Wiltshire Adventure, day 3
(Day 1; day 2.)
Walking west along the canal at Wilcot.Day three was quite a bit easier--it's six miles by road from Pewsey (the nearest town to Manningford Abbots, where we'd spent the night), and I don't know how many miles it took to walk, but we did it in five hours. Margot and her husband basically plotted the whole route for us, returning to Wilcot (the village where we'd had dinner the previous night) and walking west along a picturesque canal before heading north across hilly pastures and along the edge of copses that were definitely not part of a public right-of-way. But Margot promised we'd be all right, that it was a route she'd taken with her dog many times, and we were.It was misty the whole day through, but we got what we came for: white horses! (Well, one white horse, but we saw another the following day.)
Pausing for "lunch." Good thing she's not sick of trail mix--there's still five pounds of it left!
It was misty the whole day through, but we still got what we came for: white horses! (Well, one white horse, but we saw another the following day.)
The original white horse figures were meant as offerings to the gods, and so they're best seen at a distance. It was such a thrill to come to the top of a hill and see it laid out on the hillside opposite.
We arrived at our B&B in East Kennett around 3:30 and had a cup of tea before we headed out again for Avebury. Before you get to the circle itself, you walk (or skip, hee hee) down the remains of a stone avenue that was probably used for ceremonial purposes:
Over 4,500 years the stones have been weathered into weird and awesome shapes.
The other odd thing about Avebury is that the village is built inside the circle. There isn't much to the village itself (pub, visitor centre, ludicrously expensive vegetarian B&B, and a few other buildings), but the traffic is ridiculous--if the road had circumvented the monument I imagine the site would be much more peaceful. We still enjoyed the afternoon, of course (although we almost had a conniption when we saw some idiot climbing up onto one of the stones for a photo op!)
There are loads of neolithic sites in the area, but unfortunately we didn't have time to visit any others. After Avebury we got our headlamps and walked to The Bell at West Overton, on the premises of a 19th-century coaching inn, for dinner. It was quite a bit fancier than the previous night, but we had a delicious butternut squash soup and gnocchi with spinach and walnuts, and I got a pint of another local ale, and then we walked back to East Kennett in the darkness. Another lovely evening.(p.s. Kate took most of the pictures in this post.)(p.p.s. Funny enough, I'm in India right now, volunteering here. Sweating buckets and sleeping with frogs--I'm a long way from Wiltshire now!)
Wiltshire Adventure, day 2
I admitted to Kate straightaway that the second day's walking (from Amesbury to Manningford Abbots, in the vale of Pewsey) was going to be a very long haul, but even that was an understatement. I don't know that we could have walked it all even if we hadn't encountered a few nonexistent public-rights-of-way that resulted in wasted time retracing our steps. Oh well--it was still a very nice walk, full of variety, and the weather was perfect. My sister really enjoyed ambling through all the little villages and oohing over the architecture.
We spotted this behemoth in a farmyard along the route. He seemed much too big to be able to walk out into the yard on his own, so we imagined the farmer brought him out in a cart to snooze in the sunshine.
A kissing-gate at the end of a pastureful of cows. (Not so romantic as it sounds, then!)
We did a little "we're over the fold of the map" dance.It got to be 3:30 and we knew we didn't have a prayer of making it to Manningford Abbots before dark, so we gave up and took the bus. And we didn't feel the slightest bit guilty about it, because it gave us more time to enjoy our 17th-century bedroom:
I can't say enough good things about Huntly's Farmhouse. The house itself is a huge treat for someone like me (who was obviously born on the wrong continent in the wrong century), and Margot is an amazing hostess--she brought us tea and homemade lemon cake when we arrived, and breakfast in front of an enormous open stone fireplace with things like stewed figs and quince jam was thoroughly memorable. Being there reminded me that I still haven't blogged about A Traveller in Time (which I was reading during the Cotswolds trip back in November, and excerpted here).(n.b.—if you want to book at Huntly's, it's best to call. Either that internet form doesn't work, or Margot doesn't check it. She's one of those chilled-out B&B owners who just does it on the side.)
Margot gave us directions to a great little pub in Wilcot, a mile and a quarter off, so we walked over for dinner in the twilight. (Of course we used our headlamps for the walk back, and it was pretty creepy when the bluish LED light reflected off the cows' eyes in the darkness. Bovine zombies, ieeeeeee!)
We had a hearty meal (vegetable lasagna and veggie shepherd's pie) at the Golden Swan; Margot had called ahead to tell them we were coming, and they were very friendly. I took this pic as a wish-you-were-here for Elliot, and reminded myself of LOLcats: 'I bought you a beer, but then I drinked it.'Next post: Manningford Abbots to East Kennett (one mile from the great stone circle at Avebury).
Wiltshire Adventure, day 1
How every trip with Kate begins. Waiting for the bus to Amesbury last Monday morning.I wasn't online last week (apart from a few 30-second email checks) because my sister and I were walking in Wiltshire. This trip came about thanks to this New York Times article and the fact that I was already in the UK doing some book research.Instead of walking two days on the Ridgeway Trail, we decided to begin at Stonehenge and end at Bishopstone, a village between Avebury and Wantage. We had a few inevitable hiccups along the way (darn you, landowners who ignore public rights-of-way!), but it was a great trip--rolling green farmland, prehistoric stone monuments, picturesque villages, big delicious breakfasts, friendly locals and local ales (for me, anyway). From Bishopstone, we went to Oxford for a night, then returned to London for another day and a half of sightseeing with Seanan before heading home yesterday morning.Last Monday we (eventually) found each other at Heathrow and took the bus to Amesbury, the closest town to Stonehenge. After checking in at our B&B, we took the scenic route to the monument. I'd say we walked about seven miles, arriving back in town just before dark.
It must be the time of year for rethatching, because we saw several roofs being worked on. Below: tumuli in a field opposite Stonehenge.
I had heard that a busy highway runs very close to Stonehenge, but it still seemed amusingly incongruous (our favorite word on this trip). We got there about 5:30, after closing time, but the sidewalk is only five feet farther from the walkway around the stones that you have to pay £7 to access. We got a great view at sunset and didn't pay a penny.
We stayed at The Anchorage, now one of my very favorite B&Bs—and you know I've been to a few! [Edit, 2013: no longer operating as a B&B, sadly!] Nothing better at the end of a long walk than a hot bubble bath, especially when it's in that tub. If you are planning a trip to Stonehenge and want to stay in the area, you MUST stay here. Sheryll is one of the most genuinely friendly B&B owners I've ever met--she plotted our walking route for us, the breakfast was almost too generous, the rooms are incredible, and she brought us tea and chocolate treats in a cozy sitting room (with open fire) when we got back from dinner that night. (We found a very good Indian restaurant on the high street.)Next post: Amesbury to Manningford Abbots, where we stayed in a wonderful 17th-century farmhouse.
Adventures in Glasgow
One of the mid 19th-century 'Munich windows' at Glasgow Cathedral.I've heard that Edinburgh is the city to visit and Glasgow is the city to live in, and I can see why they say that--one's got the history and the other's got the edgy arts scene, nightclubs and suchlike. Though I've been living in Edinburgh these last five weeks I've been spending quite a bit of time in Glasgow, for a reason I may one day share with you. Until then, some sightseeing.Ready for the creepiest thing EVER?
Okay, maybe not THE creepiest thing, but she sure spooked the heck out of me on a gloomy afternoon. Spotted inside the Houldsworth mausoleum on the Necropolis (you can see the exterior of this mausoleum on the front page--it's the one on the right).A view of the cathedral from the cemetery, and another photo from the Houldsworth tomb:
I told some new friends I had gone to the Necropolis, and they seemed shocked. 'But it was two o'clock in the afternoon!' I said. I've heard that people often sleep in the tombs (and do, y'know, whatever else), but it never occurred to me to worry about going up there by myself during the day. I didn't see any unsavory characters lurking around, anyway--just other tourists, a gardener, and some locals walking their dogs.
On February 26th I went to the Tramway, a really neat post-industrial theatre space, to hear my friend Rhona's choir. This is a very lively and supremely talented ensemble group, the Second Hand Marching Band.And on my last afternoon in the city, I went to the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum. What a treasure trove! If you're ever in Glasgow, don't miss it. The building itself is stunning too.
'Floating heads' high above a hall full of taxidermies, 19th-century portrait busts, and other interesting thingamabobs.
New Lanark
I spent most of Saturday at New Lanark, a late 18th-century mill town (and World Heritage site) situated along the River Clyde in South Lanarkshire. There's a lovely hourlong wooded walk that takes in three waterfalls (harnessed for hydroelectric power in 1927), although the weather was pretty dismal, so my photos of the falls aren't really worth sharing.The exhibition was open by the time I got back from my walk:
Above: the engine house; YARN!; the roof garden; a phrenology model in the restored 1820 period classroom.Robert Owen purchased the business from his father-in-law, David Dale,in 1799, and over the next few decades turned the weaving mill complex (which originally milled cotton picked by American slaves) into a celebrated experiment in utopian socialism. Owen thought even the humblest factory worker deserved a comprehensive education (at least until the age of ten, although continuing ed classes were offered at night), fresh air and exercise, a sick fund in case of illness, hygienic living spaces, and quality meat and produce available at reasonable prices at the village store. My inner cynic piped up as I went through the exhibition--no doubt such reforms resulted in a very obedient workforce; 'Institute for the Formation of Character,' ieeeee!, etc.--but it's true his ideas were well ahead of his time, and that what we take for granted now was pretty revolutionary back then. You learn on the cheesy 'Annie McLeod Experience' ride (narrated by the ghost of a 10-year-old millworker--!) that they worked six days a week, ten (or was it twelve?) hours a day, and only got two holidays a year--but back then that work schedule was generous.
The history lesson was interesting and all, but this was what I really came for. Bwahahahahaha. Proceeds benefit ongoing conservation efforts.
My kind of church
The south chapel murals depict the first part of the parable of the ten virgins (i.e., the wise and foolish virgins).On Sunday, thanks to my new friend Kate ('blessed by Kates', as I like to say), I was able to visit the Mansfield Traquair Centre, a deconsecrated church full of the most wonderful murals I've seen outside of Italy. (This building is actually called 'Edinburgh's Sistine Chapel', although tourists don't generally hear about it; it seems like they have sufficient income through space rental that they don't need to push for tourism.) It's only open to the public one Sunday afternoon per month, so I was very fortunate to be able to go!
The neo-Romanesque chancel arch, featuring the first set of murals (1895-1897). The worship of heaven as given in the Books of Ezekiel and Revelation.Phoebe Anna Traquair (1852-1936) was the foremost artist of the Arts and Crafts movement in Scotland. She spent eight years on these murals, doing hardly any preparatory drawings before sketching the figures right onto the walls. This is a particularly stunning achievement given the curved surfaces of the chapel ceiling.
I wasn't surprised to hear that she took a holiday to Italy before returning to start the south chapel murals, because the virgins all have Botticelli coifs!
Two of the four angels symbolizing the ministries of the Catholic Apostolic Church: the Prophet in blue and the Pastor in silver (the other two are the Evangelist in scarlet and the Apostle in gold).
The north aisle features the conclusion of the parable of the ten virgins. The ornamentation on the walls and sloped ceiling are reminiscent of both William Morris and medieval illuminated manuscripts.
The happiest Judgment Day you will ever see.
So if you are coming to Edinburgh and are a huge art history nerd like I am, it's worth planning your visit around the opening days! I believe it's open daily during the theatre festival in August.
Boonsboro
Crawford's Restaurant, Guns & Ammo. Bwahahaha.I've been meaning to write about my weekend in Boonsboro, Maryland for ages. On November 6th I was invited to Turn the Page bookstore for a group signing thanks to my cousin Suzanne, who is the innkeeper at Nora Roberts's gorgeous Inn Boonsboro. My mom and I spent Friday night in the penthouse suite, watching "Bell, Book & Candle" on the king-size four-poster bed.
The bathtub, oh my goodness. And the toilet is heated, goes up and down by itself, and even rinses your bits for you. Not that I pressed that button. Oh no.People stood in line for hours (no, I'm not exaggerating) to get their Nora Roberts and J.D. Robb novels signed, and sometimes they picked up my book while they were waiting. I lost track of how many copies I signed, and that almost never happens. Hooray!
More importantly, I got to meet a group of wonderfully witty, fun, and all-around nice writers. Here I am with Jeanine Cummins, Lisa Scottoline, and Lisa's daughter and co-author Francesca Serritella. I also got to meet Mariah Stewart and Carolyn Turgeon, author of Godmother and the forthcoming Mermaid; I'm particularly excited about those because Carolyn writes my kind of stuff. Jeanine too, actually--she has strong Irish connections, so of course we had a lot to talk about. Here's one of my favorite passages from her novel, The Outside Boy:
Her voice was thin, watery. She opened and closed her toothless mouth. Her eyes was shining in the faint light. Granny could do that, she could change, like. Granny of the Transformations. Right now in the grief-stricken wagon she was a mournful fish. Mouth opened and closed, opened and closed, in silence. I imagined that one more gape of the mouth and she would sprout fins and gills, and she would rend off her black funeral dress and reveal a breastplate of hard, beautiful scales beneath, like the blue and green glass scattered on the ground outside. And then she would swim away in a river of her own tears.
I really, really love that image.My dad and grandparents came down too, and Kate drove out from Baltimore, so after the signing we had a big family dinner at a pizzeria down the street. None of us had seen Suzanne in a long, long time, so it was pretty special. (I wanted to post a group picture, but none of them came out very well. Too much flash.)
Anyway, thanks to Janeen at Turn the Page for putting together such a wonderful event, and Nora for inviting me, and Suzanne for making it happen in the first place!
Enchanted Scotland, part 4
Danny had parked the van at the turn-off, a ten- or fifteen-minute walk up a hill, to avoid getting stuck in the morning, so we carried our bags through the snow. It was an invigorating way to start the day, that's for sure.
See that church? That's somebody's house. (I was too giddy to feel envious at the time, but I sure do looking back at the photos now!)
Mary Beth walking along ahead of me:
Later that day we went to Loch Ness. As you can see, Danny likes to flash his bum whenever there are enough cameras around:
(That's Adrienne pretending to be appalled. Why oh why didn't I have a snowball handy?)
(I'm not sure where this is exactly, we were just getting out to take pictures.)
We spent our last night at Oban. Here's the view over the town from McCaig's Tower:
Our last morning we got to visit Dunstaffnage Castle before it opened:
Late in the morning it started to snow pretty heavily, and Danny was worried we wouldn't make it back to Edinburgh that night. We made a quick stop at Kilmartin to check out the stones at the parish church, which date from the thirteenth to early eighteenth centuries:
I wish we'd had more time to wander through the graveyard; it doesn't get much more romantic than this:
Next we stopped at St. Conan's Kirk, one of my favorite places on the whole trip for its general wackiness (Danny aptly described it as a church built by people who had no idea what a church is supposed to look like--the rain spouts were shaped like rabbits, all that sort of thing) along with our snowball fight out back:
And that concludes my November trip to Scotland!
Adventures in Peru: Titicaca & Colca Canyon
(I meant to post this photo last time. We are on top of Machu Picchu, and you can see the city of Machu Picchu over Spencer's shoulder. Most of these photos are Kate's--I took fewer and fewer pictures as the trip went on, because everybody else's cameras were taking much better photos.)Everything that came after Machu Picchu was...well, not nearly as exciting (which is probably why it's taken me so long to post this). From Puno we went on a day trip to an island made of reeds on Titicaca, which was a little bit like walking around on a giant waterbed. There was a fish-shaped lookout tower made entirely of reeds too.
We were invited into the islanders' homes, which was slightly awkward because we quickly realized they were expecting us to buy their (albeit lovely) needlework. Kate strongly suspected they changed out of their colorful skirts and embroidered jackets back into jeans and t-shirts as soon as the tourists had left for the day.
Our second stop on Titicaca was the Yavari, a steamship built in England in the 1860s and carried in pieces on a mule train over the Andes. Elliot was (as they say) like a kid in a candy store while we were in the engine room, but I started to feel like a bored and sulky teenager by the end of it.There were a couple more highlights in the Sacred Valley (basing ourselves in Chivay) before we took the overnight bus back to Lima. We split off from our Colca Canyon mini-bus tour to enjoy this rather isolated walk on our own:
(Those two specks in the middle are Spencer and me.)
Towards the end of that afternoon walk we crossed a bridge over a ravine and walked up the stairs on the far side. I don't know what I was thinking, but I didn't get hurt so I guess it doesn't matter. (Hi, Ma!) After this walk we took a taxi to the thermal baths at Chivay, and they were ahhhhhsome.Back on the mini-bus the next day, we spotted some vicuñas along the road:
Being cousins of the alpaca, vicuñas have even softer fleece but aren't domesticated, so professional shearers capture them long enough to harvest the fleeces. (Yes, I had a knitting geek-out.)
And here are our last two photographs: a condor over Colca Canyon (hoo-wee, were there a load of tourists there, but the food on offer is really good; we split some sort of spicy rice dish with avocado); and we stopped at several villages on the way back to Arequipa for picture-taking in churches, snacks, and shopping at the outdoor markets. Here Jill and Spencer sample the prickly pear juice:
And that's all I got (but you can click here for the full photo gallery, and here for all Peru entries).Stay tuned for August '11, when it's EGYPT OR BUST!
The Fairy Glen (Enchanted Scotland, part 3)
From the bower could be heard the pipe and the song and the voice of laughter as the fairies 'sett' and reeled in the mazes of the dance. Sometimes a man hearing the merry music and seeing the wonderful light within would be tempted to go in and join them, but woe to him if he omitted to leave a piece of iron at the door of the bower on entering, for the cunning fairies would close the door and the man would find no egress. There he would dance for years--but to him the years were as one day--while his wife and family mourned him as dead.
--from The Fairy Faith in Celtic Countries, by W. Y. Evans-Wentz (1911)
A 'fairy glen' on the Isle of Skye (that's me waving from on top of the 'fairy castle', photo thanks to Heather. By that time the weather had turned). Below: Dunbeg.
Happy New Year, everyone!
Enchanted Scotland, part 2
Above: photos from The Hermitage.The next day, on the isle of Skye:
Next is the best part: the fairy glen!
Enchanted Scotland, part 1
After Edinburgh I went on a backpackers' tour with Wild in Scotland, which I can't recommend highly enough. Everyone on the tour was nice, we got to stay in a castle with a secret passageway, went for walks in the snow and learned a lot about Scottish history and folklore. Our guide, Danny, is smart and hilarious and a whole lot of fun all around.[Edit, 2013: Sadly, Wild in Scotland is no longer in business.]
The first day was definitely a highlight—we walked part of the Fife coastal path, which involved quite a bit of clambering up and down the rocks. Below: Danny talks Adrienne down a fairly scary rock wall.
After lunch we drove to a church but walked past it, into the woods to an old Pictish gathering-place. Then, of course, the first Christians came along and made a few tweaks:
Below: the ruins of St. Andrew's Cathedral; Doune Castle, where part of Monty Python and the Holy Grail was filmed; Hamish the hairy cooooooo (i.e., Highland cow) at Kilmahog.
Next post: snow, and lots of it (that's where the enchanted part comes in.)
Edinburgh
I loved Edinburgh. I loved the spooky old alleyways and the baked spuds stuffed with vegetarian haggis and the National Gallery (this painting in particular) and St. Giles (where I wandered in just in time for a free choral concert one Sunday evening).
The view from Edinburgh Castle; the green strip on the right is the dogs' cemetery.
The castle from below, about four o'clock in the afternoon.
St. Margaret: an early 20th-century window from the restored early 12th-century chapel.
At the top of Arthur's Seat. This walk was hands-down my favorite thing in Edinburgh--great panoramic views of the city from boggy hills that otherwise feel wonderfully remote.
(So many more great photos from Scotland, but I probably won't get around to posting them until after Christmas.)
York
After London I spent a night in York (yes, "Old York") en route to Edinburgh. It was just as atmospheric a place as I expected--I really enjoyed walking the walls and wandering through the reconstructed Victorian streets inside the York Castle Museum. The Minster was closed for graduation ceremonies both days I was there, which was very disappointing, but at least it's something to look forward to for next time.
Walking the medieval city walls.
Spotted in the confectioner's window at the York Castle Museum. I wonder what they tasted like.
The York Minster.
One of the many charming things about this town: all the cafés in what used to be tollhouses. I had a delicious gingerbread latté in this one, on the Skeldergate Bridge.
I went on a ghost walk that night. There are several options, and I can't say I recommend the one I went on (this one, so you can avoid it)--so heavy on theatrics that he only told us four or five stories in the space of an hour and fifteen minutes. I wasn't all that disappointed until I passed another guide in the Shambles (the quaintest street in York), and heard what I was missing.Anyway, the house above is the site of the saddest story I heard that night: a little girl had come down with buboes, and after they'd put her to bed for the night her parents locked her room, put an X over the front door, and fled the city. In the morning she called out but no one passing by would help her, and now people say they can see her face peering down out of the bedroom window (sometimes even in the daytime).The other day I was browsing through a book about the plague in England, and I found this quote:
Father abandoned child; wife, husband; one brother, another...and none could be found to bury the dead for money or friendship.
--Agnolo di Tura, Siena, 1348.
I can't imagine abandoning a child in any circumstances, let alone leaving a child to die alone in agony, but it sounds like it happened all the time. I sat down on a park bench opposite the house and stared at the window for awhile, but I didn't see her.
Holy Trinity, Goodramgate, which dates mostly from the fifteenth century. This is the only church in York to have retained its box pews (an intriguing feature, as I'm not sure why it would be necessary to have that much 'privacy' at Sunday service). You only get a slight sense of this from the photo, but the walls are seriously wonky--you look up and think 'I know it's been around for six hundred years and all, but I really hope today isn't the day the whole place crumbles around my ears.'I (surprise, surprise) also indulged in a crafting geek-out at Ramshambles (tiny shop, but very friendly) and Duttons Buttons (thanks to Kate Davies' great York Craft Tour post from spring '09). The stock at Duttons wasn't as quirky as those little red teacup buttons would suggest, and the staff weren't particularly nice, but I picked up some really lovely ones for two 2011 (!) sweater projects.Next post: SCOTLAND!
the Cotswolds, part 3
I took this video somewhere between Snowshill and Stanton. Those strange undulations in the field are left over from an ancient ploughing method called ridge and furrow, as explained here.(We realized not long afterward that we were a teensy bit lost, and had to hoof it back to Stanton along the main road. Oh well.)
Further Adventures in London
St. Bart's.
Did I keep busy in London! I went Christmas shopping at Liberty's with Amy (thanks to Maggie's introduction), met up with Marian for a late lunch, went to a cookbook launch event at the Freemasons' Hall (thanks to Henry), did the British Museum and a few great pubs with Steve and Andy (who were on a short vacation in London and Paris), and reveled in tea and knitting at Drink, Shop & Do with Emma. Plus Westminster Abbey, the Jewel Tower, St. Bart's, the National Gallery, and a few other places I'm sure I'm forgetting.Below: St. Bart's, two photos from the Freemasons' Hall, Steve and Andy at the Lamb & Flag on Rose Street in Covent Garden, the Tree of Life at the British Museum, the Victoria & Albert Museum of Childhood.
(So many more photos to put up...York, Edinburgh and the Scotland tour, and I still haven't gotten to Maryland or the last Peru post!)
Midwest, part 2
(Continuing from part 1.)
From Madison I took a bus to Minneapolis to visit Jill for a few days. We went to see The 39 Steps at the Guthrie--really good fun!--and we went shopping at a pumpkin patch in the suburbs and carved it to look like this:
The Witch's Hat Tower.
(Funny that I said 'I shall never carve a jack-o-lantern ever, ever, ever again' after seeing this--Elliot carved it; brilliant, right?--when I haven't carved a pumpkin since I was a kid.)
I also did a reading and signing at Common Good Books on the 1st of November, which was fantastic--along with Jill and Walt, Maggie's brother Max and his wife Jillian came out, and there were three complete strangers, which up 'til now hasn't ever really happened. And they were the most enthusiastic complete strangers EVER. Lots of questions and discussion and I read two passages, one at the beginning and one at the end. It was really, really fun.
And I got to sign the door behind the desk!
(I'm in Scotland at the moment, having a marvelous time. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!)
the Cotswolds, part 2
We stayed in Stanton, which just might be the poshest village of the Cotswolds; it's very small, no shops and only the one pub, the Mount Inn (but it does great food, so between the huge delicious breakfasts and pub dinners--and dessert, my god, the dessert! best sticky toffee pudding ever, and elderflower ice cream!!!--we were set).
It's true, the architecture is heart-achingly quaint. Our (utterly, utterly marvelous) B&B was formerly the village post office, and we stayed in what had been the telephone exchange. The place was spotless; there were two spider-webs in the window, but they were so perfectly formed it was if someone had arranged them there.
We arrived later than expected on Saturday, so we had to do the short version of a walk I'd been really excited for (alas, it gets dark around 4:30); but on Sunday morning we decided to stay another night (instead of walking to the larger town of Winchcombe with our bags), so it turned out we were able to do the long version of the Saturday walk on Monday (Stanton-Snowshill; downloadable map and details here). And on Sunday we walked to Winchcombe--eight miles, give or take--and had an old-fashioned high tea (cucumber sandwiches, scones as big as your head and slathered in cream and jam, cupcakes) at The White Hart before getting picked up by a kind-hearted plumber at nightfall for the return trip. (The public transportation, such as it is, is pitiful. According to the bus timetable, there would be a bus. But there was no bus, although one out-of-service bus did drive by, and that's when our plumber called out his window and asked where we were going.)
Anyway, back to Saturday evening. We walked for an hour and a half or so--you have the public right of way through the fields, so we often found ourselves in the company of sheep or horses--and on our return to Stanton we wandered around the Church of St. Michael and All Angels, the oldest parts of which date from 1200.
Graveyard at dusk. Not the most subtle of metaphors.
After visiting the church we went back to the B&B to rest before dinner, and I came upon this passage in the delightful children's fantasy novel I was reading, Alison Uttley's A Traveller in Time:
The church was sweet and clean, for Dame Cicely had it scrubbed each week, and fresh herbs were strewn in the pews. There was a smell of rosemary and balm, and the cool odor of green rushes from the brook-side, which were soft as velvet under my feet as I stood in a familiar pew. There was a heavy tapestry curtain across one end of Mistress Babington's pew, to screen her from the congregation, and cushions and footstools were placed ready for her. In the windows shone the lovely painted glass, and by the font was the ancient clock complaining with the wheezy voice of a old man.
Perfect.
And here are two of the best photos from our Monday walk to Snowshill, another tiny and utterly enchanting place:
You see why we were sorry to go back to London?
(London photos coming too...along with Minneapolis, Maryland, AND my last Peru entry!)
