AFPF Travelogue

Merry Trip #2

The trip to Bath was our first full day on the road and the tour guide now 
gave us instructions in tour protocol.  There were 44 members in the group.  
Each day, we were to move forward two seats.  This would ensure that every 
passenger would have the opportunity to occupy a front seat, either behind 
the driver or behind the tour guide.  Also, we would alternate each day with 
the passengers on first one side of the bus and then the other exiting first 
at all stops that day.

I don't know who worked out the mathematics of the moves but it was a stroke 
of genius.  Everyone could anticipate a front row seat and there was no 
crowded confusion in the bus aisle.

The bus had a rest room aboard which we never got to use and I didn't notice 
it till very near the end of the trip so I didn't ask why.  On this first day 
the guide told us that should we be shopping and need a restroom we should ask 
for the "loo" though she told  us at most stops where public facilities were 
located.

We arrived in Bath on a Sunday and there was a distinct festive feeling.  Not 
only were there busloads of tourists strolling about but local families, as 
well, were enjoying a beautiful, warm sunny afternoon.  People smiled and 
said hello to stangers;  a totally friendly atmosphere and one we found 
throughout most of the trip.  The streets around the Roman Baths wwere filled 
with planters overflowing with flowers blooming in every color imaginable.

In the Roman Baths, as in most of the places we stopped, you needed strong 
knees for walking and stair climbing.  The excavation was a real trip back 
through time.  In one area there was a miniature fall of steaming water 
pouring from a lare pipe and bouncing over time rounded stones.   A balcony 
surrounded a main bathing area and stairs and ramps went up and down 
throughout the complex.  Ancient stone, ancient dirt, and if you closed your 
eyes and substituted surrounding voices for those of the past you could 
almost hear the splashing of people in the pools.

But there is a schedule to keep to and we went on toward Bristol, the Clifton 
suspension bridge and the harbor where John Cabot sailed away to the New 
World.

At the hotel in Bristol, we pulled rumpled clothes from suitcases, did some 
fast ironing and stood at our oopen window (no air conditioning) to listen to 
church bells ringing throughout the city.  They rang and sang for at least a 
half hour.   

We went down to join everyone in a toast to happy touring with a congenial 
group.  This was my introduction to a difference between British and American 
hotel bars.  Here, you either sit at the bar and drink or sit at a table and 
place your order which is served to you.  There, you step up to order your 
drink and then find a place to stand or to sit and lean back and sip.  
Marylou had enthused about a combination of beer and lemonade which she 
assured me was refreshing.  She ordered it.  I sipped it.  I chose Jack 
Daniels on the rocks.  In all fairness, it wasnt made with lemonade.  Even 
Marylou couldn't decide what was in it and didn't drink it.  Later, in 
Ireland, I did order it and it was delicious!

We left Bristol early the next morning  (we left early every morning!) on our 
way to Wales and the ferry ride to Ireland.  On the way out of town I saw a 
very politically correct store sign advertising, "We care for the needs of 
less abled people".  How  kind that seemed. 

It was quite foggy that morning, exactly as I imagined it should be but that 
was the only early morning fog I saw on the whole trip.  The landscape on the 
way to Cardiff was gently sloped, low rounded hills.  Past Cardiff on the way 
to Fishguard and the ferry, the hills became higher with outcroppings of 
rock.  Some of it was forested.   By forested, I don't mean the acres and 
acres of trees we have here in the Northeast.  These were smaller patches of 
clustered trees.  Fields and meadows all along the roads were divided with 
rows of trees but this steeper land wasn't being used for farming other than 
for cattle and sheep.  

We came to Cardiff and parked across the street from Cardiff Castle, an 
imposing structure, light in color and high walled.  This stop gave us a 
chance to do some unstructured sightseeing and also to buy souvenirs plus 
seasick remedies for the upcoming boat trip. The guide assured us the Irish 
Sea was calm but recommended seasick remedies for those (like I) with tender 
tummies.

Marylou and I wandered for a while, oohing and aahing and finally came to a 
shopping mall.  The door we entered led directly into a pharmacy and I was 
torn between the recommended child's variety of motion sickness pills 
(wouldn't make you sleepy) and wrist bands to apply to an acupuncture point.  
Being naturally cautious - well, I've been seasick and it ain't no fun -  I 
bought both. The wrist bands worked.  I still have the pills and may never 
have to take them. 

We decided a trip to the lady's room would be a good idea before returning to 
the bus.  Confidently, I approached a clerk and said, "Excuse me, where is 
the loo?"  She smiled and said, "Do you want the toilet?"
I was tempted to say, "No, just the use of it," but contented myself with 
directing dark thoughts toward the tour guide.  I think we were 'had' and 
from then on asked directions to the "lady's room" like the American I am.

Back to the bus and across southern Wales to the coast at Aberguan.  Doesn't 
Aberguan look better than Fishguard?  Anllyway,I think it was the same place  
because roadsigns outside of England were generally posted in both English 
and the prevailing local language - Welsh or Gaelic.  For the foreign 
traveller, Welsh signs just had to be written in English.  There is no way 
the newcomer can pronounce written Welsh.  Nothing sounds like what it looks 
like, even if you could wade your way through all the double consonants.  
During World War II wasn't the Navajo language used as code?  We should have 
used Welsh. 

We crossed the Irish Sea on a seven story ferry which had restaurants (yep, 
the Golden Arches, too), a cafeteria, bars, lounges, tables and chairs beside 
all the windows, a movie theater, gift shop, money exchange booth and (pay 
attention Donna and Keith) slot machines.  There was a variety of piped music 
in the bars ranging from rock and roll to semi-classical.  Take your choice 
and grab a seat or sit in comparative silence and talk near the windows.  It 
was a smooth crossing and the boat wasn't pitching or rolling so I wasn't 
sure if the wrist bands were working or not.  At one point a voice came over 
the loudspeakers announcing that we would dock a half hour late because of 
technical troubles with an engine.  How nice not to be flying. 

Merry Trip #3

The ferry's delay and traffic on the road brought us late to the hotel in 
Waterford.  Dinner was delayed and the group didn't finish eating until 
quarter to ten.  Kind of late for most Americans.  There was a lot of 
semi-joking about the need for antacids and we all trailed off to our rooms.  

We spent time the next morning shopping and looking longingly at Waterford 
glass creations in the stores.  I splurged and bought a cat to match the dog 
I have and a paperweight with swirls of green and blue to remind me of 
Ireland's many shades of green and crystal clear skies.  Then off we went to 
Blarney Castle.

We were cautioned about the numerous steps leading up to the Blarney Stone 
and were told about a tourist two years before who had fallen and broken her 
leg.  Then the group separated, some to eat, some to shop for woolens in the 
converted woolen mill, all eventually to see Blarney Castle.  

I walked past the palm trees, crossed the parking lot, stopped at the post 
office for stamps and went through the gate.  It was so lovely with the 
castle perched high a distance away, soft grass, a paved path winding over a 
rippling brook.  There were shrubs and blooming flowers all around.   Up a 
series of stairs and there was Blarney castle, looking so tall and 
forbidding.  There, also, was the usual souvenir counter just before the 
entrance.  

The stairs were not as formidable as the tour guide had described them.
They were worn but fairly wide stone triangles spiraling upward.  The line of 
people was long and moved slowly;  step up three stairs, wait, step up five 
stairs, wait.  And so on to the top and out into brilliant sunshine again.  
The line wound slowly toward the famous Stone of Eloquence where a 
photographer stood ready to snap a picture of you kissing the stone and to 
take your name for a certificate attesting that you had really done so.  
Close to the stone, I stepped out of line and continued on around looking for 
the exit.

I'm not afraid of heights - the stone is 80+ feet above open ground - but the 
athletic ability was beyond me.  You lie on your back on a piece of cloth 
spread over round metal bars.  An attendant holds you and helps you slide 
head first toward the stone where you actually do a backbend to slide under 
it, then raise your head and shoulders up to kiss it.  He then helps you 
slide back out where you roll over and get to your feet.  I had a flashing 
mental picture of me doing the back bend and then being carried on a 
stretcher to the ground and a waiting ambulance.

When I came to the exit that picture changed to one of me being lifted from 
the top of the castle by helicopter.  No way could a stretcher ever be 
lowered down those spiraling triangles.  Now they were not much more than six 
inches wide  on the outer side.  A two inch Heuser was fastened on the inner, 
narrow side of the stairs from the top to the bottom of the castle and young 
and old alike, we clutched it all the way as we cautiously minced down 
sideways.
 
Back in the village of Blarney I went into a pub and ordered a 'take away' 
cheese sandwich and a bottle of water and strolled back toward the woolen 
mill complex.  There was a park with picnic benches under old trees and I sat 
and did a little people watching; couples walking hand in hand, schoolgirls 
in neat uniforms - their only difference in clothing being a choice in shoes, 
shoppers swinging plastic bags and fellow travelers waving, smiling, sitting 
for a moment to talk. 

Back to the bus and off to Tralee on a narrow, winding road.   We rode 
through countryside with fields showing all the many shades of green that 
Ireland is so famous for.  Rhododendron and fuchsia were blooming wild beside 
the road.  Think how much we pay for one or two of these at a plant nursery! 

Merry Trip #4

In Tralee I tried Guinness and really enjoyed it. I do think that in England 
the flavor is different and not as good.

In the morning we took a scenic drive around the Ring of Kerry.  This was our 
first day of rain which alternated between sluicing down the windows of the 
bus and a sheer waving misty curtain.  The landscape was lovely despite the 
"soft sunshine".

That evening in Ennis was listed as a special tour night.  We went to a 
medieval banquet at Knappogue Castle.  It started with a short presentation 
in the lobby with harp and violin music, followed by a sumptuous meal, in 
turn followed by a very entertaining show of Irish music and dancing.  The 
waitresses and performers were dressed in period costumes.  A photographer 
took pictures of each guest or pair of guests with a costumed waitress.  Then 
we were led from the castle to a courtyard where there was - you guessed it- 
yet another tourist gift shop.  Here, you could order your picture to be 
mailed to your home.  Of course we did!

I think, now, that travel through Ireland as in most parts of the British 
Isles should be taken as separate trips.  There is so much varied scenery and 
so much more to see and do than a bus tour touches on.  It is, however, a 
great way to see a number of places you've only read about.

I had read of peat but never seen it.  It is dug from bogs, some as much as 
forty feet deep.  It is dried for use and what we saw piled beside the roads 
resembled thick, black, oblong sticks.  There were few trees in those areas.  
We were told that when the peat was not dry enough to use, wood was used for 
household heating. 

There were numerous "ten pound" castles standing lonely on hillsides.  We 
were told that the local Norman ruler was paid ten pounds for each of these 
built for defense. The castles were then seldom, if ever, used because the 
Normans mingled with the natives and there was little rebellion. 

After I came home and had time to read some of the brochures I had gathered, 
I found that sometimes the guides' narratives about various points of 
interest did not always agree with written accounts.  I think the best way to 
learn would be to go back and spend more time in some of the places.  Anyone 
want to go traveling?

Next we stopped to see the Irish National Stud.  Darn!  Why wasn't it called 
a farm?  It turned out to be horses.   Horse racing - The Sport of Kings.  Of 
course it is. It takes a king's ransom to breed, feed and race these 
magnificent animals.  We walked past pastures, stables and ponies being led 
around while the guide from the stud farm  explained the use of the ponies 
and the intricacies of feeding and breeding race horses.   She said that 
during breeding season a stud horse is used up to three times a day and then 
not again till the following year. 

One horse (I think he was Indian Ridge) came to the double fence to stare 
back at us while we learned that he was famous for being shipped to Australia 
and winning a race no one thought he would even place in after the long trip 
and no training time.  However, to calm his temperament when young, he had 
been gelded- thus so offspring.  One of the women said to her husband,
"what a shame!"
"Huh? What's a shame?"
Weren't you listening?"
"I'm still thinking of three times a day!"
"Think of the rest of the year and pay attention!"

Have you ever noticed, when you are with a group of people you sometimes shut 
them out and think you are carrying on a one-on-one conversation?  They 
laughed along with the rest of us.

Now we went to the Japanese gardens, planned with symbolisms of life starting 
with the Gate of Oblivion and the Cave of Birth and on to the Parting of The 
Ways - a path  leading to three choices; one smooth for the carefree life, 
one narrow for bachelorhood and one with stepping stones across water leading 
toward marriage.  On past the time of choice were more structures 
representing the way through life ending with death at the Hill of Mourning 
and we left the gardens through the Gateway to Eternity.

Back to the bus and off to Dublin.

Merry Trip #5

Dublin.  Truly a fair city and, joy of joys, a two night stay.  Time to have
laundry done, we were told.  Ha!

A couple of messages from Carl were at the desk and we met early in the 
evening for drinks and a fine dinner.  Like other newsgroup friends I've met, Carl was
just as he seemed in e-mails.  He was 'ordinary folks', easy to talk with on
any subject, fun to be with.  He gave me a road atlas of the British Isles so 
I could trace the bus route and a beautifully illustrated book of Northern
Ireland.  I spent a most delightful evening with him.

In the morning I went to the bank to change English pounds for more Irish 
punts and to check out a local laundry.
"If I bring in a few things right away, how soon can I get them back?"
"Maybe tomorrow."

I think not so back to the hotel to rinse out those few things and hang them 
to dry over the tub.  Marylou wanted to buy some Irish lace curtains so some 
price shopping came next.  Forty pounds a panel?  Never mind.

Dublin is a beautiful city and seemed remarkably clean with so much to see in
so little time; Trinity College with the Book of Kells, St. Patrick's
Cathedral, statues along O'Connell Street.  Carl and I met again that evening
for a short stroll along the grand canal and then a meal of pizza and Caesar
salad.  What a welcome and delicious change from the sauced and gravied tour
meals.  Thank you again, Carl, for an enjoyable interlude.

In the morning, off again for the trip back across the Irish Sea.  This time
the ferry rolled a bit from side to side.  Walking around the decks (all
enclosed) was a real test of balance and agility.  One step forward, three to
the left, another step forward, four to the right, dancing without music.  We
docked and then drove to LLanfair-- short for--.  

LLanfairpwllgwtyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch

Tonight's stop in Wales was at a highly recommended (we were told) hotel. 
There were large dining rooms, large lounge areas with skylights and
comfortable furniture.  Small guest rooms.  I mean, really small.  I've stayed
in many motels in our eastern states.  This room was small!

For a pre-dinner manhattan (I know, mixed drinks aren't the thing!) I tried to
tell the bartender how to make one. which turned out to be a challenge. The
sweet vermouth and the whisky were dispensed automatically from upturned
bottles in holders and the amounts didn't quite match.  I skipped the 
Angostura bitters entirely.  It turned out drinkable but from then on it was back to a
pre-dinner beer or Jack Daniels. 

In the morning the drive over Llanberis Pass was breathtaking, looking way, 
way down into the valley and across to the mountain peaks, the steep slopes dotted
with grazing sheep.  Near the road a lot of the heather was still blooming, a
light purple with some maroon browned patches past the blooming stage; gorse
with its small yellow flowers; ferns (bracken) growing thickly.  We passed a
slate quarry with its abandoned black terraces stark and forbidding yet having
a strange beauty.  Then down along the narrow, curving road to lower mountains
heavily treed with both decidous trees and evergreens.  Many of them were
smothering in ivy.  As we crossed into England the land leveled and we rode
across miles and miles of flat plain leading to Chester where I  walked a
portion of the Roman Wall.

It was nearing lunchtime and we headed toward Lake Windemere for a short 
cruise across to Ambleside. 

I have to admit here, I had heard many unkind words about English food but I
didn't have one poor meal on the whole trip.  However, British coffee is the
worst I have ever tasted!  My American palate can stand weak coffee, strong
coffee, instant coffee, brewed coffee.  But bitter coffee was a real blow. 
Thank goodness for the delicious tea served everywhere, tea more tasty than 
any (including Earl Grey) that I buy at home.  Do they keep their best tea for
themselves?  But I do like my morning coffee.   While we waited for the boat 
an urge for a cup of coffee overcame my better judgement. I went to a dockside
food stand and bought a sandwich and a small cup of coffee.  Wow!  Real 
coffee!  I sipped and savored and was on my way back for another larger cup when the
boat docked.  Poor timing.

Across the lake in Ambleside the bus slowed now and then for a touristy
carriage.  The blinders on the horses were the most extreme I have ever seen,
almost completely covering their eyes instead of just restricting their side
vision.

On to Grasmere and another stay in another highly touted hotel with a room 
even smaller than the last.  If the rooms keep getting progressively smaller the
mattress will be fastened to the wall and I'll sleep standing up.  The
compensation here was a welcome walk into the town proper to see Wordsworth's
family plot.  It was a pretty town and along the way shiny holly leaves peeked
out from a thick hedge overgrowing a stone wall.  Old, old trees shaded part 
of the way and the cobbled walkway (sidewalk? pavement?) in the center of town
narrowed to asphalt over a small bridge to the church graveyard with old,
darkened headstones.  

Sorry, Wales, but I cannot recommend two of your hotels.  The staffs were
unsmiling, the first room was not especially clean and the second fronted on a
nightlong engine swoosh of traffic.  However, I can recommend your scenery. 
It's outstanding.

After a night of broken sleep it was off through the beautiful Lake District 
to Edinburgh. 

Merry Trip #6

The narrow, winding road gradually steepened then rolled down and into the
Lowland Hills.  The sky was overcast and  misty clouds perched on some of the
hilltops.  There were old stone walls three to four feet high along the road
and separating the fields.  The stones fitted so closely that no cement was
needed to hold them. They had slate coping stones set on top to run rainwater
off the fences so the water wouldn't freeze and crack the stones beneath. 
These gave way to familiar wood and wire fences for a while and farther north turned
again to stone.  A pale rainbow shimmered across some low clouds but there was
no rain.

We rode into hilly Edinburgh, up and down steep streets and parked at St.
Andrew's square.  Looking down the street we could see the Firth of Forth. We
window shopped, lunched and returned to the bus where "our" guide was replaced
by a Scotsman dressed in traditional kilts.  On a leisurely drive through the
city he pointed out the home of Robert Louis Stevenson.  According to the
running commentary, Stevenson survived a sickly childhood and turned out to be
quite the party boy.

On to Edinburgh Castle; the Stone of Destiny, the Crown - so impressive 
because of its simplicity, a graveyard for dogs, St. Margaret's Chapel - so peaceful.

Before leaving Edinburgh in the morning, another shopping trip.  The guide 
gave us each a street map which I carefully placed in the seat pocket and then left
there. So, you guessed it, I got lost!   Wandered around Jenner's, came out a
different door, looked at my watch.  Ah, five minutes yet to get to the bus
which is - good grief, which direction?  Before I was totally confused, I 
asked directions from a delightful lady.  We got carried away chatting and I finally
hurried up the street and around the corner to the bus, so close when you're
headed the right way.

On to Floor's Castle, home of the Duke and Duchess of Roxburghe.  I sure hope
their living quarters were in better condition than that part toured by the
public.  Chipped paint on the woodwork, an assortment of old, interesting but
battered furniture, and a mixture of knick knacks that came from all over the
world.  Some were exquisite, some I wouldn't put in a yard sale.  On through
Northumberland where we slowed to watch a Border Collie herding sheep.  A stop
at Hadrian's wall.  What we saw was a loosely piled line of rocks, not too
impressive despite the history involved.  Many houses in the area undoubtedly
contain pieces of the wall, scavenged for home building over time.  And 
finally we're in York and a long awaited meet with Win!.

I was waiting in the lobby when Win phoned to say she and Susan would be a
little late.  I took the call on a house phone and went up to my room, where I
found I had left at the phone a small New Hampshire souvenir for Win.

Back to the lobby and, hey, what nice, honest people in York!
Someone had left it at the desk!  And then, in came Win and Susan.
We had a half pint and then went into the restaurant.  The waiter gently shook
the folds from our napkins and placed the napkins in our laps.  Win ordered 
the wine and after the pouring, looking, sniffing and tasting she pronounced it
fine and it certainly was.  These are two fun ladies!  Susan is going to be in
my area next week with her husband Paul and I am really looking forward to
meeting her again.  I wish Win was going to be here, too but I'll chase her
down when she's in the States next year.

Now came the last day of the formal tour.  We had a group picture taken the 
day before at Anne Hathaway's cottage and today we toured William Shakespeare's
birthplace and walked the block-long Shambles.  And for only the second time 
in two weeks, it was raining.

We stopped at Bladon to see Churchill's burial place but only about half the
group were brave enough to scurry through the downpour.  Then on to London,
where the sun was weakly shining, and Cornish pasty in a pub.  A fitting "last
meal". 

Merry Trip #7

5:30 a.m.   Last morning in the British Isles.  Little did I know I would 
spend many hours waiting and flying and waiting some more before I staggered 
wearily through my own front door.

Gatwick Airport was a rolling mass of people searching for the proper airline 
desks to re-book canceled flights.  On the weather reports it looked like 
Hurricane Floyd was safely passing the New England coast.  However, all 
flights to Boston were canceled.  Marylou was lucky.  She was able to book a 
flight directly to Raleigh, just miles from her home.   My choice was flying 
to Dallas or another overnight stay in London.

In Dallas, I  checked in with the reservation desk and saw my suitcase 
whisked away.  Now it turns out an earlier flight is available.  But wait!  
My suitcase is going to arrive later than me.  Can I get the bag transferred 
to the earlier flight?  No.  Can't be done.  Do I want to arrive in Boston, 
go home (1 1/2 hour trip), return the next day to get the suitcase and go 
home again (3 more hours)?  Nope, I'll fly with my bag, thanks.  

Hours later I boarded the plane and started one of those flights you hear 
about, laugh about and think is exaggerated.  I had the middle seat next to a 
mother on the aisle who didn't want to change seats to sit next to her son on 
my other side.   HAH!    Behind me was  his older brother, who bounced the 
back of my seat all the way.  In the row ahead of me was a father, mother, 
grandmother and a crying infant being passed back and forth. 

Once in level flight the baby went to sleep and I leaned my head back 
planning to join him in the Land of Nod.  It wasn't to be.  Every fifteen 
minutes (I swear I could have set my watch by him) the boy turned to his 
brother behind us and shouted in my ear, "Can I listen to your radio now?" 
and the answer, even as we landed in Boston, was "Not now.  Maybe later".  
And the baby woke and cried. 

At long last, Boston.  The luggage carousel.  Wait.  Wait some more.  Watch 
the crowd thin.  Finally, my suitcase!   Out through the exit marked "Taxi" 
and I'm confronted with a sign that says, "Cars For Hire Are Now On The Upper 
Level".  Trundle into the airport, up the escalator, outside again and wait 
an anxious 30 minutes for my reserved transportation.  Should I phone and 
wake my son?  Finally the car arrived.  Now twenty more minutes spent driving 
to and waiting at another airline  to pick up a second passenger who was on a 
first name basis with the driver. You know who arrived home first!  At 2 a.m. 
I unlocked my front door.  Home Sweet Home!

There were drawbacks to the trip, of course.  One-night hotel stops meant 
unpacking and ironing clothes followed by pack, wrinkle, unpack and iron the 
next night.   Near the end I felt as though the courtyards and wide open 
doors of castles and palaces were cleverly designed vacuums sucking in the 
happy, souvenir buying tourist.

Would I do it again? Yes, in a New York minute.  Why?  Because the British 
Isles are beautiful beyond words.  Also, I'm blessed with a vivid 
imagination.  I heard murmured conversations at palace dining tables; raucous 
male laughter in the stronghold castles; the sound of dropped crockery 
cracking and scattering on the stone floor of a long empty kitchen.  I heard 
the crackle of burning wood in cold fireplaces and running footsteps on stone 
stairs.  I saw dusty and faded tapestries glowing brightly again and scarred 
furniture standing new and stately.

Most importantly, the people of the British Isles were open and friendly; 
waiters, bartenders, hotel staffs, storekeepers, people on the streets - all 
were kind and helpful to the invading vacationers.

Watch out, my friends, I'm coming back!