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Hiking in Wales and England

The green fields of England

The green fields of England

It’s been about 25 years since I went on my first walking tour of England and Wales…1996, to be exact.

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

London

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

London

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

London forever

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

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

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

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

Broad Chalke, Wiltshire

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

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

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

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

Between hedgerows

Between hedgerows

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

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

An olde street

An olde street

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

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

Wiltshire – Broad Chalke, Fovant, Stonehenge and Old Sarum

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

Climbing the hill in Broad Chalke to view the chalk drawings

Climbing the hill in Broad Chalke to view the chalk drawings

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

Mysterious Stonehenge

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

Stonehenge - mysterious, magical

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

The walls of Old Sarum

The walls of Old Sarum

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

Old Sarum

Old Sarum

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

On the road to Lyme Regis

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

On the road to Cornwall

On the road to Lyme Regis…

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

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

The Cotswolds Way

Wonderful leafy lanes

Onward to Lyme Regis through the little town of Uplyme – very pretty with pastel-painted houses.

Uplyme

Pastel houses in Uplyme

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

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

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

CORNWALL

Marazion

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

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

A stop at a mysterious old house by the wayside

A stop at a mysterious old house by the wayside

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

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

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

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

Perranuthnoe, the cliff walks

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

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

On the shores of Marazion

On the shores of Marazion

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

Over the hills and far away

Over the hills and far away

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We were the only people on the causeway, except for one solitary man. The tide was out, and had left fishing boats beached in the sandy cove.

walking-the-causeway-to-the-mount

Unfortunately, we were unable to actually enter the castle, as it is too early in the morning, but we were able to walk the outside grounds.

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

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

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

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

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

a-mousehole-house

A house in Mousehole (pronounced Muzzle)

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

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

lands-end-signpost

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

lands-end

Land’s End – oh, those views!

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

St. Kew and Crackington Haven

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

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

St Kew Inn

St Kew Inn

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

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

Walking in the woods on the road to Crackington Haven

Walking in the woods on the road to Crackington Haven

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

Crackington Haven signpost on the cliffs

Crackington Haven signpost on the cliffs

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

The gardens of Manor Farm in Crackington Haven

The gardens of Manor Farm in Crackington Haven

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

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

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

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

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

We log in another five miles today!

Crackington Haven, Bude, Tintagel, and Boscastle

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

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

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

The road through mountains into Boscastle

The road through mountains into Boscastle

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

Lee checking out the hydrangeas at Boscastle

Lee checking out the hydrangeas at Boscastle

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

Starting our hike round Crackington Haven

Starting our hike round Crackington Haven

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

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

The Strangles

The Strangles

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

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

Hiking wild countryside outside Crackington Haven

Hiking wild countryside outside Crackington Haven

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

INTO WALES

Tintern Abbey

Tintern Abbey

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

Tintern Abbey Fields

Tintern Abbey Fields

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

We finally reach The Mumbles, where I spent much of my childhood. Now it is so touristy…and is thronged with people…yet the views from the cliff walks are still wonderful.

I wondered if Thistleboone Gardens was still there….not only is it still there, it looked just the same as it did when I was a child. But… we were no longer able to walk from the Gardens over the cliffs; built over with subdivisions, the land has become too valuable to stay wild.

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

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

Cliff walk at The Mumbles

Cliff walk at The Mumbles

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

Cliff walk leading to Bracelet and Langland Bays

Cliff walk leading to Bracelet and Langland Bays

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

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Cliff walk on the way to the Mumbles

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

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The Mumbles – cliff walk

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

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

BACK INTO ENGLAND
The Great Malverns and Herefordshire

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

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

Cowleigh Park Farm

Cowleigh Park Farm

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

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

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

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

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

A field in the Malverns

A field in the Malverns

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

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

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

Cows in field in the Great Malverns

Cows in field in the Great Malverns

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

Worcestershire Way

Worcestershire Way

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

Worcestershire Way

Worcestershire Way

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

Lee in window of Cowleigh Park Farm

Lee in window of Cowleigh Park Farm

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

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

London

London

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

Cigarette break

Cigarette break

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

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

I Love New York!

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

Skyline

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

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

Waiting for the hot air balloon to fill

Waiting for the hot air balloon to fill

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

Ro waiting for balloon...intrepid! ha!

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

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

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

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

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

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

The first thing I wanted to do when we got to New York was visit The Cloisters.

Ro on the beautiful Cloisters pathway

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

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

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

At The Cloisters

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

A view from the ramparts

From the ramparts we watched…

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

Lene just outside The Cloisters on an overcast November day

Lene just outside The Cloisters on an overcast November day

Always Shopping!

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

Fernando at The Plaza

Fernando at The Plaza

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

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

Taxis everywhere...but try flagging one down!

Taxis everywhere…but try flagging one down!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Midnight feast

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Off to shop.

Bloomingdales

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

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

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

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

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

Gloria: “You do that honey!”

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

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

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

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

Well… La di dah, la di dah.

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

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

Taxis galore

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Goodbye, lovely Plaza.

Atlas Shrugged

Atlas Shrugged

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

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

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

We sat at a comer table (round) in two wine-red velvet wing chairs- which were rather low to the ground. As we sat gingerly lowered ourselves, our chins almost hit the table. Seating was all velvet chairs (green or deep red) of different styles – wing, club or whatever – or small sofas. Everything was hushed and mustily elegant.  I loved it! Arlene had a shrimp salad and I had pastrami on rye (had to, I’m in New York).

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

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

Lene in Ramsey NJ

Lene in Ramsey NJ

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

Hiking in the Great Smokies

The green is the very greenest green

The green is the very greenest green

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

Ro in front of Stairway to Heaven Lodge outside Gatlinburg

In front of Stairway to Heaven Lodge outside Gatlinburg

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

The start of our hikes in the Great Smokies

The start of our hikes in the Great Smokies

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

View from Ro's balcony at the Lodge

View from my balcony at the Lodge

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

Monday

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

Iconic bridge crossing a stream

Iconic bridge crossing a stream

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

Jan and Katie and a bite of lunch by the stream

Jan and Katie and a bite of lunch by a stream

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

Tuesday

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

The "Refrigerator" Great Smokies National Park

The “Refrigerator” Great Smokies National Park

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

Wednesday

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

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

Ro does the rapids SMILING

Ro does the rapids SMILING – look at that water!

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

The Great Smokies

The Great Smokies

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

Thursday

Getting ready for the hike

Getting ready for the hike

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

The AT sign at the start of the hike

The AT sign at the start of the hike

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

Resting atop Charlie's Bunion

Resting atop Charlie’s Bunion

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

Clingman's Dome

Clingman’s Dome

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

Laurel tree in bloom

Laurel tree in bloom

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

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

Friday

The Group

The Group

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

Autumn in New Mexico

 

Autumn in New Mexico

New Mexico has a (possibly under-acknowledged) reputation as one of the most enchanting states in North America, and from what I’ve seen of it, it’s not only true, it’s startlingly true. The air in New Mexico is fresher and more invigorating, the views more dramatic and breathtaking than anything you see in Houston’s great hustle and bustle… (not that there’s anything wrong with that!) So on my way to visit my sis Jennifer…

Over this Thanksgiving holiday, and in a departure from the shopping/movies plan Jen and I usually adhere to, Jen suggested we spend most of our time wandering around/discovering different delightful  parts of the state…from neighborhoods exhibiting the reds and golds of Autumn, to mountain peaks and far away towns.

The day before Thanksgiving, under skies a clear, vivid blue, we walked the surrounding neighborhoods, taking in the autumn colors, and enjoying the architecture, from adobe cottages to rambling structures beautifully landscaped,

and something I really love: the different gates set in the garden walls. There’s something so sculptural and individualistic about these…

And then, dinner at our favorite: The Rojo Grille, which has beautiful views of the mountains, and is so cozy and charming…

The following day, Thanksgiving, dinner at the dimly lit, elegant Cattle Rancher’s Club was relaxed, and the food, terrific.

After which, Jen and I decided to drive up to the Sandia Peak, rolling through narrow mountain passes and alongside beautiful valleys and fir forests…

The Peak’s spectacular views, which seem to go on forever, showcased the beauty of New Mexico vividly…

Over mountains and valleys, fir-filled or treeless, the icy air spoke of the winter to come, but brought out the amazing blue of the sky,

against which branches of indigenous trees framed the majesty of the far-off mountaintops.

On the following day, after a very “green” and enjoyable lunch at what is becoming one of my favorite Albuquerque restaurants, Vinaigrette …

we decided to revisit Old Town, which we hadn’t been to for some years. From what I could tell, it hadn’t changed in the slightest. The golden adobe structure of the church was once again etched against a deep blue sky, as it has been in years past.

The shops and restaurants and B&Bs still abound… Southwest cuisine is still the fare of choice, and the Plaza on this particular day was busy, but not jam-packed, which made it easy to get around.  It’s lovely to be in such a changeless environment… the continuity of place and time is so appealing…

On Saturday, we planned to drive to Taos, where I had not been before.

It was such an adventure. I love the open road, and here it led into far blue distances…

At times we passed through small towns that spoke of cowboys and history, of long ago Southwestern spaces and lives…

And drove along the banks of the storied Rio Grande… what a kick!

Then we arrived in Taos, which was everything I had hoped it would be.

I do crave back of beyond. Well, maybe Taos no longer has that reputation, but it certainly seemed to meet the criteria! We wandered round the town square…

And ate lunch at Doc Martin’s, where the food was delicious and the atmosphere, friendly and delightful.

As we ambled down the street, taking in the mountain vistas, the small boutiques and cafes, we couldn’t believe our luck that the weather was so perfect throughout.

We decided on our way home to stop in The Black Mesa Winery for a little wine-tasting and just to stray off the beaten path. This is such a terrrific place to kick back – in the sunshine – and enjoy both the wine (great) and the feel of the great Southwest. What a perfect day!

It was all I could do to leave!

But every great trip comes to an end…there’s always that little frisson of “…if only” and I felt it quite strongly in Taos… Another magical part of the enchantment of New Mexico, and I know we’ll go back there when I visit again.

 

 

Island rambles on the Isle of Wight

A room with a view in Yelf’s hotel, 4th floor

Island rambles on the Isle of Wight

September 6

I decided to make a solo trip to England for two weeks in September 2018, and one of those weeks was spent rambling around the Isle of Wight with John and Joanna, two old friends who live there and who were terrific guides.

I had no idea how much the island had to offer, and how much fun it was going to be to stay on the fourth floor of Yelf’s Hotel, with a perfect view of the sea from my bedroom window.

Hilly Ryde

The fact that Yelf’s has no elevator in no way spoiled the fun of living for a few days in a small English hotel, complete with pub (one of my favorite things), splat in the middle of hilly Ryde.

I had spent a very satisfying week in the Cotswolds before I crossed by ferry from Portsmouth to Ryde. Catching the ferry was a hoot…it runs every 15-30 minutes or so, so you never have to wait very long. However, as they were about to close the gates preparatory to leaving, the ferrymaster saw me trotting up the boardwalk and shepherded me through the ticketing process and onboard. Talk about personal service!

I was picked up at the Ryde dock by Joanna, and deposited at Yelf’s front door. After a brief tidying up and a few minutes of pinching myself that I was actually here, I trotted off to find J&J’s condo – only a block away, but naturally getting lost in the process. After a fun dinner with a group of their friends, I wandered back to Yelf’s under a clear deep blue sky, thinking how much I love small village life.

Everything here is an easy “get to”… Ryde is on hilly terrain, and the streets are good exercise, especially if you’ve walked up and down for half an hour. I was right in the middle of the village…surrounded by shops, cafes, restaurants, book stores…the ever-present (and wonderful) Boots…and houses and condos back to back.

September 7

The next morning, after a really good sleep (missing Yelf’s breakfast in the process) I met Joanna for a quick bite, and then we, along with John, proceeded to wander all around the town.  Of course, Ryde’s right on the water, so a good amount of time was spent along the front.

Weather was chilly, but brilliantly sunny, just about perfect. Green parks and footpaths were everywhere you looked.

After rambling around Ryde, we went on to visit Seaview, which is on Ryde’s eastern end, and has great beaches and the ubiquitous parks.

You can get lost in the middle of the parks, just taking in the gorgeous greenery.

September 8

On the following day, our odyssey took us to East Cowes, Yarmouth and Lymington.

Joanna was tied up, so John and I spent the morning at Osborne House, Queen Victoria’s summer “cottage.”

Situated on wide green grassy swathes with sculptured gardens, it offers marvelous walks through its grounds, including a shadowy tree tunnel to the beach below.

From papier mache ceilings to ivory miniatures, statues, gargoyles, great art and more, Osborne House is a treat.

You can just imagine the ghost of Victoria wandering the hallways, her aides scurrying at her heels.

John and I walked to the beach for lattes at the little tea shop facing the coast…clouds scudded across a blue sky, it was sunny and fresh…perfect!

Joanna joined us in Lymington, a delightful village where we stopped for a seafood meal so fresh it practically walked onto the plate, and we then wandered the streets taking in the village views.

A red Morris Minor stopped us in our tracks…very cool car!

The sunset over the sea gave us some of the loveliest images of the day. .

As a lover of the out-of-doors, the Isle of Wight fulfills my real desire for a green and pleasant land. Sun-dappled foliage, lichen-covered footpaths, overgrown steps to hidden sand or pebble beaches, neon bright flowers, crystal blue-green  seas reaching to far horizons…the whole island is a microcosm of nature’s beauty, in some cases, run wild.

Rich with history and ivy-covered and sometimes spooky hidden corners, I felt I was constantly discovering – and moving back to – England’s magical past.

September 9

On this day, John and I had Sunday lunch at the venerable Royal Esplanade Hotel, situated right on Ryde’s front. It was dim and very quiet, but it had the big plus of Harry’s Bar, which I couldn’t wait to try out that evening…such a kick.

After lunch, we drove to one of my favorite island villages: Bembridge, tiny and full of charm, like all of the best villages,

with lush greenery and neon-bright flowers, and adorable cottages looking freshly painted.

I don’t know if it was because the weather was so incredibly gorgeous, or the town so delightful, or just being there…but it was really idyllic!

Where to start. Well, the day itself was made up of blue skies, brilliant sunshine and everything looked clean and shiny. The steps down to Bembridge Beach were surrounded by lush green vegetation with trees in full foliage and a view of the ocean to die for.

A pebble beach prompted poignant and wonderful memories of seasides while I lived as a child in England.

The sea was crystal clear.

We were checking out the New Bembridge Lifeboat Station when a sudden emergency galvanized the group of lifeboat volunteers into action, getting the lifeboat out and on the ocean, headed towards who knows what catastrophe. I was just glad the day was sunny and calm for them…and thankful the situation wasn’t life threatening.

Towards the end of the day, we stopped in an old English pub – and I mean an OLD English pub, The Crab & Lobster.

The walls must have been four feet thick, history embedded in every stone…and the ambience was such, you wanted all pubs to be just like this one. We had a half pint in the half-light…I just loved it, so happy in such a perfect place.

September 10

Waking up, as usual, much too late for the hotel’s breakfast (I think I managed one during my time at Yelf’s), I wandered outside to the corner café for breakfast and just to kick back looking at the big green buses passing by, along with a motley variety of the town’s inhabitants and tourists. I had a perfectly lovely view, and drank in my latte, drinking in every minute of the morning. One note: I miss the big red buses that used to populate England from end to end. Now we only see them in London.

A while later, I met Joanna and she drove us to Shanklin, yet another small delightful village where once upon a time, her mother (and one of my oldest friends), had lived.

We stopped to take in an old church and its wychgate – a word that has always fascinated me and I finally got to see what one looked like.

The ubiquitous red post boxes dotted the area, a British icon that, thankfully, is still in use.

Flowers were blooming (freesias here, Mum’s favorite flower) and the day was windblown and blue.

After wandering here, there and everywhere, we rambled to the front, where the glorious blue seas, white clouds and green fences made a beautiful picture.

A woven lattice fence bordered one of the island’s dwellings…these are really intricate pieces of art, and so charming.  Wish I could build one back home…

And then a drive through Shanklin (see below)… a lovely English village on an island chock-full of them.

We drove back to Yelf’s, where Joanna and I had dinner in its delightful small pub, and a good natter about “old times” (we go back years!)

And so the end of another perfect day.

September 11

One of Ryde’s most historic landmarks is the monastery Quarr Abbey and Farm, home to a small group of Benedictine monks, and a haven for wildlife and plants.

It is a walk back in time…from the ancient buildings including the Abbey itself to homes built on the property, and the working farm …all in all, a magical experience. The weather on our visit this day was slightly overcast, making the green of the countryside glow like neon against a lavendar-gray sky.

The grounds are so tranquil. We sat inside the church and meditated.

Vines, flowers and flowering shrubs are everywhere.

As we wandered through the farm, ducks and geese crossed our path. Machinery sat silently by.

We rambled through leaf-strewn paths, (one of my favorite pictures above) in the hush of the woods that cover the grounds.

Visited with a writer friend of J&J’s who lived in one of the old cottages that seemed to have evolved from the surrounding nature.

I guess you could say: Another perfect day.

September 12

And so it was time to leave. Leaving England always puts a lump in my throat.

I caught the ferry from Ryde back to the mainland, and taxied to London, where I was staying again at the Kensington Hotel (one of my favorite hotels ever).

As I gazed out of my hotel window at the rooftops of wonderful London, I wished I were Mary Poppins, floating over the chimney pots!

A lovely end to a magical trip! Thanks forever to John and Joanna. I love the continual discovery of new and delightful and exquisite areas of England….an England that never ceases to enchant me.

 

 

 

Oregon and Washington State -The Great Pacific Northwest

 

Great beauty - right in front of us

Great beauty – all around us

 

When I thought of the Pacific Northwest, I knew that the natural beauty of Washington and Oregon would blow me away, having already visited Portland, Spokane, Longview and the California coast and seen the unspoiled loveliness everywhere I turned.

 

Hydrangeas everywhere

Hydrangeas everywhere

But it wasn’t until I was actually there in Washington that I realized – yet again – that so much is beyond description, and photographs don’t do the beauty justice.  Still, I was lucky to have two friends – who live in the tiny town of Mukilteo just outside of Seattle – to put me up and take me to some incredible places. I spent a week with them, wandering and hiking around both Washington State and Oregon…and just having the best time embedded in this magnificent part of the country.

 

Friday

A trail up the mountain in Mukilteo

The air was crisp and clean and beautifully sunny (I was thrilled not to experience the seemingly ever-present Seattle drizzle) when I landed. My friends picked me up in the late afternoon, and  we had fresh salmon for dinner, as well as salmon pate for h’ors d’ouevres. Yum-o!  As we ate supper, a marvelous sunset – orange/yellow/turquoise – played out in the view from the front window overlooking Puget Sound.  Behind the house rose wooded hills, sewn with redcedar, firs, hemlocks and undergrowth, with salmon streams running through the underbrush.

From a high deck attached to the back of the house, we watched a baby eagle which had recently hatched, and every morning could view its attempts to fly the nest, and hear its rough cries as it eased its way into the air.

Saturday

We spent this morning catching up over an early lunch at a terrific waterfront restaurant called Ivar’s. It was great being with old friends, looking out over the water and talking. The food was just about perfect – the best thing being those sourdough rolls. I’d love to be able to get my hands on those rolls in Houston! And the weather continued sunny and bright.

 

A salmon run on the trail behind the house

A salmon run on the trail behind the house

After lunch, we walked the back hills of Mukilteo, up and around the house. One of the trails took us through Japanese Gulch, so-called due to the encampment of Japanese laborers who lived there until the 1930s. They cut timber for the lumber company in Mukilteo back then.

 

All homes are landscaped with great charm

All homes are landscaped with great charm

Mukilteo is a short drive from Seattle, and is full of charm and picturesque appeal. The architecture throughout is very varied, from small cottages on up to larger stately homes, with green and colorful landscapes.

 

Yes, I am a tree hugger

Yes, I am a tree hugger

The flowers are lush, dense and glorious – roses, daisies, pansies, phlox, hollyhox, snapdragons, hydrangeas…

 

On the trail through Japanese Gulch

On the trail through Japanese Gulch

Our walk encompassed a brief trek on a footpath through the woods – along the high road looking to the sea. Down the hill to Mukilteo town, we wandered around – ending up in a pub called Diamond Knot Brewhouse – for an IPA (beer) and a chat. Loved the rustic setting, the laid back appeal of it.

 

The weather continued to be fabulous.

 

Mukilteo lighthouse

Mukilteo lighthouse

Afterwards, we walked to the Mukilteo lighthouse, a small white building, full of history. We wandered around taking pictures, then home for dinner.

Sunday

Up early and on the road for Whidbey Island.

 

Deception Pass Bridge

Deception Pass Bridge

On the Whidbey Loop, we started at the top of Fidalgo Island, then crossed the Deception Pass Bridge to the 88-mile long island itself. We had lunch at Toby’s Tavern in Coupeville, and it was, of course, terrific…then meandered around the shops and galleries for an hour.

A street in Coupeville

Deception Pass State Park was another stop for a low-key hour-long hike around its lake. The trail was overhung with a wide variety of greenery, and small flowers poked stems from the undergrowth. The air smelled of green growing things and dead leaves underfoot.

 

In Deception Pass State Park - taking a photo break

In Deception Pass State Park – taking a photo break

After which we ended up in a waterfront restaurant – the waitresses seem to have been there since the beginning of time…what else but fish, chips, and an icy Guinness.  Well, okay: we did have fresh shrimp cocktails to start!

 

Whidbey Island Ferry

Whidbey Island Ferry

And then it was the drive back to the big white Whidbey Island ferry, waiting waiting for boarding….

Monday

On our merry way to Mount Rainier.

Glorious forests of fir everywhere

The drive took us through incredibly green and beautiful  forests of fir – up to Paradise Lodge. Waterfalls, lakes, mountain views – we couldn’t stop taking photographs – because everywhere you looked, it was spectacular – glamorous – astonishing; no adjective seemed to do it justice.

On the way to Mount Rainier...

On the way to Mount Rainier…

 

The lakes were an unbelievably clear and beautiful glacier blue-green – the product of melting glaciers, and so icy cold, hypothermia would set in in seconds should you be unlucky enough to fall in.

 

Another beautiful view

Another beautiful view

At Paradise Lodge, we dumped our luggage and immediately headed for the trails. Mount Rainier and the surrounding Cascades, as well as the areas around the Lodge, were covered with snow. The temperature was warm, but the snow – while melting – was packed to the ground.

Paradise Lodge

Another magical experience – hiking in the snow – in July!!  The late thaw had prevented wildflowers from blooming as profusely in the surrounding Alpine valleys.

Snow-packed vistas surrounding Paradise Lodge

Snow-packed vistas surrounding Paradise Lodge

 

The great natural beauty of Mount Rainier

The great natural beauty of Mount Rainier

 

Tuesday

Up around 8AM, and down to breakfast at 9. Another lovely day.

We left the Lodge at 9:30 to begin the drive to the Columbia River Gorge.

 

The lakes are glacier-fed, and so crystal clear

The lakes are glacier-fed, and so crystal clear

 

Passing through the spectacular forests, we came to the Grove of the Patriarchs – which housed trees of immense, almost infinite girth (redcedar) and hemlock, Douglas firs, and others. Here we stopped for a hike around the Grove’s perimeter and across a short, rather wobbly suspension bridge. The weather continued warm and sunny.

 

Wobbling on the suspension bridge on the Grove of the Patriarchs trail

Wobbling on the suspension bridge on the Grove of the Patriarchs trail

It was difficult not to take a hundred photographs of the imposing trees on this trail, giants bathed in golden light.

 

Can you believe the girth of these wonderful trees

Can you believe the girth of these wonderful trees

Getting back in the van, we drove steadily down, eventually  coming to rolling hills covered in golden grass, stretching for miles (very similar to when I entered California from the desert many years back.) We stopped for our regular Starbucks break – then another quick stop and ramble at the Maryhill Museum, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. It was surrounded by velvety green lawns, neon-green in the middle of the desert!

 

Green green grass at the Maryhill Museum in the middle of desert

Green green grass at the Maryhill Museum in the middle of desert

We also pulled over at the Windy Flats wind farm to view the miles of windmills that ranged across the golden hills, making the landscape a dream from a sci-fi movie.

 

Windy Flats wind farm

Windy Flats wind farm

And so we came to The Dalles – which was our destination and stop for the night.

 

Standing in front of my room at The Dalles Inn

Standing in front of my room at The Dalles Inn

I called The Dalles the “back-of-beyond” – which I absolutely loved. Somewhere further from a New York or even Houston is hard to imagine. ..so you felt very relaxed and isolated – all in all, not a bad way to feel on vacation.

 

The Baldwin Saloon - wonderful

The Baldwin Saloon – wonderful

After checking into The Dalles Inn and having a bit of a tidy up, we headed for the Baldwin Saloon, an old restaurant with the aura of time-gone-by – delicious food – terrific waiters. Fabulous dinner: Halibut Parmesan, preceded by oysters on the halfshell… It was a two-beer night, so a good time was had by all!

Wednesday

Up around 7:30, and off about 9:30.

 

Standing on the banks of the Columbia River

Standing on the banks of the Columbia River

 

This part of our rambles took us to the Fruit Loop, a scenic drive looping through farm country: orchards filled with ripened apples, peaches, pears – little farm shops interspersed throughout the countryside. Our first stop was the Packer Orchards, which offered all sorts of fresh fruit from their orchards, and fresh fruit pies baked on site. The scent of the baking pies was…well, delectable, to not put too strong a word on it! And peaches right off the tree – is there a sweeter aroma?!

Packer Orchards

The next stop was the absolutely heavenly Lavendar Farm (my favorite scent) – fields of lavender, interspersed with lupins, yellow and orange poppies, brilliant white daisies, roses galore…and more.

 

Lavendar Adirondack chairs at the lavendar farm

Lavendar Adirondack chairs at the lavender farm

The hum and drone and buzz of the bees in the lavender – the warmth of the sun – and the mingled scent of lavender and roses was enough to make you think you had died and gone to heaven.

 

Drowning in lavender - and liking it!

Drowning in lavender – and liking it!

After this, we stopped at an alpaca farm –the little faces of the alpacas made you want to kiss every nose! We hand-fed them grain, and they nuzzled up to us with no fear.

 

Hand-feeding the alpacas - what a kick

Hand-feeding the alpacas – what a kick

You could put your hand in a bag of alpaca fur in the little shop on the premises…and it was like dipping your fingers into clouds.

 

Who couldn't love this adorable face

Who couldn’t love this adorable face

The next leg of the drive took us to Hood River for lunch – a really great taco salad at Betty’s Diner.

 

Views of the Columbia River

Views of the Columbia River

We left Oregon, driving along the Columbia River, stopping to watch the wind surfers glide and fly across the river’s icy blue waters. So agile and so other-worldly against the intense blue of sky and water.

 

Glacier-blue waters

Glacier-blue waters

Surrounded by the wonder of nature, you had a moment of “why anyone would want to be anywhere else?” Of course, in the depths of mid-winter, not quite so appealing! But at this time of year, it could not be more magical.

We arrived back in Mukilteo, put our feet up, ate salmon pate and enjoyed the fabulous sunset over Puget Sound (more specifically, Possession Sound). The sunsets have been exquisite –  dusky Tuscan yellows and oranges, aquamarine blue fading to deep indigo.

Thursday

Left early for brunch at Ivar’s – fish taco, which I’d never had. Yum-o! Again, Ivar’s has the absolute best sourdough rolls I’ve ever tasted. Wish I could buy them in Houston!  Then we took off for a jaunt around Seattle.

 

Gasworks Park overlooking Elliott Bay

Gasworks Park overlooking Elliott Bay

Our first stop was the Gasworks Park – an old gasworks, rusting and left in place overlooking Elliott Bay. We stopped for a photo opp, but really just to take in the view across the water.

Standing on the shores of Elliott Bay

Standing on the shores of Elliott Bay

After which, we drove through the University of Washington, then on to the Chihuley Exhibit – an incredible museum of brilliantly colored glass sculptures – neon green, red, purple, yellow – some pieces like the tentacles of some mythic sea monster, others interpretations of undersea foliage – and still others evocative of the sculptor’s mother’s garden! For me, after seeing the natural beauty of the state, glass sculptures of flowers and gardens couldn’t begin to compare. But the sculptor did produce some brilliant creations.

This was followed by the Space Needle for a 360o view of Seattle. After a rather overcast morning, the sun had broken through the clouds and cleared the mist, and all was merry and bright.

 

Seattle - the view from the Space Needle

Seattle – the view from the Space Needle

We also made a quick stop to view “The Troll Beneath the Bridge” – a wonderfully eerie sculpture – which unfortunately had been graffiti’d all over, making his expression particularly doleful.

 

The Troll Beneath the Bridge - and me!

The Troll Beneath the Bridge – and me!

 

We came back to Mukilteo through a crush of cars – no matter which way we turned, the traffic was incredibly bad. We managed to finally break through the stalemate and landed back at the Diamond Knot Brewhouse on the shores of Mukilteo.  Nothing like a laid-back pub at the end of a busy day…and a Guinness to boot!

 

Smelling the roses

Smelling the roses

Then it was time to pack for the flight home Friday, and think about everything I’d seen and experienced.  The Pacific Northwest – and all other natural beauty – should be protected like the jewels they are.  I always am so grateful for such unspoiled loveliness… and equally grateful at how good it is to be able to experience it in the here and now.

 

Hiking the Utah canyons

The hoodoos of Bryce

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

 Las Vegas

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

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

The Canyons of Zion

The start of a beautiful friendship

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

Bonnie views the awe-inspiring scenery

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

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

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

Our small group  – we split into two groups – this was mine

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

The peace here is unbelievable.

Refrigerator Canyon, Walter’s Wiggles and Weeping Rock

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

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

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

Walter’s Wiggles

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

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

The beauty of the landscape is timeless

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

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

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

The Virgin River and Dual Arches Alcove

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

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

Standing inside the deep pink Dual Arches – incredible!

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

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

Ro and Bonnie – ahead of the pack!

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

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

Observation Point, Panguitch, Bryce Canyon and The Hoodoos

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

Lonely trees dot the landscape

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

I felt as if I were in a movie

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

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

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

Hoodoos at Bryce Canyon

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

Beautiful Bryce

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

Bryce Canyon Redux

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

Reaching for the stars

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

A perfectly happy human being

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

Bryce Canyon Lodge and Dixie National Park

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

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

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

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

Utah – awe inspiring, mystical, magic

Thoughts on the small villages and countryside of the Cotswolds

The Swan, Bibury

A short n’ sweet post, as this day was part of a 2-week sojourn in England, noted elsewhere! I spent a day in the Cotswolds, rambling around the small villages that I love, and wished never to leave…

Loving Bibury

Steve picked me up in Chipping Campden early on Wednesday morning, and we began our perfect day of exploration, from Minster Lovell to Stanton and Bibury, to Fillkins and Stanway, to Burford and points in between. Each village had something special to offer, and if you’re looking for the backroads of England, in countryside that doesn’t seem to have changed in more than 100 years, these villages are for you.

Iconic telephone booth and post box

Minster Lovell, to which I was introduced in 2017, continues to be an enchanting small town of crumbling ruins, delightful pathways, the old churchyard,

Crumbling church ruin, Minster Lovell

leafy lanes and chickens in the front gardens.

Minster Lovell chickens

Stanton is one of those villages I would willingly embed myself in – from the moment I discovered it a few years ago, I have loved it.

Drystone wall, Stanton

Deep bowered lanes overhung with heavy, leaf-strewn branches,

the footpaths carpeted with red and rust lichen, houses built up the gently rising hillside, their walls glowing golden in the late afternoon sunshine,

and the flowers that inhabit the gardens and scatter their scented breath over the air.

Everywhere I go, the greenness of England is always present…what would England be without it? I love the hedgerows,

the fields stretching out to low-lying hills…

white sheep dotting the landscapes in the fields…

then there are the drystone walls,

the iconic red of pillar boxes, old telephone booths now converted to defribrillators,

the old churchyards with headstones leaning towards the ground

gray old Norman churches against a pale blue-white sky…

Beautiful, beautiful England…loving it always…

Cornwall – Magical rambles on the coast – Chapter 1

Cornwall – Magical rambles on the coast – Chapter 1 of our English holiday

Thursday August 18….these are fraught days, trying to pull everything together for our 2+ week sabbatical in England (Cornwall and the Cotswolds). I have never been so tired getting ready for a trip! Just the technology alone is enough to make you shudder. New tablet, new keyboard, pass codes, TravelPass, WiFi apps and passwords, converters…may the stress all fade away the moment I board that plane!

Monday August 21…on way to airport at 11…I am SO ready. Our flight on British Airways is smooth and uneventful (no sleep though).

Tuesday August 22…I glided through Customs, and picked up my luggage, waiting a short time for David to make it through. It all took a little longer than we’d thought. We missed our first train at Paddington for Looe, so decided breakfast was a good idea (it was a full English breakfast, and it was goo-ood!) Then onward to catch 12 o’clock. On the train, we had a high adrenalin surge when a man boarded and began to rant at the top of his lungs, I forget about what. A passenger finally calmed him down. David and I both went into “blank stare” mode, as did the rest of the passengers. Nothing further happened, and the man disembarked at the next stop. Whooo!

On the train from Paddington to Looe, we also experienced – quite by accident – our first “quiet car”. It was MARVELOUS. Very few people were in this car, but once we were seated, an older woman embarked, looking for her reserved seat and carrying on a conversation with herself– quite loudly.  Once she found her seat, she proceeded to take out her cell phone and start another conversation at the top of her lungs. At which point, the conductor came down the aisle and quietly (!) asked her to move to another car if she wished to use her cell, as this one was a QUIET car.  Which she did.  As she moved away, we could still hear her voice drifting back through the corridor… It was all very low key and courteous. I do love quiet cars!!

The ensuing silence, the sound of the wheels on the rail, and the foggy day lulled me into a short nap.

But I woke up as the sun burned the fog away as the day wore on – beautiful views of the sea on one side, and green fields and trees on the other. We kept telling one another not to forget to ask the conductor to drop us off at Sandplace (part of the Looe Valley Line).

How to start a fairytale?

Take a tiny train to a charmingly small station (Sandplace) the size of a postage stamp, where you have to ask the conductor to stop the train and let you disembark!

Gill, who with Martin, owns Polraen Country House, was waiting for us beyond the gate, and drove us the tenth of a mile home! Since it was a beautiful day, we had tea in the garden, and I took a deep breath. Here we are…finally, in Cornwall.

After a quick wash up, Gill drove us into Looe for dinner – to a charming restaurant called The Old Sail Loft. I opted for fish and chips – and when the order came, the fish, which was haddock and wonderful, was as big as the side of a barn – it looked like the sail on a boat. If only I could’ve finished it! It was light and crisp and totally delish – as were the chips, all soused with vinegar. This came with mushy peas with mint, a dish I have recreated since returning home…still yummy!

Wednesday, August 23 …I awoke around 9:30 (after 35+ hours no sleep), and went: OMG breakfast is over by 10…so I dragged on some clothes and whooshed downstairs by ten to 10. David and I both ordered the full English breakfast, prepared by Martin – scrambled eggs, bacon, mushrooms, grilled tomatoes, toast and butter, hot fresh coffee, strawberries… was that ever good! (Many good memories are food-related!)

We then walked around Polraen’s garden, so intensely green it almost glowed…the day was overcast, cool and fresh with a few spits of rain, certainly not enough to prohibit our day in Polperro. I cleaned myself up, we called a taxi and we were off. Crystal Cars took us halfway down the hill into the village, and let us out close to a small stall selling whelks, cockles, prawns, and other seafood…we promised ourselves to come back for the cockles, but we never found the stall again!

We wandered around all the narrow winding streets, taking in the tiny houses interspersed with shops, restaurants, pubs and galleries.

Everywhere you looked was a picture. Houses were built into or hacked out of bedrock, stacked up on the cliffsides, looking out over steel gray seas – or the resultant mud/sand flats should the sea have receded.

As the day wore on, the cloud cover burned away, the sun came out, and everything was bathed in the soft golden sunlight.

We found the entrance to the cliff walk to Talland Bay, and I was off, leaving David peacefully ensconced on a bench looking over low hedges of flowers to the sea and headland.

It was a wonderful walk…through high hedgerows, green and vivid or else splashed with flowers from freesia to foxglove and others I don’t have a clue about.

Gardens were hidden behind rock walls or old wooden gates covered in ivy and ferns, often with winding steps up to houses glimpsed between the trunks of trees.

I was so happy. A gentle breeze ruffled the greenery, and it was about 70 degrees.

I finally had to turn around as it was getting late, met David and we wandered into the Noughts and Crosses pub for a half pint of the local Dartmoor IPA – perfect.

And so home to Polraen Country House, where Martin made us crab and salmon sandwiches, which we ate out on the terrace in the cool air of the evening. A perfect day, in every way.

Thursday August 24…We decided to take the train to Truro and St Ives. The weather this day was absolutely beautiful from the get-go– sunny, warm with breezes. We flagged down the Sandplace train (one of my favorite things to do), and embarked for Liskeard, where we disembarked for the train to Truro via St Erth.

Only to find, after disembarking, we had about 20 minutes before we had to catch the train to St Erth, so had a coffee and then galloped uphill back to the station…

Poor David’s ankles were giving him some grief, but we made the train, changed at St Erth and got to St Ives around 4:15, only to find out we had to take the last train back at 5:30!!

Somewhere in all this, we met a genuine eccentric named Susan who, I thought, was homeless. It turned out she was married, and “lived on the line,” by which she meant she rode the trains every day, all day long. Well known to all who lived around Looe, she was a fixture in the station and I was glad to have met her.

We managed to get to St. Ives without further incident.

The sea and sky were crystal clear, the shore just beautiful, the weather incredible.

Lots of people were holidaying…the car park by the station was packed.

But time was running by us, and after a quick coffee, we were back on the train, and got to Sandplace at 8:40… then we had dinner at The Plough. Lovely…but I was almost too tired to eat!

Friday August 25… We awoke to a cool cool morning…so fresh and clean, sunny and bright, but what a wrench to leave!!

I had my usual satisfying Polraen English breakfast…scrambled eggs, English bacon, grilled tomatoes, toast…yum-o! We’d packed the night before, but when it came time to leave, it was so hard to say goodbye to Gill and Martin and Cornwall.

England is magic everywhere you turn, but Cornwall has its own special brand of timeless magic. The pebbled narrow streets of Polperro, Truro, St. Ives, Looe, Land’s End…the ancient  houses, built into, or from, the bedrock of the cliffs, flowers cascading from old stone walls. Cornwall’s history, of pirates and smugglers, Cornish pasties,  hidden caves, the sea constantly slashing the rocks at the cliffs’ base, the narrow footpaths framed with hedgerows as old as England with steps leading to some mysterious dwelling, or down to the silver seas below.

Mysterious and enchanting, under lowering gray skies and the timelessness of path, water, air and the call of the seagulls…this is magical Cornwall.

Martin drove us to Sandplace Station,

and then we changed at Liskeard (but didn’t see Susan) for a three hour ride to Reading, changed again for final trek to Moreton-in-Marsh, where Steve our taxi driver picked us up.

And then on to Broadway…and a gentler, more pastoral sort of magic.

The Blue Ridge Mountains, NC – To Hike or Not to Hike

Zip lining in the Blue Ridge Mountains

Zip lining in the Blue Ridge Mountains

I was really looking forward to hiking the Blue Ridge Mountains – and also whitewater rafting, zip lining (a first) and a bit of rapelling. I arrived in Asheville the evening before joining the group, got a good night’s sleep at the hotel, and met Deb, one of my hiking friends, the next day for lunch. Then we were on our merry way to the William Black Lodge at Montreat, North Carolina.

Immediately on arrival, we booted up and made our way up the Lookout Trail and Mountain, which was a lot more challenging than originally thought…As the rest of the group galloped ahead, I made it slowly to the top without any seeming problem.

1-blue-ridge-mountains-003-jpg-cropped

It was on the way down that I really got into trouble. My new boots, despite the use of well padded hiking socks and liners, suddenly became way too big as with every step down, my feet began slipping, banging against the toe of the boots.  By the time I was halfway down the mountain, I could barely walk…the pain was intense. I managed to make it to the van, and have never been so glad to get hiking boots – normally the most comfortable of shoes – off my feet!! Tender is not the word…I spent the rest of the evening barefoot, hoping this was simply a bruise that would wear off.

The next day I spent at the lodge, resting up – while my hiking sisters took the next great hike.

blue-ridge-on-cell-036

Then it was time for the big adventure. The following morning, I was able to put on my tennies, and hobble to the van, where we drove to our meeting point for whitewater rafting. What a joy! Having done this once before, I was looking forward to the challenge. We read all the documents on the pros and cons of the rafting; elected to sign off despite the dangers of death or worse; and then clustered around the rafts as our guides told us what to expect.

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The day was absolutely beautiful – as was the weather on the entire trip, despite the onslaught of Hurricane Matthew along the coast. We separated into two rafts, and our guide explained that because the water was low, we’d probably be bouncing off more boulders than usual, as well as negotiating pathways through them. All of which was true.The river was placid when we embarked, and our guides shouted orders as we moved out into midstream. What a rush when we encountered our first whitewater, zipping easily around boulders embedded in the sandy floor.

2a

At one point, where the river was a little rougher than usual, we bounced off a boulder – and Deb bounced right out of the raft! Having been indoctrinated as to what to expect should that happen, after the first shock, she floated easily on her back until Ruthven grabbed her by both straps and hauled her back into the boat. Scary – but definitely something to write home about!

2b

Halfway through our little odyssey, we pulled our rafts onto the riverbank and stopped for lunch – which consisted of some of the best burgers known to man…yum-o! Then it was back into the rafts, and another hour of pure bliss down the stream….about a couple of hours all told. Such a rush!!

2c

Our next foray (the same day) was zip lining in the Blue Ridge Mountains. We were vanned to our starting point, went through the usual machinations of the danger, the signing and so forth. Then we wriggled into our safety harnesses, helmets and gloves, as well as donning the leather glove used to slow the flight down should our stop arrive too quickly….

Zip lining in the Blue Ridge Mountains

Zip lining in the Blue Ridge Mountains

And there we were, high on a three-sided platform above the forest, the fourth side open for the zip line. One by one, we were hooked to the cable, sat back and swung out onto the line – the highest rate of speed between platforms was about 30mph. The leather glove worked beautifully, slowing us as we reached the next stop. Half the time we didn’t quite make it to the platform. I usually ended up with a foot or two between me and the platform; at which point, you swivel around on the line and basically crawl backwards, hand over hand, to the waiting guide who pulls you to safety.7

We ran ten of these zip lines.  We traversed a very wobbly suspension bridge to one of our platforms…that was more nerve-wracking than the zip lining!

At two stops, after first being hooked to the cable…we planted our feet on either side of the platform, and swung into the void, then rapelled our way down ropes hand over fist,…another first, another rush! Loved every minute!!

Both the whitewater rafting and the zip lining were courtesy of the French Broad Rafting & Zip Lining company – http://www.frenchbroadrafting.com/ – absolutely terrific in every way.

Then it was off to dinner, and a celebratory drink to finish off the day’s adventure.

Our next foray, the following day, was a visit to the Biltmore Estate, 8,000 acres of beautifully landscaped grounds and over 178,000 square feet of floor space in the mansion. Amazing!

blue-ridge-on-cell-059

We took a guided tour of the house, had a picnic in the picnic area, and then stopped inside the wine room for a pleasant hour of wine tasting.

The Biltmore Estate

The Biltmore Estate

Then Karen (one of the trip participants and a lovely person) and I wandered the grounds, where the flowers, shrubs, trees and pathways were a delight.

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Unfortunately by this time, my toes were beginning to make themselves known, as the drubbing they’d received on the first day’s hike had not gone quietly away and I could see I was going to have a problem.

blue-ridge-on-cell-046

By the time we made it back to the lodge, it was obvious I could not continue to hike, so I cut my visit short, left for Asheville early the following morning, and so made it back home before my feet fell off. Just kidding!! But it certainly makes me realize the importance of ensuring a well-fitting hiking boot before embarking on challenging trails.

That being said – I wouldn’t have missed the whitewater rafting, rapelling and zip lining for anything. I thought I’d be extremely afraid, looking down down down and knowing I’d be out there, swinging my way across and through the trees like Tarzan. I thought I’d be frozen with fear…but I never felt fear for one moment. That was the greatest thing this trip gave me…who knew!

 

Scotland Aye – hiking the Highlands and Islands

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

I dressed in woolly tights and sweater, with a cashmere pullover tied around my waist…and I was melting. It was 80 degrees outside – soon to become even warmer! (Why didn’t I check the weather here before I left!) Everyone was in shorts and sleeveless dresses – except for me. No matter: the sun shone -it was glorious weather! London was 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 was still not ready. I entered their (again charming) sitting room and read and waited, read and waited til I thought my eyes would fall out – or in. Finally, I staggered 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?! But I’ve gotten over that!)

London townhouses

Calling Judy to let her know I’d finally arrived, I crashed for five-six hours – the minute my head hit the pillow, I was out like the proverbial light, waking up only when I heard 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-ended into a couple of pubs or restaurants, and everywhere crowds of young professionals were drinking and enjoying the night air. This heat wave is unprecedented.

Returning to the hotel, we ate dinner, talked a mile a minute, then fell asleep. Initially out like a light again, I woke 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 picked up the recycle bins (reminded me of New York). Not a peaceful night.

Invernesse

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

Everyone was delightful and delighted to see us – but we only had 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 walked along the River Ness (not too far away from the Loch – which, when we asked – yet another – taxi driver if anyone still sees the Loch Ness Monster, he replied: ‘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 ended 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 was glorious weather! Verrry nice, after the drizzle and drear of Saturday afternoon and night. White clouds scudded across a blue, blue sky.

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

The Ceilidh Inn in Ullapool

We arrived at the Ceilidh Inn in Ullapool, dropped off our luggage, and hiked to Loch Broom, entrancing and smelling heavenly. Our hike took 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 was shining and all was merry and bright. On returning, Roger and I promptly went 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 wandered back to the hotel, in time to prepare for cocktails, and then dinner. Dinner was: cauliflower soup, lentils with mushrooms, and fruit salad – so healthy!

Afterward, Brian gave a brief talk on what to expect on our hikes, and Tom spoke of the early history of the Highlands. Bob, our third guide, had lulled himself to sleep, and was snoring gently in a corner, so we missed his part of the program.

After all this activity, I was so ready for bed – but it certainly wasn’t ready for me. What on earth was wrong!? Sleep I could not – possibly because I am cold and overtired. Naturally I drifted off a short while before I was due to get up.

The Bone Caves and the Highlands

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

Our group at the Bone Caves

The first stretch took us up a steep and winding hill to the Bone Caves, where we sheltered from the wind and had some refreshment (water). We were told that the oldest inhabitants of Scotland come from here, (at least, their bones were found here.) I think we were in an area called Inchnadampf. After this, most of the group opted 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 – chose the “long walk,” challenging and quite grueling. We began by hiking up an 1100 foot hill – not too high, but since there was no trail, we climbed over rabbit holes, heather, tussocky bundles of grass and boggy ground – straight up – 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 were all breathing quite heavily by the time we reached the top – but more to come!

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

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

One of many streams throughout the Highlands

The trail-less ground became more and more treacherous – as well as boggier and boggier. Streams crossed our path, across which we leapt from stone to stone, or boulder to boulder, or we inched 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 were….but lots of ferns and scrub.) By the time we found the downward trail, we had been hiking for about 6-1/2 hours – approximately 10 miles.

The sun comes and goes – at one point, it begins raining – hot – took off jacket – wet – put on raincoat – rain stopped – hot – took off raincoat – rain pelted down – rammed on raincoat!

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

We reached the van and piled in. Tom, our guide, drove us to a beautiful little ruin of a castle on the way back to Ullapool, where we disembarked to take photographs.

The castle ruin – an enchanted spot

Susan, Jennifer, Tom and I rambled over to the castle -again, hopscotching across two streams to get to the island on which it sat. The grass surrounding it had been cropped over time by sheep, and wass like green velvet – the sky began clearing to a deep cerulean blue, and all was quiet and peaceful. 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 began as we piled into our respective vans for the hour or so trip to Loch Torridon Country House Hotel – an enchanting hunting lodge-turned-hotel. It was like something from a Sir Walter Scott novel. I instantly fell in love (that happens a lot!).

Today we had the option of a short or a long walk, so several of us opted for the long. It started gently enough as we began our climb over endless hills and dales – although I did manage to fall in the first major stream I came to, slipping on one of those dratted boulders!

The bothy

After a couple of hours or so, we arrived at a “bothy” – a small empty hut in the middle of the hills where we unloaded our gear and had lunch. It was charming. The sun was shining – and though it was cool, the air was so clear and fresh, and we had 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 decided to continue. What a hike: we seem to be taking part in a marathon! After hiking miles across mountains, we circled back. Here Tom said: The track from here is straightforward, so meander all you want…

Ha! I was the only one who “meandered” – and found myself suddenly surrounded by panoramic hills with no-one in sight and several tracks to choose from! I had a moment of extreme panic, until, finally, the top of Tom’s head emerges like the sun over the horizon, and I jog-trotted thankfully towards him to catch up.

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

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

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

Loch Torridon cattle graze in the hotel’s paddock

Outdoors was even more spectacular. Besides the sculptured grounds, all was green…green, green grass, surrounded by woods, mountains, and the silvery-gray, entrancing loch. Loch Torridon was – and no doubt still is – a beautiful, enchanting place – my favorite of the trip.

Loch Torridon and a Gentle Walk

The “back yard” – Loch Torridon Hotel

Wake up, got outta bed, dragged a comb across my head…zooming around as usual, in to breakfast – I loved my breakfast! Mueslix, scrambled eggs and bacon – the usual stuff but tasted great and needed for energy.

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

On our short walk

Hoisting up our backpacks, we picked up our picnic lunch, and were off. Susan and Jennifer took the long walk with Brian and Bob. The rest of us went for the lower ground.

The sky was blue, the air was crisp. Our walk began up a winding footpath through glorious woods, to open stretches of boggy fields in which sheep and cows grazed or placidly slept. Pheasants ran through the underbrush – it was 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 walked on for a mile or so, coming to an old stone bridge crossing a gurgling stream, where we ate our picnic lunch in the shade of the willow trees (and it was really nice to see trees). The sky was the bluest it had been since arriving in Scotland. Not a sound broke the stillness, except for the song of the brook. Heaven.

Lunch break

This was one of the amazing things in this land: The absolute silence of the Highlands, but for the water. It’s completely satisfying. No birds sang – there seemed to be few or no birds (they must be somewhere around!). But the sound of rushing water was everywhere… wherever you turned were 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 walked 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 heavy duty hike, finally made it back around six that evening. Their walk sounded 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 was 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, had a quick breakfast and were into the van heading for the storied Isle of Skye. The drive was so quiet and peaceful… gloriously beautiful … I love the Highlands.

Two hours later, we piled out of the vans in Kyle of Lockalsh for our only real shopping opportunity, which was great fun…then we drove over the bridge to Skye, paying an enormous toll to do so. I asked about but could not get “speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing…”

Our inn on the Isle of Skye

Our small, charming Inn on Skye was delightful (what else is new?!) Our tiny room had Laura Ashley pink and green chintz hangings, and a big burl wardrobe held our clothes. All the tea things were here.

Beginning our first hike on Skye

Dropping off our luggage, we were driven to the base of the cliff to begin our hike. The weather had changed drastically – it was grey and raining steadily. Raingear was hurriedly pulled from backpacks, and we hiked 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 bogs and over slippery lichened rock, then down the hillside where we slithered and slipped over rocks and heather. We made our way through many streams to boulders and small cliffs down which we clambered to the waiting shore.

Swimming with the seals

It was still raining steadily, and it was cold. Nonetheless, Jennifer, Brian, Tom and Bob donned bathing suits and plunged into the grey sea for a swim! Jennifer wanted to “swim with the seals,” which were cavorting and diving a safe distance from these crazy people who kept 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 chose to turn back. I was one of the few who opted to go on! By this time, I – and everyone else – was soaked to the skin. We clambered 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 was – the lighthouse! Hello, Virginia Woolfe! What an adventure. Challenging, but exhilarating at the same time!

The lighthouse overlooked a grey and stormy sea … we were at the end of the world. The sky was grey, the grass green, the lighthouse, white. The seagulls (finally, birds!) were an eerie note, rimming the lighthouse and the rocks below and cawing non-stop. Photographs were taken through soft  mist.

Are we happy yet? Yes!

After which, it started raining steadily and strongly. We took a different route 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.

Three hours later we arrived at the van. I was completely drenched. My boots had sunk ankle deep into the mud; my backpack – and all in it, including my money and passport – ditto. My pants were hanging from my body like clown pants; my hair was in rattails. The joy of the hike!

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

Then I dried off, had dinner, and got back fairly early to bed. Really tired tonight – no problem sleeping at all.

One tiny little glitch in this lovely place: hot water was 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! Bad girl!! 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 was our last full day on the Isle of Skye. We arose as usual at 7AM, ate a good breakfast and piled in the vans for an hour’s ride to the boat we were to take to an uninhabited part of Skye.

On the road to the ferry, Isle of Skye

Susan, Linda, Jennifer and I shared the van with Brian and Tom – lots of room, and it was 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 were halted by a road paving crew blocking the path (a not infrequent occurrence). We took the opportunity to get out and hike to the boat, about half an hour’s walk. The weather by this time had turned crisp and sunny again, and the walk and the views were wonderful.

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

Eventually our guides were able to drive the vans through the roadblock and catch up with us. We all piled onto the ferry, where we immediately donned our raingear as it had become chilly and damp over the grey, icy water. The ferry was large and carried a full load of people; it tool quite a while to reach the other side as we were taken to look at the seals resting on the rocky outcrops in the water. It is fascinating to see them – they respond with what seems to be equal fascination (although I doubt that).

The start of the hike

On arrival, we hiked up the mountainside. The weather had grown even chillier and more overcast – and the wind was whistling and howling around our ears. We ended up on a flat granite rock atop a hillside -our hoods up, raingear tied up to the chin. Here we picnicked, on what felt like the edge of the world. Although cold, misty, windy and wild – you can’t help but be exhilarated…

A quick break for lunch on the final Skye hike

Everyone was taking photographs, but despite the back-of-beyond feeling, we did not linger long. Another long or short walk was offered on the way back to the ferry. A couple of us actually thought it over, but in the end, common sense prevailed and we all opted 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!

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

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

Scottish Bob, one of our terrific guides

By the end of this day, we were all pretty worn out. After dinner, all gathered 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 underscored the melancholy beauty of  the place.

The romantic, legendary Isle of Skye had always been a dream journey. Bonnie 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 fulfilled all expectations. It was so very, very green and unspoiled, and relatively uninhabited. Tiny white houses dotted the landscape. Sheep were everywhere, rambling across hills and roads, unfenced and free. Our small inn was right on the water, and was so charming, with vines and roses clambering across walls and doors. We were surrounded by the loch on one side, mountains and hills and quiet land on other sides. It was isolated and remote – and mystical.

The Highlands were the same. They were 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 heard 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 saw were the endless peaks and valleys with hardly a tree in sight. In the Highlands on a beautiful day, you were totally at one with nature; it was a spiritual experience to be alone here.

Hiking the Highlands

If the weather turned bad, however, the desolation and isolation become omnipresent. It often seemed you were either born in the Highlands and they were 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 were 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. At 6:30 AM I crawled out of bed (well, okay, that’s the crack of dawn to me!), got dressed and met her outside my cottage. It was a lovely morning – hard to believe, as the worst gale to hit Scotland in 30 years was forecast! We walked 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 was into the vans.

A short detour to a castle ruin high on a hill, and we were scrambling over tussocky grass and pebbly streams and up a short rise to a very, very narrow ledge – where we each clung to the stones and edged slowly across – or fell to boulders below! Once atop this hill, Brian read us some tales of Scotland, and had us act them out. For some reason, we also lined 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 inched back across the ledge – and drove to the most famous castle in Scotland for 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. It is history.

And then it was on to Invernesse, then London and back to reality. The Highlands of Scotland –a little uncanny, magical, poignant – but not for the faint of heart. But oh, what a wonderful hike!

In the magical Blue Ridge Mountains above Blowing Rock, North Carolina

Yonahlossee Overlook, driving up Grandfather Mountain

“Sometimes very strange things happen in the mountains…nothing above but sky…and God.” The Razor’s Edge, Somerset Maugham

This is a beautiful quote from Maugham’s The Razor’s Edge… and there’s especially something about being deep in the mountains in springtime –the hush of the forests blanketing the slopes, the myriad shades of rustling green, the birds singing so happily now that winter is over, and the air chilly and sweet.

Lesley and friend deep in the mountains

A short trip to reconnect with Lesley, a friend I’d known since I was a child – whom I hadn’t seen for over 50 years – was four days of being embedded in the great beauty of  the great and glorious Blue Ridge Mountains.

 

Wednesday

Lesley lives atop one of the mountains – in a home with 360 degree views that take in the surrounding ridges and deep, pine-strewn valleys.

It is so quiet, all you hear are the music of the birds and the wind soughing through the trees. Charlie, Lesley’s cat asleep below, agrees!

At the base of a twisty, gravelly trail is the small (three blocks) mountain town of Blowing Rock,

I love this Harley Davidson sign in the magical little town of Blowing Rock!

where we went for dinner at the Storie Street Grille that first night … a small, delightful restaurant (aren’t they all?) at which we had – a first for me – fried asparagus. Yum-o! Followed by a perfectly prepared filet with polenta that was absolutely delicious.

After dinner, we ambled around the town, looking at the small shops and cobblestone paths, churches, vine covered houses, restaurants and pubs in the still sunlight deep in the mountains. Just crazy about small towns!

Thursday

I woke up around 10AM after a great night’s sleep, which I’d needed after a busy work week back home.

The weather continued glorious – 70 degrees. Sitting on the deck in the mornings, inhaling the view with my coffee, starts the day off perfectly.

We drove to Boone for breakfast at a farm-to-table restaurant, where we sat on the café’s deck and kicked back. Allie, Lesley’s beautiful Golden Doodle, joined us, good as – well – gold.

Boone, named for Daniel Boone, is a college town, home to Appalachian State University, and the main street was awash with students everywhere. The old stonework, for me, is especially appealing, and a part of so many houses and buildings here…

It was time for some much-needed walking on the trails so we wended our way to Cone Memorial Park, a Blue Ridge National Heritage area that is truly exquisite and beautifully maintained. Lots of trails. Canadian geese on the lakes.

Our hike took us around Trout Lake

Trout Lake

and up through woods into the mountains, passing an old apple barn (above) and a sign by the side of the road that said “Due to past pesticide use in apple orchards, some soils on the Cone Estate will contain high levels of arsenic and or lead. Do not dig or allow children to dig in soils…” Really brings you up short with an appalling reminder of the harm done in the past to these wonderful orchards.

Beautiful dry stone walls…always a favorite…

The trails were dotted with dry stone walls and old buildings, and everything was green green green. There are about 25 miles of trails – we rambled along five of them…

Friday

Sunrise high in the Blue Ridge Mountains

Woke around 9 in the morning…I’d actually waked at sunrise, which was so beautiful from the bedroom window, I had to jump from the bed to take a photograph. Morning has indeed broken…

Our first stop of the day was an English café called Eat Crow – we had English pasties, and I bought a bumbleberry pie for that night’s dessert. I had never tasted one before. It was delish!! From there, we took a circuitous route up Grandfather Mountain, stopping at various outlooks on the way to the summit. Glorious!!!

Driving to the summit of Grandfather Mountain

Once we summited and parked, the next big challenge was opening the car door! The wind factor was “only” 18 mph” but it felt like 100… Lesley had to hang onto the door handle while I exited.

Woof! Some wind!

Allie held me down so I didn’t blow away…isn’t she gorgeous?!

But the views! Unbelievable, and so elemental….I just loved it…I think it was my favorite adventure around the Blue Ridge Mountains – but it is hard to choose.

Once we got back home, we drove into Blowing Rock for a concert at the Inn at Ragged Gardens (don’t you love the names)…which Les attended,

and I, needing a bit of a rest, found the SixPence Pub where I had a quiet corner to put my feet up and drink my Boddington’s. Loved it! Wrote my journal and just enjoyed the surroundings.

Saturday

As we drove down and up the mountain from the house to various ports of call, I’m noticing the houses, barns and farms that hang precariously from the mountainside or plunge into the valley. Here is one beautiful image.

A home with a view

On this day, we drove back to the Cone Memorial Park, and wandered around Mildred the Bear’s Environmental Habitat, found secret side paths and dry stone walls, and stopped at overlooks to take in more unparalleled views of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Secret pathways…

Blowing Rock was just two miles away, so we ambled in that direction and ate lunch at the tiny Blowing Rock Grilled Cheese Café.

We both had the French Grille. It encompassed Brie and Gruyere cheeses with pear and fig dressing on a grilled sourdough pannini! Heaven on a plate!

The town was awash with flowers…which always makes me happy!

Buttercups!

This was my last day, the end of a very special trip: reconnecting with my long-time family friend in the beauty of the mountains…many thanks to Lesley for a splendid respite. Doesn’t seem to get any better than this…the timeless peace, clean fresh air, mountain magic. Time just seems to go so quickly when you are visiting these wonderful places… All my visits to the mountains – the Smokies, New Hampshire’s White Mountains, Shenandoah – are a marvelous build up to the Blue Ridge Mountains. There is just something about the Blue Ridge…but then, I seem to say that about them all!

Martha’s Vineyard – My perfect island

Martha’s Vineyard and The Charlotte Inn

I’ve always wanted to travel to Martha’s Vineyard. To date, I’ve been there twice in my life, and both times were each wonderful. But the first time – as is so often the case – was the best, having the advantage of the new and fresh…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 met Lene, and together we boarded the tiny Cape Air plane for Martha’s Vineyard, the start of a long-awaited little adventure.

In front of the Charlotte Inn

In front of the Charlotte Inn

We arrived quite rapidly at the island’s tiny airport. The weather at Martha’s Vineyard was glorious: blue skies, brisk breeze, and a slight chill in the air. The taxi took 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, so we toasted to the next three days. The tiny hall downstairs led to a tiny front desk; the Inn was full of fresh flowers – in our room, which we reached up a winding staircase; in the tiny hallway upstairs and down; in each sitting room. Our room was delightful, papered in dark red stripes with a tiny green pattern. Two twin beds with big thick mattresses, clothed in white covers and duvets. Dark green and mulberry striped draperies hemmed at the ceiling with padded pelmets. Two deep green club chairs in the corners. Two latticed windows opened onto a little side street, the third onto a grass lawn, flowers and fountain. The bathroom was huge, and snowy white. The Inn is surrounded by black iron railings or white picket fences. It was absolutely enchanting.

The back garden of the Charlotte Inn

We dropped our suitcases then walked around the town and down the road to The Square Rigger, a tiny restaurant splot in the middle of the road fork. Menu: broiled lobster and salad and a (small) piece of pecan pie. After dinner, it was 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 talked non-stop, until we both passed out from exhaustion!

Edgartown and Chappaquiddick

A good night’s sleep, and we’re up. Breakfast in L’etoile, the inn’s beautiful little restaurant; the menu: spinach, feta and tomato omelet, fresh orange juice and coffee. I like remembering what I eat on trips, obviously!

Edgartown, a view to the water

After breakfast, we rambled down to Edgartown. How beautiful – and how clean – it all was, like something from a wonderful picture book. The houses were pristine, painted white-white or Nantucket gray, and flowers bloomed everywhere we turned. The biggest rhododendrons in scarlets, pinks and white. Lilies of the valley, hedging a white picket fence. Hawthorn, lilacs and wisteria blooming madly. Gigantic tulips, daisies, buttercups and forsythia everywhere, with geraniums splashing in pinks and vibrant reds.

Tulips in Edgartown

When we’d drunk our fill of the beauty, we wandered down to the beach along the deserted sand, until the sea surrounded us. Then it was back to town to check out the ferry for Chappaquiddick, and lunch! The balcony of The Sand Bar overlooked the main street. The menu: clam chowder, fresh shrimp, bloody marys. The air was bell-clear, and the sky a brilliant blue, with a fresh breeze blowing through the town.

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

The On Time ferry to Chappaquiddick was $3 (round trip) and took all of two seconds to get there. On arrival, we set off down a paved road, and then the island quickly became wild and lonely. It took us about an hour to get to The Bridge. Along the way, we passed small woods with two-story clapboard houses, grey-cedar shingled, dotted here and there.

On Chappy

So here we were at The Bridge. As I was leaning the bike against 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 said, as he sailed past: “They weren’t there then.” Eerie.

The Bridge

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

On Chappy

On Chappy

Few people were on the island today. We bicycled over two or three roads leading to more sandy roads, which in turn led to sea or woods. Once in a while, we passed a house. I liked this island! It was so quiet, all we heard was wind over water.

A view of the Japanese Garden on Chappaquiddick

On our way back to the ferry, we bicycled past a Japanese garden, about three acres deep. It was 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 crossed the paths, tiny bridges forded the streams, statues dotted the landscape, and all was quiet and peaceful. Just enchanting. We rode 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 dropped off our bicycles and keys, and stopped for beer and nachos at a little restaurant hovering over the water. The sky was dark, and it began to rain. We ambled back to the Inn, looking forward to bubblebaths and rest. Fires burned in the fireplaces in the inn’s sitting rooms, which were filled with flowers and beautiful artwork. I heard the church clock down the road chiming the hour; the church bells chimed in unison. A magical world.

Katama, Tisbury, and Vineyard Haven

View across the street from our room at the Charlotte Inn

Up around 9AM, we breakfasted 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 was on every table.

After we eat, we discussed going to Nantucket with the lady at the front desk. As the ferry was not available until June, we were put on standby with the airlines for a Saturday jaunt.
Edgartown lighthouse

Edgartown lighthouse

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 were out of Edgartown, walking and talking on an empty road leading up-island. The beautiful homes we saw were soon further and further apart. Runners and bicyclists became fewer and fewer. After a couple of hours, we wondered where the heck we were! But we kept on because our thinking was: sooner or later we’ll come to a town, and then we can take a taxi back to the inn. Wrong! We were heading for who knows where, even after a couple of people tried to give us directions – I mean, this is a small island!! Where is everyone?? Anyway, we decided 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, could get lost in a parking lot (as I have).

The wharf at Vineyard Haven

After the break, we took a taxi tour of the island on our way to Vineyard Haven for lunch. After comforting ourselves with cappuccinos, our first stop was Midnight Farm, Carly Simon’s shop.

It was adorable…and expensive. I bought a white wooden picture frame, the book “Midnight Farm“, and some powder and lavendar spray, but the shop had some marvelous overstuffed furniture which caught my eye. Lene’s attention was caught by the pillows, so we left with bags stuffed with lots of goodies. The weekend had begun, and the town was filled with tourists. The narrow Main Street was crowded with shoppers and stalls, and these had some wonderful things.

Discovering the ability to request shipping, I immediately sent 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 reminded us that we have round trip tickets for Saturday. On this high note, we changed clothes and checked on dinner ideas with the front desk. Before we blink an eye, Paula calls Cresca’s on South Water Street to reserve a table. Cresca’s menu has many delightful entrees, and we ended up with feta cheese salads, shrimp and crabcakes. Then came dessert. The piece de resistance was a sampler with a little of everything from the dessert menu. We ordered it, and it was 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 ate every bite, after which, we waddled home, checking out the shops on the way. Some yo-yos in a window caught our eye, and we bought one…trying it out once we got back to our room. Although it was almost midnight, the streets were still alive with people. The air was chilly, clear and beautiful, and the sound of laughter floated over the water…

Nantucket and Up-Island
Today was our jaunt to Nantucket! It was another glorious day outside: the sunshine was brilliant. The church clock chimed the hour of nine. Outside our bedroom window, the scene below reflected maids in black and white carrying armloads of white towels as they scurried over the brick walks from building to building. John was cleaning the black iron railings. The air was incredibly fresh, and the green seemed more intense as time went by. The fragrance of freshly mown grass filled the air.

Edgartown is one of the prettiest towns I have ever seen; it is so pristine, it looks as if it were painted white every day. Many of the houses were white clapboard with black shutters. We heard the lawnmowers and hedge clippers, and smelled cut grass and lilac everywhere. It was 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 dropped us off in Nantucket. We picked quite a time to come here: it was Memorial Day Weekend, and also the weekend of the Figawi Regatta – the place was 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 were impeccable and delightful.

In Nantucket

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 held the full skeleton of a small, 43-foot whale. The museum was dim, fascinating, and not a little uncanny. The rest of the afternoon was 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 couldn’t walk more than two minutes without standing on a waterfront or beach. It was very soothing. Our plane took off at 3PM, and soon we were back at Martha’s Vineyard’s adorable tiny airport, where we hired 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 was brilliantly blue and massed with clouds, and the sea breeze was constant and crisp.

Our taxi driver and former Head of Edgartown’s Town Council, Steve, took 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 was lined with high, high hedgerows and dry stone walls, very English. Sheep grazed placidly in the green fields hemmed in by locust wood posts and cedar rails.

The Sculpture Garden on Martha's Vineyard

The Sculpture Garden on Martha’s Vineyard

We passed the Sculpture Garden, which is often mentioned when writing about Martha’s Vineyard, with abstract figures sculpted in white dotting a wide green lawn. Interesting! Always, seas, ponds and lakes abound. Over rolling countryside, Steve drove us to a beautiful bluff called Overlook Point. This looked down to a crystal clear blue lake with white-sailed boats skimming the surface.

Next came 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” could be seen on the tiny beach. From here, it was a winding road to Gay Head/Aquinnah, and the Cliffs which look out forever over a silvery-gray Atlantic. The day was still brilliantly sunny, but the wind was immensely strong, bracing and fabulous.

The South Road led us back to Edgartown.

We arrived at our beautiful little Charlotte Inn, walked 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 woke to another Chelsea morning: brilliant sunshine, clean, clear skies and a slight breeze. Poking my head from the window, I saw the maid scurrying along the brick pathway with an armload of fresh white towels. If we’d ordered the weather, we wouldn’t have made 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 looked were green, green lawns, white houses trimmed with black shutters, all backed by vivid blue skies.

Leaving beautiful Martha’s Vineyard

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

Hiking the Spectacular Spokane Countryside

Palouse Falls

Palouse Falls

 

June afforded a nice break in the year for a short visit to a long-time good friend, Lee. Our plan was to hike as much as possible in the beautiful country surrounding Spokane, and it was a joy from beginning to end.

Dishman Hills

Dishman Hills

As usual, the weather was perfect: lows in the 50s at night, and the high 70s during the day. Upon arriving, and after we had a quick nosh at the house, Lee and I took off for a short hour’s walk in the Dishman Hills, a green and scented trail that cleared the mind and really got us prepped for some a little more challenging as the week progressed. Between the fresh air and good conversation, it was a nice way to begin our journeyings.

Bead Lake - so beautiful

Bead Lake – so beautiful

Wednesday morning, up with the larks (are there larks in Washington?) we had a quick breakfast, checked what was happening with the Brexit vote, then got in the car headed to Bead Lake, about a 60-minute drive all told. The weather was perfect. Once we arrived, we ran into a slight problem: We couldn’t find the trail marker to start our hike. Our map stated “Forest Road” but we drove and drove, and no Forest Road appeared anywhere.

Lee on the trail

Lee on the trail

We decided to drive up an unmarked trail uphill which, as it went on and on, became narrower and narrower and higher and higher, with a particularly steep drop on the passenger side of the car – my side! And still we couldn’t find a trail marker, and had to turn around – no easy feat, considering the width of the trail by that time was about an inch (just kidding, but it was narrow.)

Bead Lake

Bead Lake

So our next stop was at the boat launch…where we met a delightful 77-year old man (he gave us his age) and his dog, Gordo. Don’t ask me why I didn’t ask his name…but anyway, he and his dog lived in a caravan at the lake’s edge, and apparently he walked three different trails every day. Was he ever in good shape – as was Gordo!

Boat launch - Bead lake

Boat launch – Bead Lake

So we finally found the beginning of the lake trail, and had a great hike for approximately three hours. It couldn’t have been more picturesque…the trees, flowers and the brilliant green-blue of the glacier-like water…it was like a painting, and the air was so crystal clear, inhaling was just a pleasure. We could not have had a better time…

Glacier-blue-green waters

Glacier-blue-green waters

After this, we came home hungry, and drove downtown to a terrific African-themed restaurant, the Safari Room in the Davenport Tower. The grilled salmon was delish, and the Ginger Dragon – a potent drink composed of vodka, ginger liqueur and some other liquids – was fabulous. And so to bed!

Palouse Falls

Palouse Falls

Thursday was a completely different experience – Palouse Falls, a throwback to the Ice Age, whose spectacular terrain had been repeatedly scored and eroded by floods thousands of years ago. The crevices, canyons, waterfalls and rocky outcrops and trails were a fascinating sight…standing atop the cliffs, you could see for miles around you.

Palouse Falls

Palouse Falls

 

This was our most challenging hike, for more reasons than terrain.

Palouse Falls

Palouse Falls

An hour into the hike, I heard a “flap, flap” as I walked and thinking it was something stuck to the sole of my boot, paid no attention at first.

My hiking boots halfway through Palouse Falls' hike

My hiking boots halfway through Palouse Falls’ hike

As it turned out, something was stuck to the sole – a fragment of the boot! And a little later, there went the other sole – so I sat down a la Cheryl Strayed, and peeled off both soles. Luckily, there was still a liner in each boot, so I was able to continue to hike with no real problem.