An American Thanksgiving in England

I celebrated American Thanksgiving last November by eating a full English breakfast.  I even ate some of the mushrooms.  My family will know how amazing it was that I even let a mushroom touch my lips (the mushrooms were somewhere between meh and all right; I still don't really care for them).

On the train to London

After breakfast, I packed my bags, did some last-minute wandering and shopping (souvenirs and Christmas; killed two birds with one stone) and hopped on a train bound for Paddington Station.  My time in Bath had been refreshing, a good stop-over as I acclimated to the time and vacation mind-set.  I look forward to going back and maybe spending a few days in the archives at the Fashion Museum or taking a picnic lunch on the full Skyline walk.  I'd be happy just to wander the streets again.

But, onward to London!  I had booked a "cheap and cheerful" (translation: budget) studio flat just north of Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park.  The flat was located on the fourth floor of a rather ugly modern building with a narrow closet of a lift.  I have vague memories of getting momentarily stuck in a lift the same size while in Rome.  I chose to take the stairs.   Besides, since I didn't bring my running gear, I had to get my exercise in somehow.

The flat itself was cozy and simply decorated.  There was a kitchenette if I wanted to make my own meals although I'll admit, other than cheese sandwiches for picnic lunches and cereal in the mornings, I didn't do any cooking.  The bathroom was small but not as small as some I've seen and it had a nice deep tub.  All in all, the flat was nice enough that I was comfortable and felt safe on my own but not so nice that I felt obligated to spend more time in the flat to get my money's worth.

Passing under the Carriage Drive
on the Hyde Park side.

It was mid-afternoon when I arrived but at that latitude, the sun was already low in the sky.  I had nothing planned for the evening so I just decided to go for a stroll through the Park and see where my feet led me.  They led me through Hyde Park, under the Carriage Drive, along the Long Water, with ducks and geese and swans and birds I don't know the names of galore.  I walked through the Winter Wonderland fair (heard a lot of Bing Crosby crooning over crowds) and past a beautiful steam engine on display.

My family has a thing for trains and though I may not know all the details about how a steam engine works, I still find them beautiful.  So, when I saw this beauty, I took a couple of pictures.  I didn't know why it was on display, if it was a permanent exhibit or part of the Winter Wonderland.  It was my dad who actually Googled the engine number later and found that it had a long history, built in the 1930s but gained stardom in the last decade as none other than the "Hogwarts Express".  That's right, even without meaning to, I visited a Harry Potter artifact.  I only wish that I had known what it was at the time. 

All aboard the Hogwarts Express!

By the time I exited the Park, the sun had set and  it was beginning to get dark.  My feet continued down Constitution Hill, past Buckingham Palace (hello, your majesty) and onward to Westminster and that iconic landmark, Big Ben.

Not the clock,
Nor the tower,
But the bell that tolls the hour.

Standing on Westminster Bridge

So the rhyme goes.  I didn't hear it toll that night as I was getting hungry (a full English breakfast will last you a long time but eventually, you do get hungry again) and I didn't stick around long enough to hear the bell toll.  I did mug for my camera in front of the famed clock tower and was asked to take someone's photo with their camera.  I chickened out on asking anyone to take mine.  Good thing I have long arms; I ended up taking most of my pictures of me myself.  I really need to work on that whole asking thing for my next trip.

I followed Whitehall to Trafalgar Square with the idea of finding someplace to eat.  I settled on the Cafe in the Crypt at St. Martin in the Fields where I had more non-traditional Thanksgiving fare in a very non-traditional setting.   Porkchops and veggies, cream of broccoli soup and apple crumble with custard (Porkchops, huh?), eaten over someone's gravestone.  It's not called Cafe in the Crypt for nothing. 

Have to say, it was both cool and disconcerting.  I felt disrespectful scooting my chair in as it scraped across a stone set in the floor (pardon me, so-and-so, didn't see your gravestone there).  At the same time, it intrigued me and I wondered about the nameless people (the names and dates were almost completely illegible due to time and wear) who were buried below me.  I wondered what their stories were; this was the closest thing to a monument they got.  It's a puzzlement.

OK, off-topic confession: I seriously fell in love with the apple crumble and custard.  More than once, I went to the Cafe during the week, just to have the custard.  Don't ask me why; I wouldn't be able to tell you.  Something about the sweet custardy-goodness over crispy crumbley crust and apples... yum.

Not a bad view, even if it was a choral concert
 and not an organ recital.

As I had entered the Cafe, I had seen adverts for a performance for that evening of Mozart's Requiem at St. Martin in the Fields and after stuffing myself silly, I went to the ticket counter to inquire about tickets.  They still had tickets available, though only for seats with obstructed views and/or no views.  My response? I don't need to see as long as I can hear.  And boy, did I hear.  It was a perfect way to end my first night in London, listening to the beautiful choral strains of Mozart.

A Year Later

It's been a year since Northern Japan was struck with one of the largest earthquakes ever recorded.  It's been a year since a devastating tsunami swept inland and wiped towns and villages off the map.  It's been a year since the Fukushima Dai-Ichi nuclear plant went into melt-down and sparked the worst nuclear disaster in history.

I remember watching video after video last year, unable to turn away, my heart in my throat.  I remember thinking, it all looked so unreal.  We watch movies and marvel at special effects that look real; here I was, watching something so horrifyingly real, I couldn't comprehend.

Watching the videos of the tsunami last year, I was struck, not only by the horrific scenes being carried out before my eyes, but also the sounds.  Cars scraping and crunching together; houses and buildings sliding away and the constant sound of rushing, black water.  I had never imagined the sounds that would accompany such destruction.  These were not videos shot from a safe distance, high above; these were in the thick of it, to the point that you wondered how the person filming it even survived and you watched, worrying that the witness would get swept away.

The images that followed, the mountains of debris, the crumpled houses, the boats left on dry land or even on top of buildings defied belief.  I got constant email and Facebook updates from friends and family in Japan, describing in chilling detail how awful it was and yet saying that it was even worse, that it couldn't be described, it had to be seen to believed.  Well, we did see and we still couldn't believe.  We saw an apocalyptic landscape beyond anything anyone could have imagined and we couldn't comprehend.

In recent days, newspapers have been publishing photos showing how far the clean-up has come.  The more recent photos of cleaned up areas only seem to emphasize how total, how complete, the destruction was.  What had once been neighborhoods, with tidy houses and postage-sized gardens, you first saw piles of debris filling the screen; the next shot, the debris cleared, you could see for miles, as if the neighborhoods had never been.

There were scenes of hope as well.  A woman, looking dazed and shell-shocked in one photo, reunited with her little boy in another.  A road, sunken and broken, remade.  Children going back to school.  There are signs of life, signs of rebuilding, but they are small and quiet.

Silence, where once there was sound, is deafening.  Vast space, where once there was life, is crushing.  I imagine the silent emptiness and my heart still breaks for this country and its people.  I dream of seeing Japan rebuilt and thriving again but, like so many of those who are still living this triple-disaster, I wonder how long it will take.  The only thing I know for sure, it may take longer than the world is willing to remember but, I can promise the people of Japan, some of us will never, ever forget.

My thoughts and prayers will always be with you, people of Tohoku.  I believe you will prevail.  Ganbare!

P.S. I'm still making pins in support of the rebuilding efforts in Japan.  If you would like a pin, please click on the link below to donate to MercyCorps.

https://www.mercycorps.org/fundraising/lynelletarter

ありがとうございます。(Thank you very much).

Finishing Bath - Day 3, part 2

Bath was my "pillow" city, the place where I got my bearings as I adjusted to the time difference.  My long walk on the Skyline Path the day before meant I missed breakfast at the hotel.  Instead, I had breakfast at a lovely little cafe, tucked underneath the Pulteney Bridge, down the stairs I had explored my first night, and spent the rest of the day basking in the beauty of Bath and enjoying the excellent Fashion Museum.  I spent nearly as much time in the gift shop as I did in the museum, trying to restrain myself from buying the entire shop (I was good, I only bought two books).

The Assembly Rooms (current home of the Fashion Museum)

For a few minutes, while I poked my head in the Assembly Rooms above the Fashion Museum, I imagined ladies dressed in long white gowns (for white muslin was the thing in Jane's time) and men in evening dress, everything all politeness.  But it was too nice a day to stay indoors and I followed my feet back outside to wander some more.

For most of the day, I just wandered.  It was relaxing to have no plans, no schedule to keep, no work to do.  My autumn was a stressful one, filled with lots of things, constantly going from one thing to the next.  This was my chance to just be and I grabbed it with both hands.

The elegant facade of the Royal Circus...

 I ambled through the Circus and around the Royal Crescent.  The Royal Crescent makes me think of Jane Austen novels.  The Crescent was never mentioned in any of her novels, as near as I can tell, but the idea of them seems the epitome of a Jane Austen novel.  So elegant, genteel and refined on the face of it, with class and breeding on display.  All the while, what lies behind is cluttered, angles and rooms and walls going every which way.  Looking at the Crescent from behind, I was struck by how gossipy it looked, as if an elegant lady was hiding her giggles behind her hand or fan.

... the less elegant, but just as interesting, rear.

For the rest of my trip, I found myself fascinated with the "behind" as well as the "front".  Oh, as an aside, that was my one complaint with the Fashion Museum.  Too often, the aspect or detail of a garment that intrigued me was the part that was hidden from view.  I have to get back there and actually book a study table so I can really examine the beautiful garments they have.

Finally, I ended my day with tea at the Regency Tea Room.  Located above the Jane Austen Center, the tea room was the perfect ending to a lovely day.  A couple of scones, some rhubarb-ginger jam, a cup of tea and...

... Colin Firth.

Following the Breezy Call - Day Three

"Ye distant spires, ye antique towers..." ~Thomas Gray

I had little planned for my time in Bath.  Sure, as a Jane Austen fan, I could go to the Jane Austen Center but I'm also a Rick Steves fan and his book didn't rate the Jane Austen Center as a must see.  Anyway, I'd heard or read that Jane didn't particularly liked Bath so I wasn't really there for her.

Now, a friend who has been to Bath (and knows me really well) did recommend the Fashion Museum and that I did see.  But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I found a unique benefit to traveling to England in November.  Sure, the daylight hours are more limited but that also means, you don't have to get up before 5 am to watch the sun rise.  And watching the sun rise over the "antique towers" of Bath (yes, I know Gray was talking about Eton College but I think the terms apply here) was amazing.

I woke about 6:30 and slipped out of the hotel a little after 7.  Before I left the States, I had thoughts of running while on vacation.  Sadly, my running gear didn't fit in my suitcase (I was determined to stick to carry-on size) but I had done some research into where I would have run and in my research, I found something called the Bath Skyline Walk.

The Bath Skyline Walk is a walk of about 6 miles that meanders across various fields, by-ways and hidden places.  It shows you expansive views of Bath and narrow paths.  You'll be joined by locals, walking their dogs, and, maybe even a cow or two (make sure you wear boots, I was really glad I did).

I wanted to get back to the hotel in time for breakfast so I chose to follow the shorter route 3 milr route as opposed to the longer 6 mile route.  It took a little bit of switching back and forth between GoogleMaps and the National Trust map of the walk to get my bearings but just when I was about to despair that I wouldn't find the the trail, there it was.  A tiny little National Trust plaque with an equally small arrow by a kissing gate on Bathwick Hill, just opposite Cleveland Walk.  Now secure, I made my way through the gate.  And found two different paths going in slightly different directions.

I chose the path that seemed to go in the direction I wanted; I needn't have worried.  The paths converged at the next gate.  The path then led through several fields and gates, each with its own view of Bath glowing in the rising sun, its own view of neon pink clouds set against a slowly brightening violet sky.  I found a small farmhouse tucked away in a narrow little valley, never mind that it's on the map.  I still feel as if I discovered it.

I kept my eyes open wide so as to see anything and everything.  I took pictures left and right, up and down.  Whatever caught my eye, I captured, as a photograph, as a memory, no matter if it was lofty or ordinary.  It all seemed extraordinary to me.  A bright red mailbox, set in stone.  The engineering required to build a stone wall with no mortar.  Cables radiating from a pole, against a crystal blue sky.  It was all beautiful to me.

Once past the fields and downs, I was joined by commuters and school children on the paths.  Can't say I would mind walking that route to work everyday.  The path led to narrow backstreets and then I walked past the University and the golf club.

There I found the last main sight on the Skyline walk before descending back into Bath, Sham Castle.  Sham Castle is literally a fake castle, a folly.  And folly is the perfect word to describe Sham Castle.  A single turreted wall, set in a field, reportedly built to "improve the prospect" of a wealthy Bath homeowner.  It just seemed silly.

However, as I stood there, looking at this wall, in a field, no real castle to be seen, I was struck by a sense of whimsy.  The sun seemed to be shining on one side of the wall but not on the other.  The grass really seemed to glow a brighter green on the other side.  It made me think of Narnia and all the gates to other worlds that existed in the Narnia books and for a second, I wondered a couple of things.

One, did C. S. Lewis ever walk the Skyline path?

Two, what would happen if I walked through the gate?  Would I still be in Bath?  Or would I be transported to another, magical world?  Or even worse, what if I wasn't and the magic spell was broken?

I chose not to break the spell, I didn't want to lose the magic.  Besides, I had already walked through the magical door, that morning when I followed "the breezy call of incense-breathing morn, the swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed" (Thomas Gray, Elegy) and found myself tracing steps that dreamers have followed for years.

I Am Arrived in Bath - Day Two

Almost there!

I arrived in Bath, bleary-eyed after the long flight from Vancouver and additional three hour bus ride from Heathrow.  I slept most of the bus ride dozing but each time I woke, I almost had to pinch myself to believe I was actually in England.  The bus made its way southwest from Heathrow through Reading, stopping in Cirencester and Chippingham but always returning to rolling hills, low hedgerows and the occasional country village and, finally, swooping down Bathwick Hill into Bath.

There is something about Bath.  Something beautiful and refined.  I gloried in it as I strolled down Pierrepont Street and across the Pulteney Bridge.  Despite the cars, buses and lorries careening down the narrow streets, there is a feeling of Georgian elegance that permeates everything.  It is a beautiful city, with a warren of streets of warm, golden-stoned buildings.  My hotel, the Kennard, was located in the middle of such a street off Laura Place (where Lady Dalrymple and the Honorable Miss Carteret of Persuasion stayed).

The first night in a trip like this is always best spent acclimatizing yourself to the time.  I like to take a stroll, find some food and generally just keep moving before I crash into a jet-lagged coma.  It's also a great way to get the general feel for an area as well.  As the city quieted down, I meandered side streets and squares and ended my early evening with that most English of customs, tea.  My first tea was a light Darjeeling with a Sally Lunn bun and homemade ginger butter.  The bun was toasted and similar in taste to brioche or shokupan; it was the ginger butter that made it fabulous.  Ginger butter is now on my list of things I want to keep in my life.


On my way back to the hotel, I passed a little staircase leading under a building.  Though still early in the evening, the sun had completely set and it was dark.  Still, I wanted to explore and I was determined on this trip to explore everything that interested and intrigued me.  So, despite the creepiness or maybe because of it, down the staircase I went and discovered a riverside walk that gave me a unique view of the Pulteney Bridge.

Guildhall and Pulteney Bridge from across the Avon.

Hidden byways can lead to magic places.

Once back at my hotel, I enjoyed another English custom via the telly...

Eastenders.

In Transit - Day One

Library Square, Vancouver, BC

Portland to England by way of Vancouver, BC.  I don't make it easy on myself but that was the cheapest flight option when I booked my flights back in February.  I didn't mind; I like Vancouver.  I even chose the longer layover so I could leave the airport and roam a bit.  I thought to go to the Capilano Suspension Bridge for the day.  And, as an added benefit, spending the day roaming Vancouver meant that I might just be able to sleep on the plane.  I love flying but I have to be dead tired to sleep on a plane.

I did actually sleep on the plane a bit; I had stayed up rather late... ok, I'll admit it, I never went to bed that night.  I was trying to finish items that I wanted to take with me, namely a winter coat (it's still draped on my dress form, lining-less) and my Londinium sweater.  I was done knitting Londinium, it just needed to be blocked and buttons sewn on.

Actually, I tried blocking it Saturday night but it was still damp over 24 hours later.  It was taking forever.  I finally unpinned it and tossed it in the dryer (I know, I know, I can hear your gasps from here) on air only, no heat; I had briefly entertained thoughts of putting it in the oven but after the Yarn Harlot's trials with that method (part of her sweater got singed), I was not about to risk it.  Well, the sweater felted a bit in the dryer and shrunk a little but I rescued it before it got too bad.  Unfortunately, it was still damp so I took the unfinished coat off of the dress form and draped the sweater on the dress form and ran for my hair dryer.

I then got a case of the giggles as I stood there, bleary-eyed, "hair-drying" my sweater.  It was was just before my giggles graduated from giggles to full-on maniacal, sleep-deprived laughter, that my cab arrived.  I grabbed my suitcase, my carry-on, the drier but still damp sweater and my "Burberry" raincoat and ran out the door. (Aside: my "Burberry" raincoat is a coat of my design using Burberry material obtained at my last job at the fabric store.  I also have an "Armani" skirt and my new winter coat is a "DKNY" coat.)

The flight from Portland to Vancouver is brief.  You barely have time to get settled in and the "fasten seat-belt" sign is on again.  If you sleep on the plane, the time goes even faster.  I watched the lights of Vancouver, WA as we took off, looked away for a second (fell asleep), and there we were descending into Vancouver, BC.

Because I was leaving the airport, I had to go through immigration in Vancouver.  The immigration official peppered me with questions.  How long would I be in Canada? (One day.) What was I doing in Canada? (In transit, on vacation.)  Where was I flying from? (Portland, OR.)  Where was my final destination? (London.) Why was I flying through Canada? (Air Canada had the cheapest flights).  What did I do in Portland? (I worked for a financial company.) Doing what?

At this point, I was getting a little fed up.  I've traveled many times, to many places and I've never gotten the grilling he was giving me, even in Manila which had the strictest security I had ever seen.  He finally let me through but I couldn't figure out why I had gotten to play 20 Questions with Immigration.  It was only after talking it over with my brother later that I realized, my itinerary, which had seemed the epitome of common sense to me, was actually a red flag to immigration officials leery of possible drug smuggling.  What I saw as a great chance to spend a day exploring a lovely city, he saw as a chance to drop off illicit substances while "in transit."

All I had to do was go from the "i" to the 3.

Guess I'm not as innocent looking as I thought.  And my run in with immigration was just the beginning.

You see, my day in Vancouver didn't go as planned.  It took me a while to get my train ticket and batteries for my camera (I think I walked the length of the concourse at least five times) and ride the train downtown.  Once downtown, I set off in search of Canada Place (# 3 on the map to the right) so I could ride the shuttle to Capilano.  Silly me, though, I did not consult the map when I got off the train and I walked in the opposite direction of where I wanted to go.  Even my many stops at Starbucks (there was, literally, one on every block) to use the free WiFi could not put me straight.  Nor could I figure out Vancouver's bus system.   I walked by Library Square (#7) a lot (see photo above).  After wandering the downtown core for an hour or so, I admitted defeat, gave up my title of Queen of Public Transit, declared it an almost tapioca day and went to lunch.

Chicken with sauteed gnocchi and pancetta with lemon sage sauce.

I then had a very stern talk with myself, determined that I would find the good in the day.  Nothing terrible happened, just some minor inconveniences.  I was on my way to London.  I didn't go to Capilano but I got to know downtown Vancouver better.  Got to go to a nice bookstore (and missed most of the quick torrential rain while in said bookstore), had an excellent lunch.  The prosecco cocktail helped improve my mood as well.  Also the following entry from my journal:

"Trippy moment, sitting in an Italian cafe in Vancouver and hearing Kiyoshi kono yoru (Silent Night in Japanese).  I love traveling."

And, it's true.  I love traveling, even when things don't go just right, I love traveling. But I did learn my lesson.  If you want to wander, by all means wander.  If you want to go somewhere specific, check the map before you get lost.  It will go a lot easier on you.

A Musician in December...

... has limited time.  A musician in December who also knits has even less time.  And if the musician's family is coming to visit over Christmas, well, time is just nonexistent.

In other words, I have been unable post anything since my wonderful trip to London, which I am dying to tell you all about, but, as stated above, I have no time.  Please be patient just a little while longer.

Talk to you soon.