March 21 - Week 2 Begins (Company at Last!)
       Afraid of falling 9 feet to my death on the dirty, unvaccuumed carpet below-- choking on the pot fumes-- freezing because someone had left the window open all night-- restless because large vans without mufflers were delivering things beneath said open window-- I got out of bed at 5:30 in the morning, got dressed and left. I didn't even brush my hair, since I couldn't get into the damn bathroom. Disheveled and sniffling, I made my way through the buffetting winds of what would later prove to be a big storm off the coast, up to the train station.
       Through a roundabout series of events, I got to Gatwick airport safe and dry. Never mind that I had to get off the train, board a bus, and then get on another train (the joys of Sunday travel in Britain). I was at Gatwick by 8pm. I settled in with Orlando, having finished all my other books. I figured-- gee, Dan (Dwinn) and Julie should be off the plane at 9:30, through customs by 10, two hours is hardly any time. Well, at 10:30 I started to get worried, started making calls to America to see if they had actually gotten on the plane. Screaming into various answering machines to awaken sound sleepers did not work. I paced the airport several times, thinking-- is there another international gate? Did they sneak past me and wait at car rental? What GIVES?
       Well, remember that cushy waiting area on the other side of customs? They were waiting patiently there for me. At about 11:45, they noticed that there were no people in that waiting area that hadn't just cleared custom... so, they went through the magic double doors, where I attacked them joyfully with gibbering and laughing.
Off we went. We could not be stopped. We got a car and I sped (literally) up to Nottingham, getting a feel for the English roads. Dan was feeling sickly, due to airplane food, and while I chattered happily with Julie about my week's adventures, Dan slept and moaned in the back seat. Occasionally, he would pop his head up and say things like: "Oh, my god, I just saw two pigs having sex right next to a sign that said 'Put some British Pork on your fork!" and "That dog only has three legs!" Not surprisingly, when we got to Nottingham, Dan just found a bed and collapsed. I was still sick, so we all took long naps... And that pretty much ended that day.

Sherwood...  Forest??               

March 22
       We stayed at the Igloo in Nottingham, which was ok-- it was clean, and they had cats, which was a huge bonus to us three cat-lovers. We left at the seemingly timely hour of 8:30, , and made it to the visitor's center at Sherwood Forest by 9:30.
       I say Forest, and though it's called an SSSI (Site of Special Scientific Interest), because of its rare grasses and spiders. Yes. Grasses. Nothing to do with the trees, which MIGHT be impressive if we give them another century or two. Basically, the whole forest had been mauraded by ship-builders in the 19th century, and it's... scraggly.

Fountains Abbey  

       From Sherwood we went to Fountains Abbey, which might be one of the best things to see in England, if you like ruins. And I like ruins.  Fountains Abbey boasts a water garden and a small museum in addition to the extensive ruins.  We poked through the museum, but were not up for the trek along the river to the water gardens.  The ruins themselves seemed disappointing as we headed towards them from the visitor's center...  we were quickly and effectively stunned into silence when we realized that the seemingly tiny bump of a building we could make out from the parking lot was merely the top of a tall tower situated in a deep river valley.  It was a lovely surprise.

the refectory at Fountains Abbey

Onward to Durham.  It wasn't much like the Durham I grew up in, at least, not at first.  But there was a college, a river and a history of powerful people, and I thought, it's similar enough.  There was a feeling of prosperity throughout most of the areas too, which is like my Durham.  I genuinely liked the town, and I realized that between Durham and York, I was beginning to regret having scheduled any further time in the South.  I just wanted to go further and further North, and enjoy myself along the way.  Ah, next time.  We stayed at the Fowler's B&B, and I had a really nice room to myself, and Mrs. Fowler was a certified hoot, cracking jokes and making herself laugh so hard that we had no choice but to keep up.  We took a bus down into town for dinner, eating at a restaurant that either was or wasn't the one mentioned in the guidebook (it was really that hard to tell).  The bus was kind of a mishap, both coming and going; we were only saved by a very helpful bus-driver...  who happened to be the same guy on the way down and on the way back.  Hmph. A helpful bus-driver.  That's atypical.

March 23
       Down to see the Castle and Cathedral in Durham. The second time was less daunting, plus we drove. I was really getting the hang of driving, or at least, getting less frightened of making mistakes. The Cathedral (my third of this trip) had the twin bonuses of St Cuthbert and the Venerable Bede.  A tour around Durham Castle (now a college) turned out to be a wealth of information on the Bishop Princes, as well as incredibly entertaining. We headed out to the Wall after lunch, and saw Vindoland and the Roman Army Museum. It rained the whole afternoon, and I was wet and cold. Julie, however, was in her element, and didn't seem to care how wet her feet were as long as there were ruins to be seen.

March 24 
       In the morning we got up early and drove the length of Hadrian's Wall, all the way to Carlisle, stopping a number of times to hop out into the sheep dung and muck to take pictures and ogle. Around noon, we realized we were a mere eleven miles from Scotland, so we darted over the border to Gretna Green-- land of kitschy Scottish souveniers. It was the place to elope to, once upon a time, as Scottish marriage laws were much more lax than English.

Craig Lough (L), and Hadrian's Wall marching alongside (R); Julie (Center)    

     We had told the B&B in Glastonbury that we would arrive around 6, incorrectly calculating how far the drive was from Carlisle (and not factoring in even a brief trip to Scotland). We motored down from the North, seemingly at a good clip. I believe we saw Wales from afar. ("Look! There's Wales!") Well, we saw a mountain in the distance, and I pretended to myself it was a Welsh mountain.
       We arrived in Glastonbury around 7, and found the proprietress of the B&B out at the theatre. Oops. Wandering around downtown Glastonbury took... not long enough. Julie and Dan were sure that if we tried to ascend the Tor in the dark, broken bones would result... probably true... so we sat in the car and slept...  All things considered, as this was the worst mistake we made on this trip, it wasn't that bad.
       Eventually, the B&B owner came home, and said that when we didn't arrive on time, she'd just assumed we had canceled. She was all apologies-- we were all hoping for a good bed. Which we got.

March 25
       In the morning, after suffering through yet another English breakfast, we drove out to Bath and saw the Roman Baths. It was just as cool a second time, perhaps even cooler.

Sacred pool at the Roman Baths, Bath

       Back in Glastonbury for the afternoon, we toured the Abbey and made brass rubbings. We ate at Knight's Fish and Chips, just like on our last trip to Glastonbury, and had a vegetative evening with all of our new books. The day was misty and gray, and the atmosphere was perfect for viewing the ruins. 

Glastonbury Abbey

March 26
       In the morning, we got up and climbed the Tor. It was a nice trot, in bright sunshine, and there was a gorgeous view all around.

St. Michael's Tower atop Glastonbury Tor

       After Glastonbury, we motored off to "Adventure Castle"-- our term for Longleat House, which had lured us in with promises of erotic murals, eccentric nobility, hedgemazes and the eponymous Adventure Castle. Once there, we actually passed on the murals and the Adventure Castle. The entire experience left us a drooling mess in spite of those things. There's just so much... otherworldliness to the whole place. Not otherworldly like the Celtic 4th Dimension that Julie and I are always searching for, but otherworldly like "Here are the trappings of a social sphere that I shall never, ever move in." And yet, as stifling as said social sphere has always appeared to me, Lord Bath and family don't seem stifled. They seem inordinantly fond of us common folk and more inclined to a certain hippie Disney-ism, with their Safari Park and Maze of Love.

The maze at Longleat

       At any rate, when we emerged from Longleat, weary and addled (the phrase "Are you on crack?" which is so often bandied around our group of friends seems to REALLY apply to the energetic family of the Marquis of Bath), and drove past some of the chalk figures carved onto the hills. It is a testament to how overwhelming Longleat was that we just went "Oh," and kept driving.
       It wasn't just Longleat at this point, though; England was getting to us. We'd seen so much in so little time that we were totally over-loaded, and what had seemed quaint and charming on Monday was now less so. So, by the time we got to Stonehenge, we walked around it in 10 minutes and left, and by doing so, became the very sort of tourist I hate most. (Last time, Julie and I were so into Stonehenge that we missed our bus.) 
       At this point, sleep (as in, where to) was becoming an issue, and we covered a small strip of land between Stonehenge and Avebury 3 or 4 times, looking for a bed. We found one above the Churchill Pub, somewhere near Devizes. The beds were so smishy that it felt like an enormous marshmallow giant was cuddling me all night, but other than that, it was pleasant. We watched a lot of British TV that night, and ate in the pub downstairs-- and the food was awesome. I think I may have experienced some garlic! In England of all places! It was easily the best meal I had the entire trip, so far above and beyond anything I'd eaten in England at all, except for the Charcoal Grill in Salisbury and the Stones in Avebury. I guess the area is a little mysterious triangle-- the only places in England you might find edible food.

March 27
       In the morning, we drove off to Avebury, which was less awe-inspiring this time because a good portion of the site was closed off (erosion control). We were there too early to have lunch at the Stones, too, so we bundled off to Old Sarum, stopping on the way to peer in at Woodhenge. Don't bother with Woodhenge lest you have an overwhelming curiosity. Well, we had an overwhelming curiosity, and the site was still underwhelming, and required a lot of imagination.

Avebury Stone Circle -- the oldest and biggest

      Old Sarum was on the medium-cool range in and of itself. But we had a sunny March day, and that made it major cool; at one point we plonked down in the sun and just sat for a while, looking out over Salisbury and the world and enjoying the day.
       Then we popped back in the car and drove off to Chichester. This is when the driving REALLY started to get to me. Julie and Dwinn don't do manual transmissions, so it was all up to me. If it had all been highway driving, I would never have lost my temper so much. But between the roundabouts (what, may I ask, is wrong with a simple 4-way stop?) and the excruciatingly narrow roads that get even narrower in towns where everyone parks wherever they can and none of the other drivers ever yield-- I was a bit snappish. Added to the fact that we couldn't make the radio work, and I was almost constantly hungry (I lost 13 pounds on this trip, folks), partially from my own pickiness, and partially because none of us were ever hungry at the same time.
       I had medium-bad directions to Primrose Cottage near Chichester, but somehow managed to find it-- I kept turning left, and boom, there we were. Our hostess directed us to go down to the beach (which we could not find) and to Fishbourne Roman Museum, where we perused the nearly intact Dolphin Mosaic and had a jolly good time. Dinner that night was quail at a pub... big mistake. At least dessert was yummy-- chocolate pudding in cream.

March 28
       I think, if we'd had the option, we would have stayed at Primrose Cottage for the rest of our trip. It was all kinds of comfortable. Instead,  we drove on. At mid-day, right about when I had reached what I thought was an unattainable height of crankiness with the narrow roads and the right-of-way issue, we stopped off and visited Battle. 
       We stayed that night at Dover Youth Hostel (and it only took 4 trips around Dover to find it!). It was our first experience all together at a real hostel, and the afternoon was frittered away on laundry and less-than-yummy Indian food. Sundays in England are deadly dull.

March 29
       In the morning, we climbed (in our car) up to Dover Castle, stopping to look at the famous white cliffs on the way. Dover Castle had some nifty things, but it was more touristy than anything else we had done--by which I mean both more full of tourists and more geared to tourists. The place teemed with French and Spanish school-children and their exhausted chaperons.
       We plotted a course via motorway back to Brighton, though it looked farther-- well, it took 3/4's the time of our trip to Dover from the Brighton area, and had 1/10 of the stress. At Brighton, we found a nice guest house and then viewed the Royal Pavilion. We went beach-combing after that, which was rewarding-- lots of sea-glass shards of different colors, some stones with holes worn through the centers.
       We went to see "Waking Ned" for our evening's entertainment-- in the self-same theater I had suffered through "The Thin Red Line." By this point we were only intermittently thrilled to still be on vacation. We wanted real sleep in real beds, to wake up to real TV and have a real breakfast. "Real" in all of these instances meaning "American." This was when we instituted the system of counting the days like this: "Well, you can't count today, and you can't count the day we leave, and you can't count the day we drop the car off and go to London, so really, we're only here for like, 2 days."

March 30
       In the morning we drove up to Gatwick and ditched the car, then trained up to London.  I officially hate London. After the bucolic pleasures of the English countryside, I was not pleased to be in this busy, dirty city. I was also not pleased to rely on public transportation again. We stayed that night at the Museum Hotel, all in the same room with one other American, who we found highly sympathetic. The Museum Hotel evoked shades of Brighton Backpackers; shaky beds, dirty carpet, smoke pervading everything. That night was nearly sleepless for all involved. The smoke got so bad that I got up and opened the window at one point; then it got cold, so I closed it. I also went out in my pjs to call Dann around 1am, just to talk, even though it was probably a bit dangerous.
       Before all of this night-terror stuff, we did spend a whole afternoon at the British Museum, and then saw "Gods and Monsters." But it didn't really make up for being in London. I honestly considered hopping a train back to Salisbury, for the comforts of a smaller town and a more rural existence.

March 31
       We had not been able to get into Rotherhithe for the 30th; Julie and I remembered finding it a haven of quiet and cleanliness on our first trip. Well, that was because on our first trip, the tube station servicing Rotherhithe had been closed. This time, the place was hugely active and considerably less clean-- but still twenty times better than the Museum Hotel. Once we kicked people out of our beds, it was even better. 
       In the afternoon we went to see the Tower of London. That was ill-timed. Apparently, if you want to see the Tower and not the backs of the heads of fifteen-hundred other equally dumb tourists, you need to go as soon as it opens in the morning. Nevertheless, it was impressive, and I am glad we went.

April 1
       At this point, we made up stupid nicknames for ourselves and prayed that our flight wouldn't be delayed. We went on one of those bus-tours. "Hey kids, Big Ben, Parliament." Got yelled at by an over-helpful tour-guide. "You got off at the wrong stop! Now you will have to walk VERY far.  Get back on the bus!" 

April 2
       We made it to the airport on time, and no further mishaps occurred. It was a total relief to re-enter the United States-- and as soon as I got out of the car, I missed England already.