Our Second Night in Ireland

     

Rain, heavy at times. That’s not a forecast, that’s what’s happening. I was pleased to find the automatic windshield wipers on our new rental car worked just fine; intermittent with the first few sprinkles; full time as the rain picked up, and high speed when it got really pouring. They were on high speed most of the way. We were driving from Dublin, where we had arrived in Ireland, to the wild West Coast, the Connemara National Park. And it was wild. We’d stopped to spend the night half-way (making this our second day in Ireland), and it had been sunny and just lovely when we’d left earlier. But the further west we went, the more the sky clouded over.

Now, it’s really coming down. After a month of driving in England we finally had confidence in the car and driver, but the rain was a new, and not welcome, factor. The road was decent, though, narrow and winding and hilly, but somehow not the narrow lane we found so confronting in England. No stone walls or hedges, for one thing; just open moor on both sides. And little traffic. So we continued, up and over and around, with the occasional cascade of water from the wheels as we ran through a particularly deep spot on the road.

After some interminable time we made it to the bridge mentioned in the directions of our Airbnb host. Turn right after the bridge; look for the first house on the left, it’s white; we’re going to the yellow house across the street. (I spent considerable time on Google Earth and Street View, trying to suss out the exact location of the house; the written directions were much easier and more effective!)

We arrived just as the rainstorm was ending. First, we headed upstairs to the front room, overlooking the bay and the storm, for tea and conversation. After we learned all the essentials about the house and the area, and got settled into our room, it was time for a short post-storm walk.

View from the upstairs window, during the storm

Looking across the bay

By now the sky had thinned, and the light was remarkable. The colors were wonderful: the orange of the tidal flats, the green of the bushes, and the many red spots of the fuchsia flowers along the road, contrasted with the light and dark grays of the hills across the bay.

And then, on the walk back, the western sky cleared and a magical rainbow appeared, arching from horizon to horizon, with another rainbow bit right outside it (not quite a double rainbow, exactly; more of a 1.2 rainbow…).

Rainbow on a house across the bay

View from the front window, diffuse lighting from the sunset;
compare with the same view, first photo above

I think we’re going to like it here!

Unreal? Yes, it certainly was!

Up next: more about Ireland, and the Wild West Coast

We Went Hiking Today

Which, exactly, was our goal for coming to this part of England, the Lakes District (known for its mountains!). We have been busy, getting oriented to the area, finding our way around. We spent a “Stones” day, visiting a couple of stone circles (Castlerigg, Long Meg and her Daughters) on our way to Hadrian’s Wall.

We have since re-visited Castlerigg, not far from where we are staying, in the late afternoon when it was not jammed with people. Long Meg is quieter, being more remote, but the hills surrounding Castlerigg make it exceptionally beautiful. A plaque at the entrance describes the circle, and notes that these sites were much visited in the late 18^th and 19^th Centuries. Wordsworth and Coleridge visited Castlerigg in 1799, but were put off by the crowds, and found no inspiration there!

Crowded Castlerigg

Castlerigg at a quieter time

Long Meg and a few of her daughters

Just a few daughters...

Long Meg and some strangers

The Wall has fascinated us for some time. Built by the Emperor Hadrian around 120 AD, it was an attempt to stop incursions of barbarians (now known as Scots) into Roman Britain to the south. Originally 18 feet high and 15 thick, it had a guard tower every Roman mile (a thousand paces, about 1.5 k or just short of today’s Statue mile), with a smaller tower in between. An impressive piece of work, certainly! (And the inspiration for The Wall in George R. R. Martin’s Song of Fire and Ice.)

Today much is left to the imagination. Stones from the Wall have been used for other construction projects for 15 centuries or more; many farmer’s cottages contain stones from the Wall. At one site a docent told us a military road, built in the 18^th Century, consumed many stones from the Wall. The sections of the Wall we saw (and photos of other sections) were only waist or shoulder high.

Still, it rambles over the hilly countryside, overgrown in places, from sea to sea, for 73 miles (and that would be modern Statue miles; about 80 Roman miles). We learned that the best way to experience the wall is to walk along it, as there are only a few spots accessible by car (and they tend to be mobbed!). It was the end of the day and we were not prepared, physically or mentally, for much hiking. So we strolled along a section of the Wall and called that good.

Walking is the best way to see the Wall

But it's less impressive today than it once was!

And it just keeps going

One of the small towers along the wall (or what's left of it!)

England, though, really is a nation of walkers. Along nearly every country lane can be seen signposts marking a “Public Footpath,” with pedestrian gates (small “kissing gates” that allow only one person at a time through) to keep in livestock. Farmers seem quite open to walkers crossing their land, keeping to the designated path. Much of the Wall has a public footpath alongside it, and from what we saw people are keen to walk them.

Take your pick of paths!

There are many of these footpaths around the village of Braithwaite, were we are staying. The nearest  town, Keswick, is always swarming with people, most of them in hiking gear with backpacks and serious hiking boots. The town has any number of pubs, inns, and cutesy tourist shops. It’s less than three miles from Braithwaite (one mile, if you walk!).

Houses in Keswick

Main street of Keswick

We like Braithwaite, and are sad to leave. It’s quiet (except at 7 AM when, from my bed, I hear the hikers, as they prepare for their treks up the “fells”), not much is going on, and it is accessible to many of the fine walks into the heather-covered hills.

We’ve had to learn a few terms here, though. A fell is a mountain, from an old Norse word. Barrow is a rounded fell, and there are a few around here. And vale, of course, is a valley. Our most recent efforts took us to the top of the fell called Barrow (yes, it is rounded at the top, and very steep on the sides!).

On the first attempt we got out our front door and past a farm (following the public footpath signs), then up a steep hill that got steeper. And steeper. That was a good effort for the day and we returned home.

The road to the farm on the path to the fell

Today, though, we got serious! Up past the pub, through the gate and off the paved road. We came around the barrow, up and up hiking through the heather, purple in its late summer radiance, along a well-worn trail.  We got to the spot known as the Barrow Door, a saddle between two hills. First, take the right path, steeply up to the top. Fantastic view! Green fields dotted with sheep, the lakes, not so distant from here. Bit of a rest, then down again, and up the back side of the Barrow.

Sheep, just hanging around. And eating.

A pause to admire the view

Heather-covered hills

Success! We made it to the top! Lunch time, take a rest. Talk to the passing hikers. We had a long conversation with two couples on holiday from another part of England. Brief discussion about Mr. Trump, our Republican candidate for President. (His candidacy causes considerable anxiety here in Europe.) Got some tips for visiting the city of York, our next destination. A pub called the House of the Trembling Madness? We have to go there!

Keswick from on high

Finally lunch is over, and we are on the trail again. All downhill from here, though! We come down that trail that was too steep before with a sense of satisfaction. Once more past the farm, through the gate. Not straight home, though. A deviation towards the pub, were we celebrate our success in the traditional way, with a pint of the local bitter. 

Public footpath to the pub

And now some of that local brew!

Finally, our home in Braithwaite

The one and only shop in Braithwaite

Coming up next:  York and the Yorkshire Moors

Where’s Waldo and the Wanderers Now?

We have just arrived at our fourth place in England; time to catch up and look at where we’ve been.

            Dan, Plymouth

Dan was our first Airbnb host, who generously picked us up at the ferry landing at 10PM when we arrived from France. He and his family were leaving on vacation the next day, so our time with them was brief. But they were quite nice, and the ride in from the ferry dock was great – driving in the dark right off the ferry would have been a disaster!

The next morning we walked into the town of Plymouth, to the car rental place, and we’ve had wheels ever since (although we have certainly been “mobility challenged”!).

            Jane & Oz, Cornwall

Our first real place, where we stayed for a week, was in a quiet village in a river valley. A wonderful place, where we took tranquil walks along the river, and some more stimulating excursions to the moors in Dartmoor. We’ve heard much about the fine beaches on the south coast, but we were warned how very crowded they are in August. Besides, we live near the beach. In this small village, we also began to learn about tiny village lanes with high hedges on both sides, never designed for modern automobiles.

 

View from the deck at Jane & Oz's

The Tamar Rive & Railroad Bridge in Calstock

One of Calstock's two pubs

Outside the "Yacht Club" in Calstock

No, it's a foot path, we didn't have to drive here!

           

Tony, near Gloucester

A suburban experience, in a small town a bit south of the ancient city of Gloucester. The Gloucester & Sharpness Canal flows just outside our window. This canal, like most canals, was built to carry shipping, in this case the movement of goods from Gloucester to Bristol, and thence to the sea. It allowed Gloucester to be the most inland of England’s ports, and in its day handled all kinds of freight.

The arrival of the railroads, however, reduced the importance of canals, and trucking on the modern highway system has eliminated canals as a shipping route. Today canals here in England, like in France and the rest of Europe, are used for recreation. Every day we see small boats, mostly the particular type of English boat called a Narrow Boat (6’-8” wide to fit in 7’ locks), passing up and down the canal, or tying to the bank to spend a night or three.

Of course, we also visited Gloucester, its once-busy docks (for which the canal was built), and the famous cathedral. We took a trip to Oxford, about an hour away, and got re-acquainted with an English couple we met 15 years ago on a trip to Alaska. Oh, and then there were our former Airbnb guests who lived nearby and took us for a drive around Ross-on-Wye and Forest of Dean, visiting some of their favorite places. Hummmm, seems like we did quite a bit there!

View out our window at Tony's

The canal on a still evening

An English Narrow Boat tied up along the canal; in the background, our window is the second dormer from the right

Narrow Boats and a rower on the Gloucester Canal

           

The Farmhouse Mews, Braithwaite

We have just arrived here, in the Lake District, it the north of England. (Took about six hours of motorway driving, some at 70MPH, some much slower due to construction, accidents, and traffic around Manchester. Highways in England are every bit as charming as those in California – which is to say, not at all!) Braithwaite is a tiny village with stone houses, and no real grocery store, The Scottish boarder is about an hour’s drive. We’re looking forward to doing some hiking, for which the region is renowned. We also have a tip on some megalithic sites, some great-looking stone circles, not far from here. (Google satellite view has taken the mystery out of a lot of places,; it also allows for some anticipation!)

Oh yes, Paula reminds me of the distillery, always an interesting visit. Here we’ve got whisky, gin, and vodka. Then there’s Hadrian’s wall, begun in 122AD by the Roman Emperor Hadrian to keep out the Northern Savages – today known as Scots. (And, likely, inspiration for The Wall in Game of Thrones, although Hadrian’s falls far short of 700 feet high.)

So we expect it will be a stimulating and eventful week!

Quick photo out our window at the Farmhouse Mews, in the Lake District

Driving on the Left

My, it has been a while since the last blog! In the meantime, we have crossed the channel, from Roscoff, France, to Plymouth, England. (A fun experience, especially since we got a cabin for the 5-hour trip: got a shower, a nap, and just hung out, quiet and alone together.)

Our ferry, loading cars in Roscoff

Bye bye France!

We spent a few nights with some lovely people in a small village in a verdant English river valley. Took the train into Plymouth and toured the Plymouth Gin distillery (a high point of the trip so far!). Got out on the moors, and in Princetown visited the hotel where Arthur Conan Doyle wrote Hound of the Baskervilles, one of his Sherlock Holms stories. And, learned to drive on the left.

View from our window in Calstock

The collection so far, after the Plymouth tour

Calstock train station

The famous railroad bridge across the Tamar River Valley in Calstok

Me and Sherlock at the Visitors' Center in Princetown. Conan Doyle looks on...

Hey, wait… let’s revisit that last. It has been a major point of our trip so far.

When we picked up the rental car I was cautiously optimistic about driving. I’d driven in England before, back in the ‘70s (and that would be the 1970s, not MY 70s – I’m not there quite yet!). At that time I had a left-hand drive car, the kind used for driving on the right. like in most of the world. I drove off the ferry from France at dusk, towing a trailer with two Hobie Cats, plastic catamaran sail boats. (Long story, that.) I had some mild concerns, but I do not recall that the driving presented any particular problems.

Let’s flash forward to today…

One of the reasons we started these year-long travels was to move out of our comfort zone. To create opportunities that would challenge us, that would require a new way of looking at things. I’ve found a great French word that seems to cover it: dépayser, literally, to be removed from one’s country, which is to say, the comfort zone; to be thrust into an unfamiliar area.

And that’s been going really well. We are discovering new things, new outlooks, new ways of viewing the world. I’ve found my conversational French is quite good; I get compliments often. But there is more to a language than conversation. I still struggle to read newspaper articles and magazines; P.A. announcements can be hit or miss (well, in English, too!), and formulating questions to deal with specific subjects (transportation, banking) can be tough. It’s all very strange and new.
But now we are in England! They speak a language here very similar to our own! What a relief. Life will be so much easier.

Then I got in the rental car. The one with the right-hand drive. By the third time I got in I was opening the correct door (the one on the right). And I rationalized that driving wouldn’t be bad, so long as I remembered to turn left into the roundabouts. Yeah.

Things were going well, as we drove around Plymouth (just to be clear, that’s a city in the south of England; I think the car we were driving was Hyundai).  We were proceeding down a long slope, with a truck coming up hill in the other lane. Everything was fine. Except, I was on the left, and the truck was on the right. It was all so WRONG!

Forty years of training to keep to my side of the road, and now it’s all different. The rear view mirror is up and to the left, left turns are the easy ones and rights take more caution; and I’ve got to shift with my left hand. Oy vey!

So far I’ve done only one really bone-headed thing, when I pulled out from a small turn-out into the right lane. Boy, were those on-coming cars surprised! It’s made me feel humble, and very much more accepting of others driving’s anomalies. We all make mistakes…

There’s another challenge, too. In the small village where we  stayed (Calstock, on the edge of Cornwall) the roads are very narrow, often only one lane wide. With bushes. (A full-size American car would be rustling the brush on both sides!) And then, on the wider streets, it’s likely parked cars are obstructing half the lane on one side. The protocol is to proceed slowly, and if you meet another car, someone backs to a wide spot. Drivers here are used to it and are not to be in a hurry – just take it easy and don’t worry.

Main street into Calstock

Country lane in Calstock

All this freaks Paula out, as well. From her perspective, on the passenger (left) side of the car, serious contact with the rocks and branches on her side is imminent. Slow down, she intones. Move over, emphasized with little flicks of her hand.  Meanwhile, I feel those oncoming cars, on my side, are frightfully close.

But so far, every trip out in the car is a white-knuckle experience, although it IS getting better.

Are we out of the comfort zone yet? Me, I’m completely dépaysé!

Next up: further adventures in the Cotswolds