Showing posts with label England. Show all posts

Asthall, England to Monmouth, Wales

After a miserable night in the Maytime Inn spent in a cold room with some of the most uncomfortable beds ever, we checked out before breakfast, which was not to be served until 9:00. When we went to check out, innkeeper Tim made snide remarks about our rising before breakfast and stated that if he went to America, he certainly wouldn’t get up at such an uncivilized hour.
Ken told Tim about the dog bite and showed Tim his thumb. Like May, Tim shrugged off the incident saying that Ken must have done something to annoy the poor blind pup.

Having arrived after dark, we were quite impressed to see what the picturesque little village of Asthall actually looked like by day. On the way back to Burford, we saw the first of many pheasants, usually seen in pairs.
Back in Burford, we walked along the main street and enjoyed coffee and tea before moving on, following a Cotswalds driving tour in the Fodor’s book. The drive took us on some very narrow country lanes through more tiny villages, each of which seemed to have a 16th or 17th century church (or older) and groups of stone cottages that appeared to be about the same age.

We drove through Great Barrington, Great Rissington, Bourton-on-the-Water, and Moreton-in-Marsh, to Bourton-on-the-Hill. There we tried to locate Sezincote House, where our guidebook promised a nice three-mile walk. Unfortunately, we never located the trailhead, so we moved on through Broadway and on to Cheltenam.
In Cheltenham, we parked in a shopping center car park and tried in vain to locate an internet cafe. First we tried with Rosie, but the address we had from the internet was a street she couldn’t find. So we parked and asked around and obtained the addresses for three other places. All three were closed on Sunday. In the shopping center we visited the Thorntons candy store for some souvenirs. We considered staying in Cheltenham, but decided to move on and landed in Monmouth, just across the Welsh border.

The kind people at the TI office in Monmouth helped us book at room across the street at the King’s Head, a JD Weatherspoon hotel. We had dinner at the hotel restaurant, a veggie burger and chicken burger with chips (fries). After dinner, we were in the room when Erika surprised us with a phone call. Our attempt to call our pet sitter neighbors to check on the cats got no answer.
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Salisbury, England to Asthall, England

Despite our ambitious plans to rise early, we woke at 8:45 a.m. Arriving after dark last night, we found the hotel very close to the street and assumed it was an urban setting. What a nice surprise when we looked out our window this morning to discover this lovely sight.
The hotel’s complimentary breakfast was similar to the fare at U.S. breakfast buffets, leaving us missing the “full English” we had at the Bath B&B.  Leaving the Rose and Crown, we drove to Old Sarum, the dramatic remains of the settlement that preceded the current Salisbury.
Inhabited from the Iron Age to the Norman era, Old Sarum still stands as a monument to the castle, palace and magnificent cathedral it once housed. Near the gate we met a herd of sheep, who were all standing in a group staring at us when we entered. When we left, they were lying in a group staring at us.

Since we arrived at the site a little before the official opening time, we followed others around the gate to walk the outer grounds. Quite a few locals were there with their dogs, out for a morning stroll. Shortly after 11:00, we headed toward Stonehenge.
By the time we reached this historic site, it was crawling with tourists, both foreign and domestic. We paid our fare and walked over to the henge. While it was certainly quite impressive, the mystical nature was somewhat obscured by the presence of so many tourists milling about (including us).

Avebury had been recommended to us several times, so we headed in that direction from Stonehenge, stopping along the way in a pull-out area to enjoy a picnic lunch in the car. We found Avebury to be a charming village which has been lovingly restored. In the village one can tour the former farmyard of Avebury Manor Farm, a working farm from at least the 1500s to the 1970s.
The round dovecote dates to the mid-1500s and is the oldest of the surviving farmyard buildings. Once it housed more than 500 nesting pigeons, which would have provided a source of fresh meat to the manor in winter. After touring the stone circles, we hit the road again headed for the Cotswalds.

With Rosie’s guidance, we arrived in the town of Burford, where we went to the tourist information office and asked for help booking a room. One of the women at the TI told Ken she liked to hear him talk because he has such a nice accent.
The nice people at the TI confirmed what we had heard from our Bath B&B owners.  On the “weekend break,” lots of people come into Burford to do Christmas shopping, so room availability is quite limited. Our hope to stay “in town” was dashed and we ended up with reservations at the Maytime Inn, a very rural inn in the village of Asthall.

The Maytime Inn (operated by May and Tim Morgan) turned out to be the Badtime Inn for us. By the time we arrived, the temperature had fallen well into the 30s but there was no heat on in the room when we arrived. It was turned on upon our arrival and when the room warmed up a bit, we decided to get our baths, even though the window in the bathroom would not completely close and cold air was pouring in.

The faucets were offering only cold water for our baths, so I went to the reception area and asked about the hot water. Tim acted as if we had done something to cause this problem. He mumbled something about an adjustment and walked to the back. My question “Shall I wait?” was ignored. I waited anyway, and when he returned shortly, he dismissively told me that what he had done might help but he just couldn’t understand how we could have room heat and not hot water, implying that I might be lying about it.

Finally 7:00 came when the restaurant at the Maytime opened. Since the inn was so removed from anything else, it was the only feasible place for dinner. Shortly after we walked in and sat down near the bar, a brown and black terrier entered the area where we were sitting. (We had noticed three pet dishes just inside the restaurant door.) As was his habit (before this incident), Ken put out his hand for the dog to sniff as a way of getting acquainted. The dog apparently thought Ken was offering his hand for biting, so he bit it. Fortunately, the skin wasn’t broken, but Ken had a good bruise on his thumbnail.

In addition to the dog, two cats were wandering around the restaurant, jumping on tables and exploring at will. When innkeeper May brought our food to the table, Ken reported to her that the dog had bitten him. She informed him that the dog is blind and stated that Ken must have startled the poor thing. No apology was offered.
 
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Bath, England to Salisbury, England
After another wonderful “full English breakfast,” we packed up to leave the B&B. Walking to a nearby internet cafe, we discovered that it didn’t open until 10:30, so we decided to go by the one near the RR station. We tried in vain to locate a parking space, finally giving up and asking Rosie (the name we’ve given to the GPS) to take us to Frome, the first stop on a driving tour of the area described in a book we borrowed from Woodie and Kathy.

Along the way we finally encountered a “service area,” where we filled up the car with gas, bought a couple of Diet Cokes, and used the loo, which was very much in the same condition as a typical service station restroom in the States. But by the time we found it, we were at the “any port in a storm” stage and did not care.

Much relieved, we drove on to Frome (rhymes with loom), a market town of 25,000 on the River Frome. The steep narrow streets are lined with shops, and traces of medieval and Tudor life are abundant.
We parked and walked up the narrow pedestrian-only Cheap Street, surrounded by ancient shops, and dodging a lead gutter that runs like a miniature canal down the steep street. On this Friday noon, the city was bustling with activity.

At the top of Cheap Street, we discovered the entrance to St. John’s Church. Entering this ancient place of worship, we were astonished to find a Christmas thrift sale underway in the sanctuary. Boards had been laid across the tops of pew backrests along the center and outside aisles, covered with tablecloths, and laden with “white elephant” items. Curiously, none appeared to bear prices.
We walked around this intriguing church, parts of which date to the 1100s. The “newer” areas and restorations of older sections were completed in the 1800s. An interesting feature of the church was the Table Tomb. The tomb is that of the Leversedge family, said to be one of the great families of Frome.
A member of that family, Edmund, reportedly lived a dissolute life and dabbled in the black arts. It is told that one day he fell into a coma, his tongue turned black, and his eyes “stood out like organ stops.” He remained in that state for three days during which time he told of visiting both heaven and hell. According to Edmund, he met God, who reprimanded him for the life he had been living. When Edmund begged to be given another chance, he said, God agreed only if Edmund would go to a particular priest for instruction. After his return to consciousness, Leversedge turned over a new leaf and lived a virtuous life.

Before returning to the car, we tracked down the Frome public library, where we were provided free internet access. We checked e-mail and looked at possible places to stay tonight but didn’t book a room.

Last night when we made our plans for the day, we selected a nice 137-mile driving tour from the Woodie & Kathy book, thinking we could easily complete this tour within a day. After all, we frequently drove 200 to 300 miles a day or more on our Lewis and Clark trip. Three problems (at least) with that theory: 1) Out in the U.S. West, we were frequently riding on very long stretches of wide open highways where we might not encounter another vehicle for 40 or 50 miles; 2) There were long distances between sights we wanted to stop and see with very little to distract us in between; and 3) We had daylight well past 4 p.m. out West.

After checking voice mail from a phone booth in Frome, we left and drove about three miles to the small village of Nunney, where we visited the ruins of a 14th century French-style moated castle.  Built for Sir John Delamare in 1373, the design of Nunney Castle is said to have been based on the Bastille in Paris.  The castle has not been lived in since 1645, when Cromwell's men used cannon to blast a great hole in the north wall of the castle during a battle of the English Civil Wars.
Feeling quite chilled upon leaving the castle, we walked to a local pub where we enjoyed hot cups of coffee and tea. Along the way, we read the local community signboards announcing upcoming events.
As we were drinking our hot beverages in the busy pub, we relished our seats near the roaring flames in the large fireplace. Suddenly we realized it was after 2 p.m. and we had no chance of making it on the entire tour we had planned. Instead of pushing on west toward Cheddar Gorge, we decided to turn back east toward Stonehenge.

With assistance from Rosie, the GPS, we made it to Salisbury. Ken thought we would have a better chance of locating a place to stay in a city, even though Jan and Bryan (the Bath B&B owners) had warned us that most facilities in cities would probably be booked for the weekends, especially in December.

Sunset at 4 p.m. is a very challenging adjustment. Naively, we assumed that we’d drive into Salisbury and see signs (OK, probably not neon) advertising hotels. Not so. We didn’t have a map of the city but we drove around a bit and finally decided to try stopping at a Waitrose “superstore,” thinking they might have travel books that would list hotels. They did not, but they did have an information desk where we asked to borrow a telephone directory. We told the two women working there that we were looking for a room for the night. They suggested a hotel nearby, but a call revealed they had no rooms for the night. Their second suggestion paid off as we snagged a reservation for a room at the Rose and Crown Inn.

After checking in, we walked back to the city center and made it to the public library half an hour before closing. We checked email, looked at credit card accounts, and left for dinner at Harper’s, a restaurant recommended by the hotel staff. Most tables were reserved for a Christmas party at 8 p.m. Arriving a little after 7, we assured them that we wouldn’t linger and they agreed to serve us what turned out to be a delicious meal.

Leaving Harper’s, we walked to a nearby grocery store. After purchasing several items, we couldn’t resist the lure of a taxi waiting out front, avoiding the 25-minute walk back to the hotel on the dark quiet streets.
Back at the hotel, we bathed, worked on the journal, and planned for tomorrow. We agreed to get up by 6, have breakfast in the room, and leave the hotel by 7:30.

Miscellaneous Observations to Date:
  • Lots of sheep
  • Thorny hedgerows
  • Thatched roofs on brick houses
  • Green fields (in December!)
  • Parking/stopping anywhere
  • ‘Public Footpath’ signs in rural areas (but we never see the paths)
  • Separate hot and cold faucets on lavs
  • Everyone is in much more of a hurry than we are, even on very rural 1½-lane roads on Sunday morning.
  • Electric outlets must be turned on before use.
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Bath, UK
Our day began with an incredible breakfast at the B&B—fresh fruit bowl, then eggs, broiled tomatoes, sautéed mushrooms, veggie sausage and toast. Delicious! A $30 breakfast at a hotel in the U.S. It was deliciously prepared, artfully presented, and served steaming hot.

We started the day looking for the railroad station because we thought we’d find a telephone to check voice mail and internet access to check e-mail. We did find telephones in the station but decided it wasn’t the greatest location because the loudspeakers regularly emitted announcements about arrivals and departures while we were trying to hear messages. We were able to discover the location of an internet café nearby. With 20 minutes access for £1, we checked e-mail and sent one out to family and friends.

Having completed our communications routine, we walked to the Bath Abbey. Like Westminster in London, the abbey is architecturally beautiful and interesting, but most captivating are the monuments (back to the 17th century) to the people who are interred there or nearby.
After the abbey, we visited the Roman baths—stone remains of a religious spa dating from c. 45 A.D. The remains have been very well preserved, and the exhibits depicting life between the 1st and 5th centuries were fascinating.
Leaving the baths, we were walking along the street when a telephone store caught our attention. We entered and inquired about renting a mobile phone for a couple of weeks. Soon we had purchased a “pay-as-you-go” phone. The salesperson assured us that we could receive calls by just having the number dialed with no country code. We put that to the test from a pay phone, using an AT&T calling card to simulate a call from the U.S. It didn’t work. After unsuccessfully trying various other scenarios, we left to return to the phone store. Along the way, we stopped at a small cafe for tea, where we took out the directions (no help!) and reasoned through what we had learned on the internet about international dialing. Using “exit codes” and “entrance codes” we had read about, we tried again and finally met with success. Again using the AT&T card to simulate dialing from the U.S., we needed to dial 011 to “exit” from the U.S., +44 to “enter” the U.K. and then the phone number minus its initial zero.

We returned to the internet cafe to email the number to family and friends—with directions. Background music at the cafe was the very familiar James Brown, a favorite of the manager (and Ken).

By this time we finished our emailing, it was about 4:30 and after sundown. On our way back to the B&B, we began shopping in shops and collecting items for dinner in—a bottle of wine, a fresh baguette, tomato, cheese, and fruit—and a two-litre Diet Coke, of course.

All our activities today were on foot, a nice break from driving for Ken. Walking distances were modest, and pedestrian traffic was heavy. Is this the reason we saw no obesity in Bath?

We keep feeling as if we stepped through the looking glass when we arrived because so many things here are the reverse of the way they are in the States. Driving and walking on the left, toilet flush handles on the right side of the tank, hot water handle on the right and cold on the left on lav sinks, and so on. Are more Brits left-handed than Americans?

After enjoying our meal in the room, we had early baths on our last night in Bath and made plans for tomorrow.
 
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Atlanta, GA, USA to Bath, England, UK

After a bumpy but uneventful overnight flight from Atlanta, we arrived at Gatwick on time at 9 a.m. We each slept a couple of hours on the flight.

Waiting in line for passport control, we had an interesting conversation with a British immigration agent, who chided Ken because I had a heavy bag on my shoulder (cosmetics and toiletries) and Ken was carrying none. The agent and his wife moved to the UK from Kenya 18 years ago so their children could get a good education. He was quite interesting and amusing and made the time standing in line pass more quickly. The passport control official who interviewed us was a bit surprised that we didn’t know where we were staying tonight. And actually we were also as this is quite out of character for us.

Our first order of business after clearing customs was picking up the rental car. Ken played against type and made a reservation with the rock bottom lowest price company—a rental agency that operates in Europe (and Asia?) called Sixt. We followed the signs from “Baggage Reclaim” to the rental car area, where we saw agents for Enterprise, Alamo, Hertz, Avis, Dollar, etc.—all except Sixt. When we asked an agent at one of the other companies, he snootily informed us that Sixt had an off-airport location, the only car rental company not at Gatwick, as we discovered. He pointed vaguely to an area nearby where he thought we might obtain a ride to the Sixt office.

Sure enough we found a telephone there with a number for Sixt. Ken called and told the person who answered that we were waiting for a ride to the rental office. She must not have been fully awake as he had to repeat this information a couple of times. Finally he was assured that our ride would arrive in five minutes. While waiting, we had many laughs about what we should expect from this Motel 8 of car rental companies. When we saw a battered old van with a bulldog hanging out the passenger window, we joked that it might be the Sixt courtesy van.

After only about 15 minutes, the van arrived—no dogs—and spirited us off to the Sixt office, a 20-minute trip. Pulling into the parking lot, we saw a tiny car about the size of a Gem golf cart. The van driver teased that this was to be our rental car.

We ended up with a silver Ford Mondeo hatchback, about the size of a Volvo S40. The wonderful thing about this car is that even though we didn’t request it and the Sixt agent told us the car didn’t have it, the Mondeo has a GPS navigation system!

About 40 miles from the airport and lots of playing and button pressing and knob twisting, I figured out how to use it. It includes voice commands for turns and recalculates the route if you make a wrong turn or miss a turn and don’t follow the direction to “make a U-turn if possible.”
In addition to driving on the left side of the road, Ken was also learning to operate with a “gear box transmission” with the stick shift operated by the left hand. And, as Woodie warned, getting used to navigating through roundabouts and exiting onto the correct road—in the correct lane—was challenging indeed, especially on just two hours of sleep.

Though traveling on major highways—“motorways” equivalent to interstate highways in the U.S.—we did not recognize signs of any “rest areas.” After a few hours, we were eager to locate a “loo.” By this time the GPS had us traversing A4, a secondary road on our way to the city of Bath. Finally, not being able to wait any longer, Ken turned onto a smaller road, found a place to pull off to the side (there are many pullouts for temporary parking but no facilities) and enjoyed relief standing between the open car doors. I waited as we were quite close to the road, which turned out to be a good bit busier than we first anticipated.

Finally, wending our way back to the A4 motorway with the help of our friendly GPS girl, we passed a sign indicating a camping area and nature hike. Surely there would be a handy loo here, I insisted, so we pulled into the drive. As we approached, a gate, it lifted to allow us to enter. As soon as we drove into the parking area, I spotted—and ran for—the ladies room. It turned out to be very clean and warm. While I was enjoying sweet relief, Ken made the observation that we would be unable to leave without an “exit code” to open the exit gate. What a concept—anyone can get in but only the select can get out! The office and store near the entrance were empty, as were the information kiosk and a nearby shed area. No amount of shouting aroused anyone in a house across the parking lot and a “Beware of Dog” sign prevented us from entering the gate to actually knock at the door.

We looked around and tried to devise a means of escape. Finally a young woman drove into the gate. I flagged her down and asked her how we could get out. She was very kind and asked us to follow her, which we did, down a road that led to a building with an indoor swimming pool, exercise room, and other recreational facilities. She went inside and came out with the new exit code for December. We thanked her profusely and returned to the exit gate, where we were thrilled when it slowly raised after Ken punched in 9065!

With GPS Girl’s guidance, we made it to Bath, which we naively expected to be smallish and easy to navigate by car. Wrong! Arriving around 2 p.m., we found a maze of very busy narrow streets, many of them one-way. We wanted to locate the tourist information center to help us find a place to stay. This is when we learned to use GPS Girl to guide us to a specific street, not just the town.

Committed to trying some new experiences, we asked for and received assistance booking a B&B for two nights in Bath. Unlike many U.S. B&Bs, here they are generally more economical than hotels, plus you have an opportunity to meet some locals. We are staying in the attic of an old house five minutes walking distance from the central city. The rate is £60 per night. After we checked in, Ken enjoyed a one-hour power nap, and we set off for dinner.

On the recommendation of Jan and Bryan, owners of Albany House B&B, we had dinner at Martini’s, a small Italian restaurant within walking distance. The food was very good—an arugula salad and pizza for me and veggie lasagna for Ken. We enjoyed a nice merlot with dinner and Ken finished with a triple chocolate dessert.

At the restaurant, we chatted with a couple sitting at the next table. He is a native of St. Ives and she is from Boston. They lived in the States for several years and now reside in Bath, where she owns a gift shop called Olde Glory, selling Americana, folk art, Shaker crafts and quilts (www.oldeglory.co.uk). They had a lively, adorable 7-month-old baby named Louisa, and when asked gave us some recommendations for places to visit in the area and in the Cotswalds.

We asked our server for “take away” for the remaining half of my pizza and were quite surprised when it was returned to the table wrapped in aluminum foil. When we returned to the B&B, we left the pizza in the car overnight (natural refrigeration) since a sign in our room advises “No Take Away in the Bedroom.”

Our exhaustion from operating on two hours sleep caught up with us and we were in bed before 9 p.m.
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