RSS Feed

Monthly Archives: January 2021

Wales and England: Hiking hidden footpaths

The cliffs at Land's End

The cliffs at Land’s End

Hiking hidden footpaths in England and Wales

It’s been about 19 years since I went on my first walking tour of England and Wales…it was 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…still retaining the innocence of an earlier time.  So…on to London.

London

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!” (You could tell this was pre-9/11.) On the train into London, I spied a fox slinking into the underbrush, its bushy red tail waving in the breeze.

Once in London, I grabbed a taxi to the Covent Garden Hotel. I was meeting Lee here later – and the suite wasn’t going to 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 had become a delightful four-story retreat, small and intimate, and splashed with chintz. The library offered deep sofas and chairs, The London Times and Observer, and London Vogue.

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, do so…it is terrific (and the follow-up, The Duchess of Bloomsbury Street, while you’re at it.)

Back at the hotel, our suite was ready. Padded yellow rose chintz coats 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 –  there was hardly room to move. After a light dinner, it was back to the hotel to prepare to take off early in the morning.

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

Broad Chalke, Wiltshire

Chalk figures carved into Wiltshire hillsides

Chalk figures carved into Wiltshire hillsides

Surprise: we overslept! We had barely enough time for breakfast before our car was delivered. At 9:45 AM, 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 narrow one-way streets of London.

We managed to get out of London – but it was an absolutely wild trip, as I had never driven a “left-handed car” and 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 leading to Broad Chalke are through Wiltshire. The deeper in-country we drove, the more ye olde England it became. The deep hedgerows, the farmlands, the woods –the England of legend. The sun shone intermittently; parts of the day were overcast – but by afternoon, it was hot.

On the road to Cornwall down a country lane

On the road to Cornwall down a country lane

Keeping a very sharp eye out, we were lucky to spot a miniature sign saying “Stoke Farm” hidden in a hedge. It was 6PM, still daylight. Jan, the proprietor, was a charming woman who was so busy she hadn’t much time to do anything but show us the bedroom and bathroom, and ask us to write down our breakfast requests.

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

The entryway held a big Welsh dresser, with blue and white platters and china covering the shelves. The cozy dining room was papered with brown patterned wallpaper, and had a big fireplace, and an old dining table and sideboard.

The only other guests were a very attractive Belgian couple, who nodded and smiled and basically said not a word to us as they only spoke Belgian…conversation was limited to good mornings.

Our bedroom was, of course, charming – all chintz and prints – as was our bathroom across the hall. I leaned from my bedroom window to look across hills and dales and farmland, as far as the eye could see.

Just down the road was 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. 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 by airmen in World War I.

 

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

Stonehenge - mysterious and wonderful

Stonehenge – mysterious and wonderful

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.

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 and hidden 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. So far, we’ve been lucky – only one or two minor scrapes (the side of our little car looked as though it had been in the wars.)

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

On the road to Lyme Regis

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

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 was usually excellent; of course, the tea was terrific, 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.

Onward to Lyme Regis through the little town of Uplyme – very pretty with pastel-painted houses. Lyme Regis lay 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 concrete “sand dividers” to reach a deserted stretch of sand that was both pebbly and seaweedy and rather forbidding.

Uplyme

Uplyme

The cliffs of solid sand are high and dangerous, with climbing forbidden because of the constant erosion. 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 came 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

Viewing St Michael's Mount

Viewing St Michael’s Mount from 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 look on his face was indescribable.

Now we were on the road to Cornwall. Driving at 80 mph, and cars passing me by, I whizzed by a sign which said “Pork and Rice,” realizing shortly afterwards that it really said “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.”

Marazion

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 couldn’t find Perranuthnoe.

Impromptu walks through fields and woodlands is a wonderful way to see England

Impromptu walks through fields and woodlands is a wonderful way to see England

Disconcertingly, several people stared blankly at us when we asked directions, but even though some gave 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” did we finally reach our destination.

And then we were at Ednovean House – except for the fact we arrived a day early! Apparently really screwed up, having booked our room for Friday and Saturday nights; no rooms were available tonight! Once again, we were back in the car, on the road for Marazion, a small town two miles away (and the gateway to St. Michael’s Mount).

Fields surrounding Perranuthnoe

Fields surrounding Perranuthnoe

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 was 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 were the best I’ve tasted anywhere…still are.

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

Back to Perranuthnoe, leaving our car in a park by the sea. We 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.

The Cornish coast is heavenly

The Cornish coast is heavenly

The sea was visible at a distance, and then: bang! We were 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. This was an incredibly magnificent site…we were both in awe of the beauty surrounding us.

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 were 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 was crystal clear and the view was/is  perfection.

An early morning walk behind our B&B in Perranuthnoe

An early morning walk behind our B&B in Perranuthnoe

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, served 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 was glad, glad, glad we were walking and hiking as much as we were!

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.

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

St Michael's Mount - sunset

St Michael’s Mount – a view from our B&B at sunset

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

On St. Michael's Mount

On St. Michael’s Mount

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. 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 was filled with fishing boats, and many, many people wandered its winding cobbled streets.

A street in Mousehole

A street in Mousehole

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 was not appealing, as it was fronted by a huge whitewashed “castle” backed by booths, rides and whatnot. We ignored all this, and walked to the headland, covered in purple heather and yellow gorse.

The cliffs of Land's End

The cliffs of Land’s End

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

Back to Perranuthnoe, for dinner at Victoria Inn in the village. Perranuthnoe is a village forgotten by time: small and enchanting, it houses several bed and breakfasts, old stone houses covered in ivy, 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 were decorated with flowers…pots and hanging baskets were everywhere we looked. The hedges along the roadsides were starred with all manner of tiny wildflowers. It was a delightful spot.

Perranuthnoe

Perranuthnoe

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 surrounded us. About ten miles from our destination, we pulled onto a tiny side lane, parked and set off walking 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. Never tasted anything so good….

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 led through the high green hedgerows and tiny villages, past old stone houses with slate or thatched roofs which were 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 village with a wonderful old church and ancient graveyard, with gravestones so old we were unable to read them. We stopped at an inn for coffee, then turned back to the car. Up the lane, we noticed 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.

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.

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 on the short grassy lane to Manor Farm, which, we were told, was listed in the Domesday Book. It was very, very old, and very, very beautiful, and very la-di-dah.

The garden at Crackington Haven

The garden at our B&B in Crackington Haven

The grounds, looking as if they were clipped daily with nail scissors, were splashed with hydrangea bushes at every possible turn, all blooming in glorious colors.

Walking woods on the road to Crackington Haven

Walking woods on the road to 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. (Crackington Haven – well named!) 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 had been very casual, as far as clothes are concerned. We had come up against it here; when we asked Muriel if we dressed for dinner, she answered “Ectually….yes!” in no uncertain terms.

I had to wear what I brought, 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 were at 6:30 sharp; dinner was at 7; and breakfast at 8:30AM. This was about all the regimentation I could take. We were glad that we planned to be out all day Monday, and must find our own dinner Monday night!

Hiking the cliffs at Crackington Haven

Hiking the cliffs at Crackington Haven

After an hour-long walk, we returned to take our dirty clothes to be washed at the requested 5:30 PM. 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 was 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 was served. Crikey!

Beginning one of our walks at Crackington Haven

Lee at the beginning of one of our walks at Crackington Haven

We had 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?!

Then we took off to explore. First on our list was Bude and a walk over the cliffs. Bude (on that particular day) was 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 was 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 make a visit worthwhile. Nonetheless, we plowed on to Boscastle.

Views around Boscastle

Views around Boscastle

It’s not far to Boscastle, a harbor town built down the side of a mountain. Steep, steep little roads led to a walled village over which the mountain cast its immense shadow. We met a bus head-on, and the roads were so narrow, our lives flashed before our eyes! The houses and buildings here are very old, with gray slate roofs, and the ever-present pots of bright flowers hanging from walls and dotting the small gardens. The trees lining the road were strung with ivy; dry stone walls supported the soaring mountain forest at every turn; lichen and moss covered every possible rock, crack and crevice, and a wide variety of delicate flowers poked their heads from the hedgerows. Mystical and mysterious…

Boscastle

Boscastle

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 were so high up, we felt as if we were walking on the roof of the world. As we looked back to the footpaths we’d climbed, it’s hard to believe we actually climbed them!

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

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 was crossed, and we eventually found 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 Strangles, Crackington Haven

The Strangles, Crackington Haven

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

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 was 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 were 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 wass consumed (both of us too nervous about Muriel to leave anything on our plates), and then we were out the door and off.

The couple from Chepstow spoke so glowingly of the Wye Valley, we turned onto the road to 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 reached Mumbles, where I spent much of my childhood. It had become a tourist mecca, and is thronged with people. Every road and pathway was built up. I wondered if Thistleboone Gardens was still there….not only was 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.

The Mumbles cliff walk

The Mumbles, Wales cliff walk

As we hadn’t booked into a B&B or hotel, we had a difficult time finding somewhere to stay. Finally we found a rather primitive B&B – only one toilet, and NO soap! Our proprietors, however, were delightful (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 (excellent!), and then back up the hill to our B&B. We are so exhausted, we crawled into our beds and were out like lights. (Just as well, as there was only one lonely lightbulb, hanging from a string in the middle of the room!)

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.

Beginning of the Mumbles cliff walk

Beginning of the Mumbles cliff walk

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.

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 was also exactly as I remembered 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!

The sands at The Mumbles

The sands at The Mumbles

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 had receded to leave fishing boats beached like whitefish across the exposed reaches of sand. Some things hadn’t changed one iota.

Eventually we left Mumbles to drive through the Brecon Beacons, to Herefordshire and the Great Malverns. The route was tortuous, as we got lost trying to find our way out of Swansea (we’re a bit pitiful with directions), 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.” The roadsides were dotted with bookshelves filled with various tomes…I loved it! 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. Talk about eating our way through England! We have come far since first beginning this journey…

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 was enveloped by farms, hills and orchards. Everywhere, immense clumps of fragrant lavendar met the eye and filled 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 was a busy, and – in his words – happy, man.

At our wonderful B&B in the Malverns

At our wonderful B&B in the Malverns

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 at the end of the trip: 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 held 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.

Our B&B in the Great Malverns

Our B&B in the Great Malverns

I loved this house…indeed it was one of the most splendid B&Bs we 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.

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…)

On the Cotswolds Way

On the Cotswolds Way

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 swore tasted  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.

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. 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 jogged 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.

Walking the Worcestershire Way in the Malverns

Walking the Worcestershire Way in the Malverns

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

From Cowleigh Park Farm back to London

Time to go home (sob). 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 ate quickly, and were glad to be back in the car.

Back in London…

Two girls on a break in London

Two girls on a break in London

On our arrival, 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 were 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!

After dropping our luggage at the hotel, we walked to Trafalgar Square and Piccadilly Circus, down Charing Cross Road, and to Fortnum & Mason.

Back in London

Back in London

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!

I must confess, I did not care for London on this particular trip. 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!

England and Wales – Where to go, what to do

Updated January 11, 2021. Check out www.carpediemrosemary.com for complete texts & photographic hikes through England and Wales, including the Isle of Wight. 

Lands End signpost

ENGLAND

London & around

  1. Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese pub – the oldest pub, and the meeting place for everyone from Johnson to Shakespeare –  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ye_Olde_Cheshire_Cheese
  2. Cliveden House www.clivedenhouse.co.uk  – overlooks the Thames, and was once the home of the Waldorf Astors, and the backdrop for the Profumo Affair (1960’s). It’s now a grand hotel.
  3. Hampton Court – Henry VIII – http://www.bing.com/images/search?q=hampton+court+henry+viii&qpvt=hampton+court+henry+viii&FORM=IGRE
  4. 84 Charing Cross Road – the address for an old bookstore that was the subject of a best selling and still loved book by that same name. Also a movie with Anthony Hopkins and Anne Bancroft – http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/84_Charing_Cross_Road_(film)
  5. Eton, Oxford, Cambridge, Windsor Castle – you can actually book rooms at Oxford during the summer months – http://www.oxfordrooms.co.uk/
  6. The playing fields of Eton – “The Battle of Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton.” Read more at http://www.broowaha.com/articles/12644/the-playing-fields-of-eton-#bdmA6gJu9qx9J7K8.99
  7. Balliol College (literary home of Lord Peter Wimsey)
  8. Bloomsbury (Virginia Woolfe)
  9. Wimpole Street (Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Robert Browning – poets)
  10. Trafalgar Square

The Isle of Wight

  1. Yelf’s Hotel, Ryde – an absolutely adorable 4 story hotel – if you get the room on the fourth floor (and no elevator!) you’ll have the most marvelous view to the sea! England 2018 985
  2. Ferry from Portsmouth to Ryde – runs every 15 minutes – and they held it for me as I was buying a ticket!
  3. Osborne House, Queen Victoria’s summer cottage! England 2018 1043
  4. The Crab & Lobster pub, Bembridge  England 2018 1093
  5. Shanklin, with the beautiful church and wychgate England 2018 1104
  6. Quarr Abbey and Farm – besides the beautiful Abbey, the grounds are incredible, with old stone buildings and cottages, woods, farm animals, a little shop and tearoom…you can roam for hours. 20180911_150929

The Cotswolds

You can hire guides who will take you around the small villages and towns of the Cotswolds, which is a good way to see everything you want to, without getting lost!

A guide is one of the best investments you can make to really see the Cotswolds

A guide is one of the best investments you can make to really see the Cotswolds

  1. The Cotswolds – http://www.bing.com/images/search?q=The+Cotswolds+landmarks&qpvt=The+Cotswolds+landmarks&FORM=IGRE
  2. The Cotswolds Way National Trail – http://www.nationaltrail.co.uk/Cotswold/
  3. Broadway (Horse & Hounds restaurant, The Swan, Lowerfield Farm B&B)
  4. Snowshill – Bridget Jones’s Diary filmed here
  5. Sheepscombe House B&B in Snowshill (I spent several days here) http://www.broadway-cotswolds.co.uk/sheepscombe.html
  6. The gardens at Snowshill Manor http://www.gardenvisit.com/garden/snowshill_manor_garden/ 
  7. Daylesford Organic Farm (organic shopping/clothes – gorgeous) http://www.daylesfordorganic.com/engine/shop/page/our+shops
  8. Bibury  (The Swan Hotel)
  9. Burford
  10. Chipping Camden, Stanton, Stanway, Buckland, Laverton
  11. The Broadway Tower, located on Broadway Hill, near the village of Broadway.
  12. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Broadway_Tower
  13. Upper and Lower Slaughter(s), Naunton, Stanton (one of my favorite villages), Fillkin, Bourton-on-Water, Chudleigh  10 ENGLAND 2017 434
  14. Blenheim Palace (Churchill’s birthplace)

The Moors, Dorset

A view of Dartmoor - a wonderful wild place

A view of Dartmoor – a wonderful wild place

  1. Dartmoor National Park – mysterious, rolling moors peopled only by wild ponies – http://www.bing.com/images/search?q=dartmoor+England&qpvt=dartmoor+England&FORM=IGRE
  2. Warren House Inn – at the center of Dartmoor atop a low hill, the only building for miles around http://www.warrenhouseinn.co.uk/
  3. Dorset

Cornwall

  1. Ednovean Farm Luxury B&B, close to Marazion and St Michael’s Mount. This is a storybook B&B, run by Christine and Charles Taylor, accompanied by cats Spud and Louis, and beautiful horses including Danni and Dolly. Five Star, Luxury B&B & Seaside Gardens, Perranuthnoe | Ednovean Farm 
  2. Looe
  3. Polraen House in Looe; a delightful B&B with a wonderful restaurant on-site –  I have stayed here and it is absolutely lovely http://www.bing.com/images/search?q=Polraen+House%2c+Looe%2c+Cornwall%2c+England&qpvt=Polraen+House%2c+Looe%2c+Cornwall%2c+England&FORM=IGRE
  4. Talland Bay, on the Cornish coast
  5. Polperro – a real step back in time – Noughts & Crosses Inn – very old

    Noughts and Crosses Inn, Polperro

    Noughts and Crosses Inn, Polperro

  6. Cornish Coast Path – hiking along this path, goes for miles

    The Cornish Coast

    The Cornish Coast

  7. The Lost Gardens of Heligan http://www.bing.com/images/search?q=the+lost+gardens+of+heligan+mevagissey+uk&qpvt=the+lost+gardens+of+heligan+mevagissey+uk&FORM=IGRE
  8. St Mawes (Tudor castle on the hilltop at the coast)
  9. Truro (the great cathedral) – http://www.bing.com/images/search?q=Truro+England+cathedral&qpvt=Truro+England+cathedral&FORM=IGRE
  10. Fowey (pronounced FOY) on the coast
  11. Polruan, Bodinnick
  12. Mevagissy (way too touristy) – the birthplace of Daphne Du Maurier
  13. Penzance (Pirates of…)
  14. St Michael’s Mount – can be reached from Marazion, by the causeway twice a day, otherwise by fishing boat – http://www.bing.com/images/search?q=St+Michael’s+Mount&qpvt=St+Michael%27s+Mount&FORM=IGRE
  15. Land’s End
  16. Lyme Regis
  17. Perranuthnoe – a tiny tiny old village on the Cornish coast, just down the road from Marazion – http://www.bing.com/images/search?q=Peranuthnoe+England&qpvt=Peranuthnoe+England&FORM=IGRE
  18. Mousehole – http://www.bing.com/images/search?q=mousehole+england+photos&qpvt=mousehole+england+photos&FORM=IGRE
  19. Land’s End
  20. St. Kew

    St Kew Inn

    St Kew Inn

  21. Crackington Haven – up a ways from St. Kew
  22. The Strangles – a wild area on the cliff walk from Crackington Haven with glorious views of the sea
  23. Tintagel (Birthplace of King Arthur) http://www.bing.com/images/search?q=Tintagel+England&qpvt=Tintagel+England&FORM=IGRE
  24. Boscastle
  25. Bude

Somerset

1.       Glastonbury – King Arthur and Camelot http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glastonbury

Wiltshire

  1. Stoke Farm (or Manor) in Broad Chalke (lovely B&B) – http://www.stokemanor.co.uk/
  2. Village of Lacock – 15th century, owned by the National Trust http://www.bing.com/images/search?q=lacock+england&qpvt=lacock+england&FORM=IGRE
  3. Lacock Abbey
  4. The Sign of the Angel – an very old inn in the tiny heart of Lacock (inhabited by a ghost)
  5. The George Pub – sit here and watch comings & goings through its old windows
  6. Castle Combe – one of Wiltshire’s loveliest villages – http://castle-combe.com/
  7. Old Sarum and the “old” Salisbury Cathedral remains
  8. Stonehenge

Worcestershire and Herefordshire

  1. Hay-on-Wye (otherwise known as “Full-of-Books”) http://www.hay-on-wye.co.uk/
  2. The Great Malverns
  3. The town of Malvern (and The Red Lion Pub)
  4. Cowleigh Park Farm – 400 year old farmhouse, absolutely delightful proprietors http://www.malvernbandbconsortium.co.uk/cowleigh-park-farm.html

WALES – THE BORDERS AND INTO WALES

  1. The Brecon Beacons – wild and lonely, sheep and wild horses – on the border of England and Wales
  2. The Wye Valley
  3. Tintern Abbey (in the Wye Valley) http://www.bing.com/images/search?q=Tintern+Abbey&qpvt=Tintern+Abbey&FORM=IGRE
  4. On the coast: Swansea
  5. On the coast: The Mumbles (I lived in The Mumbles as a child)
  6. Langland Bay
  7. Bracelet Bay

Days of Wine and Roses – from the Cotswolds to The Kensington Hotel – Chapter 7

Days of Wine and Roses – from the Cotswolds to The Kensington Hotel – Chapter 7

Friday, September 1…As the days dwindle down to a precious few, it’s really remarkable how slowly time has passed, and how fulfilling each day spent in England has been. From Cornwall to the Cotswolds, there hasn’t been a day that wasn’t fully pleasurable, from the moment we each awoke to the glorious weather, to every view, village, country lane and stile. Lucky us!

On this morning, I was able to meet Old Orchard’s gardener who took such incredible care of its grounds. Mike has been a gardener for some thirty odd years, is self taught, and has a myriad of exquisite landscapes he handles for various clients. Old Orchard was testament to his painstaking care, as a more beautiful garden I have yet to see. Of course, Mike had nothing to do with the grazing sheep in the adjoining field! But every time I see photographs long after returning to the U.S., I’ll remember Mike and Old Orchard and the beauty of flower, fruit, bush and tree – how everything came together to form this truly exquisite English country garden. .

David and I made ourselves sandwiches for lunch, pottered about, and then strolled back to Broadway where we continued the search for “something lavender” for his friends back home. Mid-afternoon, we stopped in the Swan for our half pints of Ubu, and then wended our way to Budgen’s for such items as gooseberry yoghurt…yum!

A restaurant in Broadway called Russell’s was known for its delicious menu, and its side café offered fish and chips, which we decided was necessary fuel for the rest of the day. Along with mushy peas with mint, it was a really tasty early dinner. Need I say we ordered the restaurant’s IPA? We sat outside on benches while the sun shone and children and dogs played around us.

We ambled home along the road between Broadway and Snowshill, stopping in the orchard to pick an apple from the heavily laden tree.

A cloud on this horizon was the chaos of Hurricane Harvey, which was flooding much of Houston, and causing horrific wind damage. We were in constant contact with friends and family back home, and luckily for the most part, they emerged unscathed, as did our homes. The upshot of this for us was whether or not we could get back to Houston the next Tuesday, when we intended to fly home. It didn’t look promising, but we kept in touch with our London hotel The Kensington, and British Airways every few hours just to check on the status of things.

Saturday, September 2…Today would be our last day to really ramble around Broadway, and it was a beautiful day for it. David was finally able to find some lavender products which were made at the Snowshill Lavendar Farm and which were on display at the Cotswolds Trading store, and I checked with a local realtor, as I was getting more and more interested in property in the Cotswolds, and what it would actually cost to live there (big bucks!)

We stopped for lunch at the Broadway Hotel, where David ordered the cauliflower and coriander soup (excellent!) and we both had hamburgers…which sounds a bit of an anomaly, (coals to Newcastle and all that) but so good with Coleman’s Mustard (which we laid on with a shovel…ha!) We always try the IPAs at the pubs and restaurants, and are usually happy with the quality and the taste of each one…Ubu’s being the premier IPA, I think!

The one thing we hadn’t wrapped our taste buds around so far was the Cotswold ice cream, so seeing a vendor’s cart on the street, we stopped for a cone. Cotswold vanilla ice cream is rich and creamy and a tiny bit crunchy, with a certain flavor of its own. I loved it, and appreciated the fact that I only now remembered to check it out…much too good!

We walked down the road to Old Orchard, a little melancholy at the fact that this was probably the last time we’d really be able to take our time and ramble. It was a lovely day, so after David went on into the house, I decided to go for a walk in a different direction, behind Old Orchard and up back lanes lined with fields and old barns and buildings. Everything in the late afternoon looked golden and green.

Sheep dotted the landscape, baa-ing in the distance and there was a gentle breeze. I followed the road to a bridge that was blocked from crossing, so turned another way, ending up outside of another part of Broadway, a little more modern, not quite so picturesque and old. Which was fine.

So back to the house. Runner beans from the veggie garden, picked at the urging of Mike the gardener, were sliced and readied to boil. David and I were determined to have new potatoes with the beans, so we boiled the potatoes, added a little butter, salt and pepper, then sprinkled the remaining watercress atop the dish. David added the remaining Stilton to his. Well, master chefs we are not, but this was great!

We booked Sunday dinner at the Swan, watched an episode of Foyle’s War, and so to bed.

Sunday, September 3…In honor of my dear old dad, David and I decided to have a real Sunday dinner at the Swan, a sort of goodbye celebration.

I’d mentioned to David about the back road into Broadway, and since Steve was tied up and couldn’t drive us over to the inn, we decided to walk to it.

Woof! The weather had changed drastically. As we set out, a cold wind nipped the back of our necks, and a taste of sleet hovered over our heads.

What the previous day had been a pleasurable ramble through bucolic countryside was now a brisk walk to Broadway which seemed to take a little longer than I had remembered! (Lord, I hate being cold!)

By the time we got to the Swan, it was really freezing, made more so by the wind. So a roast beef dinner in the lovely restaurant was just the thing to warm us up (after the usual Ubu IPA!) The dinner was amazing: besides the beef, we had Yorkshire pudding, cauliflower cheese, red cabbage, kale, parsnips, and goose fat roast potatoes. We finished off with sticky toffee pudding. Henry VIII would’ve been proud. Woof!

It was all we could do to pull our jackets on for the walk home, and the weather had not improved. As a matter of fact, the sleet was having a field day, so to speak.

Why I thought it a good idea to take the same (longer) road back to Old Orchard is beyond me, looking back…but we did make it home.

We’d asked Steve to come by for a drink and a nibble later that evening, and we had a lovely farewell get together. How I hated the thought of leaving, but apparently the weather had changed and wasn’t going to change back any time soon, a metaphorical parallel if ever there was one.

Again, we checked with The Kensington hotel to be sure that, if we were unable to fly home on Tuesday, we could stay there as long as was necessary. Then we looked to the British Airways site, and all seemed to be in order. Having done all we could on that score, we had an early night, packing up for the early morning leave-taking.

Monday, September 4…We both rose early as we had to be out of Old Orchard by 10AM – it was being taken over by the new tenants.

We cleaned out the fridge, cleaned up the kitchen, checked all the closets and tried to resecure the door key in the lock box. Of course, we needed the code, and once again, it was buried at the bottom of my luggage.

Always the way. But we found it.

We were to catch the train at Moreton-in-Marsh for Paddington, and Steve picked us up at 9:30 for the quick drive to the town. We really were so lucky in finding Steve – he took super good care of us, knew his way around everything…I can’t speak highly enough of him, and have offered room and board should he ever come to Texas!

So, we caught the train away from our beautiful Cotswolds, and it was on to Paddington. We’d tried to book seats but were unsuccessful…however, we’d no problem getting seats, so don’t know what the problem was re booking.

We disembarked at Paddington, once again on a quest for a restroom. David found out we needed 30 pence for the pleasure of getting inside! Honestly! He mustered up the change, however, and we were both relieved (so to speak).

After all that, we found a taxi and began a rather slow journey to The Kensington. On arrival, the taxi driver tried to inform us about using his taxi, cheap rates, signing up etc. until we finally had to assure him we’d do it all…once we were in the hotel. So we got into the hotel, then had a bit of a struggle with the room clerk (who was very nice) as to our stay.

We wanted to also check British Airways to see if our flight would take off on Tuesday; according to its website, all was in order and we finally decided to give it a rest and just believe it was going to happen. So we cancelled the extra nights we’d booked at The Kensington, and just went with the flow. We were both getting fed up constantly checking and re-checking!

After all this, David and I walked outside to find a restaurant where we could eat lunch. Rocca was perfect: a lovely little Italian restaurant right down the street where we decided to eat our combo lunch/dinner. We shared two orders of a really wonderful bruschetta…I hoped the pesto and garlic didn’t linger too strongly on our clothes!

David ordered Bucatini Pescatore, and I had a terrific Linguine with Roast Chicken. Yum-o!

David wanted to end our English sojourn with drinks in The Kensington’s bar, which was dim and cozy, very library-ish…so adorable. So after a brief rest, packing & unpacking, etc. we met to toast a really memorable time in England, and drink to civilized times and friends. We also had a lively chat about books we’d read and loved. Now how nice a way is that of completing the trip!

The next morning, we rose early to take advantage of The Kensington’s really remarkable breakfast – which was gratis, even though the website said otherwise; then hopped into a taxi kindly flagged down by the concierge, and it was on to Heathrow – no sooner had we gotten there and gone through the usual security etc., than our flight began boarding and we were on our way home.

 

And so…looking back, from the magical delights of Cornwall to the serene beauty of the Cotswolds, the fairy tale was real…at least, it was real for me. And long live the fairy tale – say I, a big believer in fairy tales….