England

There’s not much to say for the final day. I headed up to Piccadilly early to do some trinket shopping and to pick up some snacks for breakfast. We were a bit concerned about the situation we would find at Heathrow Terminal 5 in view of the British Airways strike due to begin the next day (the reason why our original flight had been canceled). Tension seemed to be running a bit high but, on the whole, things were operating efficiently and we had an uneventful return flight.

Thanks again to Gerry for providing Sasha the cat with her own vacation, and to Donna and Becky for keeping an eye on the homestead (even if Becky’s eyes were in fact on the beaches of Florida). I appreciated the updates and knowing all was well at home and with Sasha.

And thanks to our friends in England who volunteered travel advice and tour assistance. Jean, Chris, Terry — how wonderful to be able to spend some time with you. Jim, Andy — sorry I missed you, but thanks for the advice. If you’re ever near Pennsylvania — please let us know!

~ Judy

This was to be our last full day in England. To try to cram in two days’ worth of goals? Or to take it easy and enjoy a leisurely visit to a few “must-see” destinations? We opted for the second plan.

I’m glad we did. It was another gloriously sunny spring day. Going back to near the start of the trip, we had regretted not paying a visit to the Greenwich Observatory, so we made that our first stop. After all — a short planetarium feature narrated by Patrick Stewart was going to premiere!

Veterans that we now were of the transit system, we had no trouble getting from Trafalgar to Greenwich. There was still a bit of a hill to climb once we arrived. A co-ed sports team carrying weighted rods was being led in drills up and down the hill — punishing in the warm sun but impressive to see.

Almost to the top of the hill, I spotted this small plaque on a building. It’s quite readable if you zoom in:

February 1st, 1951 – Helena Pare Lydia Mott
The summer’s breath is spent upon the hills
Behold, remember and rejoice
She seems to say
I give you colour
That the dolour of your winter
May be eased
Until I come again.

I can’t quite put into words why, but I found it poignant and fitting at that moment in our trip.

(Note: Apparently I am not the first to be taken with this plaque. In trying to find some information, I didn’t find any — but I found another person seeking information. Short blog and another photo.)

The grounds and view are just lovely.

Views of the grounds

The Honest Sausage — breakfast source.

Cait and Mark at the Prime Meridian.

A vintage timepiece (before I realized that inside photos are not permitted).

There are some very nice displays at the museum, but the planetarium itself was underwhelming — though I had to admire all of that bronze — “one of the largest single uses of bronze in the world.” If nothing else, the presenter said, he didn’t have to caution people about cell phone use, as nothing was going to get through. In fairness, it was the show, “Violent Universe,” that found me dozing off a bit, much as I love Patrick Stewart. As Cait and Mark observed when we exited, they’ve each done quite a bit of reading on the subject just out of intellectual curiosity, and were hoping for some new information. It was a bit frustrating to them to hear a description of a phenomenon or galaxy they were already familiar with — and then not have the narration note its name. But for people hearing of these things for the first time, it would probably be fascinating.

During the course of our exploration, I had been thrilled to spot an old garden below the observatory grounds. It’s not directly accessible from the paths reached after admission, but after the planetarium show, a gate attendant kindly told us how to find the gate that would give us access. I had very much wanted to visit an English garden before we left, and I hadn’t expected to find one right there.

At the garden’s gateway.

We literally had the garden to ourselves.

We wrapped up the morning with a soft-swirl cone from the Honest Sausage (all vanilla, no chocolate? What’s up with that, England?) and headed back into the city for the afternoon.

Lots of time yet, so we decided to check out the British Museum.

Wow.

It is another museum we barely scratched the surface of. Again, I picked out a few galleries of particular interest. Babylonian, Sumerian, Greek, Roman, Egyptian. The Elgin Marbles having been in international news again recently, I wanted to be sure to find those.

Yes. that is the Rosetta Stone.

That was an even bigger rush than happening upon David Byrne’s “big suit” in a display in New York City.

And hurrah for long spring days. There was still plenty of daylight left so we decided to head into the gardens near the Palace. It reminded me very much of the grounds near America’s Capitol — full of families enjoying the lawns and flowers and water and sunshine (though not quite as many runners). I had done my Internet searching again for a restaurant and we had zeroed in on one on the other side of the area, which justified walks through the grounds to and from.

The Admiralty Arch (or, to TerryM, his father’s place of employment) / a distant view of the London Eye

A closer view

And so it was on to Bumbles. The dining experience was easily the best of our trip, and at a reasonable price — great food and excellent service. I even gambled on choosing a wine for the table that met with everyone’s satisfaction. I was glad my Internet intuition had led us there because it was a fitting and relaxing end to a wonderful first visit to England.

On our stroll back —

Park / Statues of King George and Queen Elizabeth, youthful and vibrant

A somewhat irreverent note — when I saw this, I couldn’t help thinking of Monty Python’s “Scott of the Antarctic” bit.

Then it was time to pack …

I wanted to visit the Salisbury Cathedral before we left, so after another excellent breakfast, we checked out and stowed our bags with the staff, then took a short walk to the cathedral grounds. It’s an impressive building — the highest spire in all of England, we were told.

Unfortunately, we wouldn’t be able to spend enough time there to justify the suggested admission price, so we enjoyed exploring the exterior a bit, as well as the gift shop.

I’m sorry we didn’t have more time there. I’d like to go back someday. Still, it was a nice visit. It was perfect weather and the grounds to the front were dotted with families sunning, picnicking, and generally celebrating the springtime — a very soul-inspiring experience, though perhaps not in the way originally intended.

Then it was time to head back to London, for our flight-attendant-strike-shortened final leg of the trip. When I’d booked the travel, I had checked for trains to our destination. We realized that we didn’t need to complete the final leg by train — we were within the city limits and could get there sooner using our Oyster passes (and did). I don’t know how it would have impacted the train fare to have booked with that in foresight, but I’ll keep it in mind next time. (And we have already decided there WILL be a next time.)

Our final stay was to be at the expensive Hotel Trafalgar, right in the heart of the city, with Trafalgar Square and its many attractions on one side, and the grounds of Buckingham Palace on the other. The hotel was a disappointment in many respects. Those have already discussed with the management, so I’ll say no more of that here, other than, unless the location is all you really want, you can do better by staying elsewhere and taking the tube.

Still, the location itself was amazing. Though we were tired, Cait and I decided to venture across the square to check out the National Gallery. That, and many others, offer free admission; the catch is that they’re generally open during banker’s hours only. But we were in luck — the Gallery is open until 9 p.m. on Friday evenings, and it was a Friday.

We made our way past the human statues and some small rallies and a large audience watching a contortionist, and found the gallery itself. I was surprised to read that the Tate was created because serious museum folks didn’t think the gallery buildings did proper justice. I focused on on some galleries of particular interest to me (the Impressionists, Degas, Cezanne, Seurat, Gauguin, Van Gogh). I know there was so much more to see, but it had been a long day, and fatigue and hunger were setting in, so we took the short stroll back to our room.

Our restaurant choices had become the result of a quick Internet search to see what was in the area (i.e., walking distance) and well spoken of by other travelers. I settled on a choice not far away, described as hidden and quiet but with good food at reasonable prices. So we set off on foot, but after circling various blocks in Piccadilly a few times with no luck, settled for a Pizza Hut. It later turned out that the establishment we had sought had “ceased trading.” So beware those Google maps! Or at least call ahead.

There still being a bit of time, and Mark being rested from his nap, we encouraged him to get over to the Gallery while he could. That’s where the location really helps — he could pop right over and be back in minutes, on foot. I’m glad he at least had a chance to see what the Gallery has to offer.

And then it was time to turn in for the night.

Our full day in Salisbury was our open agenda day. We had to see Stonehenge, of course, and our friend Terry had kindly offered to show us around. It was, in fact, to be our first occasion of riding in an English car or taxi. It had all been mass transportation or walking until Terry arrived.

The day was mild but overcast. It was great to have Terry explaining the historic importance of the Salisbury Plains and the current military presence there during our trip. As he noted, Stonehenge being in the middle of nowhere has helped maintain it. People really want to have to be there to make the trip. Partly for that reason, efforts to build nearby hotels and tourist stations have been rebuffed — no one residing in the area wants that.

The visitors are kept well back from the site by a simple barricade, but everyone there that day was well-behaved. Alas, the only thing you can really do, apart from look, or meditate, is to take photos — and my charger had failed. I picked up a “Fun Camera” at the gift shop and soldiered on. It was a bit sad to think how long it had been since I had shot with film, but at least I remembered how.

Then we headed to the Badbury Rings, an interesting site new to me. And I could charge my camera via the mini notebook and Terry’s cigarette lighter.

Informational sign

After getting a mild scolding from Terry for reciting, “Ride a cock-horse to Banbury Cross … ” “It’s BADBURY!” we enjoyed the solitude and the view.

  
Views from the Badbury Rings

Then Terry decided to show us the coastline, nearer where he lives in Dorset. Just lovely country. The day was overcast; Terry said it can be truly breathtaking when you can see the horizon. I’ve read of how John Lennon purchased his Aunt Mimi a cottage there because he considered it one of the prettiest places he had ever seen. She must have agreed, as she remained there until her death.

We were now in the closing days of our trip, and this day was a perfect break in our routine of towns and cities.

Even Terry was surprised to find that new research has determined the area was populated and industrious as long as 12,500 years ago. Definitely worth a second look someday.

Then we repaired to Terry’s house to have a nice cup of tea and to indulge Mark’s request to see some of Terry’s guitars. (Thanks again, Terry.)

Afterward, our chauffeur for the day had to return us to Salisbury. I was hoping Terry could join us for supper, but it had been a long day for him as well, and he had work to take care of. So we said goodnight.

Upon getting back to our room, I logged into the Internet and found that Monday’s outbound flight had been canceled, thanks to the British Airways flight crew strike. The BA recommendation was to push the flight further away, but we found a flight leaving on Sunday. Much as I didn’t want to cut our vacation short, we all agreed that the probability of leaving on Sunday was better than the possibility of leaving on Tuesday or later.

We opted for Pizza Express for supper (nothing to write home about), and then Mark and I spent the evening down in the pub, listening to an Army man and rugby fan named Chris explain the nuances of the two versions of the sport. Chris was a solid Conservative with strong views about the latest election and it was interesting to hear his thoughts, but the night ran long and we eventually had to bow out and prepare for our return to London.

We awoke on our last day in Stratford unanimously resolved to avoid P and the group breakfast and P’s 10 a.m. checkout time by simply moving on. Easier said than done, as there was little way we could explain that while being polite — but we managed. That did involve P practically demanding that we leave our luggage (despite the thrice-explained rule that there was no room for storage of luggage), then P explaining that he didn’t want us to pay by credit card and would put a hefty surcharge on the bill if we did. So I forked over the rest of our pounds and crossed my fingers that we would be able to get by without cash on hand. We (and our luggage) trundled our way downtown to the Deli Cafe to have a better bite to eat there.

And we truly did. In fact, that little cafe went a long way to restoring positive feelings about our stay — good food and service, a pleasant rest for our feet and minds. And it was quite near the train station, so we had no need to rush.

Then onward to Salisbury — our only train trip involving two changes of trains, but not a particularly long journey, all told. This was to be our least structured leg of our journey — time to take it easy and let our friend Terry pick the sites to see.

Our lodging in the Cathedral Hotel was very nice — a large room with a decent shower and a good breakfast included, plus the hotel had its own large taproom. Apparently it can be quite the night spot on the weekends. We took an immediate liking to the town. It seemed to reflect the best aspects of our prior two stops — the easy-going, casual mood of Liverpool combined with the less-scouse upscale aspect of Stratford. It was the only town in which I found myself thinking, “I might like to do a bit of shopping.” We had a nice supper at the hotel and then Mark and I headed into the courtyard later for some relaxation and libations. As I told him, it was sort of the experience I was looking for — to be able to sit outside in an English garden with a cup of tea or a pint and just be there — no place to rush to, no business to take care of. Just to listen to the birds (and the accents) and to feel the breeze.