November 15 – December 4, 2008

 

Saturday, November 15 – Flight to Pisa

Jensen and I took the train from Bedford to Gatwick and caught an easyJet flight to Pisa. My brother, Doug picked us up at the airport for the hour’s drive to Bagna di Lucca, a small village just north of Lucca. It was almost dark when we arrived, up the winding, often one-lane road to the villa. Doug’s wife, Lily, and her sister, Nancy, had a sumptuous spaghetti dinner waiting for us.

 

The villa was lovely – big, sturdy, stone structure hugging the side of the hill. If it were summer, the swimming pool would be have been inviting; but, as it was, we only ventured out in the “heat” of the day when the sun was at its zenith, to sit on the terrace, read our books.

 

The next few days were spent enjoying the Tuscan life of leisure. We went shopping for groceries in the fairly well stocked store, trying to decipher Italian labels – the ginger scones were fine, even though I doubt that was baking powder I used! Started the jigsaw puzzle, played Balderdash, and had wonderful home cooked food! Jensen went hiking in the high hills high above Bagna di Lucca, and fortunately got a ride back down to the villa from the forest ranger!

 

We spent one rather overcast day in Lucca, exploring the city, churches, and ended up having a lovely, long buffet lunch. Most of the stores close for several hours mid-day, so you have to carefully plan any shopping trips.

 

Wednesday – Friday: Cinque Terre and Genoa

Doug, Lily, and Nancy dropped Jensen and me in Lucca as they headed off for Florence. Jensen and I picked up a rental car and made our way to the western coast of Italy.  Our destination was Cinque Terra, five small remote villages clinging to the steep hills that jut out over the Ligurian Sea. It’s quiet here, even in the summer heat of tourist season, and as we would find out, even more peaceful during off season. La Spezia is the last city before this out-of-the-way area, and although we could have taken the train, we decided to drive to the fourth village, Vernazza, where we planned to stay. Jensen enjoyed driving the hair-pin turns, while I clung to the door with my eyes either wide open to the beauty or closed tightly to the panic! We had to park the car above the village, and pack in what we needed for a couple of nights. First in order was food, with a big stein of beer. Then, lodging – fortunately, we found a place to stay; many of the hotels and restaurants are closed during the winter. Our Spartan room, with a shared bath, had a great view of the harbor.

 

Since it was already mid-afternoon, we decided to hike to the next village, Monterosso. What could be better than hiking along a one-person trail with switch-backs and steep climbs – all the while with gorgeous expansive views of blue water and a rapidly setting sun! As we reached the end of the trail, an entrepreneurial soul was selling water, lemonade, and wine – even this late in the season, we were ready for a cool drink. It was magical, as we timed our walk into this remote village at sunset. We found a bar open for thirsty hikers, and a great spot for dinner. Amazingly, the other couple dining there was from Seattle; Jensen exchanged names with the young man, who was a woodworker. It really is a small world. We took the train (our 2-hour walk took 5 minutes by train) back to Vernazza.

 

We spent the next day walking south through Manarola, Corniglia, and ending up in Riomaggiore. Imagine: harvest hills of olive trees and vineyards falling into the blue Ligurean Sea. Paradise! We came across several families harvesting their olive trees, using bright orange nets to catch the olives as they shook the branches to release their fruit. This night was the best sunset of the entire trip – the sky bruised into orange, red, and purple. We took the train back to Monterosso and found another good restaurant.

 

Friday morning, we packed up our bags and turned the car north, driving the autostrada to Genoa. This part of the road is almost entirely tunnels and bridges. Jensen drove that car like a pro – weaving in and out of traffic, and down to the harbor, where we found a (yet again) great place for lunch. Then, we drove back to Bagna di Lucca, stopping in Lucca to find Jensen a new pair of shoes. By this time, it had started to rain and was getting dark, but we managed to find our way back to the villa.

 

Saturday, November 22 – Den arrives

Jensen and I spent a quiet day, going to the grocery store and laying in some supplies, and making dinner for Den, who was flying into Pisa. Doug and Lily were dropping of Lily’s sister, Nancy, and picking up Den. It was good to have him with us – and, we had another great meal, and played games in front of the fireplace. We were spending these next few days in Bagna di Lucca.

 

On Sunday, we went into the village to have lunch at the restaurant owned by Ilario, who we had conversed with via the Internet about going to some vineyards and olive oil factories. We had an incredible lunch – some of the best tiramisu ever! On the way back to the villa, Den, Jensen, and I got out at the tiny village above the villa and walked through deserted section of the village – it looked as though everyone just left. The grotto with a fresco of the crucifixion was still visible.

 

Over the next couple of days, we ventured out, driving through olive groves and vineyards, stopping at Monte Carlo to see the wineries. Alas, we didn’t find any olive presses. We toured Lucca with Den. One morning we woke up to snow – just a dusting, but it covered the hills. The view from the villa looked out across a huge valley, with several small villages nestled in amongst all the trees, which were quickly turning autumn orange.

 

Thanksgiving Wednesday

A beautiful day for cooking, Lily constructed a turkey (we could only find turkey pieces in the local grocery story), as well as mouth-watering Italian artichokes, a fennel-apple compote, and of course mashed potatoes, and a sausage dressing. We played Balderdash, finished the jigsaw puzzle, and drank a lot of wine…a lovely last day in Bagna di Lucca.

 

Thursday, November 27 – 28

Den and Jensen packed the car, we said our good-byes to Doug and Lily and headed down the winding road one last time. After turning in our car in Lucca, we caught the train to Florence. When we inquired about a taxi to the hotel, we were told it was impossible to get there due to a demonstration. After consulted the map, we pulled, packed, and toted our luggage to our hotel, which fortunately wasn’t too far. We had to dash across a street filled with yellow-clad, banner waving demonstrators, who we think, were calling attention to the plight of agricultural workers. Ah, Italy!

 

Today our goal was to see Michelangelo’s David at the Academia. One lovely thing about traveling in off-season is short lines, we walked right in and spent an hour or so with David. It’s just so amazing to see these things “live.” We walked across the Ponte Vecchio to the area where Helen lived when I visited her in May. We wanted to eat in the same little restaurant, so ended up drinking wine at a local bar until the restaurant opened for dinner. Then, we headed back across the Arno to our lovely hotel.

 

Friday was our day for the Uffizi – another museum treat. The Medici family left an incredible cultural (well, social and political as well) footprint in Florence. Cold and overcast, it was a good day for art. We caught the late afternoon fast train to Rome.

 

Friday November 28 – Thursday December 4: Rome

Ah, Rome! We rented a small apartment in the Piazza Navona area, right in the middle of the old city of Rome – it was perfect, especially when we found the little Italian restaurant around the corner that didn’t even have a sign out front. We had several wonderful pasta dinners there. Here are a few of the highlights:

• Wine under the gas heaters on Pantheon Square, lit up in Christmas lights.
• Walking through the Forum and ruins on Palatine Hill, seeing the city of Rome stretched out before us, and watching storm clouds gather over the Colosseum – then actually walking through that huge 2000-year-old stadium where Romans gathered to watch gladiators fight to the death.
• Waiting in a very long line to get into the Vatican Museum, and the incredibly convoluted passageways to the Sistine Chapel.
• Having coffee at the Castel Sant’Angelo, the last fortress for threatened popes, and watching as huge flocks of birds danced in the dusk of sunset over St Peter’s dome. Then, walking over the Ponte Sant’Angelo, through statues of angels, and hearing those birds sing as they settled in the trees along the Tiber.
• Walking up the Spanish Steps to see the city in the sunset.
• The immense grandeur of St Peter’s Basilica, with Bernini’s Throne of Peter rising to the heavens. St Peter’s Square for people watching. Oh, and our “audience” with the Pope.
• Taking a long bus ride in the rain to find the Catacombs of Priscilla, and being shown (by a nun with a flashlight) the underground burial site built under the house (and now a street) of a noble Roman family.
• Everything about the Borghese Gallery: the electric tram ride, walking through the gardens to the palace, waiting in the sunshine for our appointed admittance, wandering through Cardinal Borghese’s mansion, with one of the most sumptuous art collections imaginable. The best being Bernini’s Apollo chasing Daphne – the pictures would never do it justice; this is a piece of artwork to be seen in all its glory.
• But the best of all was sharing Rome with our son, Jensen.

 

26 July – 3 August 2008

Saturday 26 July – Flight to Istanbul, off to Kusadasi

We flew into Istanbul, where a young man from Backpacker Travel picked us up for the hours drive to Kusadasi, where we would stay for a couple of nights. We drove through dry, countryside, with patches of irrigated green crops, and mountains on the horizon. Kusadasi is one of the largest ports on the Aegean coast, and as we were to find out, one of the prime tourist “hot spots” during the summer.

 

We arrived just in time to have some dinner, climb into bed, and realize that our room was right above the disco bar (with its blaring music) and on the corner of a very busy street. With no air conditioning, we had to keep the windows open, but we later decided it was like sleeping in the middle of an intersection with cars blasting music!

 

Sunday, 27 July – Hieropolis and Pamukkale Tours

Pamakkule is a 3-hour drive from Kusadasi, both ways, of course! Fortunately, we had a great guide and an interesting group of people, and we saw a good deal of the farming “bread basket” of western Turkey.

 

After our long drive and lunch, we arrived at Hierapolis, which in Hellenistic times was a thermal springs and spa. It was believed the mineral-rich waters were good for the health, but what remains today is one of the largest ancient graveyards in Turkey. There are more than 1,200 tombs from Roman, Hellenistic, and early Christian periods. Amazing to think that we were walking through the hot, dusty ruins of Hierapolis that date back thousands of years. We paused at the Arch of Domitian that opened onto the main street to Pamukkale.

 

Spectacular white travertine terraces were formed by hot springs leaving deposits of limestone, thus the name Pamukkale, which means “cotton castle.” The views are magnificent, especially the contrasts of the brilliant white limestone, pools of milky sky-blue water, the dry and green plains, the brown mountains in the distance. And, people everywhere! This is definitely a tourist spot – women in tank tops and women in full burkas, all wading in the pools. It was a bit surreal.

 

Monday, 28 July – Ephesus and Flight to Istanbul

We packed our bags and met up with our touring group. Myne was our guide for our small group of wonderful travelers: Lebanese man who was probably in his delightfully funny manic phase, serious Turkish young man who became the Lebanese artist’s side kick, the young American couple in dire need of my imodium (never travel without it), young articulate black woman engineer from DC who was working on rebuilding roads in Afghanistan and her co-worker from Bonny Lake WA (just down the road from Seattle) who both bought more stuff at every stop than we did on our entire trip, the German-Japanese couple living in Japan. By the end of the day, we were exchanging emails and waving tearful goodbyes (or maybe the tears were due to the largest credit card charge I’ve ever made EVER at the Turkmen Carpet store). 

 

Fortunately, Ephesus was a short, 20-minute ride. It certainly was amazing to be in such an historical, significant place. Truly unforgettable. A Greek city was first built here in about 1000 BC, but the ruins that we see today are from the 4^th century BC. During the Roman period, Ephesus was an important port, but the harbor silted up and the city was abandoned.

 

We shared Ephesus with hundreds (perhaps thousands) of people, but I’m sure that’s how it would have been at the height of its glory – streets filled with people, all talking, selling, working, hurrying from place to place. Myne walked us through one of the Roman baths, explaining how water was brought into the baths and heated. She took her water bottle and splashed away the dust from the mosaic-tiled floor to reveal the intricate tile work of a woman’s face. 

 

Certainly one of the highlights is the Library of Celsus, which is probably the most photographed structure here. It was built in 114-117, with massive columns and statues that represent wisdom, virtue, intellect, and knowledge. Also, the large archway to the Temple of Hadrian, built in 123, with its carvings of gods and goddesses. Brilliant blue sky, white marble columns, limestone ruins, intricate carvings, streets worn down by the footsteps of millions of people, including our own. Wow.

 

From Ephesus, winding our way up a hill into the mountains, we arrived at The House of Mary. According to the Bible, Jesus asked St John to look after his mother, Mary. After the crucifixion, John brought Mary with him to Ephesus in AD 37, and she spent her remaining years in this simple stone house.

 

We took a late flight from Izmir to Attaturk Airport in Istanbul, with someone waiting with a Den & Anne Kerlee sign to take us to the Sultan’s Inn. We could get used to this airport pickup deal!

 

Earlier in the day, we got news that a bomb exploded in Istanbul, killing 17 people. At that point, we began to wonder if Semester at Sea would allow the MV Explorer to stop in Istanbul. When we arrived at the hotel, we texted Drew to see if he could look up on the SAS site and get us an updated schedule. Since there was little we could do, we fell into bed and tossed and turned. Sometime during the night, Drew texted us back that SAS was, indeed, diverted and heading to Egypt.

 

Tuesday, 29 July – Cooking with Seline

We woke up to rain, which rather fit our mood, disappointed that we’d not see our SAS friends here. We weren’t sure what we should do, but we had set up a cooking class for this morning, so we had the hotel drop us off at Seline’s apartment in the “new” part of Istanbul. It was good; we were busy chopping and dicing and chatting with Seline, a retired travel agent who holds these cooking classes in her lovely apartment. After a trip to the market where Seline showed us Turkish veggies, meat, fish, bread, and sweets, we returned to the hotel around 2:00pm.

 

Since we anticipated spending most of our time in Istanbul with our SAS friends, we hadn’t done much planning. So, we pulled out the travel books and spent the afternoon figuring out what we would do on our own in Istanbul. Good old Rick Steves came to the rescue, again.

 

After creating a rough plan for the week, we headed out to dinner to the Doy Doy restaurant, just around the corner from our hotel. We climbed four flights of stairs to get to the rooftop dining area and were just wowed by the view of the Blue Mosque — and by Rick Steves enjoying dinner!! Of course, I introduced myself and wished I had our travel book for his autograph! But, what really blew my socks off was just as we were having Turkish tea, the call to prayer boomed from the mosque (there are speakers on all those minarets) and the Blue Mosque lit up like a Christmas tree, with 3 rows of little lights running around each minaret. (Damn…we had left our cameras in the hotel, and the mosque was never lit up like that again…but, perhaps, one of those scenes best left to the memory rather than digital pixels.)

 

Wednesday, 30 July – Historic Walk of Sultanahmet

With the sun shining, and after a rooftop breakfast, we headed out to walk the historic area of Sultnahmet. First walking through the Hippodrome with its columns and green garden areas to the Blue Mosque. Shoulders and knees covered, with shoes in hand, we walked into the huge interior of the Blue Mosque, with its six minarets. Quiet, sun filtering through the high windows to the carpeted area reserved for prayers.

 

Our next stop was walking through Yereatan Saray, the Underground Cistern built in the 6^th century to store water. This refreshingly cool, dark cavern covers an area of two football fields, the brick ceiling held up by hundreds of columns, two of which sit atop two stone Medusa heads recycled from earlier Roman structures.

 

Taking Rick Steves recommendation, we had meatballs at Sultanahmet K

If Mark Twain hadn’t already said it, I could: The coldest
winter I’ve spent is a summer in Bedford. OK, so not quite true coming from
this girl from Nebraska, but it’s certainly been wet and rainy and cold here!

Yes, there are glorious days of sunshine, but it has never
really gotten hot. The fan I optimistically purchased has been used twice, and
then mostly just to move the air around, not really to cool us off.

 

Fourth of July Weekend in the Lake District

Over the Fourth of July weekend, we went to a Physician
Assistant conference in the Lake District, near Windermere – it felt like we
were in the San Juan Islands. About 30 PAs from all over Great Britain met to
share experiences, and get valued CME credits. Most everyone is from the US, so
we had a good old Fourth of July BBQ, with American hot dogs and mustard, and
even sparklers.

We stayed a few extra days with Neal and Jenny, and their
three Jack Russell terriers: Harvey, George, and Gus. It was good fun – and,
despite the rain, we walked through the woods and hills around the lakes. We
drove to Keswick (say KEZ-ick, those middle Ws are seldom pronounced) to see
the Pencil factory (there’s slate in them there hills), visited two houses
where William Wordsworth lived (my mother could recite several of his poems
from memory), and Hill Top, where Beatrix Potter lived.

We went to the Blackwell Arts & Crafts House – a
delightful Frank-Lloyd-Wright type of construction, so wonderfully different
from all the Victorian manors and medieval castles. But, the weirdest was the
Lakeland Sheep Center; this was like a Nebraska 4-H sheep judging contest. A
man with such a heavy Scottish brogue that we could barely understand what he
was saying, brought out about 20 sheep and explained why some were tall and
fuzzy brown, some squat with curly black wool, some with smoothly textured
white coats and big twisty horns, and everything in between! It was brilliant!

Neal drove us in his Jeep, with the George, Harvey, and Gus
in the back, over winding roads through beautiful mountain passes; fields
filled with sheep, and criss-crossed with stone walls; brick farmhouses tucked
into the hillside; ancient castle ruins; forests falling into crystal blue
lakes; and distant waterfalls. We went through villages named Buttermere,
Bowness, Grasmere, Cockermouth, and Hawkshead.

One highlight was walking right up to Castlerigg Stone
Circle, a mysterious set of 48 stones on a hilltop with sweeping views in all
directions. The sky is rolling with dark clouds, a struggling sun casts
highlights and shadows, and we touch moss-covered stones where druids danced
and sang and worshipped some 4,000 years ago. Amazing.

 

Bedford River Festival

In late July we had the River Festival down on the
Embankment. It was a carnival, music fest, and crafts fair all rolled into one.
Kids were everywhere, eating messy food, demanding those kitchy toys, getting
sick on twirly rides. Barkers enticed us to buy sausages on a roll, ride the
tilt-a-whirl, sign a petition for bats, and come see the medieval exhibit. Oh,
and there was beer everywhere, and two ice cream (well, actually an
all-chemical white frozen substance) vendors that Den has dubbed “Mr Whippy”
and “Mr Softy.”

After an evening of listening to a guy with a Frank Sinatra
voice sing old favorites from the 50s and a gala fireworks display, Den and I
walked back to our flat, lucky to live just two blocks from the Embankment.

I knew I was leaving family, friends, work, and our home –
all things that somehow define who I am, what I do, how I “move” in the world.
So, I was prepared for feeling a bit lost and ungrounded. But, after several
months, I realized there were two surprising things that I no longer have, or
use, to measure my days, define myself.

One is the clock. Time isn’t the same here – I don’t have to
be anywhere, at a specific time. Oh, there’s the occasional appointment or
event, but nothing as stringent as showing up for work everyday. I realize now
how much my life was ruled by the clock -when to wake and sleep, when to eat,
when to turn on my favorite TV or radio programs. It’s all a bit unsettling,
without this marker or divider of the day.

There’s a clock on the stove and, for months that was all we
had. I got a wall clock for the bedroom (when I wake up during the night, do I
stay away or try to go back to sleep? …depends on what time it is), but the
clock’s battery-operated hands made an annoying click as the second hand moved
(making going back to sleep almost impossible!), so I moved it into the
bathroom (I can hear the clock all through the flat, but it’s quiet enough to
ignore).

I seldom wear my watch, what’s the point? I divide the day
into morning, afternoon, and evening, and sometimes those divisions get
blurred. For this time-obsessed woman, I find it all rather disconcertingly
amazing.

The second is the scale. We don’t have one. I’ve gone months
without weighing myself. I used to know, within a couple of pounds, how much I
weighed, because I stepped on the scale every morning. Truth be told, it didn’t
really change my behavior; it was just a depressing statistic to start the day.
There’s a scale at our gym, but it’s kept in the trainer’s office (not very
accessible) and the measurements are shown in kilograms and stone – so I have
to convert it to pounds, and since the scale is not digital, being by a kilo or
two can really make a difference. So, another marker is gone.

It’s not that I really miss either of these taskmasters –
neither the obsession to be places on time, nor the wish to weigh less added to
my life significantly. But, there’s something odd about giving up these
measurements, these points of reference that I used for so many years.

April in Florence, Italy

What a great trip this was – I met Kirsten Soderlind in London on Wednesday April 23rd. We went to the Courtlaud Institute of Art on the Strand. The highlights were a still life of a bouquet of flowers by Monet and a landscape by Van Gogh – I’d never even seen photographs of these beautiful works.

Early Thursday, we left the hotel to take a bus to Gatwick to fly to Pisa, taking a train to Florence, arriving mid afternoon. After a bit of a mix-up, we met Helen Taylor at her apartment, just across the Arno River at 101 Via de San Niccolo.

Helen is teaching in Florence this semester and is living in this wonderful little apartment at the top of a 5-story building – great exercise, but it was a relief to see the bench on the last landing, knowing we’d almost reached Helen’s front door. One of the best features (besides not being able to stand upright in the small kitchen) is the deck that overlooks a green hillside with a Roman wall, Fort de Belvedere, and Boboli Garden on the skyline. We had several lovely morning breakfasts and afternoon wine sessions on this deck.

Every minute of this trip was fabulous, but here are some of the most memorable.

Sunny, warm days. The food – every meal was wonderful! Our first cappuccino on the Piazza dell Signoria, with an incredible Italian pastry. My daily one-or-two-or-three gelatos. The art. Florence is a city steeped in beautiful buildings, statues, frescos – everywhere you look is a picture. Walking through the Uffizi with Kirsten, seeing Botticelli’s Primavera and his Birth of Venus, Leonardo’s Annunciation. Amazing. Santo Spirito Church with the afternoon sun coming through the stained glass windows as Kirsten and Helen stand by a dark oak confessional. Dinner with Mark and Judy, Helen’s neighbors from Issaquah, and sipping Prosecco on the deck of their hotel room just off the Piazza Della Repubblica.

The view from Piazzale Michaelangelo as the sun set, reflecting off the Arno River and its bridges, bathing Florence in an amber glow. Walking over the Ponte Delle Grazie bridge to Helen’s apartment, and the Ponte Vecchio with its gold and silversmith shops. Shopping with Kirsten at the San Lorenzo market and finding a gorgeous leather handbag at almost half the price as in the store where I first saw it. Talented street musicians giving late-evening performances in the Uffizi couryard.

Listening to Mary Camp, an art historian from Lummi Island who is teaching with Helen this semester, explain the statues at Bargello, a police station/prison turned art gallery. Followed by our lunch at that great restaurant with the handsome singing Italian waiter. Spending a morning by myself at Santa Croce Church, standing next to the tombs of Galileo, Michelangelo, and Machiavelli. A particularly tasty pannini, hot off the grill. Raising our wine glasses to toast the memory of Karin.

And more than the art, the sights, the architecture, the food, the wine, and yes, even the gelato, I’ll remember the good times with good friends. Thank you, Helen, for being an excellent hostess, and such a gracious friend.

Grocery Shopping in England

Since our pathetic icebox is so small, I have to go the grocery store at least every other day. The two downtown grocery stores are pretty sad, probably like most inner-city stores: small, rather dingy. Lidl is a German-based store and Iceland, despite its name, is a British store. However, all products have information written in all sorts of languages, including Polish, Russian, and Italian.

Fortunately, there’s a Farmer’s Market on Wednesdays and Saturdays, so I get most of our “fruit and veg” there – the prices are better, as is the quality. Joan, the egg lady, sells a half-dozen eggs for 69p – that’s about $1.40, a bargain compared to the grocery stores. A quart of milk is about 90p, or $1.80, what is it in Seattle now?

Like everywhere, most of our produce comes from all over – potatoes from Scotland, bacon from Yorkshire, green beans from Kenya, grapes from Chile, avocados from Egypt. We’re eating cosmopolitan meals these days!

The best thing is the dairy – yummy yogurt; single, double, clotted, and soured cream; and incredible cheeses! Ah, the cheese, not a yellow cheddar among them; and nothing so boring as Swiss. All the cheeses have descriptions that sound like fine wines: Red Leicester is “a bright russet-gold colour with a slightly open texture and mild lemony flavour,” and Wensleydale was “originally made by the monks of Jervaulx Abbey and has a mild flavour, with a honeyed aftertaste.” (The second-best thing is the HUGE cookie selection!! The Brits do like their biscuits, and so do I!)

And, then there are the things I can’t find, at least in our local Bedford stores. Surprisingly, there’s no Irish/Scottish/steel cut oats. The polenta is just cornmeal, and not very good at that. I was looking all over for ketchup and mustard, and finally had to ask. Table Sauce aisle? Sure enough – tartar sauce, brown sauce, mustards, vinegars, salad cream (that’s for sandwiches, I think), salad dressings.

And, then there are the things that I couldn’t find by the names I called them: cornstarch is corn flour, granular sugar is castor sugar, powdered sugar is icing sugar, zucchini are courgettes, ground beef is minced beef. Buttermilk is sold in one-cup containers!

And, then there are the things I’d never imagined. Like an entire cooler shelf for LARD, and all its variations. Blood sausages, little bit-sized pork pastry pies that are to be eaten cold (because if you heat them up – we tried it – they will absolutely dissolve in fat), rice pudding in one-serving cups, toffee yogurt, beef tongue molded into bologna-looking slices.

 

 

March 9 – 22: Lisbon and Spain -by Den

Our 2-week, easy cheap vacation to Lisbon and Spain turned into quite a planning ordeal. We thought we could just rent a car and drive through southern Portugal and Spain, stopping at intriguing villages, maybe along the coast in quaint hillside towns. However, it soon dawned on us (as we tried to make hotel reservations for a couple of nights) that we were traveling during the busiest (and most expensive) time in Spain: Holy Week.

So, our easy trip became a logistical hassle. “Holy Shit!” became a mantra, but we managed to assemble a busy trip and covered a lot of sites. First, our flight out of Luton Airport departed too early for the usual 15-minute train ride (another lesson learned), so we had to take a cab – and our cab driver had NEVER been to the airport (how could that be?), but fortunately we had given ourselves plenty of time, and good thing since we got lost several times (how do you “lose” and airport?). The cab driver did happen to locate a cemetery and crematorium in Luton, but I doubt we could ever find it again.

As we stepped out of the plane into the Lisbon Airport, there was Drew, tanned and smiling. Drew’s then-employer Raphael owned a 100+ foot steel hulled trawler that had two fitted masts and sails, in addition to a massive diesel engine. In lieu of it’s former holds, large high-ceilinged galleries provided seating and a parquet-wood dance floor suitable for groups and large parties, in fact the way Raphael earned enough to keep and fit out the Principe Perfeito. Both Drew and Alison had been staying aboard the ship, doing odd jobs and marine carpentry in return for their lodging and some small salary. Their last day of work was that day, and we had cheese and wine below in a gallery, while explaining what trip agenda we’d planned for the next ~10 days.

While in Lisbon, we visited a castle on a hill overlooking the city, a monastery, a navigational statue, and a nearby town of Sintra, in the mountains adjacent to Lisbon. The night before we left Lisbon we visited Renato and Alejandra, folks who’d met Drew when the Amistad had first visited Lisbon. They’d become Drew’s close friends, and Alison fixed us dinner to celebrate Renato’s birthday–including a home-baked two-layer cake, complete with candles. The next night, Raphael drove us to the train station and we trundled aboard the all-night sleeper to Madrid.
Sleeping on a train is a lulling experience, and we dozed off asleep in bunk-beds as the train covered the miles north, arriving in Madrid by 9:30AM. We’d had time for a breakfast in the dining car as we rolled into the metropolis. Madrid subway to our hotel was easy; up and down some stairs with behemoth suitcases, but each with wheels–what a wonderful addition to suitcases!

Madrid remains fixed in my mind for large sunlit plazas, multiple statues of riders on horseback, stand-up to the bar cafes for coffee with cream, pastries. Madrid is a “walkable” city, with wide esplanades often lined with outdoor sculptures, overhanging trees, and wide streets. The Prado Art Museum is massive and filled with Greco art. People stroll the wide streets late into the night, as if it’s a large party, and stores are open surely ’til 11PM.

After just two nights in Madrid, we caught the morning bullet train to Seville, speeding southward in only ~2 hours. We hit upon a lucky break: the orange tree blossoms were out 2 weeks early due to warm weather, and our entire time in Seville was permeated with alluring orange fragrance. Delightful.

The hotel entry was shared by a flamenco dancehall entrance, where the dancing was said to be the best in Spain–tickets proved very worthwhile, and the courtyard was lighted by dim spotlights, and hanging vines covered the pillars. Guitar and leather heeled boots on a plywood dance frame produced a tympanic sound. We did get photos at the end when permitted; alas no video allowed although it’d have been a perfect subject for film.
There were no bullfights this early in the year, but the huge Seville bullring Plaza de Toros provided a bilingual tour guide who had an immense historical knowledge of famous bulls and toreadors . Anne continued in her photo-fascination with artistic manhole covers–I suppose we walked over some while looking up instead of down. Out walking, it was so easy to get lost, unable to zoom in on our hotel entrance along narrow cobbled streets, all the while intoxicated with cloying orange fragrance. Night times were perfect for tapa sandwiches for dinner washed down with wine, then position ourselves along the Holy Week processional route to view the floats lighted with candles and preceded in the streets by men and boys wearing cloth peaked hoods much like KKK. (Look at the pictures!)

Alcazar is a palace of Moorish architecture with huge courtyards. Touring a bit of the town and the palace was made all the more enjoyable since we were led by a local Seville woman Constancia who has a guide business–recommended in the Rick Steves’ book on Spain. Her personal touch, commentary, guidance through the Alcazar palace grounds, the Jewish Quarter of the city, and her skill navigating the impossibly narrow streets, and her conversational summary of the city’s history was fabulous.
Sooner than we all liked, we left the Seville orange-blossom fragrance for the drive to Arcos in the White Hills of southern Spain. Narrow cobbled streets and way fewer people highlight this picturesque town on a bluff, overlooking a verdant valley below with streams, sheep and grasslands, and friendly towns people. Nighttime Holy Week processionals here too, seemed to draw out everyone from their homes for the annual event. Ladies wearing their new tiaras and dresses, little kids with small drums to bang on, everyone with cotton candy and soft-whipped ice cream cones.

One day we had planned to cover lots of territory since we had the car, but over-planned and couldn’t cover it all. We did drive through hills where we were amazed to see cork oak trees growing alongside the road–some with bark recently peeled, while others had begun to form new bark some time ago. Medium-sized oak trees dotting the hilly terrain with dry grasses below, very much like the views seen in central California. Small, whitewashed masonry houses clinging to steep hillsides were along the way, as we drove to and along the coast fronting the Mediterranean. A 2-3 hour\stop at Gibraltar for the gondola ride to the top, then stopping halfway down to visit the macaque habitat, and then a traffic jam trying to get back into Spain from this tiny British-held colony. At least we can say we were there on the Rock, but it’s not worth another trip back.

Our packed itinerary once again called for us to drive to Granada, turn in the car and become foot-tourists once again. Egad, tickets were not available on-line to visit the famous Alhambra Moorish castle and grounds. But we had heard they hold back several thousand tickets for those who care to buy the same day. Not to be out-foxed, Den caught a cab to the ticket line site ~5:30AM that morning, and was about the 15th in line to get our tickets! Yahoo, we were in for the day’s event and tours. Anne, Drew and Alison arrived by cab and had brought Den coffee, sandwiches and fruit, since he’d missed breakfast. All went well, and the incredible inside rooms and buildings of this fabled marbled and tiled grounds were magnificent–see the photos! Here’s a word about Audio-Guide handheld voice-tours: they’re really wonderful 99% of the time–we believe they’re well worth the extra 2-3 Euros…at least you then know what you’re looking at!
For the gardens and water features, Generalife Gardens and Summer Palace was wonderful. (Look at the pictures!)

We had a long hike (downhill however!) back to city center from the Alhambra, passing streams, winding narrow streets towards the center of the town–the day was hot and sunny, and people were in shirtsleeves pushing baby prams. We finally arrived near our hotel (the most elegant one of the entire trip), passing a huge downtown stature surrounded by water fountains depicting Christopher Columbus presenting his chart and plans for exploring the new world to Queen Isabella. Her expression, in bronze, looks pleased.

gain, a night train to the far northeast–Barcelona! We’re now old hands at dropping off to sleep in our bunks while the tracks clack beneath us. Of course, we met for breakfast in the dining car as we finally pulled into the underground train station.

Already on the alert for real ice cream (just like in Madrid) we located the same franchise shop in Barcelona and were again delighted with chocolate mousse. Drew and Alison served as scouts, and led us to an excellent near-hidden restaurant on a narrow alley called Cafe de l’Academia where each of our entrees were exquisite. Yes, yes it’s finally all come down to food, sauces and accompanying wine!

Barcelona! Anne and I had been keen on reading about Gaudi and his remarkable architectural feats. Our hostel was a real dive (worst of the trip in Den’s opinion) but it was one block from Gaudi’s Casa Mila complex and a Starbucks where we could consume our morning coffee and sweet roll-no delicious pastries similar to those in Madrid (at least we never found them) but passable flapjacks (oatmeal bars).

How can I summarize? We were overwhelmed with Sagrada Familia, Gaudi’s church that was unfinished when he died in 1929, and is still undergoing construction, while tourists view the site daily? “Incredible” and “amazing” are the two words that spring to my mind. (Look at the pictures!)

Time to depart the next day! Drew left early that morning by bus for the Barcelona airport–his Amistad-underwritten Delta Airlines flight to Seattle left. We gave him a hug, knowing he was headed to a new chapter in his life at CalMaritime Academy in California. Anne and I left later that day too, headed for London. Alison’s flight wasn’t due to depart until the next day. She wished us “goodbye for now” as Anne and I wheeled our suitcases 6-7 blocks along the Ramblas to the airport bus stop, along side a large plaza. Reviewing our photos of the trip allows memories to again light up–a trip we’ll remember for our lives, where we saw Lisbon and Spain, along with Drew & Alison.

Thrift Shop Book Club

I miss my book club but mostly I miss the women in my book club. I read a lot – at least I do a lot of reading. I enjoy novels, especially those with words that slip together, sing with clarity, and create pictures in my imagination. I do so appreciate a well constructed phrase!

I’ve never kept a lot of books; my belief is that a book on a shelf is just a lazy indulgence – they need to be out working, being read, not sitting getting dusty on a shelf! There are so many books, so little time, why would I read one more than once? Indeed, there are only a handful of books I have re-read (and some of those because I didn’t remember it the first time!). I’m looking forward to reading Pillars of the Earth in preparation of reading Ken Follet’s followup novel.

We do have a bookcase here; it’s in the bedroom and the books to-be-read share the space with odd bits of clothing, shoes, and detritus found in our pockets at the end of a day. The books-in-progress are spread around the flat, in piles by the bed, or tucked into a corner of the couch.

In Seattle, my library card was used more than my credit card. And, I loved the shelves of paperbacks that you could just take and return whenever you wanted. Most of my paperbacks ended up on those shelves, working hard, I hope. My list of requested books at the library was quite long – and it was wonderful when my name came up and I got something I had ordered.
So, one of the first places we went in Bedford was the library. (Truth be told it was for the WiFi and computers.) We got library cards before we got an address. But, libraries here work quite a bit differently. Bedford’s library is small, and if they don’t have a book, you can request it, and they may or may not get it, and you may need to actually pay something to have it purchased. There’s a 2.50 pounds (about $5) fee to check out a DVD. Sigh.
So, I’ve turned to thrift shops for my books. And, I realized that, by default, this has become my book club. What I read depends on what others have read and donated. At least once a week, I head out of our flat and walk to these thrift shops. First is Oxfam, my favorite shop, because it only sells books and has a large, interesting selection in good condition. The British Heart Foundation and the Cancer Care Relief shops have lots of romance novels and pop fiction. The Children’s Charity shop has a mixture of books, although surprisingly few children’s books. Then there’s the Age Concerns, Marie Curie Cancer Care, Shelter-National Campaign for the Homeless, Save the Children, SCOPE-Helping those with Cerebral Palsy. I seldom go to RATS (Re-homing Animal Telephone Service) as most of the books deal with animals of some sort, and it’s a bit of a long walk for little return. Ditto for the YMCA.

And then there’s the Salvation Army store, with a huge room just for books, shelves line all the walls and tables, crammed in the center of the room, overflow with books. I think all the other shops send their rejects here – for books sell at the rock bottom price of 3 for 1 pound – what a bargain! It’s a challenge to find anything though, as the books are shelved according to SIZE to accommodate as many books as possible. So, you’ll find a science fiction next to a biography, or Shakespeare nestled up against a tawdry romance. It’s just dizzying, so I don’t tend to go there too often.

My best book buy was for Den. He lamented giving away his set of Patrick O’Brien books (ah, the stuff we gave away in Seattle!). Well, one day I was doing my book run through the thrift shops when I noticed a quiet, tall gent bringing in a big shopping bag that contained an entire set of Captain Aubry books! What a find – I negotiated with the thrift shop manager to get the entire bagful at the bargain price of 15 pounds. Den has been a happy reader ever since!

I’ve already dropped off a pile of books to Oxfam. Here’s my list that’s going back into circulation today:

• The Whole Wide World, Julie Glass. I liked her Three Junes, and this was equally as good. A nice easy read.
• The Night Listener, Armistead Maupin. A good read, I found his Tales of the City just today, so I snatched that right up.
• The Seduction of Water, Carol Goodman. A story of how things aren’t always what they seem to be.
• Lady’s Maid, Margaret Forster. Wonderful story, especially if you like Elizabeth Barrett Browning. I enjoyed the class/servant issues in late 1800s England.
• Nights of Rain and Stars, Maeve Binchy. Can’t really remember it
• Tears of the Giraffe, Alexander McCall Smith. One of the No.1 Lady Detective series that I had already read, but it was good for a quiet afternoon’s reading.
• Behind the Scenes at the Museum, Kate Atkinson. I liked this quite a lot because it takes place in York, and we had just visited there.
• The Weight of Water, Anita Shreve. I had forgotten I had read this, and its too sad to read twice.
• Sarum, Edward Rutherford. A 1,400-page book about Salisbury, England – rather in the oeuvre of Mitchner, where he begins with the breaking of the land from the water.
• London, Edward Rutherford. Another tome, this one on the history of London. Both these were enjoyable to read for their historical perspective. We’ve been to many of the places included in the books, adding another dimension.

Besides numerous travel books, I’m also filling in the gaps with The Wheel of Time series by Robert Jordan. These are quite fun – all are 800-1000 pages, so you really have time to delve into them. I read the first in the series on the plane from Seattle to London, and am now on the ninth book. Jordan died before he finished the twelfth and last book. Although this might portend what will happen to our hero Rand, I think Jordan just ran out of words! Jordan’s wife, who has edited all the books, has selected another fantasy writer to finish the series. Millions of readers must wait until fall of 2009 to see how the wheel makes it final turn in this epoch. (Note: I’ve only found one of these at the thrift shops; I’ve ordered most of them from Amazon’s used books, because they have to be read in order.)
I’ll keep a running list of my Thirft Shop Book Club books. I do miss being able to get the newest reads, or some of my favorite authors — alas, I’ve not found one Richard Russo, let alon his newest book — but it’s a kick to see what’s on the shelves. If you need a Bridget Jone’s Diary, I can get you as many as you need!

Tuesdays at St. Pauls

St Paul’s Church holds a lunchtime concert on Tuesdays. I started going to these sometime in November. The church is a sturdy grey brick building, with a huge steeple, good stained glass windows, and is surrounded by a cemetery. Now, this is in the center of downtown Bedford, traffic is whipping around the surrounding streets, and each Wednesday and Saturday there’s a big Farmers’ Market in St Paul’s Square; it’s very much an urban church.

So on Tuesdays, I walk down by the Embankment, around the corner, cross High Street and go through the big doors of St Paul’s Church. I join about 30 other old people (I’m usually one of the youngest there) in the sanctuary under the vaulted ceiling, sunlight streaming through colorful stained glass, slate floors, and surrounded with lots of dark oak paneling and brass plaques dedicated to dead people. Altogether, quite nice – oh, there are also lots of religious statues and crosses in this Anglican Church, and each chair has a kneeling pad, which of course, we don’t use.

For just a couple of quid, you can also partake of the lunch provided by the ladies auxiliary. I’ve never been tempted, as the sandwiches look rather pale and utilitarian, and the cakes and biscuits rather bland. Some things just aren’t worth it, even at bargain prices!

A Lovely Woman, Heather, assembles the program by arranging for the musicians, and writing up an intriguing introduction to the music. Mostly, we’ve heard pianists from Cambridge, all serious music students and graduates who have won awards and performed all over the world. The choir and orchestra from the local Dame Alice Harpur middle and high school have performed, as well as a violinist. I missed the trumpet player.
It’s a wonderful interlude, in the midst of the hustle of a city, to enter a quiet place, sit with others, and hear music. I wonder if the musicians care (or notice) that half the folks have nodded off to sleep?

February 10: Moggerhanger Snow Drops

Spring is sprouting around here – and, I got a phone call (we get so few that it’s truly amazing when the phone rings!) from a friend to tell us about the snowdrops at Moggerhanger Park. Evidently this weekend is the height of the season. It was another sunny Saturday, so we decided to drive out and take the woodland walk around the grounds of this old country house.
Between Bedford and Sandy (we had seen this park when we went out to the RSPC bird walk), is the small Moggerhanger Park with a Grade One Georgian Country House. Evidently, the house is the most complete surviving example of architect Sir John Sloane. Of course we haven’t a clue why that’s significant, but it is quite a lovely setting, the woodlands were carpeted in blooms of white snowdrops, and we had a lovely walk on a sunny morning. Of course, the hot tea and biscuits the tearoom wasn’t bad, either!

It looks like this would be a great spot for special dinner. The menu selections include Pheasant breast filled with chestnuts and orange, as well as aubergine and courgette gateaux (that’s eggplant and zucchini in American).

Learning to Drive All Over Again

Since I’ve been rather reticent about driving here, I decided it would be a good thing to hire someone to help me transition to driving on the “wrong” side and feeling good about it. So, Den got the name of a fellow who came highly recommended. I made the call, found out that it would be 22/hour or the bargain price of 32/1.5 hours (that’s like, over 60 USD!). But, I figured it would be worth it to, you know, build up my confidence.

First off, Colin is a nice enough man; I actually like him. And, I think he likes me, although I don’t think I’d go so far as saying he enjoys my company, at least when I’m behind the wheel of his car.

Second, I now understand why there are always cars with these “learning to drive school” signs atop them – you cannot go outside without seeing one every 5 minutes, and I do not exaggerate.

Third, and probably the most important, the Brits are very proper. There’s always the right way to do something, and that includes how to drive a car. And, just as British high school students quake at the fear of not passing their A-levels, that seems nothing compared to passing the English driving test. If you get a license to drive an automatic car, it does not qualify you to drive a stick shift; why so picky?

Here are a few things I’ve learned, besides the fact that after 40-odd years of driving in the US, I know nothing. There’s a proper way to hold your hand on the gearshift knob, your thumb should point down if going into first and second, and point forward for third and fourth. The proper way to stop at a light is to shift down, put the car into first gear, leave your left foot on the fully engaged clutch, the right foot on the gas, and use the parking brake! Who woulda thought? (I swear this is what my father called “riding the clutch.”)

The average first-time learner needs about 45 hours of individual instruction (you figure out how much that costs!) There’s a theory test and a driving test. Less than half pass the test the first time, which costs around 50 each time you take it. Now I’m wondering whether it’s worth the embarrassment (let alone the pounds sterling), as I may never pass the test before we leave!

About Those Roundabouts

In all of Bedford there is only one stop sign, and very few street lights, which turn yellow-red-yellow-green, so you always can anticipate the green light (and take off the hand break in time!). Of course, there are hundreds of roundabouts.

Roundabouts come in all sizes and shapes. You thought they were all round, didn’t you? There are mini roundabouts (just about the worst, I think, for running into someone), double and triple roundabouts. It’s truly amazing to see an HGV (Heavy Goods Vehicle, an 18-wheeler in American) come barreling around a roundabout – these trucks literally lean over like a motorcycle!

The good thing about a roundabout is that you only have to stop if there’s traffic coming, and usually that means you just slow down a bit to wedge yourself into the traffic. If you get confused, just go around again. And, traffic is only coming from one direction, which is a good thing.

Den & I finally came up with a way to talk about how to exit the roundabout; we use the clock method. When giving direction, you say “Take a 9:00,” meaning exit on the left. If it’s high noon, go straight through. Sometimes a roundabout has 7:00, 9:00, noon, 2:00, and 4:00 o’clock exits. Cars are ripping through those things like salmon swimming upstream.

Of course, if you’re walking, it’s a bit difficult to maneuver through a roundabout, as no one stops. Cars really can’t stop for you, or they’d get rear-ended. I’ve figured out how to walk most places to avoid roundabouts all together. When walking I instinctively look for cars in the American way, then quickly look the English way. Stepping off the kerb is a bit daunting, I feel like Linda Blair in the Exorcist because my head is spinning in so many directions! Fortunately, I must not be the only one, because there are signs painted on the pavement at many intersections: LOOK LEFT or LOOK RIGHT. I’m sure it saves lives, probably mine on more than one occasion.

February 24: A Day at the Tower of London

After a brisk walk to the train station, we got onto the train and found seats just we pulled out of the Bedford Station. Good timing.

We’ve wanted to go to the Tower of London ever since we got here – there’s something mysterious and appalling about this historical place. After getting our tickets, we went immediately to see the Crown Jewels. Sunday is supposed to be a busy day, but we almost had the jewels to ourselves. We took our time ogling at the gloriously ornate crowns, scepters, and other royal paraphernalia. The Cullinan I (the First Star of Africa) is a diamond weighing just over 530 carats (about the size of my fist!) and sits atop the Sovereign’s Sceptre with Cross. Queen Elizabeth wears the Imperial State Crown every year at the State Opening of Parliament.

Yes, these are the real thing – the Crown Jewels have been at the Tower of London since at least the 17^th century, and in 1761 there was an attempt to steal them. It is amazing that you can stand a couple of feet away (granted, there’s several inches of glass) from these outrageous pieces. There were gold platters the size of dining tables, gold goblets, salt cellars, punch bowls – truly mindboggling.

After a cup of coffee and scone, we were ready to go on a guided tour by a Yeoman Warder, all dressed up in a red and black uniform. The Warders are not only tour guides (given with quite a performance), but also watch guards and managers of the Tower. There’s an official “locking up” of the Tower each night that has been carried out for over 700 years. The warders and their families live inside the Tower complex. Cool place, for sure!

After our tour, which just consists of showing you where the buildings are and talking about what’s inside, we got the audio tour and took off on our own. These audio tours are the best, often giving great insights and historical anecdotes.

The Tower began as home for William the Conqueror in 1066. But, the Romans had some type of building there at least 1000 years earlier. Over the years, the Tower was expanded and modified, and it’s uses varied from a home to a prison to storage for supplies and warriors.

Of course, the most infamous is the Tower as royal prison, where Henry VIII beheaded his wives Anne Boleyn (his second wife), Catherine Howard (his 5^th), and Lady Jane Grey, who was queen for all of nine days. Although most executions were done out for public viewing, those of queens were deemed too sensitive and were done on the grounds of the Tower. A new memorial of glass and steel commemorate the site of these executions.

There’s Traitor’s Gate, where prisoners could be brought into the Tower out of sight via a boat off the Thames. Wakefield Tower where instruments of torture can be found, Bloody Tower for the imprisonment of many. The Chapel Royal, with its whitewashed walls, was the burial site for some of the most famous executed.

Inside the White Tower, there are displays of all sorts of military guns, shields, armor, as well as portraits. Seeing the armor worn by Henry VIII, including that of his horse was pretty cool. And, of course, there’s the chopping block and axe for beheadings.

We walked, and looked, and read, and listened until we could take no more. We had spent the entire day – from 10:00am to closing at 4:30, and still didn’t see everything we’d like to see. And, since we regretfully left the camera at home, I know we’ll need to go there again some day. We walked to the Tower Hill Underground station in a light rain to catch the Tube to St Pancras, then the First Capital Connect train to Bedford. It was raining when we got home, so got a taxi – and had to tell the driver how to get to our flat. I guess we really are residents now!

January 12-13: Anniversary Weekend in London

It was a brisk walk to the train station, but a bright morning. It’s just about an hour train ride to London. At the new St Pancras station, we took the Tube to South Kensington, where we had made reservations at a small hotel near the Victoria and Albert Museum. We got to the The Claverly Hotel, dropped our luggage, and headed to the museum.

One of the first things you see coming into the V&A is a huge Dale Chihuly glass sculpture hanging over the information desk, right in the center of the main hall – he’s everywhere, albeit this one is a bit dusty!!

We had a great guide that took us through the English Galleries – with many anecdotes and stories about the items on display. I was amazed that we could take photographs of the permanent collection; the museum owns everything so there are no copyright issues. Flash is even permitted – a guard explained that the curators decided that the collection belongs to the British people, the most delicate things are behind special glass, and they would just risk any possible damage to anything else. It was really wonderful to be able to photos.

We spent the entire day walking through several galleries, but certainly only saw a small portion of the building and the collections, but it was great. We headed back to our hotel to rest our feet, scoping out a place to eat within walking distance, taking a short detour through Harrods, which was having a sale and it was a zoo – once we got in there, it took us half an our to find an exit. What with all that shopping frenzy, we needed to relax, so we bought a bottle of wine (we’ll need to add a corkscrew to our permanent packing list), headed back to the hotel and put our feet up, surrounded by rose chintz and lace.

We ate at the Racine, a delightful French restaurant with a great menu, lovely wine. We were seated in a back room (what? No reservations?), and we quickly started up a conversation with the only other person dining with us who probably didn’t have a reservation either. So, we had a delightful evening sharing information and stories with Iain, an architect/designer of ships. He’s one of a long line of ship builders; his grandfather (or maybe great grandfather) worked on the Cutty Sark. What an interesting evening!

On Sunday morning we had a great breakfast at the hotel, then caught the train out to Harrow-on-Hill to pick up our new-to-us Rover sedan. We bought it from Emily and Jereme, a PA who is leaving the UK to work for the US State Department. After careful instructions on how to get to M1, and after consulting the several maps we have, we took off for Bedford. Ah, how good it is to have a car, and to have made it home with nary a scratch, and only a few scary moments!

January 20:  Bird Walking

Now that we have wheels, we can venture farther afield. We decided to drive out to the RSPB (Royal Society for the Protection of Birds) preserve – it’s just about 15 minutes from Bedford in the village of Sandy. In the center of the preserve sits The Lodge, which is the headquarters for the RSPB. It’s a beautiful old building surrounded with gardens, ponds, tall trees, and meadowlands.

We timed our arrival for the bird walk given by a knowledgeable volunteer. The morning, cold and brisk, with clouds scudding across the sky, made for a vigorous walk through the woods and pastures, listening and looking for birds. I soon realized I was more interested in the vegetation: Den, what’s this? Look at this huge, gorgeous tree. Oh, sure there’s a bird, but what kind of tree is it perched in? And, then, I couldn’t keep track of which bird was the Great Tit and which was the one that made the “teacher, teacher, teacher” sound. I think I prefer the stability and nobility of trees and plants.

We stopped at a great coffee shop in Sandy that we had found in the Biking Around Bedford book. What a lovely day, despite the birds!

January 26-28: Birthday Weekend in York

I selected York for my birthday weekend – so, we pulled out several of the travel books that we had gotten before we left (thanks to several thoughtful friends), and planned where to stay and what to see. It’s so great being able to spend an entire weekend, rather than an afternoon or a day, to experience these places.

We started out rather early, hoping to make it to York before lunchtime, which we just managed to do. We hadn’t driven very far north, so most of this was new territory – and were surprised to see several nuclear power plants; England isn’t all country villages and rolling green hills.
York was wonderful – we stayed in a great B&B, walked all over. After lunch on our first day, we spent the rest of the afternoon at The Minster and stayed for Evensong. That night we had our best meal we’ve had in England at Cafe Concerto, an Italian restaurant just outside the city walls. On Sunday we took the walking tour given by volunteers from York; we have had such good luck with guides and tours, everyone loves to talk about their city or museum, and it really adds to our understanding and enjoyment. Of course, it was windy and cold, but we managed several hours of walking through Old York.

Den doesn’t start work until 3:00pm on Mondays, so we stayed Sunday night, had breakfast on Monday morning and headed Rover home, which took about three hours. Check out our pictures on kerlee.com | pictures | Den and Anne | England Adventures | Visits and Trips, there is commentary on most of the photos, so I won’t repeat things here.

Life in Bedford, so far

We’re settling in, sorting things out, as it’s said here. Our flat is pretty well furnished, it’s small, so it didn’t take much! We have our routines. Den gets up and fixes himself breakfast and if I’m awake, I get coffee and toast in bed – how’s that for nice? Then, Den is off to work, usually riding his bike, although he can walk, or take the bus with his “senior” card, it’s free.

I usually spend some time reading in bed. I open the curtains to our back garden, so that I can see the huge tree that is home to squirrels and all sorts of birds. I love this view. The tree is magnificent, and I’m anxious to see what it looks like when it leafs out. When we arrived in October, it was standing, naked, majestically against the blue sky. Squirrels really do live in the hollowed trunk – it’s all very Beatrix Potter!

After a proper lounge-about, I manage to roll out of bed, check email, and finish up the coffee. If there’s contract writing work to do, I’ll do a couple of hours of that, or straighten things up a bit. (I can clean the whole flat from top to bottom in an hour; there are good things about living a compact life.)
I usually plan an outing everyday. On Tuesdays it’s music at St Pauls, on Wednesdays it’s the Farmers Market, and now that we belong to a gym, I go there a couple of times each week.

I’ve realized I’m not as outgoing as I had thought – I certainly miss the boys and our friends, but I’m not really lonely. I know email and SKYPE have really helped us stay in contact with people, and I look forward to hearing news from home, no matter how mundane it may seem. (Thanks to everyone who keeps me up-to-date.) I keep busy enough, I love having time to myself and doing what I want to do, when I want. As yet, I haven’t felt the need to get out and meet a lot of people, perhaps that time will come, but for now, I’m enjoying the solitude and the excitement and satisfaction that comes of discovering a new place.

The End of an Era

This month marked a milestone in the Miller family – my mother, Eunice Christine Jensen Miller died on December 7^th at the age of 93, just six weeks before her 94^th birthday. Mom had 93 really good years, and a few difficult months here at the end. She was ready to “go home,” as she put it, and although all of us knew this, it was still hard to see her slip away. Mom and I said our good-byes in September when I was last in Nebraska; we knew it would be the last time we would see each other.

I flew back to Nebraska on the 9^th; Doug came shortly after. He and Lily were traveling in Spain, so he took the fast train to Paris and caught a flight to Omaha. I’m sure Mom was amazed (and pleased) that two of her children flew from Europe to be with our family. It was good to see aunts, uncles, cousins, and neighbors that I hadn’t seen in years, all gathering to pay homage to a wonderful woman.

The day of her funeral was cold and blustery, but sunny. My older sister Kay came by the house to pick Dad and me up for the service. As I took Dad’s arm to walk down the drive, he said: “Where’s Mom?…Oh, yes.” And, I think that’s how we all feel now – how could she be gone? We four Miller kids have been so lucky to have two healthy parents that lived into their 90s, it’s hard to imagine life without them both.

I call Dad frequently, but neither of us does so well on the phone; we talk of the weather. I know he’s lonely – one thing about being a 91-year-old man of his generation is that all his friends died years ago. But, he’s active, drives around doing the “farm tour,” has coffee at the Highway Cafe, and falls asleep in front of the television most every night. Here’s to you, Dad.

Mallorca

I left Omaha on the 16^th, arriving in Gatwick the next day, took the train to Bedford, and got back to the flat around 2:00pm, unpacked and re-packed for a planned trip to meet Doug and Lily in Mallorca. Den & I had a quiet dinner, catching up on the last week. Then, the next morning, I took a taxi to the train station in time to catch the 6:00am flight from Luton, arriving a couple of hours before Doug and Lily. We met at the car rental, stowed our stuff, and headed off to the Northwest side of the island, stopping for our first (and one of many) delicious lunches.

The house we stayed in was on a bluff overlooking the Mediterranean – absolutely a beautiful spot, we could see both the sunrise and the sunset, could it be much better? Lily’s sister, Nancy, arrived the next day, and Den arrived on Saturday. It was a wonderful two weeks of eating, drinking lots of local wine, and touring around the island.

I’m not sure what I thought, but I had anticipated being warm (well, hot actually – I even brought a swimsuit!), but the Mediterranean isn’t always hot and sunny. I knew this, we had gotten weather updates off the Internet, and even with messing-up the conversion to Celsius, I knew it wasn’t going to be HOT, but hope springs eternal. We had enough days of stormy rain to know it was Christmas, and although mostly the days were sunny, it was coat and scarf weather. We managed to spend a few lunches basking on the sunny side of a patio.

There are some good things about going off-season, and certainly that is having the island to yourself. It must be a zoo in the summer – there were rows of Miami-Beach hotels lining the beaches (evidently half of the hotels in Spain are on Mallorca), all standing empty – closed up completely! It was surreal to drive through these tourist areas. But, then we’d find a village with some fabulous little restaurant, with wonderful wine. As Lily says, if you’re in the middle of a vineyard, you drink the house wine! We got really good at the 2-hour lunch!

Some remembrances: sheep grazing in a field with bells around their necks that made a wonderful song, a few early buds on the almond trees – the fragrance was incredible, the lovely seaside town of Portocolom, Roman ruins in Alcudia, a family church just off the road near Son Servera, challenging jigsaw puzzles, the caves at Arta, Rodin statues in Palma, shopping for pearls in Manacor, boarded-up empty hotels almost everywhere, a Christmas goose dinner, bottles of red wine for lunch and dinner and whenever, delightful 2-hour lunches. (See kerlee.com | pictures for details!)

It was good to be with family. It was good to be together. Thanks to Doug and Lily for arranging it to be so.

November 11, 2007

Den and I headed out to take a bike ride on our new bikes,
and we ran upon the Remembrance Day Ceremony at the Embankment. So, we hung
around to see how “Veteran’s Day” is observed. Imagine what it was like here in
Britain, after six years of war, to finally know that it was over! There was a
“salvation army’ kind of band, bag pipers, speakers, hymns, and prayers. But,
the most compelling was the laying of the poppy wreaths at the base of a
monument. The ceremony ended with a lackluster singing of the national anthem.
Perhaps it was the cold, windy, overcast day or the sober event, but I had
hopes for a rousing God Save the Queen.