On the plane tomorrow

Well, here we are, hanging out at the Edinburgh McDonalds, drinking too much coffee and listening to too much bubblegum music just so we can have the Internet. This morning I asked the clerk at Borthwick Castle where we're staying for the pass code to their wireless network and she just rolled her eyes and said, "what's that?" Word of advice when you choose B&Bs on your next trip, be very specific when you ask them if they have the Internet. The answer they give may mean just about anything. If they have wireless, ask them if it requires a password or pass code. If they don't know what that means, better find a different place. They're just not advanced enough to have a handle on it yet. I was just saying to Concetta, that I will never again say a derogatory thing about McDonalds. They may have a lot of faults, but they do have good coffee and the internet is free. Yes!

So, we're winding down our trip beneath the golden arches. Tomorrow about mid-day we should be winging our way over the north Atlantic towards JFK airport in New York. We have new reading books, a great set of headphones, and, with any luck, we won't be seated next to the screaming baby.

England, Scotland, and Wales have been a grand adventure, even counting the rain, which for some reason has just stopped outside our window and the sun is out. They will probably declare a holiday here in Edinburgh.

If we had this to do over, we'd probably be just a bit more careful about lining up B&Bs, however, on the whole, they were great. Some, like the Dene Guest House in Hexham were very fine. Others, like the Rhymney House were a little more rustic. Don't get me wrong, everyone at every place we stayed couldn't do enough for us. The innkeepers always went way out of their way to make sure our every desire was met if possible. Two guest houses, the Rhymney House in southeastern Wales and The Pingles north of London even consented to do our laundry, which was crucial. To them I say, thanks so very much.

In the end we certainly saw all the castles, museums, and Roman forts that a person would ever want to see in one lifetime. We literally haunted the bronze and iron age archaeological sites, stately manor homes, and any garden we could find. We saw so many things that it will inevitably be melded together over time. I think the blog goes a long way from letting that happen. Overall, we wouldn't have missed a single one. It was a grand experience that we can't wait to repeat in a different part of the world, maybe Italy and Greece next time.

We'll try and get online at the airport if possible. But if not, this will be our last blog entry for now. To all those who have faithfully followed our various exploits, especially to those who wrote such kind comments via email, we say thanks for coming along on our grand adventure. Until later, we'll say...

ciao, tutti.

Spending the night in a 15th century castle

Tonight we’re doing something special to commemorate our 31st anniversary: we’re spending the night – two, actually – in the “Sinclair Room” of the 15th century Scottish castle, the Borthwick. We just checked in and were shown our room just 74 steps up a stone spiral staircase, or about eighty feet above ground level. Naturally, I decided right away NOT to carry the luggage up, but chose instead the ever necessary toothbrush and a pair of socks. Right now we’re sitting in the great hall with its barrel-vaulted ceiling soaring two stories overhead, a roaring fire just a few feet away in a stone fireplace big enough to roast a whole cow, and the lilting strains of classical music emanating from some unseen chamber behind us. Another couple here celebrating their 25th anniversary is keeping us company. Interestingly enough, though we reserved the Sinclair room back in March, this couple are of the Sinclair family themselves and tried to get the room when they registered only to find it taken. In case you’re wondering, I offered to trade rooms but the husband declined. Their room, he said, is, after all, is a couple of dozen spiral steps closer to the ground floor than ours. LOL.

Outside the warmth of our cozy castle, it’s raining again. Big surprise there. I don’t know if it’s been raining in Scotland continuously since we left, but I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s a wonder the country doesn’t look like the Florida everglades. Still, the drive out from Hartlepool today was absolutely spectacular. So much greenery. So many picturesque stone cottages, barns, and boundary fences, that I found it difficult to keep my eyes on the road. Scotland (and, to be fair, much of northern Wales) is definitely the most beautiful place on planet earth we’ve ever seen

Since we spent much of the day on the road, we didn’t take many photos. However, we did stop in Durham to visit the 11th century cathedral there (see photo 2), something which our Hartlepool hosts had enthusiastically recommended. Our hosts, Gillian and Stephen also asked us to stop, while we were in Durham, and check out their old house. Thanks to the magic of GPS, that should have been easy enough. However, when the GPS said, now arriving at (postal code) XXXXXX, we were motoring by the back fence of a housing tract. Perplexed as to why the little machine would mislead us so thoroughly, we set about cruising the subdivision looking for the address Stephen had written down for us. When we finally gave up (we had been looking for a house number that was actually a highway route number we found out later) we were just about to put in the coordinate for the Durham cathedral when a woman approached the car window and motioned for us to roll it down. The following is typical of the friendly folks we found at every town and village throughout the UK:

“Can I help you find something,” the woman said.

“Oh, well, we were just looking for a house here,” Concetta said.

“Do you know the number?” she asked

I pointed to the notebook page that contained the highway number that we thought was a house number. “One-seven-seven,” I said.

She looked perplexed. “Whose house is it?”

“Well,” I said, really starting to feel a little silly, “it was the folks whose guest house we stayed in down in Hartlepool.”

“Yes,” Concetta said, “and they just asked us to come by and see their old house.”

“Was his name Stephen,” she asked. “Gillian and Stephen?”

“That’s them,” Concetta and I chorused together.”

“Well, I know them very well,” the woman said. “My name’s Lorraine. We’re friends. They lived just around the corner there.”

And that’s how the Davis’ luck usually runs. Right out of the blue pops up a messenger from my guardian angel to make sure I don’t make too many mistakes. After our chat, Lorraine showed us just where Stephen and Gillian’s house was and we dutifully took a picture to email them. We gave Lorraine a cheerful “toot” on the horn as we sailed past her a few moments later on our way to Durham. Another friend made by strangers in a strange land.

On the road today between Hartlepool and Edinburgh I finally got to do something I’ve been wanting to do for the entire trip: take a picture of the hay rolls. Unlike the usual rectangular baled hay that you see in the fields in America, what you see most often here in the United Kingdom is hay rolls. From a distance they look much like playthings carelessly tossed aside by some colossal child, or maybe pieces of ancient, honey-colored Greek columns scattered in the wake of the invading barbarians. So far, I’ve just never come upon them when I think they look particularly photogenic – until today. Today I managed to capture a field with the sun and shadows just right. The effect was positively stunning. What do you think?

Oops, I just looked up from the laptop and another couple has wandered in. They turn out to be Americans, natives of the mid-west but now retired residents of Hawaii. These two people were actually married here at the castle many years ago and have been coming back here every year for the past twenty years, not necessarily on their anniversary, but just to keep the connection alive. A lively discussion soon ensues about World War II, the economy, and all the places the three couples been that might warrant consideration by the others. Pretty interesting. You can tell these new arrivals have been here a lot because they got the ground floor suite next to the great room and don’t have any spiral stairs to navigate with their luggage. I’m jealous.

The first couple, Gordon and Joana, hale from Oxford. He’s in sales, I think, and she’s in counseling. Both are very interesting folks. The wife, Joana (pronouced like the guy who got swallowed by the whale) is a huge fan of archaeology, so you can probably guess what Concetta and she talked about. As it turns out, Joana was born in the same town of Corbridge, Northumberland, where Concetta and I visited early in our trip. My ancestor, Paul Brown, lived there for a time and fathered several children there. Joana is so enthusiastic about archaeology, that she actually has volunteered at the Vindolanda site that Concetta and I explored during our stay in Hexham. What an Incredible set of coincidences! If I didn’t know better, I’d say they were probably CIA operatives sent to gain our confidence and lure us into spying for them. So, if you don’t hear from us in a timely fashion, it’s because we’ve gone off to Istanbul to smuggle out a microchip or something.

The internet here is password protected but the night manager hasn’t a clue what the password is. So, I can only post this in the morning when the day manager arrives. For those of you who read the blog with your morning coffee, I hope I get it to you in time. I’m off to read my book now, so until tomorrow, I’ll say...

Ciao, tutti.

We travel back to Napoleon's time for the day

I know you’ve heard us say it before, but today was just about the best day we’ve had in the United Kingdom. This morning, after a wonderful breakfast at the Rothbury Guest House in seaside Hartlepool, we set our course for the “Hartlepool Marine Experience” just minutes away down the quay. Oh, man, what a great place! We were there all day and I didn’t want to leave.

The Marine Experience is in a setting much like what we experienced in Beamish up in Northumberland in the first few days of our vacation. Like Beamish, the Marine Experience has constructed a complete village setting with shops of all descriptions, strolling musicians, and opportunities to talk to docents in period costume. But the best thing we found here was the H.M.S. Trincomalee, a 30-gun frigate built in 1817 of Indian teak and Europe’s oldest warship afloat.

I was just absolutely awestruck with the quality of restoration on the Trincolmalee. Plus, the restorers have provided the highest quality nautical interpretive interior mockups that I have ever seen, bar none. Everything from canons to crew hammocks complete with crew were done to perfection. As you can see from the photos, the captain was in his cabin, the table was set for the officers, and, though not pictured, the cook was roasting meat on the spit for dinner.

Concetta and I made use of the audio units that tell you all about the ship at the touch of a button. We wandered from stem to stern and back again on all three decks and every conceivable detail was explained in easily understandable language. We learned that a “little nipper” was the name given to the ship’s boy who kept the frayed ends of the halyards and lines trimmed. We learned that even today we refer to the toilet as the “head” because these deep-water sailors used a space next to the figure head at the head end of the boat as their latrine. And we learned that the purser was actually referred to as the “Pusser,” which explains why the grog served to British sailors up until fairly recently was called, “Pusser’s Rum.”

The first thing we did when we arrived was attend a presentation given on the “press gangs.” The British Navy was never able to attract enough volunteers to fill its many ships of the line, so they had to get creative. Gangs of British sailors would go out into the community whenever they were in port and “press” chaps into coming along with them for a life at sea. Often, they’d single out lone travelers coming home from a night of drinking who weren’t quite as quick on their feet as they might have been. These chaps would get a blackjack on the back of the head and would wake the next day to find themselves out at sea. Many never saw their homes and families again.

Our next adventure involved a walk-through, narrated tour through the various decks of a fighting ship which came complete with appropriately-dressed manikins, sound effects, and mood lighting. We learned all about life – and death – on board one of His Majesty’s warships as a French frigate closed for battle with our warship.

After all this Hollywood canon fire and hand-to-hand fighting, we decided it was time for tea. We had already learned that a discussion of tea in Britain and a full-fledged afternoon tea was being given in the next building so off we went to participate. As it turned out, we were the only ones to do so, which meant the young lady doing the talk and demonstration had us all to herself. She was charming and told us everything we ever wanted to know about tea and how it became the national drink in the UK. At one time, she told us, British were actually coffee drinkers and only started drinking tea in the 1600s when Portugese traders brought some to the island. Because it was so expensive, the rich people thought it had to be something they should have and viola, when the rich folks did it, everyone wanted to do it.

Part of the reason tea was so expensive is because the British government put a tariff of 190% on the product. This meant, of course, that the poor people just began to smuggle it. The more it was smuggled, the more was available for everyone to drink. Soon, tea was everywhere and had become the post popular drink in Britain.

After the tea drinking, we headed out onto the wharf area to visit the various shops. They had a chandler’s shop, a naval gunsmith’s, a swordsmith, a printer (I liked that one), a naval tailor, a ship’s architect, an instrument maker’s shop, and the Admiral’s house. Each one of these shops or homes was intricately decorated and “staffed” with appropriately-dressed manikins to give you an exact representation of how things would have looked in the late 1700s, early 1800s. I was just blown away by the attention to detail.

As our last activity of the day, we stayed to watch the 68th Durham Light Infantry Display Team, a red-coat re-inactment group, dazzle us with their close-order drill and weapons handling. This group is the premier Georgian-period drill team and performs abroad as much as they do at home. I was so enthralled with their uniforms and expertise with their replica “Brown Bess” muskets, that I kept getting too close to the column as they wheeled, kneeled and fired their weapons. Oh, well, at least they weren’t using live ammunition – I least I don’t think they were.

Tomorrow we’re off to Scotland for our last two days adventure before our flight home. Our final days of vacation are growing woefully short, but there’s still more fun to come. Stay tuned.

Ciao, tutti.