the better), went for a quick drink, and so to bed…

Blenheim Palace

And thus ended the latest English sabbatical…I couldn’t have asked for better weather, better countryside, better food…just more hikes! But it was great. Now I know why I keep going back…and back…and….

Beautiful

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