The traveler: An expected journey

Photos: Rainy day highlights in Southern Dalmatia

shire_girl — Sat, 17 Nov 2018 06:12:00 GMT

Dubrovnik, Split, & Zagreb

Rainy day highlights in southern Dalmatia

shire_girl — Sat, 17 Nov 2018 06:02:00 GMT

Perhaps what I will remember most of visiting these places with my Colorado friend is talking at cafes and restaurants down narrow cobblestone streets while waiting for better weather, and alternately being soaked by the rain. Out of about 7 days we saw 1 truly sunny day, which we soaked up high above Dubrovnik.

The city’s most notable attraction is its medieval, stone wall, which unlike any other I’ve seen encompasses 360 degrees of the old town. For a rather pricy fee of about $22 you are allowed to climb the 100 plus steps up to the walkway atop the thick stone battlements. Apparently these walls were strong enough to prevent even Napoleon from tearing them down in the early 19th century to “improve the health of cities with fresh air”.

The views of the ocean and Fort Lovrijenac across the inlet from atop the wall were incredibly striking, and truly medieval picturesque. Each day we spent many minutes (from different places) watching the waves crashing over the rocks in this inlet and pouring across the stone walkway around the harbor. The scene irresistibly reminded me of the entrance to the cave in Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, only rather brighter and more inviting!

I also had the rare pleasure of wandering through a candy shop, which I likened to Honeydukes Sweet Shop, with barrels of different chocolates and colorful candies. There were even a few befitting Halloween (just 2 days away) including jelly like teeth and anatomically correct tongues.

On the second night in Dubrovnik my friend and I decided to attend a concert at the local music school we’d seen advertised around town (after we’d translated the poster). It was quite unlike any American concert I’ve been too. The three groups of performers alternated coming and leaving from the stage several times over the course of an hour or so. One group might play, or sing 2-3 songs, but the audience only clapped at the end of the set before they walked off. The piano, flute, violin, and cello music was very lively, but lost us later on with a lack of rhythm. The young female singer took both of us by surprise with the deep quality of her voice, and both singers I think would be well suited to the opera!

For a somewhat smaller city Dubrovnik had an amazing variety and number of places of worship (lacking only a mosque). Upon entering the Orthodox Church I immediately found it strikingly different. Rather than an alter at the top of the room a guilt, wooden wall spanning the width of the church decorated 4 life sized portraits of the usual religious figures. However rather than scenes of death and suffering they were depicted simply standing there with the Bible, or other significant symbols in their hands. Above this was a mural of the Last Supper. In it’s elegant simplicity and also lack of a huge cross front and center I found it a pleasant and welcoming change.

Any mention of Dubrovnik would be incomplete with talking about the variety and number of cats around almost any turn, some rather scruffy, some sleeker; some kittens, some full grown. My friend had an especially good eye for spotting them! A few of them were even kind enough to allow a bit of a pet.

The museums in Dubrovnik, as the guidebook said, were rather underwhelming. The living museum of Diocletian’s palace in Split was quite a bit better. Especially with a walking tour, which I signed up for through Airbnb (a first for me), I learned quite a bit behind what I was seeing from the history of the palace in Roman times to current excavation of the basements which had to stop in certain sections because of the house foundations directly above! One room in the basement in particular with a concentric ceiling had amazing an amplification. Just a whisper was magnified into a strong voice.

The Cathedral of Saint Domnius (one of the smallest in the world), which was originally intended to be Diocletian’s mausoleum, had a grander and equally impressive ceiling (though I didn’t test it’s amplification abilities). In fact the Cathedral is so small that the baptismal font has to be located in a separate building, originally created at the Temple of Jupiter. What I found most beautiful and fascinating here was the collection of colorful and varied currency that has been dropped into the baptismalfont rather like a wishing well without water.

On one rainy afternoon my friend and I found a particularly atmospheric little restaurant in Split. The warm tomato soup was just perfect for the rainy day! Low and behold they also had pumpkin pie on the menu, which is my friend’s absolutely favorite, and a perfect way to celebrate Halloween, which was rather an un-noted holiday in Croatia. It was certainly different than our typical pumpkin pie, and much lighter in flavor. After eating and thinking my friend finally touched upon the likeness of the pumpkin pie with cornbread, which was quite accurate.

The best night we had was probably when we decided we’d had enough of wandering around the wet town and would stay in, cook dinner, and watch a movie. It was a great combination!

Someone once told me when they travel for an extended time they build in a couple days just to do nothing. Sounds counterintuitive? You should definitely give it a try. It doesn’t seem like you should need a break from traveling, but oh, it is so needed!

Our last night in Zagreb before miraculously flying out together on the same flight booked weeks apart, was another evening for being soaking wet. I saw just enough of Zagreb on my walk across town to meet my friend at our chosen museum to know that I would definitely like to come back for a day or two to explore (preferably with the sun!).

The Museum of Broken Relationships was a great place to begin drying out, and a very innovative museum. Composed of several rooms there are various objects on display accompanied by descriptions from the donor of the relationship they embodied. Some descriptions consisted of just a couple lines: “She loved antiques - as long as things were old and didn’t work. That is precisely the reason why we are not together anymore.” Others were long essays and hard to follow, or occasionally very deep and moving. Most were a paragraph or two with just enough details to image part of the relationship, but really free of any structure or requirement for the story. Perhaps most ironically 3-4 of the maybe 100 objects and stories were from Boulder/Denver Colorado! Perhaps a fitting end to my time in Croatia and the beginning of my trip home.

Photos: Hvar: Biking, Fortresses and Food

shire_girl — Thu, 8 Nov 2018 09:35:00 GMT

Hvar: Biking, Fortresses and Food

shire_girl — Thu, 8 Nov 2018 09:32:00 GMT

Over my first week in Croatia I endeavored to learn words in the local language such as “Thank you,” “Excuse me, do you speak English?” and “Good day”. In Croatian “hv” is pronounced somewhere between a “w” and a “q” making “Wa-var” the correct pronunciation for the island I visited.

By far the most memorable morning was the 4 hour guided bike tour I treated myself to around the northern part of the island for about $90 with Hvar Adventure. Given the fact it was off season it even turned out to be a private tour with just the local guide. On quality mountain bikes we set off through the Stari Grad Plains, a collection of hundreds of plots of land rather like allotments, where olives and grapes are still cultivated by hand under the protection of the UNESCO World Heritage List. However some of these plots grow wild without any easy way to trace the many far flung descendants of the last known owner, or while one family member holds out from selling.

From this land of Mediterranean riches we biked to Vrboska, locally known as the “Little Venice”, before stoping in Jelsa for a coffee at one of the few cafes still open in the relaxing square. Given that it was just the 2 of us my guide was able to tell me not just about the places we were visiting, but about Croatia and his own experiences and perspectives. He would like to see a change in the local tourist season from the current one, which sees much of the island shut down for 6 months in the off season, to one which would welcome visitors year round. There isn’t much motivation for that at the moment. With a touch of distaste he translated what one local man was telling another in Croatian after they passed us at a photo stop: he’d made enough money over just the summer months to pay for all of his son’s university costs (likely including an apartment to live in).

Unlike many Croatians who are moving into the cities, or even out of the country my guide and his family moved from Zagreb (the capital) out to Hvar. Here they enjoy more of the true quality of life, and less of the rush. For example the afternoon following my bike ride they were going to spend harvesting olives with friends. On the other hand trying to get a plumber to fix a leak on the kitchen sink was very reminiscent of “A Year in Provence”: “Yes, yes. Emergency,” the plumber told him, “I come tomorrow morning”.

For the rest of our morning we pedaled along a quiet coastal road with views of the crystal clear water before winding our way into hills very reminiscent of Tuscany. At the highest point we stopped at the churchyard overlooking the island and villages below for a beautiful panorama.

There must be something special about climbing high above everything else because the other highlight of my island visit was the evening hike to the Fortress above Hvar (town). After taking a quick look in the old prison with its conical cells and beginnings of stalactites hanging from the ceiling I found a corner of one of the turrets to settle into for the sunset. It was perhaps one of the most stunning I have seen in a while. First lighting up the clouds from behind the sun appeared sandwiched like a golden egg between them. Then it slipped below the lower clouds on the horizon only to appear a few minutes later between cloud and horizon as a molten ball of glowing light.

The few of us who lingered for the moments past sunset exchanged turns taking a couple photos. Eventually the other American and I, who were the only ones left chatting, were hurried on our way 15 minutes after closing time.

We met up for dinner slightly later, and after a wonder up and down the steep, narrow, cobble stone streets looking for restaurants of interest that turned out to be invisible, or closed for the season we found one that catered to our tastes. I often refrain from taking the photos of food, but our plate of seafood seemed to be worthy of it on this occasion. Somehow I managed to cut the small octopus just right with my knife to receive a little squirt of what I eventually realized was octopus ink! My best description of the taste is somewhere along the lines of a light peanut sauce with a rubbery meat, which I personally enjoyed. Upon the waiters being very glad to hear us finally ask for the bill we headed out into the still temperate night for a post meal wander along the quiet harbor.

Perhaps in a tie for enjoyable food during my island visit I ordered a seafood risotto with a marinara sauce for lunch at one of only 2 restaurants still open in the town of Stari Grad. Apart from that delicious meal near the harbor the best and only remaining activity in the hibernating town was to wander through the old cobble stone streets sometimes stumbling upon a small informative sign in Croatian and English on something such as the roman mosaic discovered beneath the cobble and then recovered for protection.

Not to miss my last opportunity for swimming I spent the last daylight hours of my second day at a small cobble beach south of the main town. Typically cool, but refreshing there was just enough warm sun left to mostly dry off on the tiny pebbles while talking about the wonders of the ancient world with another traveler from Canada. (Those Canadians really seem to get around! I have met more Canadians on this trip than any other nationality (apart from where I’m visiting).)

Even on the last morning I met still another traveler when I directed a handful of other visitors to the bus station and ferry. Most of the travelers I meet from far and wide are nonetheless from western counties. This traveler though was from South Korea, which truly made for a different conversation. One of the topics of discussion was America’s role in ending WW ll with Japan, and lingering feelings (at least of the Japanese representatives he’d met) of regret that Japan had lost the war and had to give up the lands they’d conquered. I was very surprised to hear his gratitude for how the US had ended the war. Hopefully I too gave him a slightly different perspective to consider.

Photos: Plitivice: Land of the falling lakes

shire_girl — Tue, 30 Oct 2018 09:10:00 GMT

Plitvice: Land of the falling lakes

shire_girl — Tue, 30 Oct 2018 09:07:00 GMT

It was this place that first captured my interest. It is the reason I know where Croatia is. The highlight of this place is simply, or incredibly the lakes. It’s hard to put into words what a photo can say, and even then it’s hard to truly capture the magnificence of the waterfalls. If Rivendale ever existed on Earth it would’ve been here.

Each morning arriving at the first overlook or the first series of waterfalls and pools I was in awe. The water was a crystal clear aquamarine with fish slowly weaving just beneath the surface as though suspended in glass. The simple wooden walkways curving across lakes blend in so well with the natural landscape, and yet are extremely trusting in everyone’s sidewalk sense (only in a few places will you find wooden railings). Yet I did not see anyone take a topple into the water!

I had the very good fortune of 2 dry and partly sunny days, though still cold enough for my full winter coat in the morning (40s F). Had I kept my original plans to be in Plitvice a couple days earlier I would’ve been wet, if not soaked.

It’s amazing how the small choices you make set you along different paths! Moments difference and you meet different people. One hello can become a new friend, or a few minutes of silence and someone will remain just a stranger. Sometimes conversations are short, and sometimes they last.

On my first boat from the entrance to the starting point of the upper lakes I was tempted to say something to the man in front of me when he commented to his father in Spanish about the beauty of the lakes. I did not, but as it happened he asked me in English a few minutes later, and for the next couple hours I proceeded to walk with him and his father past the waterfalls. We parted half way up and then proceeded to bump into each other again that afternoon. The world is smaller and all the more interesting with the new people you meet and the interests you share.

On the second afternoon I took the road less traveled on the forest paths, which had caught my eye the day before. For 3 hours I hiked completely alone through paths of leaves, beeches, and firs with occasional bird song. If not for the well marked path from tree to tree it would’ve been incredibly easy to get lost among the sea of leaves. Scattered in patches between the trees were what I Initially I took to be huge outcroppings quartz. On closer inspection I realized they were probably statues of limestone instead, which forms the malleable skeleton of Plitivice itself.

I doubt you can ever be in Plitvice without other people, but only a few times in my 2 days there did I really find myself admits a crowd. It is a very different experience as everyone vies for photos of the same waterfalls. It gave me just a taste for the summer months and I would not recommend it; they have even taken to closing the park in the middle of the day because of the number of people.

At this time in late October the major crowds are gone. Though the hills around the lakes were a dull grey there were still green leaves hanging to branches, and the forest floor was covered in golden brown. It was far from disappointing.

Photos: Highlights from Rovinj

shire_girl — Fri, 26 Oct 2018 08:23:00 GMT

Highlights from Rovinj

shire_girl — Fri, 26 Oct 2018 08:20:00 GMT

Rovinj is the perfect location for an unplanned day of simply wandering up and down the beautiful streets, which are spotlessly clean. The pale stones also shine from the thousands of feet that have passed over it.

Perhaps because I live so far from the ocean, and so rarely go swimming the highlight from the first day has to be swimming in the Adriatic. A mix of natural rock and stone steps lead down to the crystal clear water all along the upper southern coast of Rovinj. With the sun out the idea of swimming was even tempting enough for my Italian friend to buy the swim suit he’d forgotten to bring.

We first met 3 years ago in Scotland, as well as a couple times later on my same European trip. Rovinj, being so close to northern Italy, was the perfect place to catch up in person with this far flung friend.

The salty water was the “perfect” temperature according to my friend. It was nonetheless cool, but enjoyable for 30 minutes or so of swimming and treading water before coming out to lay on the warm, if not bumpy rocks. It was blissfully free of crowds with only a few other people pursuing the same past time on this day in the late shoulder season.

A slightly different, but nonetheless peaceful experience was the walk through the Forest Park and around Lone Bay to sit by the edge of the ocean while listening to the water lapping at the rocks. The evening sky was a grey-blue following the couple hours of unexpected afternoon rains. It blended almost seamlessly into the ocean at the horizon. A sail boat slowly made its way along the edge of the world while the little island off the coast made for a beautiful photo, and the perfect place to imagine meditating.

For a completely different view of Rovinj my friend and I climbed up to the Church of St. Euphemia on the first morning, catching views from all around the peninsula on our steady climb to the entrance. The highlight was of course ascending the bell tower with its old wooden, ladder like steps to the very top. We were all of a minute late to be at the top when as noon bells rang, but listened to the sweet echo as we climbed the steps. Like any other tower, whether it be in Copenhagen or Venice, the view of the city from a different angle always seems to be worthwhile. Perhaps it’s just the feeling of being above everything!

Any story about Rovinj would of course be missing something without a mention of the food! Each morning we had breakfast Italian style: a coffee and a pastry while watching the passers by in the square. Meals themselves are actually not as cheap as you might imagine (even in off season). Both lunches we ate out were between $16-24 each, but very filling. The best meal was probably the dinner my friend cooked with shrimp from the seafood market in a fresh tomato-garlic sauce with pasta. Perhaps it was just the fact that I was able to watch and learn something of “basic” (according to my friend) Mediterranean cooking. At the same meal I also learned about and tried mussels for the first time. There’s so much shell for such little meat!

The market in Rovinj really is a must see, though perhaps a little daunting if you’re not ready to sample the olive oil and truffles that every vendor would like to offer you. After a couple walk throughs you realize they’re really all selling exactly the same thing, so it might be worth price shopping a bit. If you go in the morning, as we did, you’ll also catch the vegetable section of the market, and if you speak Italian (or Croatia) you can have an animated discussion with the vendor about what exactly you’re looking for!

Photos: Bergen: Home of the Hanseatic League

shire_girl — Sun, 21 Oct 2018 06:30:00 GMT

Bergen: Home of the Hanseatic League

shire_girl — Sun, 21 Oct 2018 06:27:00 GMT

As my train pulled into Bergen I realized my phone, which I was relying on for a map to where I was staying, was dangerously low on battery. I started off, and before long, though not without ascending one of Bergen’s steep hills, realized that I was going the wrong direction. Finally headed in the right direction I wound my way from one steep narrow road to cobble lane after another. The “streets” to my airbnb were little more than pedestrian ways, though increasingly beautiful. Finally I arrived on the doorstep very hot from the climb and with a miraculous 2% battery left on my phone.

As I settled in I met the other 3 visitors at the airbnb apart from myself: a Scottish man, and a Dutch couple also currently living in Edinburgh, who were in Bergen for a job interview. Always a reminder of just how closely connected all of Europe is!

Over a late evening snack and cup of tea the Scottish man and I talked about our sight seeing ideas for the coming day. Following Rick Steves’ advice I bought a ticket for a guided tour stoping at the 3 Hanseatic League museums, which could not have been more worth it.

I started the grey morning off with a walk to the old fortress just a few minutes away from where I was staying (the benefit of my trek the previous day with my suitcase). The fortress itself was only vaguely interesting. With the historical commentary from Rick Steves it gained a bit more color. The most memorable item I would never have noticed is an ivy covered, square, concrete bunker, which was built during the Nazi occupation in WW ll. To go along with this relic is the story of the ship in the harbor just on the other side of the road, which “accidentally” explored in 1944. There seems to be little question in most peoples’ minds that it was an accident.

If you can find the rather hidden steps at the north entrance to the grounds you are rewarded for the steep climb with an amazing view from the crown of the fortress over most of Bergen.

As the predicted rain for the day began to fall the Scot from the airbnb joined me at the Bryggens Museum for the Hanseatic tour in the Bryggen quarter. It began on the ground floor around the uncovered, charred remains of several of the old Hanseatic buildings. Before this was discovered the locals following WW ll were petitioning to tear down the rest of the Hanseatic buildings because of their German connection. Very fortunately this changed their mind!

The Hanseatic League was an organization of German traders primarily in the the 16th and 17th centuries who created a link between the fisherman of the north and the markets of Europe. Twice each year the Norwegian fisherman brought down their boat loads of air dried stock fish to the Hanseatic trading ports, such as Bergen. Only a photo can begin to give you an idea of just how many thousands of fish this involved!

The most interesting items in the first museum were described to us as “early text messages”. They were inscribed in wood; usually just a few words, a sentence, or even a picture. The image of tossing your little splinter of wood with a message to your friend during class is very easy to imagine!

The Hanseatic traders initially came to Bergen as young boys to apprentice. Slowly they moved through the ranks until they were finally able to move back to current day Germany to manage their trading business and to marry. The penalty of marrying or having an illegitimate child while in Bergen was to provide a barrel of beer to the other men in the house. One boy wrote in his diary that he wished another man would be caught so they could enjoy another round of beer.

Each “house” was like a temporary family comprised of several apprentices and a couple more experienced superiors. One “family” would occupy one of the long buildings with offices and dormitories, as well as a communal building at the back where they would cook, relax and eat.

Like so many early cities Bergen had a history of burning every generation (or so). In an effort to prevent this fires, candles, and anything heat related was completely banned from the offices and dormitories. Walking through the small, creaky, imperfectly angled rooms of the Hanseatic Museum it was all too easy to imagine just how cold it would’ve been during the winter. The cupboard beds in the dormitory are small by any standard. Imagine what a surprise it was then to learn that 2 boys slept (or rather sat up) in each bed to assist with warmth! The large communal rooms of the 2nd museum (somewhere in between the 2 mentioned above) with a warm fire must have been ever so welcoming!

Following the tour my traveling companion and I went back to revisit parts of the museums we hadn’t taken in on the tour, as well as the shops, which now take up residence in most of the old Hanseatic buildings that have survived the lick of flame since the early 1700s.

Our first try for lunch was a restaurant my neighbor had recommended to me and famously told me “you can’t miss it!”. Well of course it was hard to find (or rather recognize as the right one without knowing the name). In the end I think we found it, but unfortunately it was only open for dinner. So we headed toward the seafood market which the Scot had spotted earlier as the rain really began to come down. We stopped at one stand offering a choice of seafood with a side of salads for a reasonable price. They said we could also choose different seafoods for the same plate. When it came to paying though we both had to correct some misunderstandings in what we wanted, and still ended up paying rather more than we expected. If you’re visiting it would definitely be worth going over every detail clearly (even too clearly!) before you order. However the platters served us both as our main meals for the second half of the day. The topic of conversation for lunch was all the good in the world we don’t hear about in the news. The Scot recommended a book called “Factfulness” comparing the numbers of all the heart breaking things we hear about these days with the numbers and percentages of generations gone by that we’ve forgotten about, and forgotten how much things have improved.

As the Scot went back to the airbnb I headed back to the museum to read more about Stock fish. I dreaded leaving as by that time it was pouring full force outside, but finally made a dash for the visitor information center. Just below it I found a lovely indoor food court, which was blissfully dry. Rather than have another meal I opted for dessert in the form of an ice-cream cone, which, at that slow time, also came with a conversation with the server who was a Nepali student in Bergen working on his master’s degree. As I recall he said the course work was in English, but if he wanted to stay in the country after school he’d have to become fluent in Norwegian. No easy feat I’m sure!

By early evening the rain had dried up, though the Nepali man pointed out that that was part of experiencing the real Bergen! Taking the lead of the Scotsman I decided to head out on my own stroll around the neighborhood rather than pack, and discovered why my neighbors love it so much: the cats. Some of the felines definitely have homes, but don’t say no to some extra attention from passersby!

With many more memories to take with me I started off to the airport early the next morning while the streets were still quiet and the daylight was just beginning.

The next 7 weeks would find me at my friend’s lovely cottage in the Cotswolds of England. However in an effort to keep up with myself those highlights will have to wait for another time. In the mean time I am going to endeavor to post the daily highlights (or at least every couple days) from my next and final 2 weeks in Croatia!

Photos: Fjord Country

shire_girl — Fri, 19 Oct 2018 08:22:00 GMT

Fjords of Norway

Fjord Country

shire_girl — Fri, 19 Oct 2018 08:20:00 GMT

After trying and failing to stay entirely awake on the 6:25 am train out of Oslo my friend and I revived for the most impressive scenery passing the train windows as we climbed higher into the mountains. As we approached approximately 4,000 feet above sea level the landscape outside reminded me irresistibly of tree line in Colorado approximately 7,000 feet higher with rock, brush and blue grey lakes. At the highest point we briefly stepped off the train into a light, wet snow (yes, even at the end of August). Further down the other side of the mountain we disembarked at our final stop with a surprising number of other tourists, given how early the train left, for the next part of our “Norway in a Nutshell” tour. Sometimes you just have to do what all the other tourist think is worthwhile because it really is.

After giving us adequate time to peruse the gift shop the cog train with an old fashioned interior took us down into the valley past stunning scenery of waterfalls and vibrant, green valleys. Almost each time you raised your camera though you found yourself entering another short tunnel! At a magnificent waterfall everyone poured onto the platform after a minute’s pause wondering how long the train was stopped for. The hundred or so other tourists of course detracted from the natural beauty somewhat. However after a few photos of the spray sparkling in the air the dancing siren also stepped out accompanied with a full sound system, which though I’d heard about, completely ruined the experience. Nature is quite beautiful enough in it’s own majestic force.

Our ferry from Flam to the fjord side town of Balestrand though was the one less taken by the tourists, and though there were still many people on board it was very spacious (imagine an entirely first class airplane). We took a seat outside on the back deck, which was blissfully quieter from the ferry to the Stockholm archipelago. I spent the majority of the next 2 hours at the rail watching the fjord disappear behind us, a dark lake between the steep, grey mountain walls with tears of waterfalls pouring down.

Towards the end of the journey I got to talking with a Norwegian lady about the country. “What is something most people don’t know about Norway?” I asked. After thinking a moment she said “The people might seem a bit rude sometimes to visitors. When people bump into each other here they don’t apologize. It’s not rude, it’s just the way we are.” This was a bit surprising to me, but I don’t recall actually noticing whether it was true or not. After saying goodbye as we’d starting to talk about her kids and the education system in Norway I disembarked with my friend in the small town of Balestrand before the ferry very promptly pulled away from the dock.

That evening we both just collapsed into our beds with no interest to do anything other than relaxing for the rest of the evening. However we did spend probably an hour pouring over timetables for possible outings the next day. Of all the days of our trip the one that was most dependent on the weather was of course the one that was forecasted to be decidedly wet. Frustratingly Balestrand was also not well connected for day trips to somewhat drier possibilities without returning around 11 pm.

The next morning dawned grey, and drizzly. We headed down to the tourist office to ask for suggestions for the day and were pleasantly surprised to be told that there was a hiking trail that would give us a great view of the fjords and was perfectly doable in the light drizzle. So in our rain gear we set off to the edge of town where the trail began.

At first we wound our way through the the damp forest going up and up before reaching a plateau where the trees ended and the shrubs began. Along the trail were occasional boxes with journals for visitors to jot down notes. I’d risked eating what I was very certain was a wild raspberry earlier, though my friend remained unconvinced. However in this journal a visitor just slightly earlier in the day, according to the date, had written “We loved the wild berries: raspberries and blueberries!” Well now we were both convinced to look more closely at the shrubs I had earlier guessed were wild blueberries, but also assumed were past fruiting. It appeared my plant identification was correct, and that these shrubs were high enough that most visitors hadn’t reached them (or perhaps they simply had a later season)! We each gathered a couple handfuls of blueberries while I imagined the days when people must have spent all day out gathering berries on hillsides. A dozen or so berries together had a wonderful blueberry flavor, but perhaps surprisingly some of the larger berries on their own didn’t have much flavor at all.

As we made the last part of the ascent among the shrubs and grasses I trailed behind somewhat picking blueberries every several steps until they gave way to pure grass, and stone steps. When we reached the summit a strong breeze suddenly blew around us. Freezing after only a few photos we took refuge in the unheated, but wonderfully windproof little A-frame type hut at the top. Still cold after our short lunch we were determined to go back to the summit for a few more photos before descending. Though it was probably only 3,500 ft. above sea level it felt much more impressive than that. Though it was grey the view of the fjord below was still clearly visible and met my friend’s sole desire for the hike.

As we descended we soon began to warm up once more; down the stone steps, down the dirt path by the blueberries, and through the humid forest.

Early that evening the rain dried up, and left us for a very pleasant wander around Balestrand once we too were dry again. It was one of those perfect times with nothing else to do until our chosen location for dinner opened up. In the meantime we found what I would call the most beautiful place in town in front of the grand Kviknes Hotel with several benches and a small harbor on the still water.

We had a wonderful and leisurely meal at the family run restaurant of Gekkens, only open (at least in the off season) for the 3 or so hours around dinner. Perhaps it was the long hike, or the fact that it was my friend’s last night before heading home, but it seemed the best evening we had.

The next morning I waved my friend off on his ferry before catching mine back to where the cog train had left us a couple days before. Fully bundled up I spent part of the journey across the fjord enjoying the scenery with the wind full in my face at the very front of the boat. The force of the wind is truly amazing, but can only be endured for so long before returning to the warmth of the interior!

From Flam I boarded the sightseeing vessel for the last half of the Norway in a Nutshell trip through the Naeroyfjord. Though I usually find PR outstrips reality I will say that the new electric, hydrofoil cruise vessel in this case truly lives up to its praise. With zigzagging outside walkways it’s easy to escape from any group of people, and watch the fjord slide by from almost any angle. Eventually I tired of jumping up every few minutes from my warm seat inside to photograph another waterfall, or brilliant greenery around a little fjord side village, and was able to appreciate the quality of the view from the warmer side of the seat to ceiling windows. Low and behold this tinted glass actually improved the quality of lighting in my photos!

Before I knew it we were docking at the end of the journey. The main bus stop in Gudvangen is deceivingly further down the road than the conveniently placed bus stop near the ferry. After spending long enough at the sign and with Google maps (which my friend had finally talked me into) to realize this I grabbed the other American couple I’d bumped into along the way, who had been heading off for a cup of coffee. Instead we found ourselves calmly waiting at the bus station for the rather tardy bus as other people came panting up having only realized the location of the stop at the last minute. From there the final leg of my fjord journey came to an end with a few more conversations, and one last dash for the train in Voss.

Photos: 36 hours in Oslo

shire_girl — Sat, 13 Oct 2018 08:16:00 GMT

36 hours in Oslo

shire_girl — Sat, 13 Oct 2018 08:09:00 GMT

Such a short time for a city with so much to do, namely so many museums! After taking an hour to relax at our airbnb and getting to know the friendly kitten sized cat that came with it we headed out to explore a piece of Oslo. Perhaps the best moments of travel are the early evenings when museums are closing and all that’s left is a leisurely wonder in a park or old part of town with no closing times, no entrance fees, and nothing else to get to except for dinner sometime in the future.

The perfect place for such a time was Vigeland Park, a relatively small portion of a much larger park. In exchange for a studio, and lifetime salary Gustav Vigeland devoted his artistic career to creating hundreds of bronze and stone human statues to decorate the public park. Some of them are beautiful and playful, others my friend described as “weird” and leaves you to question what Vigeland was intending to convey. And all of the statues are nude. The central pillar itself is not entirely unlike the description of the pillar in the Minister of Magic in the last book. However the accompanying promenade past the various statues, fountains, and flower features made for an enjoyable and photographic stroll. As the breeze whipped up and the sun headed west we found an affordable restaurant for a warm dinner, which was mostly Italian with a touch of asian flavor perhaps.

The next morning we took the long way to town by following the path by the river. Given that it was a Saturday morning everything was rather still and quiet. After stopping at the train station to make reservations for our 6 something train the next morning owing to the fact that our earlier reservations had been lost by the parcel delivery company (the reservation system through Eurail is really a pain) we were left with the rest of the day for the museums on Bygdoy Island.

The ferry from the main part of Oslo to the island sounded so much more fun (and quicker than the bus). However owing to our stop at the train station we arrived with the rest of the sight seeing crowd and had to wait for 2 ferries before we were able to get on the relatively small boat considering the interest. Nonetheless we finally made it to the Open Air Museum with over 100 historic buildings from all around Norway.

The highlight of our visit was certainly the Stave Church with it’s Viking like wooden shingled roofs and gargoyles rearing up from every point. The interior was small, dim, and had a slight, but pleasant burned smell. There are relatively few of these churches left in Scandinavia owing to the fact that they frequently burned down, not least due to the fact that the whole building is coated in tar! That does however make it waterproof.

Of the many buildings on the site only perhaps a 1/3 (usually the larger ones) were open to walk into. The majority of these were variations of the same farm house. In the main, dim room sits a long wooden table reminiscent of Bjorn’s huge dinning table in the Hobbit. In the corner is the fire place, and on one wall a built in cupboard bed (there are a few more beds located in a room or two off of the main room of the house as well). My fantasy of spending the night in a bed like this is tampered with the fact that I can easily imagine how cold it was!

In one farm house was a hand carved wooden roller used in the washing and ironing process. In the days long gone a man would have to make a gift for his beloved when he proposed to her. If she accepted the gift it was a yes, if not, well he left broken hearted. Down the road when he fell in love again he’d have to make a new gift, as he wasn’t allowed to “re-use” the old one.

Before leaving we stopped at the old fashioned sweet shop, which was actually staffed and selling old fashioned licorice sweets by the ounce in little paper bags. You either seem to love licorice, or hate it, and I definitely love it!

After a short walk to the other corner of the island we decided on the Fram Museum, which like the Vasa Museum in Stockholm actually houses the real ship, which in this case is considerable shorter in height, quite the opposite of unstable, and joyfully open to the public to walk through! My friend makes his way through museums much faster than I, so before long I was left reading the tale of Amundsen’s successful expedition to the South Pole along the bottom of the museum wall paired with Robert Scott’s tragic journey at the same time along the top. It’s easy to recognize Amundsen’s wisdom in planning his expedition including the use of sled dogs capable of surviving the harsh winter conditions compared with Scott’s ponies. Tragically from an animal lovers point of view though only the minimum number of dogs were meant to survive the trip.

The ship itself had several previous journeys to the arctic prior to its voyage to the other end of the poles, including being locked in the ice for 2 or 3 years to prove the existence of the northwest passage, or rather the northwest ice flow. Beyond reading that much of its earlier journeys though I spent the remaining opening hours exploring the rooms of the ship. I was actually taken aback at how much room there was on board, and how comfortable and homely it felt. Albeit with bedrooms just big enough for one person to sleep with a few personal items and the common rooms shared by the same people day after day I could see having spring fever months, or even years, before the trip was over!

However our short visit to Oslo came to a close after dinner at a distinctly American restaurant (which I had the hardest time recalling) and an all to short night of sleep.

Photos: Setting Sail in Stockholm

shire_girl — Thu, 20 Sep 2018 07:23:00 GMT

Stockholm, Sweden

Setting Sail in Stockholm

shire_girl — Thu, 20 Sep 2018 07:19:00 GMT

One benefit to catching up with yourself a few weeks on is perhaps that it’s easier to pick the most memorable pieces of each stop to share rather than every detail as it still shines clearly in your mind. Then again what could be said in a few minutes still comprises probably a couple paragraphs of words!

Europe is certainly not the ideal choice to visit for anyone not capable of climbing quite a few stairs, as I was reminded as we wound our way up 7 flights of stairs to our Airbnb on the “3 1/2 floor”. Just as I was thinking “Well, at least we only have to do this with a suitcase once”, we had to turn round and do it all over again because we where one staircase off in the building. Once there we had a lovely little apartment. Europeans are certainly clever at keeping stuff to a minimum and using every available opportunity for shelf space, especially in the bathroom. You might even call the little sleeping area in the loft a larger shelf built for a human. Though I was tempted to spend the night on the indoor hammock I decided the little loft was probably more comfortable.

On the first morning out we headed straight for the Vasa Museum, rather like the Kronan Museum in Kalmar, but with the real ship dominating the center of the museum built to house it, and standing 7 viewing levels tall. There’s nothing quite as impressive as standing before the ship and being dwarfed by its huge timbers. Only one thing that would be more striking is seeing it in its full colorful glory like the day it set sail. It’s hard to imagine at first, but the 10’ scale model recreates the vibrant colors that once adorned it’s wooden carvings.

There’s something about maiden voyages of renowned ships that just seems to spell disaster. Unlike the Titanic the Vasa only lasted a whopping 40 minutes into its maiden voyage before capsizing into the ocean. What was the cause? Well there was an inquest into it in 1628 at the time of the disaster and miraculously no one was blamed. The most likely to take the blame was the Dutch ship maker who had laid out the numbers for building the massive ship, but died prior to completion. He was renowned for his ship building, but had never built anything so big before. Back in the day there was no such thing as building plans. Instead everything was based on the lengths and numbers of previous ships. To add to this challenge the King had added to his wish list an extra row of cannons, which was ultimately what caused the ship to be so top heavy. However no one was about to interrogate the King for the flaws in the design! Then there was the stability test, which involved 30 men running from side to side in the ship to see if it would remain upright. The test was called off after 3 passes (I recall) out of certainty that it would cause the ship to capsize. However the King’s man in charge of getting the ship out to sea decided to order it set sail anyway as it was already long behind schedule, and the rest of the fleet had already left. Ironically the Vasa was destined for a battle against Poland, but was half built with timber from guess where? Yep, Poland!

For our lunchtime break from museums we met a friend of my friend’s family, now living with her young family and working as a doctor in Stockholm. Apart from a friendly conversation it was also probably the best meal I had in Scandinavia: shrimp bolognese. I’d highly recommend The Lake Cafe if you’re in the area.

The afternoon museum of choice was the Nobel Museum. The short tour was very worthwhile for an informative and sometimes humorous background on the Nobel Prizes. My friend came away having enjoyed the visit, but rather disillusioned with the selection process managed almost exclusively (with the exception of the Nobel Peace Prize) by Swedish academies. Some people have been nominated for multiple years running without ever having won the prize; I think the record holder may be something like 29 years?! Every year they release the information about the nominations from the 50th year prior so no one feels too bad about the choices that were made in the past, given they usually aren’t alive anymore!

One of the most unusual exhibits at the museum is the collection of artifacts, small and large, that come from Nobel laureates. Every person is asked to donate something to the museum related to the work for which they won the prize. Among several scientific instruments, and some quite unusual choices, is the shawl Malala wore when she addressed the UN at age 16. Given that the average age of laureates is something like 61 Malala is quite the outlier!

Before dinner we took a casual walk around the around the old town; down narrow streets, which we probably would not have turned, had I not been reading Rick Steves’ walking tour. He points out the small, and interesting pieces of history passers by would not notice such as the porcelain Phoenix over one door denoting to the fire department of days gone by that those residents had paid for insurance, and their house should be saved in a fire. Things haven’t changed very much you might say if you consider the private fire fighters supplied to residents who pay a high enough premium. One wonders though just how effective those fire fighters were in protecting one “house” amid a solid block of other buildings likely ablaze.

After a full sight seeing schedule over the past week my friend decided to take the day off while I boarded a ferry the next afternoon and headed for Stockholm’s Archipelago. Assuming the best view was outside I took a seat on the back deck of the boat. While there wasn’t much to complain about with the view, there wasn’t much you could hear either over the sound of the engine. For about 2 hours we sped across the water with just a few stops at other islands. The best moments were actually the slower ones when the ferry was in narrow waters between islands studded with summer cottages and small docks for just one private boat.

Arriving at the island of Grinda the other tourists headed up the “main” road (I pitied those with suitcases on the dirt road) while I chose a short little trail through the woods. It was blissfully peaceful and quiet. I wasn’t sure, but my suspicion after a few minutes was that had I been there a month earlier I would have found the low shrubs on the forest floor covered in wild blueberries. As it was I enjoyed my lunch on a large rock like a giant sleeping seal on the edge of the island.

As usual I had to spend several minutes with my map figuring out where exactly I was at a couple cross roads before heading off to a longer loop around part of the island with my remaining 1 hour or so. As my walk progressed though I grew increasingly conscious of the time, and the all too near departure time for my highly preferred ferry journey back. With just minutes to go I ran the last section of road leading back to the dock, which of course turned out to be longer than I’d judged it to be on the map, and very thankfully the boat was 5 minutes late or I would have missed it.

For the last evening meal in Stockholm I was determined to have something authentic, and spent probably an hour wondering down side streets in the Old Town, or at least trying to, but all too quickly ending up on a main tourist thoroughfare. In the end though I settled on something where my friend joined me, that though it had menus in 5 languages, felt more authentic. Indeed I decided it was time to try the marinated herring I’d been looking at on every other menu since arriving. What was the verdict? Well a bit stronger than I anticipated, I’d almost say saltier, but a good complement to the potatoes that came with it.

After a stroll home it was time for bed and a very early morning to catch the 8 something train at the main station to Oslo due to the trains for the rest of the morning being canceled due to work on the track.

Photos: Sweden's Old Capital: Kalmar

shire_girl — Sat, 8 Sep 2018 07:29:00 GMT

Sweden's Old Capital: Kalmar

shire_girl — Sat, 8 Sep 2018 07:26:00 GMT

Back in the day, as in the 16th Century, capitals weren’t stationary cities where the business of the country happened, but rather wherever the monarch happened to be. In those days Sweden’s kings spent considerable time in Kalmar, which once guarded the southern boarder of Sweden. Nowadays Kalmar is a good 4 hour train ride from Denmark’s eastern city of Copenhagen.

For the majority of our trip we had sunny weather for sightseeing wherever we were staying, and it rained, if at all, while we were on the train. It was really the perfect combination! The first morning in Kalmar we started at the number one attraction: the castle, built in the 12th century, and then like any good castle renovated and added on to over the next several hundred years to keep up with the times.

After a quick poke in one of the towers on the first floor, dungeon turned kitchen, we caught one of the English tours of the castle. It was somewhere around here that I realized Europeans don’t actually speak every language, and when the Danish and Germans are visiting Sweden guess what language they speak? English! (It makes me feel a bit better about only speaking English, and in this case a couple of words in Swedish).

Our tour guide was very informative and started off by giving us the background on the relevant Swedish history, which had put Kalmar on the southern boarder with Denmark all those years ago when Denmark wasn’t quite such a small country after all. For a period of about a century though the Swedes, Danes and Norwegians came together starting in 1397 in a rather revolutionary act to create a union, which was signed in Kalmar. However before the mid 1500s Sweden was happily independent again.

Like Rosenborg Castle in Copenhagen one could actually imagine living in Kalmar Castle without feeling entirely lost. The first really memorable room was the Queen’s chamber where the wooden paneling around the room rather than being painted was actually inlaid with different woods of various colors to create scenes just as if someone had taken a fine brush to it. The rather average to small looking bed in the room, was actually considered quit big at the time when people slept sitting up in order to balance the essential fluids of the body. One reason for this bed’s larger size was so that a servant could sleep at the end of the bed to keep it warm. Another interesting feature of the carved wooden bed is that fact that the noses of all the faces had been cut off. Apparently noses used to be considered the place where your soul could leave your body. (Hence the phrase “bless you” when we sneeze.) By cutting the wooden noses off you were also keeping evil spirits from entering.

The next impressive room was the dinning hall, with a table decked out the way it would’ve been for a feast (albeit not originally in plastic food). The only reason they know today what was on the table during one particular feast is because one guest took very good notes. Now the idea of a dinner party then is not the same thing today. At these dinners if you were lucky enough to be invited by the King you were allowed to take up a place around the wall of the dinning hall and watch for several hours as the royal family (and perhaps some guests of equal standing) slowly ate their way through the feast on the table between drinks and conversation. Any sign of water on the table was also replaced by a beer like drink. Unfortunately I don’t recall the numbers, but suffice it to say no one (at the table) would’ve been allowed to drive afterwards, or possibly at all, given the consistent replacement of water with alcoholic drinks in those days. Personally I’m glad dinner parties are a bit more sociable these days and with plenty of water!

The last room we visited in the main castle was the chapel. It’s relatively small, but easy to see why it’s booked up for weddings each year. My friend and I agreed that even though rather unreligious ourselves there was definitely a charm to the little room.

Before leaving the castle we pursued the temporary renaissance display modeling some of Leonardo Da Vinci’s forward thinking, though not always functional creations such as several ideas for a flying machine, more similar to today’s helicopter than airplane. For being a proclaimed pacifist he also designed an incredible number of fighting and defense mechanisms, which it was noted his patrons had plenty of money for.

After a wander around town to a couple of the squares, and one of the original gated archways to the city, perhaps better described as a tunnel, we found lunch at an indoor restaurant in part of a larger shopping area. Once I’d muddled through the menu only resorting to looking up certain words I was completely unsure of I ended up ordering a dish of potatoes, vegetables and Lak, which turned out to be Salmon rather than the “Lak fish” I was imagining.

We took the long way back to our airbnb through the old part of town, and by the small, colorful houses with beautiful flowers growing up their walls, including one with two bowls of water one labeled “For Cats” on the ground and the other labeled “For Birds” on a table, all in perfect English. We also meandered through a local park only discoverable behind the plain fence thanks to Rick Steves’ advice. With plenty of shady trees, and a low key cafe it would be the perfect place to spend an afternoon with a friend. Before I knew it we’d reached our very tiny, and equally beautiful Airbnb.

I’d roughly describe it as the same size as a tiny house. However they managed to cram in sitting/sleeping area, kitchen with cook top and sink, fridge, washing machine, and bathroom with the ceiling just about a foot higher than head hight. This was our second bathroom where the shower consisted of simply a curtain to prevent water from the shower head on the bathroom wall from getting the toilet and sink wet as well. However the tiled floor is all connected, so even after squeegeeing it down tip-toeing after someone’s shower was usually required.

Having learned my lesson about how cold the inviting ocean really is I instead spent the early evening on a large rock a short wade from the beach watching the waves, and the other, rather heartier family bobbing around in the water by the pier.

Thankfully it appears some European countries have not disposed of all of their luggage lockers at train stations for fear of explosives being put in them (as most of the UK seems to), and my friend and I were able to leave our luggage the next morning while we visited the Kalmar County Museum. Despite its rather dull name this museum houses an interesting collection of artifacts, and history about the 17th century shipwreck one island and a tiny bit of ocean away from Kalmar. In the days when it sat above water the Kronan was a huge ship, and apparently the most heavily armed vessel in world. Unfortunately its admiral though a skilled administrator was not a skilled sailor and in fact knew nothing of sailing prior to his appointment to the position by the King. To give the admiral credit he managed to stay afloat for a while, but on that faithful day in 1676 he miscalculated his maneuver as the Swedes faced off against the Danish, and before the fight had even begun the ship caught too much wind, tipped over and the gun ports filled with water. Sadly the whole thing explored shortly afterwards when a lantern ignited the explosives in the hold and less than 5% of the men on board survived.

What sunk to the ocean floor though is now a great view into maritime life in the mid 17th century with everything from coins, metal canisters with specifically fitted lids even though they look identical, and golden spoons (for the top brass), to shoes, and violins (the oldest one known to exist I believe). The one thing in short supply though were the original cannons, most of which had been salvaged not long after the disaster using rudimentary diving suits (and a substantial about of time). As Rick Steves puts it “cannons were so valuable they were prized the way a Rolls Royce would be today” and you wouldn’t want to leave 200 or so of them on the ocean floor!

Without the luxury of golden spoons, but thankfully with the added convenience of a fork, my friend and I enjoyed lunch at an Indian restaurant, which only cost about $12. With the exchange rate between dollars and Swedish Kroner somewhere around 9 to 1, 120 kroner suddenly doesn’t seem that expensive. We actually found Sweden to be the cheapest of the Scandinavian countries (out of Denmark, Sweden & Norway with Denmark probably coming in as the most pricy), and not altogether extremely expensive. After a leisurely lunch we made our way back to the train station and headed north to Sweden’s modern-day capital: Stockholm.

Photos: On an island in Denmark

shire_girl — Sat, 25 Aug 2018 05:34:00 GMT

Aeroskobing

On an island in Denmark

shire_girl — Sat, 25 Aug 2018 05:27:00 GMT

A couple train rides and a ferry away from Copenhagen is the Danish village of Aeroskobing on the island of Aero. Fires seem to have been common in the 17th century (and earlier). Aeroskobing was no an exception; all of the village but two houses burned in the mid 17th century during a war with Sweden. Still by American standards the early 18th century village is old, and by any measure artistic, charming, and pleasantly more extensive than just a couple idyllic streets.

We were lucky enough to stay in one of these old, brightly painted cottages with a view of the harbor through Airbnb for a very reasonable price. Apparently many people come to the island to get married for the obviously beautiful backdrop. We were asked twice while we were there if that’s what we were doing, to which the answer was definitely “No”. However we did see at least one wedding party which made their way to the 18th century ship in the harbor (by my guess) for their reception, accompanied by quite a few antique cars as well. Ironically the old sailing ship left minutes before our ferry the next day and I was able to watch it sailing away imaging the days when these were the only ships on the seas.

Our first evening started with a short walk along the beach bordered by a couple dozen summer swimming huts, each a different bright color. At first we were surprised to find small pieces of flint in the sand where we sat down, but thinking back to the National Museum filled with flint artifacts it made sense that there would still be flint in the area. We would’ve stayed to watch the sun set on the quiet beach, but the breeze coming in with the waves was cold.

The next morning we set out for a bicycle tour of the island. Though the highest point is only 225 feet above sea level some of the hills felt nonetheless rather steep, but the downhills with the wind in your face and a view of the fields or the sea all the sweeter. Though it seemed the berry season was over there were a few road side stands offering honey. The sweetest of which was one with a tiny kitten on top, which turned out to be only one of several kittens on the island. While a jar of honey is rather bulky to carry around I did pick up a pear from one of the fruit trees by the road, which tasted just like a pear (a pleasant surprise after picking the occasional roadside apple in Colorado to find it rather mealy).

We stopped to see the 12th century church on the island with some of the original frescos still visible, albeit faded. The churches were strategically placed in valleys so their spires could not be seen from the ocean and invite unwanted attention. Today I’m not sure where the original cemetery has been moved to because the earliest headstones seem to date from the earlier 20th century. There was one person who lived to be 101 though!

Stopping for lunch we picked a scenic overlook with enough constant wind to ensure nothing was allowed out of our bags that we weren’t holding on to. Across the ocean, just visible on the horizon, was the north coast of Germany. Of course after lunch when we walked down to the beach below it was hardly breezy at all near the waterline. There too we found larger chunks of flint on the beach and still half buried pieces in the sea wall that are still awaiting the full light of day after what must have been thousands of years.

Back in town we stopped at the cafe by the harbor for any afternoon sorbet while everyone else around us either went into the shop, or sat down licking their cold treats.

Of course the clouds came over just as I headed to the beach with a towel. Nevertheless I went in for a swim, which was rather more of a mid body wade in the water. Some people would consider the water “warm”. It’s warm after you’ve been in for a few minutes, and warmer than standing up in the breeze, but nonetheless cold at first. After the rough break-line the ocean floor was almost entirely soft sand with the exception of a few shells, including one beautiful “butterfly” shell with a blue interior.

After drying off and trying to warm up we wondered around the cobble streets looking for dinner, and eventually ended up at a reasonably priced restaurant with a total of two dishes that night: vegetarian Dahl or veal and potatoes. I quite enjoyed my Indian dish, but unfortunately missed the appointed time for the night watchman’s village tour. However I’m not entirely sure it even happened that night (it’s the end of the tourist season). So after wondering around looking for the group for a little while I decided simply to continue wondering with my written guide of history and interesting points from Rick Steves, which included the only two houses which had survived the 1647 (?) fire, and “Virgin’s Lane” a colorful and varied row of houses on one side and a row of tall trees and the sea on the other. This is apparently where parents kept an eye on the young people courting from their windows. And of course Aeroskobing wouldn’t be complete without the periodic spy mirrors attached to windows to allow the occupants to keep an eye on the modern day people exploring the streets.

The next morning it was off again, back across the water to another city and another country.

Photos: Copenhagen

shire_girl — Mon, 20 Aug 2018 16:07:00 GMT

Copenhagen

shire_girl — Mon, 20 Aug 2018 05:21:00 GMT

Like all cities there are certain similarities wherever they are; the hustle and bustle of daily life as thousands of people go about their business, even as you set out to explore the place with new eyes. In Copenhagen I learned to look left and right before crossing the streets not just for the cars, but for the extra lane of bicyclists going each way on their separate bike lanes from the vehicles. Apart from being convenient, and fun bikes are also a much cheaper option than a car, which carries a hefty 100% sales tax with its purchase or “Buy 2 get 1” as our tour guide said.

I’m loosely following Rick Steve’s travel suggestions for Scandinavia with the American/Canadian friend I’m traveling with for most of the next two weeks. However we took Rick Steve’s suggestion in Copenhagen somewhat in reverse and ended our stay there with the city walking tour. For almost an hour and a half we learned about the great strides the Danes have made in providing for their society as a whole while walking around the sites of Copenhagen. Apparently in Denmark not only is college free, but students are paid $1,000/month as a stipend in college completely free from return payment. When someone goes to jail they receive training for a career upon their release with only a 10% recidivism rate. Half of parliament is composed of women, who passed the laws including the provision of 6 months fully paid maternity leave with partial pay beyond that, and in pre-school Danes are taught to appreciate each other’s differences. Those are just a few of the amazing things the Danes have done, and it extends to how they treat refugees as well.

Several hundred years ago things were a different story. Denmark was an absolute monarchy, and no expense was spared on splendid castles like Rosenborg, and places like Christiansborg, which are much more enjoyable when you let the tour group in a different language get ahead of you. In the Rosenborg palace the most memorable room for me was the small room covered from floor to ceiling with tile, each one depicting tiny scenes, and the room itself housing “the secret” an early version of the toilet we take for granted. Back in the day this wastewater led directly into the moat. Perhaps another very good reason not to try breaching it.

At the Christiansborg place the room we spent the most time in was the banquet hall (seating literally hundreds of people) with tapestries created over 10 years by 31 weavers in what I would call a modern art design of Danish (and world) history by a contemporary Danish artist. It’s rather like looking at an eye spy picture; the more you look the more you find. Even American JFK made it into the one for the twentieth century, which also depicts soldiers in gas masks, golden jewish stars, and the heroic effort the Danes made to take the Jews to safety via boats to Sweden.

It’s hard to believe, but after walking through the crown jewels gold starts to seem rather meaningless and commonplace (along with the other rare stones, ivory, and amber). There was even one elaborate pendant that had a “tooth pick” on the left side and an “ear pick” or little spoon on the right side. The impressive ivory display, including a 1-2’ model ship is rather a double edged sword: admiration for the craftsmanship, and sadness at the enormity of the tragedy for the elephants that died for this collection hundreds of years ago.

Long before even the early Danish royalty though the nordic peoples in Denmark had a fascination with gold and created dozens of golden bracelets, bowls and other items on display in the National Museum. Considering they were created over a thousand years ago (I don’t remember the exact date) their craftsmanship is very impressive. At this point in time they revered the horse as a divine creature that pulled the sun across the sky each day.

As a break from all of the museums and reading we started the second day off in the Botanic Gardens and Butterfly house. One of the first glass houses had a distinctly sweet spicy smell, while another rather a bitter smell that we couldn’t quite place. Among some of the plants was a vanilla been plant, banana plant, and plants which apparently can have a stinging affect for a year after you touch them! Stepping into the butterfly house was amazing as dozens of butterflies fluttered around, as light as a dandelion fluff in the air. By far the most impressive butterfly was the Blue Morph. An iridescent blue with probably a 4” wing span it would rival almost any jewel. Unfortunately for me it closes it’s stunning wings to reveal the rather less striking brown exterior as soon as it lands, so it’s very hard to photograph

However from the top of the tower at the Church of Our Savior the scenery stood perfectly still what seemed about 100’ feet below. Four hundred steps earlier we started up the wooden staircase feeling the wear in the center of each step from two and a half centuries of shoes making the same journey. The stairs became increasingly narrow until they were almost a ladder coming out of a very small door onto the spiral staircase on the outside of the tower (with a sturdy rail of course) for the final ascent. I loved it, but my friend was a little more way of the height. All of the steps were well worth it because below you lies all of Copenhagen.

For a different view of the city we also took a canal boat tour, which actually inspired the climb to the tower after seeing it from below. Though a bit touristy, it was a great ground map for the other things we visited in the city. With a Copenhagen card, like the ones we got that morning (about $100 for 48 hours) it’s free, like so many other top places of interest. If you take the canal boat tour be sure to sit on the right side so you have fewer heads in front of you for most of the sites you pass.

For lunch we had a couple open faced sandwiches or smorrebrods, not to be confused with the large meal known as a smorgasbord. It would be nearly impossible to be vegan here, vegetarian would be hard, but vegetarian with the exception of fish is easy. It’s hard to see your bread under everything that’s pilled on top, and a fork is a necessity!

The best place we ate was our final evening out when we headed out to the Refshalevej area of Copenhagen, clearly an earlier industrial zone, but now being transformed into an up an coming place. After finding one place too expensive, and one place primarily serving drinks we ended up at the Reffen, a food market with dozens of choices between the impressive collection of little food trucks, even including some organic offerings. We ate our respective dishes of crepes and Thai noodles on one of the many picnic benches with a view of the harbor and background music from the stage at the food court. We both agreed we definitely be back again if we were in Copenhagen.

Photos: Welcomed Again

shire_girl — Mon, 14 May 2018 05:56:00 GMT

Cotswolds villages with a local friend

Welcomed Again

shire_girl — Mon, 14 May 2018 05:51:00 GMT

Sometimes it is a rare gift to meet a person you can connect with from the first moment, and a friend you will talk about almost anything with. Since my last trip I've maintained an email connection with someone like this, and 3 years later she was the final person I visited before heading home. There was at the same time so much to talk about, and yet we knew so much already about the journeys we'd taken in the intervening time. If we'd put all of our conversations over the next 2 days in an email it probably would've filled hundreds of pages.

We began the grey day with a breakfast of smoked salmon, scrambled eggs and toast in the cafe at Broadway Tower. Our first conversation on my recent travels carried us through breakfast and watched the cafe slowly fill around us. Eventually we got up to leave and headed off for another walk in the countryside, along tracks, between sheep, and over and through gates to a long borrow at the top of one of the hills. It wasn't until the late 1800s that anyone really came up to to examine the burial mound, and not until the 1920s, when they sealed off parts of it leaving the 3 side openings just big enough for 2-4 people to hunch over and walk inside the little nooks. Despite the archaeological work that's been done, I think there's more for them to discover in the meaning of these long burrows built so long ago.

By the time we'd made our way down and back to the car, we were surprisingly getting hungry again. Continuing on our village site seeing trip on the way back home our next stop was Burton-on-the-Water. During the drive our conversation turned to British sign customs, which seems to center on providing the name of a destination on a sign pointing you along a road, and then dropping the name of your destination for the next several intersections and signs. It can make a road trip quite interesting, even if you have some familiarity with an area.

Another British road custom is to periodically pull over to let cars go in the opposite directions on the almost entirely 1 way roads winding their way across the country. The concept of two lane roads is reserved for the newer and busier highways. Of course you must give them credit that unlike American roads most of theirs were likely built in the days of horses and carts.

After strolling once up the waterfront by the river in Burton-on-the-Water we choose a restaurant to sit down in, and our talk turned to politics and Brexit. Apart from this what I will always remember here are the deserts we almost passed on, but as we were having a rather fun day out together we decided to have the second course. My friend ordered ice cream and I cheese cake. What came out were works of art. The ice cream was presented in a tall, fanned glass dish with a sundial shaped flake of white chocolate topping the little hills of vanilla, strawberry and chocolate ice cream. Meanwhile my raspberry cheese cake was a white rectangle topped with a layer of raspberry sauce and a thin twisted arch of dark chocolate like a modern civil engineer's creation for a bridge. Not only were the deserts almost too beautiful to eat, but they had wonderful favors as well. Our second surprise came when I looked down at my watch and had to check it twice. Somehow it was already 6 pm!

Nonetheless we stopped at one last village that was on my list to see. Bibury (by-bury), like so many other Cotswolds villages was built around a woolen mill. The object of such photographic interest (at least as far as what you find on Google) are actually the workers cottages. Still intact, they are lived in today. The small windows, stone tile roofs, and wavy rooflines only adds to their charm, though it may be a different story living in and maintaining them. A wonder up the lane and across the main road brought us to some of the slightly bigger houses higglty, pigglty placed next to each other with driveways and car parking clearly only an after thought hundreds of years after they were first built. Yet they are so appealing with their stone walls the backdrop for trees and other plants, as well as a window here and there that you must wonder how and why it got there. As dusk began to fall we walked below the the fishery with its many ponds and flowing water that, apart from the buildings, now seems to provide the largest attraction and income. Perhaps anything would look appealing in the evening, but it was certainly peaceful.

After a leisurely breakfast and conversation the following morning my friend gave me a tour of the estate gardens where she lives. The wealthy couple that own the main house have converted most of the previous farm buildings into living spaces (and a swimming pool). My friend lives in a beautifully converted barn and hay loft with a sitting area and kitchen, bathroom, bedroom and up a short wooden ladder a second bedroom in the top of what could easily be an A-Frame. Outside there are multiple flower beds bordering the green spaces. Though it's a late spring in England the daffodils are in full swing, along with the primroses, and "winter roses". Just the beginnings of life are starting to show at the end of the tree branches. In addition to the flower beds there is a small orchard with plum and apple trees (still slumbering), vegetable garden, and woodland garden in which they are starting to plant new trees. Out of this garden I tasted the tender inside tops of nettles, as well as the leaves of wild garlic, which is remarkable similar to the root of the same plant.

For lunch we found ourselves at the Star Anise cafe in Stroud, a place that would easily fit into Boulder. We both ordered the beet Anocine: beet risotto balls on a bed of lettuce and cooked carrots or beets with pesto on top. I'd highly recommend the place it you ever find yourself in Stroud.
Following this delicious meal we visited Ruskin Mill, another of the former Cotswold woolen mills powered by the river. The specific place has been turned into a college for children with learning disabilities to study hand crafts such as woodworking and pottery. Like Bibury, Ruskin Mill is also host to a fishery and the accompanying greenery between pools and a path alongside. My friend actually worked here for several years. Like all places it's the people who either make a place a dream, or a challenge to work.
Ruskin Mill also produces flow forms, which were developed around the idea of restoring the natural structure to water after it has been processed, rather akin to Dr. Emoto's work of changing the shape of water crystals with the energy of words. The flow forms look similar to a fountain designs with two petal shaped bowls on either side of the small central channel and run through 10 or so of these pairs of bowls. Each time the water runs down into the next pair of bowls it's gently pushed from side to side like the ebb and flow of the ocean before proceeding to the next set. It is an intriguing example of biomimicry.
My last stop in the Cotswolds was to Painswick, the village I fell in love with on my last trip. It is strange to return with different eyes, and yet at the same time remember so clearly my last walk along its narrow streets. The twisting lanes and small cottages, each different from the next, are a beautiful labyrinth with surprises tucked in each stairway, tiny yard, and unique doorway. I couldn't help, but notice the several For Sale signs along the streets, and at the same time see that managing to park along the steep one lane roads, not originally intended for cars, would be a step up from any challenge San Fransisco offers.
Like the other villages, this time I discovered on the outer edges the place where newer homes meet the old with the current. Beneath the picturesqueness of the village is a reality that only people with a considerable amount of money can afford to live here. With the passing of the years Painswick has also lost the small grocery stores, and local store owners that I imagine used to add so much charm. Modern life in a village with centuries of history is an odd paradox of the old and the new side by side.
The next day, in an ironic repeat of my first visit with my friend, we arrived at the train station where I would catch the train back to London to discover that it was not there. We dashed off to another station where I discovered several trains had been canceled due to lack of crew. Thankfully there was still a train to London, but over an hour latter than I'd planned. I arrived at Heathrow only to discover that my departure flight was leaving in 45 minutes from a different terminal. Despite their suggestion that I rebook my flight, I dashed back to the unground for the 10 minute trip to the other terminal, through security, and then down the long, long corridor to my departure gate, which was of course at the very end. I doubt I've ever been as grateful to get on a plane before!

Photos: Over Hill and by Sheep

shire_girl — Tue, 10 Apr 2018 01:56:00 GMT

Over Hill and by Sheep

shire_girl — Tue, 10 Apr 2018 01:53:00 GMT

From Scotland I journeyed to what is probably one of the most beautiful sections of England, the Cotswolds, or "sheep hills". Great former wealth was brought to this area during the wool trade which I believe carried through the late 1800s. When wool lost it's value the Cotswolds were somewhat forgotten and time stood still. Now prices are once again high with largely only the wealthy being able to afford the beautiful honey colored stone houses, and flocks of tourists bringing in the Pounds in the summer, though I was certainly not alone this spring.

To my joy I found an Airbnb in the picture perfect village of Snowshill in the north of the Cotswolds from which I started or ended my walking trips over the following two days. I have found many of my Airbnb hosts to be truly lovely, and rather like staying with friends, while having complete freedom to come and go as I choose. My hosts here kindly picked me up from the train station and pointed me along my hiking routes.
My first day of hiking I was periodically rained on about 4 times in between bursts of sun, while the second day was one of the brightest days of the spring people have thus far seen. With complete joy I looked out over the bright green rolling hills trimmed with trees, and doted with sheep as I slipped and squelched my way along the muddy path through the pastures.

During one rainy period as I past one of the pastures I stopped to gaze at a sheep on its back wondering if it was alright. As I watched I realized I was watching a lamb being born. After many minutes the lamb was finally fully in the world and struggled to find its balance with a few shaking steps before falling down. Despite its bleating the mother did not rise. I stood there wondering if everything was alright and my only decision being to keep hoping and watching. Eventually I saw a second lamb being born, this one still inside a thin membrane. It wriggled and toppled over after emerging. Still mother did not stand up. At this point I finally found the motivation to walk down the driveway to the closest house, and presumably the farmer's front door. Unfortunately no one answered my knocks. Slipping a note through their letter slot I returned to the edge of the pasture and weighed the consequences of acting or not acting. Finally I decided to climb over the fence by the mother sheep. Gently I picked up the first rather slimy new born lamb and moved it so I could stand behind the mother. I gave her a small push. That was all she needed. Upon getting to her feet quickly moved a couple yards from me and began licking her newborn lamb. Sadly the second lamb was still as it lay in the field. Yet as I left I felt not that, but the joy of seeing the mother and her first lamb now on its feet.

From there it wasn't long to the pub in the next village, but just long enough to miss lunch (served 12-2 pm). Optimistically I looked for a tea room, but quickly realized that dinner back in Snowshill would be my next meal after the snack in my backpack. Nonetheless I soaked up the daffodils, the twisting lanes, stone walls, and little doors in sun colored cottages. Determined not to miss anything I walked every public lane in Stanton over the next hour and a half to imagine life in a place like this. The result was actually wondering what people do when the initial awe of the village wears off.
Eventually I guided my feet back to the path out of the village and up a terribly slippery, muddy slope. As I walked out of one of the fields the skies opened up for about 10 minutes and poured. Thankfully both I, or rather my clothes, and my map were waterproof! At the end of the downpour emerged a stunning rainbow in front of me.
After studying my map and turning it this way and that I gave up and followed an earlier landmark until I found the path I'd somehow accidentally left. As my feet took me through woods and across another field to a lane the adventures of the day began to catch up with me.
Following a plate of hot vegetable lasagne and "chips" (also know to us as French Fries) in the local pub while listening in to the conversation across from me, nothing was more welcome than my comfortable bed.
The next morning I was off again, this time on a linear walk from Chipping Camden (thanks to the lift from my Airbnb hosts) back towards Snowshill. Happily I wandered along the high street in Chipping Camden before starting out. The best shop there by far in my opinion was one offering cards and little plaques. After a few minutes I pulled out my notebook to write some of the best ones down:

Meetings. A great alternative to work.
It takes a lot of balls to play golf the way I do.
Happy wife. Happy life.
There's no one I'd rather sit next to when I'm checking my phone.
You're never too old to try something stupid.
My wife and I had words, but I never got to use mine.
Under a photo with half a dozen men in early 20th century clothing half way up a mountain "If only men would learn to ask for directions".
Behind every woman stands a man wondering what he said wrong.
Sometimes I decide not to wake up Mr. Grumpy.
We're not over the hill, we're only half way up it.
I work hard so my dog can be happy.
There was also one with "Rules for dating my daughter", but it was too long to write down. It did include:
I don't like you.
Set a time to be back, and then be home half an hour earlier.
She's my princess, not your conquest.

As I set out from the 17th Century Market Hall I paused as I passed 2 men examining a map and discussing the Cotswold Way (the long distance walking path). Since I'd been given directions from my hosts I decided to ask if they needed help. In fact they did (owing to the fact that the Cotswold way sign pointed both ways)! They too were starting out on the trail that day, though not going quite as far as I. So we decided to head out together.

The two men were old friends, and now retired had decided to meet up and start hiking the Cotswolds way path in sections over the coming months until they finally reach Bath. After some quick calculation it sounds like they'll be walking into Bath sometime next spring!

The first part of the path from Chipping Camden to Broadway was fairly easy and it was pleasant strolling along and discussing things from gardening to careers and getting lost, and then periodically checking the map. One of them seemed to be very interested in the mapping part of the walk, so I actually didn't worry too much about checking mine. When we arrived at Broadway tower (my guiding landmark from the day before) we paid the 5 Pounds to walk up the narrow twisting staircase to the top. At each of the 3 levels going up there was a small room with information about the tower. Ordinarily I would've spent far too long there, so it was actually an excellent exercise to have the other two with me and only glance at one or two of the boards before moving on. From what I recall the Tower was built by a wealthy Earl during the period of privatization of previously public land for the pleasure of building it rather than for any defensive purpose. At some point in the early 20th century the tower had rather lost its standing and become a farmhouse. I do pity the people who had to go up and down those stairs all day! During WW ll, though it appears it would've made an excellent watch tower for tracking German planes it sounded as though the watch post was actually on a different hill. The Tower is now owned by a mother/daughter pair, who I imagine do very well off of it.
After our dizzying descent down the staircase we made our way down the muddy slope, and after some attempt to knock or wash the clumps of mud from our boots into the bustling town of Broadway. The other two had a pub picked out for lunch and I gladly joined them for another plate of vegetable lasagne rather than the many meat dishes on the menu. From there I parted ways with my temporary walking companions and wondered past a few of the Broadway shops before heading out into the green fields again with a small ice cream cone. This time I successfully remained on the path alternating between field path and farmer's track back to Snowshill. I have a feeling if America tried to create right of way walking paths through farms there would be an uproar, but then again no one in Britain owns guns except for licensed hunting rifles, and a few of the royal guards.
Back in Snowshill at a reasonable hour (quite unusual for me!) I went for a walk with my camera (or rather my iPad, which I multitask with while traveling) through the village to explore every narrow lane. No two places are really the same, and yet they all fit together rather like a family. I've discovered the oldest buildings are usually in the center of the village; some, like the place I stayed as old as the 17th century, while another others date from the 19th century when there seemed to be a building boom. As you wind your way into the lanes on the edges of the village you'll find the rather more modern houses (post WW ll). They are still generally required to use the same Cotswolds stone, and similar design to blend in with the rest of the historically listed village (at quite an extra monetary cost), but the little extra space, and larger gardens around them is a dead giveaway to their more recent construction.

In the local church yard, and around most of the war memorials I came too, I walked along with my notebook jotting down names of the real British people who used to live here. It might seem an odd past time, but it pays off incredibly well when back in America I'm trying to create people in a story, who are accurate enough to be real. Apart from the many undoubtedly young men listed on the war memorials I was quite surprised to see the ripe old ages the people were living to in the late 1800 and early 1900s; 70 and 80s were the norm and some even into their 90s. There goes the idea that people used to die young in years gone by (at least in this little part of the world)!

That evening was a perfectly relaxing one without anything to do. What a treat it can be to find time while traveling to just sit in your room and catch up emails (or story writing) without feeling like you're missing any opportunities, such as visiting, or more site seeing. It's something I must learn to do more often!

Photos: Findhorn

shire_girl — Tue, 10 Apr 2018 01:46:00 GMT

Findhorn

shire_girl — Tue, 10 Apr 2018 01:41:00 GMT

I won't be the first to say that time is an odd thing. The days at Findhorn were long, but enjoyable, and yet so soon after arriving it was time to leave again. I was showed to my shared cottage by one of Eileen Caddy's son's, who spent some of his childhood growing up at Findhorn in the early years. Ironically he took me to a different cottage than I was supposed to be in; we only figured it out later when it was over booked, but thankfully I didn't have to pack up to move down the street. Later on in the weekend workshop out of about the 100 people there I happened to get to know the Danish people staying in the cottage I'd originally been booked into! The cottages were quite nice, and to my surprise everyone had their own small room with a shared sitting area and kitchen (at least that was the case in mine).
One of the best parts of the weekend was meeting so many wonderful people, largely British with Danish (for some surprising reason) and Irish attendees a second and a few Canadians and one other American. Because almost all of us were there for the workshop we easily jumped into interesting conversations over meals, without any need for small talk.

The workshop itself was taught by Robert Holden, one of my favorite authors on living life with joy. Over the weekend we explored the 9 points on the Enneagram, an old method for understanding yourself, others and our paths (challenges and talents) in life. This particular weekend focused on purpose and meaning. We all relate to a bit of everything, but tend towards one point more than others. Listening to the descriptions is one of those times that it seems someone has looked at you and without asking anything already knows you. The brief partner exercises throughout the weekend were moments when we were asked to answer questions honestly, and speak of things you might not usually tell anyone. I think it brought everyone closer, and closer to ourselves. For each of the 9 points Robert invited 3-4 people from the audience, who aligned most closely with that characteristic to come up for a short panel to answer a few questions about themselves and the Eneagram. These were both humorous, and deeply moving, but always very memorable.
We had 2 lovely meals served each day in the community area, always vegetarian and usually a mix of cooked and raw food including a couple lovely soups. Being in Scotland we of course also had a tea and biscuit break in the afternoon.
Apart from the workshop, which covered 3 sections each day with an additional evening talk, we had a tour of the Findhorn Park. We started in the original garden with the caravan where 6 people initially lived before visiting the biomass heating system, the new brightly colored community living houses, the meditation space, the signing room situated in a perfect Hobbit house, the giant wine barrel houses, and the clever sustainable new caravan houses. Luckily "caravan" is defined simply by being able to be moved and no bigger than 6 meters wide by 24 meters long (?). Perhaps unsurprisingly Findhorn has run in to some issues with council building permits; the typical bureaucracy versus creativity.
On Sunday evening several of us found our way to the hot tub for a late evening in the hot water while star gazing in between conversations. The cool breeze across our faces and shoulders kept us almost cool enough. It was an experience I'd gladly repeat.
On Monday morning most of us got up a bit earlier to attend the morning signing followed by morning meditation. Even if signing isn't one's strong point it is lovely to listen to the voices.

The last night of the workshop Universal Hall became our dance room for a typical Scottish Ceilidh (kay-lee) with an accordion player. It was both incredibly fun and tiring. After 10 - 15 minutes on each dance I think most people had managed to figure out the steps. I had laugh at our guide's ambitiousness though at the beginning of some of the dances. The Scottish had a wonderful knack for creating lively group dances! After 2.5 hours though I was completely exhausted.

The day we left was a wet rainy one. By chance I'd found 2 other ladies on the notice board who were driving to the Aberdeen airport. Over the next hour the Canadian, and myself talked quite a bit with the Irish lady about Ireland in the past and the current times. Many Irish people in Northern Ireland are queuing up to get Irish passports to complement their British passport, so that when the UK leaves the EU, those lucky Irish will still be able to travel freely in the EU. The general sense I've gotten over here is the feeling that the older generation swung the vote to leave the EU and have done so without any consideration for the younger generation, who will now have to deal with the consequences. The up side is that it might motivate more young people to vote because it hits home so hard.

Quite to my surprise my plane from Aberdeen back to London left 20 minutes early after everyone boarded from the Tarmac. Thankfully this is not British Airways custom, or I certainly would've missed my flight home today. I remember wondering as I made my way through the Aberdeen International Airport how much more expensive it would be just to fly in and out of Britain from here; it was so small and laid back, and actually quite pleasant to go through. The cost for this ease is probably a few hundred dollars and an extra plan flight.

Photos: Old Friends and New

shire_girl — Fri, 6 Apr 2018 06:54:00 GMT

Tenement House in Glasgow, and hiking to Plodda Falls

Old Friends and New

shire_girl — Fri, 6 Apr 2018 06:32:00 GMT

Since I'd been forced to take the early bus from the Isle of Arran (7 am) due to the road work I arrived in Glasgow about 4 hours before my bus was scheduled to head north. Hopefully I approached the ticket counter and asked if I could swap my mid afternoon ticket for the bus that left about 2 hours earlier. Sadly the answer was "No" (24 hour notice required). Luckily I had considered this possibility and done some reading up late the night before on interesting places to visit. So after lunch in what I recall was George Square, I headed off to the Tenement House and arrived in time to be their first visitor of the day.
Contrary to my (and perhaps all American's) understanding of the word tenement, this tenement house was in fact at the top of it's line when it was built in the 1800s. It was a flat on the second floor with an entry hall/room, bedroom, parlor, kitchen, and bathroom. Quite ahead of it's time an indoor toilet, built in tub and sink were all included! This 4 room flat was actually considered mid size at the time. The young woman and her mother, who moved in in the early 1900s left the place remarkably unchanged through the mid 1950s when the Nation Trust bought it. The two ladies likely took in a lodger to help cover the rent at first while they worked as a typist, and dress maker respectively. With one bedroom though where did they sleep? In the cozy built in beds: one in the parlor, and one in the kitchen. Apparently in the poor tenement houses the supporting bed frames were made of metal, so that people couldn't cut them up for firewood in the winter when it got too cold.
After an hour perusing the early 20th century rooms I set off back to the bus station, and north to a town on the edge of Loch Ness called Drumnadrochit. Unfortunately none of the local buses from the city of Inverness were running down past Drumnadrochit at a convenient time, so I had hire a taxi. Not altogether bad as it usually makes for a good conversation.
I arrived at the house of the friends I'd made on my last trip just in time to change shoes and head out the door with their daughter and son in law for the Celtic concert hosted at the local school. Only in Britain do you arrive for a concert to be offered tea, and then have an intermission with the option for more tea, and cake! The band playing was called The Old Bind Dogs (I imagine the name was thought up one night over some drinks). It was lovely to hear Celtic music in its homeland. The only little girl in audience did a good job of expressing everyone's tapping feet by jumping up and down to the tunes.
When I pulled back the covers to my bed that night I was pleasantly surprised to find a hot water bottle kindly put their by my hostess.
Meals with my friends, especially breakfast, were not the rushed ordeals they usually are and we talked a fair amount as we ate. In keeping with the times they grew up in each meal was prepared and laid out on the table so beautifully before we started. Unfortunately my American accent was harder for my friends to understand at their age, and some questions had to be skipped rather than repeated too many times. However I did get to learn a bit more about the meals in their childhood (1940s, my favorite!), and their family.
The next afternoon I was taken out again by their daughter for a hike near one of the glens I'd been eyeing on the map, but first she stopped to give me a tour of the new house she and her husband, both architects and designers, are building. Downstairs in the living room they have full length window doors that more or less fold open to allow you to step straight onto the patio (yet to be built). Also quit ingeniously they have a fireplace that can rotate 360 degrees around the chimney depending on where you're sitting and where you'd like the heat.

So far I haven't had any terrible weather, but it did rather start to drizzle on our walk up the road between mossy green forests, and open fields. We took the short path down to the impressive Plodda Falls and the deep, dark pools beneath. When my companion was a girl she and her family would come up for a pick-nick when the place was less well known, and then jump into the deep, cold water and swim across to the other side. You can still see the remains of the old metal hand rail that used to boarder the very narrow path clinging to the edge of the rock. The bridge above the waterfall has been replaced with a sturdy overlook, but my new friend told me the old bridge had been quite beautiful with intricately twisted metal railings made to impress during the Victorian era when women in petticoats likely strolled around while the men were out hunting. At least that's what my friend imagined, and I could easily agree.

After dinner and hearing the story of my hostess's original house I was invited up to the house overlooking Loch Ness, which her oldest son and his family now live in. It was quite a lively atmosphere inside with him, his wife and all 3 daughters home from school and work for the Easter Holidays (certainly something American's don't have unless Easter just happens to fall during spring break). On the whole young Brit's seem so very similar to American's, with the addition of the accent. The two boy friends remained downstairs discussing their new cars, which the 2 oldest girls where apparently quite tired of hearing about by that point. One of them offered the piece of advice that when her boy friend started talking about some feature on his new car she'd say "Oh yea, mine does that too", which has thus far saved her from needing to hear more.

The next morning my kind hosts drove me the hour up to Findhorn in Northern Scotland for the next part of my trip where luckily they had a friend to visit nearby as well. So with one goodbye came another hello.

Photos: By way of Ferry

shire_girl — Thu, 5 Apr 2018 17:32:00 GMT

By way of Ferry

shire_girl — Thu, 5 Apr 2018 17:30:00 GMT

From a lovely attic bedroom in Lochranza I overlooked the harbor with the lights glimmering out from the houses across the water at night, and the old castle somewhere down on the spit of land in the middle. To reach the Isle of Arran you must take about an hour's ferry ride from the mainland, which is quite unique if you're from somewhere as land bound as Colorado. It's especially exciting, with the right jacket, to stand outside on the deck with the wind in your face as you approach the island.

The morning after arriving I discovered the buses weren't running on their normal schedule due to repaving work. There is only one main road that circumnavigates the island and one that runs through the center. So rather than starting off somewhere else on the island I went for a hike up a hill nearby with a great view of the ocean. Like so many paths, it was rather muddy in patches and the hems of my pants were painted in brown by the time I came out behind one of the villages up the road with a stunning view of the little white houses just behind the pebble beach, and a bright green field dotted with white sheep.

Catching the one bus in the middle of the day, I went for lunch at a cafe in town to have fish and chips. Not something I'd normally order, but being next to the ocean the perspective of having fresh, local fish is rather different than in Colorado.

On my bus ride to my Airbnb the evening before I'd spied the Arran Heritage Museum located on the edge of town. So after lunch that's where I went. As luck would have it their school room was even based on a 1940s set up! There was a blacksmithy, an old post office, and milking house too. My favorite though was the late Victorian house with its tiny attic bedroom, kitchen with the heavy metal range, and bed built into the wall with curtains to completely close you in just off the very tiny sitting room. What is most memorable is the breath from the past, not because of one item or another, but the whole atmosphere of the dark cozy rooms, and the possessions that we recognize, yet so clearly know are from a by gone era.

In the evening sun I took a walk along the beach stopping to watch the birds. Who would guess, but the Mallard ducks have made it all the way to Scotland too. They'd take off, fly a full circle, and then decide they really did like the tide pool they'd been in and come splashing back down.

After London the Island was a breath of calm and quiet, even at 5:30 am the next morning when I had to get up to catch the only morning bus down to the ferry. How very glad I've been that I remembered to pack my hat and gloves at the last minute!

Photos: Back Again

shire_girl — Fri, 30 Mar 2018 22:05:00 GMT

Back Again

shire_girl — Fri, 30 Mar 2018 21:58:00 GMT

I'm back again across the pond, this time with a little more familiarity, but still plenty of opportunity to add to the "do this differently next time" list. I'd say 1 in 3 people still smoke, they still have a great accent, the underground is now somewhat less of a novelty to me, and I know exactly how to "top up" Oyster cards for the underground and get new SIM cards for phones. The time around the time change didn't seem quite so bad, though my eye lids still droop in the middle of the day after getting up at what used to be about midnight. Come night the tiredness fades (after all it used to be afternoon!), but it's still easy enough to fall into bed.

An hour and a half after landing in Heathrow I was on the bus again to a place I'd very much been looking forward to visiting: "The 1940s Experience". It is mostly used as an education/experiential center for children, hence it's only open one Sunday each month, and it happened to be the Sunday I arrived. Luckily this time I'd learned I needed to write down directions not only to stations, but from stations to where I actually wanted to go in the town. I made it to the 1940s Experience with 15 minutes until closing! Taking a quick walk through the interior rooms, I took quite a few photos to peruse later for the details I wouldn't remember, even if I'd had all day to look. As the people (all dressed 1940s style) were closing up I hung around, and eventually asked one if there was a window into the "village evacuee school" that I could look through. Instead he went and unlocked it for me to have a quick look around at the higglty-pigglety desks with their ink wells, and perhaps sadly total lack of windows. Back with the other group of employees, or volunteers (I don't know which) two more of them took a fancy to talking to me, and also went and unlocked the museum for me to have a quick look around. I now have an invitation to write them personally with any questions. (Admittedly I did use the fact that I'd just arrived in Heathrow that morning to my advantage in coming so late.)

Day two in London seemed to be spent either walking somewhere or standing in a line. First it was off to the grocery store, then to the tub and out again to walk quite a few blocks, only to discover that the place I was in search of no longer existed. So back on the tube and out again near the Churchill War Rooms. I was intending to eat lunch in the park, but after seeing the line into the museum I decided I'd better eat a standing lunch instead. (If you ever intend to go here buy tickets ahead of time so you can hope into the quick lane.) An hour and a half later I, and the two European ladies I'd been talking to to pass the time, finally made it inside. With an audio description for each room I made my way through the narrow underground halls, and small rooms that were command central for Britain during WWll. Apparently some of it was left exactly as it was the day Japan surrendered, and after 6 years of practically living there everyone simply went out the door. Decades later when news finally got out about what the rooms used to be the man, who I believe was in charge, or custodian for the building was asked to start giving tours. Some time after that the Imperial War Museum bought the place and refurnished it to look exactly as it did during the war years. There certainly wasn't a lot to the furnishings because people were either sleeping or working in tight quarters. All the old maps with the pins depicting battle lines (even someone's sketch of Hitler) were up on the walls as well as the typewriters, and old encrypted phones up set up in the rooms with wax figures in uniforms in the midst of their work.
In the middle part of the tour was a largish museum all about Churchill. Quit different from the rest of the experience it is packed with information, display items, photos, and film clips. I spent rather too much time here for my taste (I quite like simplicity in the amount of written information displayed), and was somewhat hurried out of the museum at the end as everyone made their way out at closing. Either the benefit, or the downside to everything (museum and tourist related) in London is that it closes between 4-6 pm.

So off to St. James park I went, which was by far my favorite last time. Rather than green leaves there were thousands of daffodils this time, and the first pink blossoms on some of the trees. Along with the flowers it was also rather more popular with the people, despite being a brisk evening! Summer is no doubt in the air with the longer evenings, probably getting dark around the same time Colorado does.

Photos: Last week in London - part 3

shire_girl — Sat, 28 May 2016 05:56:00 GMT

Photos: Last week in London-part 2

shire_girl — Sat, 21 May 2016 06:16:00 GMT

Photos: Last week in London - part 1

shire_girl — Fri, 6 May 2016 06:19:00 GMT

Last Week in London - Part 3

shire_girl — Fri, 29 Apr 2016 05:11:00 GMT

After parting ways with my friend in probably one of the most iconic parts of London I made my way back through the tube stations to the north part of London, collected my bags, and back to central London I went again. Even with the wonderful public transport it's surprising how much time it takes to get around. By the time I finally arrived in the correct neighborhood where I was to stay that night it was dark. With my directions in hand I set off. Perhaps understandably I missed the small lane and consequentially spent probably half an hour walking around the same streets in the upper class neighborhood. With a point in the right direction I finally found the woman I'd arranged to stay with for my last two nights.

Once I'd made my apologies to her for being so late and not having her correct phone number we spent the evening talking. When you're continually meeting new people you can share the same things again and again and yet it's not old! Ironically we were both leaving London in just two days. My hostess was heading to Morocco with a frien, so she told me about the sunny, bustling markets of that African country from her last trip there.

The following morning she gave me directions to the bus stop so that I could have a chance to see what I was passing by rather than speeding beneath it in the tube. Well, I seemed to be inept at finding much in that neighborhood, so I simply ended up walking along with my map and finally came to Hyde Park. Not in any particular hurry I made my way in the direction of the Trafalgar Square along meandering pathways, watching the runners and dogs at play, and admiring the grounds, wanting to savor every minute of it.
Eventually I reached Buckingham Palace, and what would you know: it was the changing of the guard! Initially interested I milled around with the large crowd before realizing that I all I was really getting to see was the crowd itself! So I left it behind and finally reached Trafalgar Square with its 4 giant lion statues. Throughout my whole trip I kept meaning to visit art galleries, or museums with their collections far beyond the age of anything in the United States, the places housing the originals that we see printed in books. Somehow I'd never managed it! So on my last day here I was in art corner at the National Portrait Gallery right beside the National Gallery. Either one of these places could take several days to explore, so needless to say I only saw very small portions of them!
I decided to begin with the oldest portraits and so found myself in a room of oil canvases of Henry the 8th, and Queen Elizabeth among many others from 400 - 500 years ago. Proceeding to read about the other people depicted on the dark backgrounds, in their very best finery I quickly lost track of who was who. In my eyes the skill of the artists to capture these characters so perfectly with only their brushes and paints is incredible. A couple floors below I found more modern portraits of the royal family this time against the more colorful back drop of their living space, as well as other faces and people from the unsure times of the earlier 20th century. One of the most recent additions is surely the portrait of the current Queen Elizabeth the Second displayed on a screen that randomly changes the colors of the composition. What's more the artist decided to use the photograph she or he took at the moment the Queen had closed her eyes, so it looks as though she's sleeping.
Like many people I have my limit of how long I can look at composition after composition so I left for lunch, which I found on the street just around the corner. Afterward I returned to the art galleries, this time the National Gallery. Once more I made a pick from the timeline of artists, and headed for the oldest ones, predating the Elizabethan work from earlier in the day. It's so interesting to look at the art at the time when the skill of three dimensional painting was just being honed. I used to take if for granted that while I was not able to create such work, surely artists had always known how to! I had to look twice at the dates of some of the artwork so vibrant that it looked as though someone had painted it the day before in colors I never guessed were available in the 15th century.
As the gallery reached its closing time I made for the floor of 19th century artists, with several rooms devoted to the Impressionists. Incredibly I'd learned that photography was allowed in the National Gallery of all the artwork with the few exceptions on what was on loan from private collections. As my hostess had pointed out earlier though you go to a gallery to see the artwork in person, not to take photos of it to look at later. In agreement with her, I only took a few photos of what especially stood out to me. Before being shooed out I stopped to admire some of the other work from the 1800s with colors that would have shocked the Elizabethans and an inviting softness to subject.
Upon leaving the gallery I headed back for dinner with my hostess. Even in a place full of things to see like London it is nice to stop going places and just sit back. After finishing the slices of pie I had brought within me that evening as a thank you to my hostess we both finished packing our bags.
In the morning we had breakfast and a last cup of tea together before walking out the door with our bags. We bid farewell, and like the morning before I set off towards Hyde Park. By a pond populated with Swans I finished the last couple of post cards to send, though I'd get to the United States before them. I meandered through the park again, through a lovely little rose garden, and once more past the Palace and the changing of the guard (or the milling of the crowd). It seemed so long ago that I'd first sat in St. James Park as I walked briskly through to the tube station.
From my many trips through the airport I'd discovered that I did not need 2 hours to get through security at Heathrow and arrive at my gate on time, so I'd planned to leave myself an hour and a half instead. As usual the tube station was crowded, but for the first time in a whole week I was not able to get on the packed train. Rather shocked I waited anxiously for the next one going to Heathrow, but of course I didn't just need the next one to Heathrow, but the one to terminal 5, the international terminal, which only came every other time. Finally it came and I was able to get on. As luck would have it they stopped for at least five minutes at another platform for a change or drivers, or for some other unknown reason. Then the screens announced that they would not be going to terminal 5 this time and everyone must get out at the stop for the other terminals. So I out I had to go. Thank goodness on the other side of the platform was a train to terminal 5, but it involved another wait before it arrived. At last I arrived at the baggage check line with about 45 minutes to go. I relaxed a bit seeing that you only had to be in security 15-30 minutes before your flight. Just as they said I got through fairly quickly.
Seeing the arrow to my gate I dashed off for water and the restroom before heading for my gate with about 10 minutes to go. To my dismay I found that it was not just a short walk to the gate as I had assumed, but a short walk to a subway to the international gates. Jumping off the subway I was off running up two sets of escalators as I anxiously checked my watch. According to it I had just a few minutes before boarding closed. Catching my breath as I reached the crowd of people at the gate I quickly asked if it was the flight to Denver, wondering if I'd missed my plane as I looked at the empty gate beside it. Yes, the crowd was indeed queing for the flight to Denver; they hadn't even started boarding yet! By the time I was headed down another escalator and along the walkway to the plane I'd fully recovered from my sprint there.
I was very relieved not to have missed my expensive flight, yet I half wanted to stay there. It was as though I'd just discovered something, something I didn't want to leave behind so soon. Perhaps it was the places, or the people, or the freedom. Whatever it was it had been welcoming and different.
Over the previous three and a half months I'd been so many places. Each time I'd settled in and become familiar with the place and the people it was time to go again. Naturally you make connections where you are, to the roads, the landscape, the people who aren't strangers anymore. Then with a little tug at your heart you must let them go, and look to the next place and the next hello. This was the last goodbye because it was time to go, time to put the backpack down and not pick it up again the next morning, time to sleep. I was on my way home.

Last Week in London - Part 2

shire_girl — Fri, 29 Apr 2016 05:10:00 GMT

Midway through my week in London I'd arranged to meet two friends of mine from home, who were both studying there. This time I got the right tube station and arrived on the dot despite not knowing how long the journey would take. After catching up on the first details of what we were all up to we proceeded with the early birds into St. Paul's Cathedral. Unlike in the U.S. many places in Europe offer discounts to students, or anyone under the age of 26. Sometimes they require a student ID, sometimes they don't. St. Paul's was one of the more lenient ones, and didn't bother to ask me for an ID. After admiring the ground level craftsmanship and the sweeping ceiling we began to climb the 400 or 500 odd steps to the top. Luckily most of the steps were all of probably 4" tall. After the last tightly spiraling steps we stepped out on the top. What a view! The whole of London was spread across the horizon. We stood there identifying the different buildings and continuing our conversation. One of my friends eventually figured out that the building we were looking at was the roof top cafe she'd been talking about.

Once we descended again to ground level we crossed the Thames River on Millennium Bridge. Previously I'd been under the impression that this bridge only existed for a brief moment in one of the Harry Potter films, but low and behold here it was. On the side my friends took me to one of London's busy markets to grab a bit to eat. To get anywhere you must literally push your way through single file, shoulder to shoulder with the hundreds of other market goers. Nonetheless we reached the Ruclette stand they were headed for and I discovered what that was: cooked potatoes with melted cheese and pickles. We stood on the side eating and talking about the cultural mix of students in London, and Europe more generally, as well as the relaxed attitude to smoking in Europe compared with the U.S. We really have come such a long way on that topic, and gradually Europe is changing too.
The two of us bid farewell to our third friend, who had a performance to attend, and headed along the path by the Thames. We stopped to watch the massive soap bubbles being blown and the children reaching up to pop them. Further down a used booked shop had been set up on the sidewalk for the day. Nearby we sat down to talk more about England, the culture, school there and what my friend must do over the next several years to have a hope of one day becoming a citizen. When we parted I must say I envied my friend as the time of my departure seemed to be fast approaching.
As I walked back towards the Imperial War Museum for a quick breeze through their other displays I past Parliament and Big Ben on the opposite side of the river. Since I haven't been paying much attention to what was across the water on my map I was pleasantly surprised to find them standing there in the evening light.

At the last minute I arranged to meet with a friend of a friend that evening, who I realized was living in the same part of London I was currently staying. Stopping back at my room to look up exactly where it was we were meeting I dashed off upon seeing just how far up the road it was. I spent at least half the distance jogging, not paying much attention to anything, but the shops I was passing. Eventually I found the place, and the lady I was meeting. Still not accustomed to ordering a drink, I skipped it and sat down with my companion for the evening, getting to know her beyond the few things I'd heard from my friends. When her glass was empty we went back outside to the street. As we strolled along she told me about the little pop-up restaurants that have become a new fad. The owners of vacant space rent it out short term to keep it occupied, and the next day a make shift restaurant will pop up there. You never know how long it will last though before the space is rented by someone else for the normal, high price. We walked along the street looking to see if one of those my friend had liked was still up. When we failed to locate it we ended up at a more permanent Middle-Eastern restaurant. As we ate our way through falafel balls and hummus we talked about South Africa where my dinner companion had grown up. I didn't know much about the country, and I certainly didn't have any concept of what it is like today. I was shocked to hear her say she wouldn't go there on her own.

Before we parted ways she also suggested some of the other places I might visit in London including the Columbia Road Flower Market, which my friends had suggested earlier that day. When she saw me off she put me on the bus to avoid a sketchy park I would pass on the way back. I assume I ran past it on my way there earlier, but on the opposite side of the road. After disembarking from the bus my familiar walk along the main road and into my temporary neighborhood was as usual uneventful. Though I surprisingly was aware of the differences in the three neighborhoods I stayed in in London, I never encountered any trouble.

When the morning came again I set off for the tube station near Columbia Road Flower Market, where I'd arranged to meet my friend from Sweden again. When I arrived I felt my heart sink. Unlike the other stations I'd been in where everyone exited through one set of gates this station was also a train station and was 10 times as big. I looked around, walked outside, came back in and was thinking perhaps I'd just stand there for a while before having to give up again when amazingly I saw my friend coming towards me!
We set off together with the eventual destination of the flower market, and between our two maps headed in the right direction. We ended up exploring 3 markets that day though. First we came upon a market dedicated to clothing and other items. We admired the ornately cut paper cards, and the hats that could not be mistaken for anything other than British. As I chuckled at tiles displaying saying that had been changed ever so slightly I realized my friend wasn't in on the joke, so I picked a few to explain. Idioms are surely the hardest thing to understand in another language, even if you speak it fluently!
Long before this time I'd become accustomed to roughly converting pounds to dollars in my mind. When we past a stall selling cashmere sweaters I had to look twice at the price, but it was indeed as inexpensive as I though it was. It turns out they were selling for so much less because of the absence of a small thing called a brand name stitched into them, even though they came from the same place as the others. With rather the opposite problem I'd had leaving Austria I walked away with two sweaters, probably the largest purchase of my entire trip.

As my friend and I consulted our maps and made our way closer to the flower market we had a glimpse of incredible colors, and smells drifting from a doorway. We decided to have a look and stepped into the most amazing food market I have ever been in! There must have been at least a hundred vendors there representing every nationality. We simply walked between the tables letting our eyes feast upon the bright colors, and our noses upon the wonderful smells. If I lived in that area I think I would've been able to go for lunch there every day and still not have tasted all the food in a whole year. Eventually we decided upon sharing a piece of delicious, raw cheesecake made mostly from nuts, which I was familiar with from home, but which my vegan friend had never tasted.

Still on our leisurely way to the flower market we stopped at a book store on a crowded street. Upon finding the section on travel we pulled out books to show each other the parts of the world we lived in in a little more detail. When we did finally reach the street with the flower market there was no way to move, but inch by inch, shoulder to shoulder with the crowd. So as though on a very slow moving walkway we passed flowers upon flowers: cut flowers and potted flowers. We had apparently arrived towards the end of the market and vendors where selling flowers two for the price of one. If only I'd had a vase, and somewhere for it I would've bought a bunch, but as it was we finally reached the end of the sunny street with only a few photos.

Neither one of us were very big on religion, but I'd suggested we go to Westminster Abbey for the evening song that day. I'd enjoyed the lovely voices back at St. George's Chapel in July. The plus was that the evening song was also free as apposed to the approximately 20 pound entrance fee for Westminster Abbey during the rest of the day. After finding that the station closest to the flower market was closed and having a bit of trouble with the buses we ended up walking a good deal of the way before we got to a tube station. Finally we arrived at Westminster well after they'd started, but amazingly we were not the only ones, and everyone was still being ushered in. Either I'd forgotten St. George's service, or the Westminster evening song was much heavier on the preaching than the singing itself. So I took the opportunity to simply gaze up at the vaulted ceiling and other parts of the Abbey I could see from the side aisle where we were seated. If you ever decide to attend the evening song at Westminster get there early and you'll have a chance to sit right along the main aisle with a front row view of the whole place. After service concluded my friend and I walked out with the rest of the small crowd along the aisle where so many royal weddings have taken place. It was one of those moments where it was hard to believe I was actually in the place I'd seen so many times from afar.

Upon reaching the doors we made for the lawn between Westminster, Parliament and Big Ben where we sat down for a late lunch. We took a few minutes to find the best angles for photographs before eventually parting ways. Perhaps one day we'll meet again since we still write to each other from time to time.

Last Week in London - Part 1

shire_girl — Fri, 29 Apr 2016 05:07:00 GMT

Arriving in London in early October was in a strange way like returning home. Until I returned to England I hadn't realized the subtle tension of being somewhere I didn't speak the language. Scrambling to remember the words for "I'm sorry. I speak English," when someone spoke to me in German, trying to guess at the labels in stores, or perhaps most of all listening to conversations with no idea what is being said. Without really knowing I'd started to feel a bit alone. It's remarkable what simply being able to read the signs, and causally inquire about something can do!
Feeling rather as jet lagged as I had been the last time, despite only an hour's time difference instead of 7 I decided to explore London rather than give in and go to sleep at my hostel. With my map in hand I stopped at a wonderfully located grocery store between my hostel and the tube station. By this time I had my eye out for any grocery store, post office, or other convenience to me on my walks to wherever I happened to be staying for the night. Back on the tube I managed to navigate my way to St. James Park. Of all the parks in London I must agree with the people who'd told me it is the most enjoyable. The paths loop and meander around ponds, and through trees and lawns with benches scattered at every place you might wish to stop, and at least a dozen different varieties of water birds.
Predictably perhaps it started to rain on me, but I found an unoccupied bench beneath a tree on which to sit and eat. The fresh air revived me. In the light drizzle I walked along the edge of the park and unexpectedly found myself in front on Buckingham palace. After all the times I'd seen London in films, and read about it now and in decades past it was hard to believe I was really here. With the darkening evening though I made my way back on the underground once I'd located another tube station on the side of the park I found I had exited.
With so many places to see in London, a week really seemed quite short indeed. I had a list of the few things I wanted to be sure to see so the next morning I headed off to Kew Gardens on the outskirts of London. Luckily when I came out of the tube station I heard someone complaining about the map there that pointed people in the wrong direction to the gardens, and how they should correct it.

On the overcast day Kew had relatively few visitors apart from a group of school children. I spent the morning exploring the Japanese Garden with it's low boarders and trim shrubs, and the Treetop Walkway, which was true to its name and in this case also level with the spiky seed pods that fell from the trees. At the appointed hour in the afternoon I and another lady gathered for what turned out to be a rather private tour of the gardens, including the several greenhouses. One of them was designed as the hull of a ship to be reflected in the water in front of it. You really do have to give these architects some credit for innovation hundreds of years ago! Inside of the ship's hull greenhouse were plants such as bananas, turmeric, and oil palm. Kew Gardens, while beautiful, is apparently more a place of horticultural study than of display in say the manner of a flower garden. Their students go on to receive the top gardening positions in the country. I believe our guide said they only except 40 students at a time making it an extremely competitive school!
Inside of another greenhouse was a Lilly pond with giant Lilly pads 3' feet wide. Another progressed from a desert climate to that of a rainforest with vibrant orchids. The greenhouses were a welcome relief from the rather cold air outside, but made it all the chillier when we left. For the remainder of the day I explored the rose garden (still blooming in early October), the great tree lined pathways, and the pond with small islands and numerous birds. The grander of Kew Gardens can be attributed to its beginnings as a royal residence some 300-400 years ago. It certainly still holds true to that character!
Over my dinner at the hostel I shared a conversation with a girl from Scotland, and a girl from Sweden, both vegan! The latter and I were in the same room and had exchanged some words earlier. When I asked where she was going the next day she said she'd been thinking about The Tower of London, which was on my list as well! So the next morning we set off together.
We had a wonderful day talking and exploring the old walls and rooms of the Tower, which is in fact more than one building, and many rooms themselves part of the wall. By the the afternoon we'd made our way in to see the Crown Jewels. In an effort to prevent people from crowding around them too long there are two moving walkways past the most popular of the Jewels: the crowns themselves. They are incredibly ornate, and sparkled under the careful lighting.
To finish off our day at The Tower my Swedish friend and I took one of the tours by a Yeoman Warder. It was perhaps the most amusing tour I have ever been on! At Traitor's Gate, which was built by one of the King Richards he reminded us Americans that we have our own Watergate involving tricky Dick. Before entering the chapel at the end of the tour he stopped to tell us of the very small step between the outside and the doorway, but despite his warnings he said at least 20% of people will still trip on it. Once we were inside he proceeded to tell us that he counted not his estimated 6 people, but 11 people who had tripped on the step! My friend and I though were not among them.
Back at the hostel we arranged to meet again the next day at Selfridge's, the department store on Oxford Street well known now due to the Masterpiece program of the man behind it. Neither of us had much inkling to buy anything, we simply wanted to go inside. However my day was not to go as planned.
In the morning I needed to move my bag from the hostel to my Airbnb in north London. I found myself in a very slow moving line at the Post Office as I waited for more stamps and cell-phone minutes. Everyone in front of me needed to inquire about over seas shipping and how much it would cost if they sent the boxes together. What if they sent them to different addresses? What if they re-boxed them into one box? Finally I got out, already late to meet my friend. I jumped on the tube, got out and started looking for the street where I was to stay. It wasn't there though. In my hurry that morning I hadn't double checked the name of the station and had chosen the wrong one with a similar name. So back I went on the tube, switching a couple times to get on the right line, and finally I got off where I needed to. I then walked several blocks and finally made it to my new bedroom to leave my bag. Back to the tube I at last got out on Oxford Street a very disheartening 1hour and a half hours late! If only my friend had had a phone, or if I'd had her email address! There was nothing else I could do. So on my own I went in to Selfridge's.

It was an upscale store when it was founded in the early 1900s, and it certainly still is today. That now means about a 900% increase in price (including inflation). Past the jewelry, shoes, and dresses priced at 450 Pounds (about $700), on the top floor I found a corner of the store for me. With the holiday season only 2 months away Selfridge's had put out their early Christmas display. Among it I found some beautiful, and very British Christmas cards. One of my favorite things there was a velvety Polar Bear standing about 3 feet tall with his head turned to look at the people passing by. Nearby was a demonstration of a new artificial snow. Looking like tiny balls of a washing detergent when water was added to it about a 1/4 tsp. swelled to 1/2 cup of soft white balls of snow without the awful static of the polyester version I knew.

Outside again I wondered down Oxford Street, the busy heart of London's shopping scene. I'd had enough though and after a trip on the tube, which I'd become very familiar with by now, I ended up on the grassy lawn by the Imperial War Museum for a picnic. Rather an unusual choice this was the one museum I'd had my heart set on going to. I was hopeful that it would prove much more helpful than their online resources. After examining the floor plan I found the only exhibit I was really there for: The Homefront during WW 2. It was based on a London family of 12, and their home at the time. There was a cut away view of the house so that each room with it's miniature furniture down to the meat safe and chamber pots were visible. Accompanying the other information and displays of the time were the stories of each child and their parents. Nearby the exhibit was the most wonderful collection of books in my eyes; books that I'd been looking for for years. They covered everything from children and women in the war to cooking during rationing. Given my limited space though I bought only one book and one DVD. I later discovered that DVDs are encrypted differently for different countries. Fortunately in the end I was able to watch the DVD by changing a limited setting on my computer.
Unwilling to part ways with my Swedish friend by never seeing her again I returned to the hostel, and innocently followed a couple of other people up the steps, past the locking door. Sure enough my friend was in her room. This time we traded emails and agreed to get together again.