travel

Why did it have to end?

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We’re home, and it was wonderful, and can I please please please go back?  The last couple of days at home were so peaceful and restful.  I avoided my work email and managed to wake up this morning still feeling somewhat serene and would you believe it?  A day at work with lots of catching up to do and one crisis (that I couldn’t get resolved today) did NOT get to me.  I still feel pretty good and not at all stressed.  Except for the headache.  It’ll go away.

Bicycles in Oxford - Everywhere I turned, there were people riding bikes. Some with robes flapping behind them, some in skirts, some in casual clothes. Then there was the one guy riding down the street on a unicycle, but I didn't get my camera out in time to catch him.

Here’s a video I took today of Roxy eating peanut butter. Because you’re worth it, and gosh darn it, I like you.

Chipping Campden – what a wonderful name

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I’m not going to turn this into a full travel write-up (she says in the first sentence of what will probably turn into a travelogue), but I’ll hit the highlights:

Second day in London – totally awesome.  We had breakfast near the hotel and then walked all of 50 steps over to St. Paul’s Cathedral.  So very impressive.  (Sadly, there was no bird lady and there were only a few birds.  I didn’t do any singing there.)  We decided not to go in and do the whole cathedral, though.  £15 apiece seemed a little steep, and we knew we’d be seeing plenty of churches and cathedrals during the week.  From there, we walked across the Millenium Bridge (where I did do some singing – we saw a guy selling the world’s smallest kites, so I sang “Let’s Go Fly a Kite”) and over to the Globe Theatre.  Signed up for a tour, watched a Brazilian troupe rehearsing for a matinee of Romeo and Juliet (in Portuguese, and the play had been interpreted for Brazilian culture – lots of singing, some dancing, and a station wagon as part of the set.  It was crazy.).

From there, we crossed back over the Thames on the Tower Bridge, walked around the Tower of London (we visited during our honeymoon eleven and a half years ago – no time on Saturday), got some ice cream, and headed back to the hotel to pick up our stuff and head back to Heathrow to meet Mom and Dad.  We got there right on time and drove to Chipping Campden to settle in to our cottage for the rest of the week.

The cottage is adorable.  Two rooms on the main floor (sitting room with a fireplace, kitchen in the back), one bedroom and bathroom on the first floor, and another bedroom and bathroom on the second floor (where John and I are staying).  Very cozy.  So cozy, in fact, that we can hear every word spoken in the house from anywhere in the house.  We didn’t realize that until around midnight Saturday night, when John and I found we were listening to Mom talk to Corey on the phone.  We found out the next morning that she’d been on the ground floor, not the first floor, the whole time.  So we’ve instituted a whisper rule for bedtime (barring phone calls home, of course, because whispering on the phone is kind of stupid).  Actually, we have yet to try out this whisper rule, since this is only our second night and we haven’t gone to bed yet.  I’ve instituted it – it remains to be seen if anyone else has.  Best part about the cottage?  The internet.  It’s reliable.  Unbelievable.

This morning (Sunday for those keeping track) – no, it wasn’t morning.  We had a hard time getting moving today.  In the early afternoon, we went to Hidcote, which has a wonderfully long rambling garden.  It was chilly, so we came back to the cottage for lunch/afternoon tea, and then we went out to check out the church.  St. James’ Church is a real medieval church, and, since we have perfect timing, we stayed for the Evensong service this evening.  That was a) my first Church of England service, and b) a real church service in a medieval church.  The priest was charming and old (and spoke with a pronounced lisp), and the 10 other members of the congregation (we all sat in the choir – the church itself was empty) were all friendly.  The priest was thrilled to see new faces.  There was more singing than I expected during the service – I didn’t think the Anglicans did that much singing.

Tomorrow, John and I are planning a trip to Oxford.  It’s late (last night it was midnight (close to 1?  I don’t remember) before we went to bed, and it’s already after eleven now), and we’re getting up early.

One of the many different views at Hidcote

If only this being in the future thing could work out financially

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Wanna know something crazy?  I’ve got TWO things for you:

  1. I’m still awake and coherent.  (Fine – you can be the judge of my coherence.)
  2. It’s still the middle of the afternoon for you guys.

Insane.  Yes, my mind is easily boggled by time zones.  Get your giggling out of the way, please.

Our flight left at 10pm last night, and since neither of us slept well the night before and we both struggled through a full workday, we weren’t too concerned about not sleeping on the plane.  I mean, we both knew we’d be exhausted and jet-lagged once we arrived regardless of how well-rested we were on the way over.  Since we flew economy (naturally – we drooled over the business and first class seats on our way to the back with the rest of the cattle), our seats were uncomfortable and they didn’t recline far enough.  As expected.  So, even though we both slept some, it wasn’t enough and it wasn’t good sleep.  Actually, I guess it was enough, because we have managed to power through the entire day.  We checked in to our hotel around noon or 12:30, dropped off our stuff, and went right back out for lunch (our first meal back in the UK was fish and chips, of course).  Then we walked all over central London, mostly drinking in the atmosphere and taking pictures.  We didn’t really do anything or see anything – we had vague ideas of visiting the National Gallery, but we kind of looped around Trafalgar Square instead of actually going.

Our wandering was pretty awesome, actually.  We haven’t been to London since our honeymoon 11 and a half years ago, but I remember that we didn’t make it to Covent Garden (for no particular reason – there are a lot of places we didn’t make it to).  Our wandering today took us straight there (somewhat accidentally), so we did a little shopping, watched a few street performers (including an opera singer – she made my whole day), and didn’t dive head first into the biggest fry-up of paella I have ever seen.

From there, we walked to Leicester Square, through Piccadilly Circus, and on to St. James’s Park.  It was too late in the day to go into Westminster Abbey, so we walked around it, took a couple of pictures of Big Ben and the Parliament buildings, and hopped on the tube to come back to the hotel and eat nearby.  We’ve been fighting exhausted for a couple of hours now, and I think it’s time to give in.  It’s been almost 36 hours since I got out of my own bed Thursday morning, and I think we’ve put in enough effort to beat the jet-lag problem.  We’ll see how tomorrow goes.

Some pictures:

Check out the guy in the bottom right corner for perspective. You could go swimming in this paella.

Mallards swimming in St. James's...pond? I don't know if it has a name, but it's in the middle of the park.

A tree-lined lanes (I love tree-line lanes) down one side of St. James's Park.

Big Ben! Hey, it's Big Ben! Look! Now wave hello!

Park.  It was too late in the day to go into Westminster Abbey, so we walked around it, took a couple of pictures of Big Ben and the Parliament buildings, and hopped on the tube to come back to the hotel and eat nearby.  We’ve been fighting exhausted for a couple of hours now, and I think it’s time to give in.  It’s been almost 36 hours since I got out of my own bed Thursday morning, and I think we’ve put in enough effort to beat the jet-lag problem.  We’ll see how tomorrow goes.
Some pictures:


Check out the guy in the bottom right corner for perspective. You could go swimming in this paella.

The quick update

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We’re home, safe and sound, and so are the dogs.  Nothing happened to Roxy this weekend.  (Thank you, Jess.)  We had a  highly successful Passover seder Friday night, I drank all the wine in the house Saturday night (Mom assures me I most certainly did NOT drink all the wine, but I felt like I had by Sunday morning), and we spent much of Sunday stealing books from Mom and Dad’s basement, all of which now live in OUR basement.  The drive home was much better than anticipated (mostly because we listened to a fantastic book the whole way, but I’ll have more on that once we actually finish it – we have about an hour left), and when we arrived, we unloaded the books in about 30 minutes and picked up the dogs just before the kennel closed.  Busy, but quick and over and done with.  Details tomorrow.  Maybe.  I’ll think about it.

Do you know what it means…

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…to miss New Orleans?  [Written Wednesday night, March 30th, edited today.]

Honestly, I haven’t left yet, but I imagine I’ll know pretty soon.  These last two nights have been among the best ever.  Everyone I know is missing out.  Last night, I went to Preservation Hall and met Shannon Powell (drummer for Harry Connick, Jr, for six years (not anymore) and on what I consider to be his three best albums), and tonight I saw Mr. Powell play at the Palm Court Jazz Cafe with some awesome New Orleans musicians AND Jerry Weldon and Wendell Brunious, both of whom have played (and do play) with Harry Connick, Jr.  Jerry Weldon plays tenor saxophone, and I swear I recognized his tone (not his face) the minute he started playing.  Have you heard him play “A Nightingale Sang on Berkeley Square”?  I have, at least a thousand times.  I’d recognize that sound anywhere.  (Branford Marsalis plays it on the album, but Jerry plays it on The New York Big Band Concert video, which I unfortunately only have on VHS.  That will change soon.)

Here’s how it went: Last night, Shannon told me he’d be playing at the Palm Court tonight at 8. I made plans with a coworker (that would be Crazy) to go there for dinner. She got waylaid by our clients, so I went there by myself, still expecting her to show up once she got rid of them. (She never did.)  I walked in the door a little before 8, and when the hostess asked me if I wanted to sit at the bar, I said (a little excitedly), “I’m here for the band.  And the food.”  She laughed a little (at me, I’m sure), and gave me a table for two right at the edge of the stage.

That's my table. And my second hurricane.

The band came on, Shannon popped over to say hi, and they were great.  At the first break, I stopped the bass player (Richard Molton) to tell him how much I enjoyed his playing (he was really good).  He said he hadn’t been playing this kind of music lately (since Katrina), and he felt out of his element.  I told him it didn’t show.  He asked me if I was local.  I said no, and he said he thought I knew Shannon.  (!)  I explained.  Nice guy.  Then I left him alone to take his break.  Shannon came by to say hi again, sat down at my table.  (Wait – it gets better.)  He said, “Your favorite trombone player is here.”  “No…”  He nodded.  “Introduce me?”  He did.  We walked over to a table near the back of the restaurant, and I met Lucien Barbarin, hilarious and fantastic trombone player for Harry Connick, Jr.  SO cool.  I went back to my table and texted Corey, “I just met Lucien.”  His response: “This is epic.  Get pictures!”  Pictures!  Of course!  I went back to Lucien’s table and said something like (I’d had two hurricanes, so I’m not sure exactly what I said), “Excuse me.  I’m sorry to interrupt you again, and I know this is a bit fangirl-ish, but could I get a picture of the two of us?”  He’s a gentleman and all-around nice guy, so of course he said that would be fine.  I handed my phone off to I don’t know who (maybe Richard?), and got my picture of me and Lucien.

My dark and blurry picture of me and Lucien

And then I got a picture of me and Shannon.

Great hat

I have a picture of me and Richard, too, but it’s way worse than those two.  We’re backlit and you can barely make out our fuzzy faces.

The band went back on for their second set, but this time, they had a few people sit in.  Wendell Brunious on trumpet, Jerry Weldon on tenor saxophone, and some guy whose name I didn’t catch on guitar joined in.  It’s amazing to me that these guys can sit in with a band used to playing together and pick up on all the arrangements.  Or, if they don’t, everyone can handle it.  They’ll all figure it out, play well together, handle any hiccups, and the audience will never know.  Professionals.  So cool.

Did I mention the singer?  Topsy Chapman, who was fantastic, did “At Last” and I nearly cried.

After the second set ended, I told the trombone player how much I enjoyed his playing (that might have happened after the first set – he looked like he was having SUCH a good time), I talked to Richard the bass player again (found out he’s been playing his second best bass since Katrina because his first one was destroyed after sitting in something like nine feet of water), said goodbye to Lucien and Jerry (Lucien hugged me!), talked briefly with the younger guys who were with Lucien (both playing in Harry’s orchestra – one subbing for a couple of weeks, one who’s been with him for ten years – oh my god!), and then Shannon offered me a ride to my hotel.  We were walking out with him and his trumpet player (not Wendell).  I told him that wasn’t necessary, he didn’t need to drive me home.  He asked me if I’d rather walk.  ‘Not really.”  (It was late and it would have taken me at least half an hour.)  So he dropped me off at my hotel.  I have the date and time of his next gig (tomorrow night), and I will be there.

I was there, it was awesome, and I will tell you about it very soon.  But first, a couple more pictures from that night.

That's Jerry Weldon (you know, the guy with the saxophone). Lars Edegran is in the back on piano (he was at Preservation Hall the night before). I never caught the names of the other two guys.

The whole band, with my empty table (and third hurricane) up front.

That's a classic Jerry Weldon move.

I’m with the band

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John told me a number of times that I should go to Preservation Hall, so Tuesday morning I looked up the website.  I recognized the name of the guy playing that night (because I’m a big Harry Connick, Jr fan and a bit of an obsessive nerd, I happened to know off the top of my head that Shannon Powell was the drummer for his big band in the early nineties (We Are In Love is possibly my favorite album)), so I planned to go after work.  First set started at 8pm.  Unfortunately, I had to get through the whole day first.  I invited my coworker, who I’ll call Crazy (the only other person on this trip who actually works for my company – everyone else we worked with that week works for our client agency), and we got invited to dinner with one of the clients.  I didn’t particularly want to hang out with anyone from the agency after working hours (I was hoping to relax.  I didn’t want to be on anymore.), but I didn’t have a not-rude way out just then.  Anyway, she wasn’t interested in going to Preservation Hall.  I could handle dinner.

Dinner was uneventful, even boring, especially because Crazy bailed on me.  It started pouring down rain (like flooding rain – we could have swum down Canal Street), and she called to tell me she was staying in.  I had an teeny umbrella that barely kept my head dry, but nothing was keeping me from Preservation Hall that night, so I met my client coworker outside her hotel, and we ran through the rain to the Palace Cafe.  Got drenched from about mid-thigh down.  The food was good (I had andouille crusted fish – spicy and delicious), the conversation was boring, and as soon as I dropped client coworker back at her hotel, I headed out.

If you’ve never been, Preservation Hall (at least where the band plays) is this tiny little room with dirty wood plank flooring, a few wooden benches in the middle of the room (maybe four) and along the walls, a row of cushions up front, and some standing room in the back.  The entrances to the room are on the left side if you’re facing the street (and the band).  There are two doorways on that side, one near the front of the room and one near the back.  You go in through the back and leave out the front, and the doorway near the front is right by the band.  When I came in ($12 cover, and $2 for traditional requests, $5 for other requests, $10 for “When the Saints Go Marching In”, noted on a little sign on the wall behind the band), the band was playing, and as I passed the front doorway, I looked in, saw Shannon Powell (Shannon Powell!), and he waved at me and gave an enthusiastic “Hey!”  That was awesome.  I gathered he really liked to see people come in to hear him play.  There were a ton of people there already, so I joined the crowd in the back and found a spot where I could see.  Sort of.  If I stayed on my toes and looked over a guy’s shoulder.  Still, the music was awesome, and we all had a good time.  The set ended about nine, maybe a little before, and I stuck around for the next set.  I watched the people leaving talk to members of the band (Shannon Powell on drums, Lars Edegran on piano, Clive somebody on trumpet, somebody else on bass, and Scott somebody on trombone) as they filed past them on their way out that front doorway, and I decided I’d talk to Shannon and gush a little on my way out after the next set.  I found a better spot along the right-hand wall for the second set.  The crowd this time around wasn’t as lively.  I was the most enthusiastic person there, clapping to the beat, having a wonderful time.  Totally fun, and I decided to stay for the third set.  How often will I get to see this?  I’ll manage staying out late on a work night.  My enthusiasm didn’t go unnoticed.  After the second set ended, Mr. Powell came over to meet me.  Wanted to know who his fan was, I think.  It turns out he said hi to me when I came in because I look like someone he used to work with who left town a while back.  He thought she may have been back for a visit.  Yeah, that’s not me.  But still, I’m an enthusiastic fan.  He asked me what I was drinking (I didn’t have a drink), and I said nothing right now.  He beckoned me along after him.  We went across the street and stepped into a bar.  (Johnny White’s.)  I was feverishly trying to think of what to order that wouldn’t be either gross (to me) or totally lame (to him).  He asked, I said rum and coke, he said he’s drinking rum, too (rum and orange juice, I think), I said that sounds good, and he ordered me one.  And waved me away when I reached for my wallet.  He bought me a drink.  !  We chatted a little (where am I from, where are you touring next, etc), and he asked me if I wanted to hang out with the band later.  I panicked a little, said I couldn’t, I’m here for work, and I have a presentation in the morning.  Lies!  My presentation was the day after, in the afternoon.  He said something about getting my number so we can stay in touch and catch up when he comes to DC.  (I was thinking to myself that I was not that captivating during that conversation.  Still, he’s didn’t come across as sleazy.  Just friendly.)  Anyway, I regretted the presentation lie and decided I’d tell him I mixed up the days if he asked again.  (He didn’t.)  He said he’s playing at the Palm Court the next night (Wednesday).  I asked about it, and he said they have great food, great music.  I said I’ll be there.  We went back to the hall for his third set, and I took my spot back on the wall.  Good third set (the crowd was better than for the second set).  We all danced at the end.  The guy hugging the wall behind me thanked me on behalf of the band for being able to clap on the right beat (2 and 4 as opposed to 1 and 3 like a few idiots in the audience).  I tipped the band (as you do), and Shannon said “Palm Court tomorrow?”  “I’ll be there at 8.”  I headed out and walked back to my hotel, grinning like an idiot at everyone I passed (it was a little before midnight), and called Mindy to rave about my evening.  What did she want to know?  “What are you going to wear tomorrow?”  We have priorities.  It was SO. MUCH. FUN.

Thank goodness for notes

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I’m back home, where spring has sprung, but it’s not warm enough for me.  Not after a week of mid-70s in New Orleans.  Not after only needing a jacket late at night on my way home a jazz club.  And speaking of weather and jazz and awesomeness, if I hadn’t made notes during the week, I wouldn’t know where to begin.  Since I did, I’ll begin at the beginning.

I got to New Orleans Saturday afternoon and made it to my hotel.  Pretty straightforward.  Finding my room after that was not so simple.  I was in Building 2 (or was it Building B?), which is up an escalator, up another escalator, across the breezeway, forward and then around to the left, past the gift shop that wasn’t open even ONCE the whole week, up an elevator, down a hall, and around another corner.  The gym (which I faithfully visited every morning except for the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth days), was back the way I’d come in and then another half-mile in the opposite direction from the front desk and up four floors.  It was a workout just to get there.

Everyone else (Mom, Dad, Mindy, Corey, Candy, and Gaby – we were only missing John and Mark) got there a few hours later, and after dinner, Mindy, Corey, Candy, and I headed to Bourbon Street.  That was…something.  I may not have been in the right mood.  Crowded, loud, dirty.  We wound our way through throngs of girls in short prom dresses, frat boys, and vomit.  We did find a Dixieland band playing in a bar, though (Fritzel’s European Jazz Pub – beware the link if your speakers are on: music starts playing as soon as you land on the page).  That was cool.  Something I learned (although not that night): many musicians would rather you didn’t call it Dixieland.  Traditional New Orleans Jazz is the preferred term.

The next morning (Sunday – it was a beautiful morning), we had brunch at Brennan’s.  I could do that every week.  You’d have to roll me home every week, but WOW.  Loved the place, loved the strawberries and cream, LOVED the bananas foster and crepes fitzgerald.  My entree was meh, but everyone else’s was reallyreally good, and I tried them all.  From there, we hopped the streetcar to the Garden District (after changing into our UK gear – Go CATS!).  Those houses are amazing.

Detour to talk about the weather.  It was so warm.  SO warm.  And breezy, and wonderful, and WARM.  All the windows (big windows) on the streetcar were open and it felt so nice.  /detour

A little after 4pm (game time!), we hopped off the streetcar and Corey and Candy asked a nice stranger where we might be able to find a sports bar.  You can’t run around during March Madness with your UK gear on and NOT watch the game.  He sent us to one a couple of blocks away, practically empty, except for three people together at the bar and maybe another guy.  Just after halftime, one of the three at the bar walked by our table on her way back to her seat.  She was wearing a UK shirt, too, and Corey high-fived her.  Mindy and I looked at each other.  She looked really familiar to both of us, but it’s a little ridiculous of us to assume we know everyone in the world wearing a UK shirt, right?  Well, right, except not in this case.  I went over to ask her.  “Are you from [town redacted]?”  “Yes.”  “Did you go to [high school redacted]?”  “Zannah?”  So, yeah, we went to high school together, had friends in common (loyal commenter IBCRandy, among others), remembered each other vaguely, but enough.  Totally weird.  She lives in the neighborhood we were in.  What are the odds?  The stars aligned for me this whole trip, but more on that in another post (or three).  So that was cool.  And UK won, which was also cool.  Too bad they couldn’t keep that up.

Dad, Corey, Candy, and Gaby all left on Monday (after breakfast at the Cafe du Monde, where we watched Gaby wallow in powdered sugar), and I went to work for a few hours.  I came back to find Mom and Mindy waiting in my room (it was kind of sad to come back after work the next day and have no one to meet me).  Mindy made an inspired dinner decision (I think it was her choice), and we went to the Grapevine Wine Bar.  No live music, but the wine made up for that.  We killed three bottles and ate appetizers (scallops, beef medallions, cheese and crackers, baked brie, and something else…mussels!) and skipped dessert.  Partly because who needs dessert after three bottles of wine, and partly because fudge cheese didn’t sound particularly appetizing.  I’m not making that up.

On our tipsy way back to the hotel after dinner, we met a three-man a capella group on the corner somewhere along Decatur and sang with them.  Met some people on the way back home (all new friends), and then Mom and Mindy left the next morning (Tuesday).  Tuesday night is when my solo adventures started, and I’ll get into them tomorrow.  I’m typed out.

Torn

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I’m both ready to come home and ready to stay for a month.  More music please!  I keep finding out that all these musicians I would LOVE to see are regulars at this club or that bar or that restaurant over there, but only on nights I’ve already missed or nights after I leave this week.  I need more time to see them all, but I really want to come home.  I really want to be on vacation, really.  Having to work is really cramping my style.  🙂

Orange Aladdin didn’t say bananas?

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I’ve never cows look as happy or move as fast as the ones in this video.  If I’d been confined to a muddy yard and barn all winter, I’d be happy, too.

(A very special happy-cow-in-spring thank you to nn.c for the video link.)

More credit goes to Nancy for finding Tom and Lorenzo.  If you like celebrity fashion (if, like me, you browse through People magazine after the awards shows to see all the dresses while waiting in line at the grocery store) and you want to read snarky critiques, you will love their blog.  This post about Daniel Craig is hilarious.

If you’ve ever gotten tired of listening to your three-year-old (or four-year-old or five-year-old or thirteen-year-old) tell jokes badly, you may want to watch this.  Or maybe you don’t.

I’m supposed to be packing.  Not packing tonight will lead to panic in the morning.  Actually, it will lead to not sleeping tonight, since the clothes I’m going to pack are strewn across the bed.  (I may be over-packing.  A bit.  Don’t try and stop me!)  So I’m packing.

Have I said where I’m going?  I don’t believe I have.  From tomorrow night through Friday, I’ll be in New Orleans for work.  I have to support a conference for the client.  Or support the client at a conference.  Whatever.  I’m going to miss John’s band’s first gig that isn’t a block party.  (Hey, if you’re in or near Bethesda and you want to see a band Saturday night, let me know.  I can get you in.)

Right.  Packing.  I’m going.

Planning (again) (still)

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I’m traveling for work next week (for the first time since last June – this isn’t anything like a continuation of last spring’s craziness and stress), so I’m making lists.  I have so many lists I need a list to track my lists.

  • List of stuff to do at home before I leave
  • List of stuff to get done at work before I leave
  • List of work stuff I need to get done while I’m away
  • List of stuff I need to take with me (personal)
  • List of stuff I need to take with me (work)
  • List of stuff I need to be ready to do when I get back (personal)
  • List of stuff I need to be read to do when I get back (work)

I can’t think of anything I have to do that doesn’t fit into one of those categories.  Sometimes a list like that makes me feel organized, like I can get everything done in time.  Not so much tonight.

Wales – Day 4

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Day 4 in Wales was Sunday, I think, January 2nd.  Since we’d already had some issues with things being closed due to the holiday, we assumed Sunday wouldn’t be any different and switched our castle plans (we always have castle plans) for outdoorsy-type activities.  Like hiking along Offa’s Dyke.  Of course, our travel guides didn’t say how to get to Offa’s Dyke (which is a very long trail along the English-Welsh border that passes near our village somewhere), so we asked Carl (the go-to guy while our landlords were away). Got his directions (which were quite vague: “Follow the lane out to the road, then go straight.”  It sounds straightforward, but there wasn’t really an option that was clearly “straight” when we got to the road.  And he left out the “veer right when you get to the fork” that would have been helpful later on), set off, and finally found the path (marked with acorn signs) about a mile from the cottage. (Once we found the path, we were set.) So we started hiking. And hiking. And climbing. Up and up and up. Spectacular views, better and better the higher we got. We’d warm up from the exertion, then stop to take pictures and start shivering again. We climbed all the way to the top of a mountain, and I stopped some people coming back down to ask them the name of it. I’d like to know what mountains I climb. I’ll add it to my list. 🙂 My growing list of all of two mountains now. He struggled a bit, but came up with Penrhyddion (I’m guessing at the spelling, but I’m pretty sure I’m right – pronounce the two d’s in the middle like th), which I haven’t been able to find listed as a mountain on Google. I’ll keep looking. After taking lots of pictures from the top (we were so high there was a light dusting of snow!), we headed back down. All in all, we hiked about four hours. Came back to the cottage, the bottoms of our boots caked in mud, had some tea and biscuits, cleaned up, and went looking for dinner. Every pub that says they serve food on the sign outside is a liar. We went into one that clearly said they serve food, but when I asked, no, they don’t. We had a pint anyway and met some very friendly people (a guy who lived in Houston when he was a teenager who came away from the experience with a dislike of Texas and another guy, drunk, who called himself the local idiot) with lots of advice on how to spend our next few days.

Oh, we saw sheep, too.  Lots of sheep.  Honestly, the castles we did end up seeing were totally cool, but I think this was my favorite day.

View from our cottage of where we were headed

The path was clearly marked, once we found it. John wants to know why the acorn is upside down.

These narrow lanes are not much fun in the dark.

I'd like a door like this in my yard someday. Leading to my secret garden. Maybe the gate should be wrought iron.

John climbing over an honest-to-goodness stile

Check this out - a gate for the dogs who can't get over the stile!

In case you weren't sure what it was for.

View from level one, back towards the village and our cottage

Any idea which way to go now?

Sheep!

Bracken!

I think one of the small hill gods lives here.

Sheep for Jess

View from a bit higher up (but not the top, not yet)

Mountains we didn't climb. At least not that day.

Damn, we took a lot of pictures on this hike.  I’m skipping to the end.  When John posts all of our pictures in his gallery, I’ll point you there.

The top! See that white stuff on the ground? Mm-hm. Snow.

I think that town is Denbigh. Hard to say, though.

I may or may not have been dancing in circles while singing songs from The Sound of Music. You'll never know for sure.

Wales – Day 3

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Let’s see…if Day 2 (in Chester) was New Year’s Eve, that makes Day 3 New Year’s Day.  We’d stayed up until midnight the night before but not doing anything crazy, so what few plans we’d made for the day started with a run.  Of course, when the alarm went off at 7 and it was still pitch black outside, we decided to put it off. Looked again at 7:30 – still very dark. (No streetlights, no houselights = very dark.) We finally got up at 8 (skipped the run), showered (Have I mentioned the shower?  Stand-up shower, pretty small (barely enough room to turn around in), but it had great water pressure and a wide showerhead so you were pretty much under the spray no matter where you stood.  Quite nice.), and headed north and west to look for breakfast.  Yeah, nothing’s open on New Year’s Day. At least, not in the morning. We stopped at a Sainsbury’s (supermarket) and noticed a small crowd of people waiting outside.  NOT OPEN.  It was a couple of minutes before ten, so we joined the waiters on the assumption that the store would open at ten.  They opened a few minutes after ten, but close enough, so we picked up some croissants and a couple of bottles of water and ate a flaky breakfast in the car.  Kept driving west.  We didn’t have any solid plans.  We just kept driving to see what we could see.  We saw a high stone wall that looked like it surrounded a park, so  we pulled off the main road and headed down one side looking for a way in.  Didn’t find it, but we did see a sign and some steps climbing the hill into the woods.

Can’t you just see them beckoning?  There was a golf club just down the road, so we pulled into their parking lot, reached for hats and gloves and cameras, and then it started pouring down rain.  (It had only been misting before.)  Our Welsh weather gods were nice to us, though.  We waited a couple of minutes and the rain settled back into a light mist again.  We started climbing.  There were a lot more stairs then we expected, so we kept climbing.  Eventually, we got to the top of that hillside and came out on a wide track – practically a road.  Left or right?  Left went uphill, so we did, too.  First clearing:

This is where we came from

That's where we could have gone

And this is where we did go. Road less traveled, right? We're adventurers!

But before I move on up the trail, here’s the view (part of it) from the first clearing.

A little gray, a little misty

Back to the trail.  Not long after we left the clearing, our road narrowed down to a path wide enough for only one person with not much between the edge and a probably very painful tumble down the mountainside.

Guess where that path led?

More steps! Substantially more slippery than the first set.

So up we went.  Path path path, trail trail trail, and voila!  The top!

Not as impressive as we were hoping for.

It was a clearing with two mound-type little hills (Druid burial grounds, right?).  Whatever, it was the top.  There was a path across from the one we used to come in, but it looked like it was just heading to an overlook with the same view we’d already taken pictures of, so we didn’t go.

Haunted, I think.

Speaking of haunted, this next clearing-type place in the woods with lots of leaves (is it a clearing if it’s still got trees?  They’re widely spaced, but still…) looks like it was used in every movie ever made.  Blair Witch, Holy Grail, Stardust, other movies with scenes in woods…

We stopped at the same place on the way back down to get a few more pictures since the mist had cleared a little.

We were on the north shore of Wales - that's the bay.

Waves crashing on Wales

Back down the steps…

A bit more treacherous going down than up

and back to the car.  We went back to the main road and were following the stone wall when all of a sudden I heard John: “Holy shit!”  “Oh my god, what?”  I nearly drove off the road.  Yeah, he got a glimpse of this over that stone wall:

I followed that stone wall as far around as I could, but we couldn’t find a way in.  We saw one entryway, but it was marked private.  It’s not possible that that’s a private castle, right?  We must have been missing something obvious.  I pulled over so we could take pictures.  Of course.  (Click on them – they get bigger.)

We think we might have been able to hike there, if we’d gone right instead of left at the beginning and hiked for another three hours.  After we took our pictures of Totally Awesome Castle #1, we got back in the car, still heading west, and looked for lunch.  We stopped in a likely-looking town, parked the car on the main street, found a couple of cafes (all closed) and went into the first pub we saw.  Open, yes, but not serving food.  I asked the guy if anyone was serving food today.  He listed two places, both nearby.  We went into the first place (a pub called Prince Madog, I think).  Open, not serving food.  The barman said they’d have a great Sunday roast (tomorrow), and the only place he knew of that was open was this other pub around the corner.  We went there.  Open, serving food.  Finally.  We were hungry.  This place was HUGE.  Three or four levels, definitely a pub with pub food, but a layout more like a restaurant with the highest level of tables on a gallery overlooking the next level.  Food was okay.  We saw another pub owned by the same company a couple of days later; we think they’re the equivalent of TGI Friday’s.  Anyway, they were open and that’s all that mattered.  We had a pint and some lunch and gave up on finding anything else open on New Year’s Day.  Almost gave up.  On our way back we stumbled on Bodelwyddan Castle (which looks AWESOME).  The sign at the entrance said it was closed, but the gate was open, so we drove in anyway.  There’s a hotel attached to the castle, but when I went in and asked if the castle would be open for tours soon, they said it’s only open on Sundays and Saturdays and not at all that weekend.  So yeah.  Not open.  No castles for us.  We drove back to Denbigh (the town closest to our village).  It was getting dark, so we wandered around a bit, found that the takeaways all opened at five (it was about 4:30), and hiked up the road to the castle to pass the time. (Denbigh has a castle.)  COOL castle. Was it open?  Of course not.  Closed for excavation or something, so it didn’t even open up later in the week.  I took some terrible pictures of it in the dark that night, and then we picked up some Indian takeaway, watched the second Daniel Craig Bond movie (bought the DVD at Sainsbury’s that morning), and I took a long bath in our GIANT bathtub with the vanilla-scented bath bomb Emily bought me for Christmas.  It fizzed as it dissolved and turned the bathwater yellow-ish green.  Very exciting.

Wales – Day 2 – Chester

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I don’t know why I’m having a hard time with this.  I want to tell you all about our trip,  but I keep putting off writing it.  I don’t want to be boring.  We did this, then we did that, then we took more pictures.  Would you like to see my slideshow?

Okay, I’m over it.  Come see my slideshow.

I like the E at the end of cafe there. Is it purposefully whimsical or just a happy accident?

First, the title of this post is not accurate, since Chester is not in Wales.  I know, I know.  We went to Wales only leave it again after one night.  We’re terrible people, I’m sure.  Shut up.  After fourteen hours of sleep, we were well rested and ready to see something.  Since it was the morning of New Year’s Eve, we decided the nearest city might be a good place to ring in the new year, so we headed to Chester, less than 45 minutes from our cottage.  I wouldn’t call it the most exciting of days, but we had a nice quiet time.  Saw the ruins of a Roman amphitheatre, right outside the old city walls,

and then went looking for lunch.  We spent a lot of this trip hunting for our next meal.  We wandered into the shopping district,

had lunch at Dutton’s (I had a really good panini – roast beef, horseradish, brie, and onions),

Hello from Dutton's

bought a toothbrush, and spent some time exploring Chester Cathedral.  Someone was practicing on the organ.  A cathedral tour isn’t complete without organ music as a soundtrack.

We didn’t know quite what to do with ourselves after that, since it was only five, but all the shops had closed and it was a bit early for dinner.  We were coming to the realization that we weren’t going to make it to midnight, at least not in Chester.  We wandered around town a little bit and found ourselves back at the old city walls.  We’d seen several signs saying that Chester has the most complete city walls in Great Britain, so we decided to see for ourselves.  We walked the entire circuit on top of the walls, starting at the amphitheatre.  (It was only two miles.)  It was dark by then, so I didn’t get a single good picture.  They’re all too dark, too blurry, too grainy, or all of the above.  Except of the ferris wheel.  Is it a requirement in the UK that every city of a certain size have one?

When we finished our sentry walk, it was still not quite 6:30 – I’m boring myself here.  Short version – we didn’t do anything exciting.  Had dinner at an Italian place (whether we were going to be allowed to eat there without a reservation was not entirely clear for the first few minutes, but eventually we were shown to a table – very good dinner),

and then we headed back to the cottage.  We weren’t sure we were going to bother staying up until midnight to usher in the new year for a while.  On the one hand, why not?  It was New Year’s Eve, we were on vacation, we could walk on the wild side and stay up late.  On the other hand, why bother?  We were by ourselves in a cottage very near the middle of nowhere with no champagne (we had a bottle of wine and some beer, though) and no TV.  What would we do, watch the clock turn to midnight?

I won’t keep you in suspense any longer.  We did, in fact, watch the clocks turn to midnight.  Happy New Year!

Wales – Day 1, Part 2

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Our Welsh home sweet home

The cottage was super cute. It’s basically just two rooms, one on either floor. Downstairs, you walk in the door into the kitchen, which is all along the wall to your left. To your right is the rest of the room, with a table and chairs, and then the sitting area. Two leather loveseats, a sheepskin rug, a coffee table, the woodburning stove, and a mostly useless TV.  (It’s got cable, but the cable wasn’t working.  You could see what was supposed to be on each channel (banner at the bottom of the screen), but there was no picture or sound.)  I say only mostly useless because there was a DVD player.  We just didn’t have any DVDs.  To get upstairs, you climb this wooden spiral staircase, and then you’re in the bedroom.  Nice bedroom.  GIANT bed, a big armoire, and a bathroom with a HUGE bathtub and a walk-in shower.  It’s a nice place.  John took pictures of the rooms, but for some reason I can’t get to them right now.  I’ll post them later.  Our landlady said they were going out of town on New Year’s Day and wouldn’t be back before we left, so if we needed anything, we were supposed to go knock on Carl’s door (the end unit of the stables they turned into apartments).   If it was anything big, we could text her and she’d take care of it from her vacation spot in the Canary Islands.   I need to look up where those are.  So really, after the first day, we didn’t see her or her husband again.

We found out pretty early on that we had a very very very weak internet connection.  John  able to connect, but usually not for more than five minutes a day.  I wasn’t able to connect at all.  Anyway, it was our first day there, we made it in one piece, met our landlady, and went back out for some supplies.  Basic supplies.  Like something for dinner (we couldn’t quite face a meal out).  Over the course of the first couple of days, we slowly discovered that we needed a few other things that weren’t supplied in the cottage, like a washcloth, dish soap, a dish towel, and matches (for our wood-burning stove).  Our first errand was to head off to Morrison’s for the food stuff.  We didn’t know we needed that other list until the next day.  We did the best we could to stay up as late as we could, thoroughly determined to beat jet lag into submission.  I think we succeeded, but that first evening was rough.  I would have given up around 6, but John set a goal of 8pm, and we managed to get there.  We didn’t have a lot of help, though.  No internet, reading was putting us to sleep, no cards, no games, and a TV whose cable connection (or whatever) doesn’t seem to be working.  No DVDs.  7:30 rolled around and I started getting ready for bed.  Which is when I found out I’d forgotten my toothbrush.  Wish I’d noticed that before our trip to Morrison’s.  Luckily, I had toothpaste, mouthwash, and floss, so I managed.  That got me through ten minutes.  I really was counting minute by minute at that point.  The second the clock hit 8pm, I turned off the light and passed out.  We woke up fourteen and a half hours later feeling SO much better.  But that’s Day 2, and I think that’ll have to wait.  Just talking about how tired we were that day is making me sleepy.

View from our bedroom window