A Week of Europe in One Post - Berlin, Munich, Prague

Well, it's been over a week since I've last posted and obviously I've left Beirut . . . and Berlin and Munich. Today is our last full day in Prague-- tomorrow morning I head home where I plan to stay put, at least for a month or so.

I finished my last day in Lebanon with a trip to Jaita Grotto outside of Beirut which are amazing caverns that are one of the nominees for the new seven wonders of the world and I can see why after visiting. Unfortunately we weren't allowed to take pictures in either the upper caverns, which we walked through, or the lower caverns through which we took a little boat ride but they were spectacular. They haven't done any of the cheesy lighting like I vaguely remember from Luray although they could have done with a few more explanatory signs but no doubt that will come if they make the final wonders cut. On our way back to the hotel to pack, we stopped in Harrisa for some beautiful views of Beirut and Jounieh. At 10 pm it was time to bid farewell to  the middle east and we boarded our Middle East airlines flight for Berlin, arriving at about 1:30 am. Needless to say, my first impressions of Berlin were very dark because I couldn't see a thing.

After an all too brief sleep, we got up and wandered around a little bit, heading for the Dome, walking around museum island and stopping for lunch in a cafe. The rest of the crowd arrived that afternoon and we all headed out for a boat tour down the Spree which was a lovely way to see Berlin. Day two was spent on one of those open top bus tours that went around the city. Unfortunately we only got about half of the tour done that day as we got off at Charlottenburg Palace, which was well worth the stop. Located in what used to be a separate city from Berlin, it is now one of the Berlin neighborhoods and the gardens of the palace are open to the public for free so there were plenty of people just hanging out and wandering. We opted for a tour of the house as well, which was amazing-- in particular the porcelain room. The palace was originally the summer home of Sophie Charlotte, wife of Frederick III. Sophie was a great porcelain collector and there is one room that was designed just to showcase her collection-- thousands and thousands of pieces arranged on the walls and corner shelves according to size and function. Unfortunately poor Sophie died before the room was completed so she never got to see her collection displayed in all it's glory. And unfortunately we weren't able to take photos inside the schloss so you won't be able to see it either unless you find an image on line or visit there someday.

We lunched near the palace and then took the bus to the Check Point Charlie stop where we got off and walked to our hotel which was 6 or 7 blocks away. For some place that was so notorious in the past, Check Point Charlie has none of the intrigue and danger that it had fifteen years ago. Gobs of tourists mob the streets and locals dressed in US Military replica uniforms encourage visitors to get a picture taken with them for a small fee. Needless to say we didn't linger. Plus, we had an appointment that evening for a special tour of what we thought was just going to be the Reichstag but ended up being all the government buildings that we'd admired, albeit from the outside, on our boat ride the evening before. A friend of a friend works for one of the members of the Bundestag and met us for a special behind the scenes tour of the very modern buildings that make up the government offices of Germany. We went into the library, saw Helmut Kohl's office (all former chancellors are offered an office from which to continue working), went into committee rooms and caucus rooms and even crashed a hearing on the Libson Treaty (although they were on break and we ducked out quickly after Jenz said, "Hmmm-- I don't think we should be here."). Berlin has a lot of incredible modern architecture and it was interesting to see how some of the Bauhaus form meets function influence appears in the contemporary buildings that, although not in the style of Bauhaus, still evoke that feeling.

The next morning we continued on our bus tour getting on at Check Point Charlie and off at Museum Island where we went into the Dome and then the Pergamon followed by lunch at a cafe by the Spree. I'd heard rave reviews about the Pergamon from my brother among others and while it was impressive I think if I hadn't been to Baalbek earlier on this trip and if it hadn't been 90 degrees in the museum I would have enjoyed it better. The Babylonia gate, however, was incredible. It alone was worth the admission price so I don't feel too guilty about racing through and then sitting outside with a Berlinerweisser waiting for the others to emerge.

After lunch everyone headed back to the hotel while I hopped on the bus yet again, hoping to head back to Check Point Charlie where I planned on then walking to the Marion Gropius House to see an exhibit on the 90th anniversary of Bauhaus. As it turned out, the tour buses stop running at 6 pm so I had to get off in front of KDV, the enormous Berlin department store that had been the symbol of Western abundance during the Cold War. And I must say, after spending about 45 minutes wandering solely around the sixth floor food hall I would have risked going across the wall for that. It was amazing-- like Harrod's on steroids. I refrained from buying much other than a few gummy bears to share later and hopped in a cab where I arrived at the Bauhaus exhibit with just an hour to spend there so it was a race through but well worth it as the exhibit featured not only images of the architecture but also examples of the artwork, design, etc. that came out of the school.

The next morning we headed out for the long drive from Berlin to Munich, stopping along the way in Wittenburg and Leipzig. Wittenburg is an adorable little town and we spent more time than planned there, just wandering around and going in the churches. In Leipzig we were searching for Bach's house, which we finally found after driving around for a while, only to discover it is under construction and the exhibits have been condensed into one little room that was underwhelming. After zooming down the autobahn, we arrived in Munich and checked into our hotel and collapsed into bed.

A word about Munich-- I'm sure it's a lovely city; however, as they say, first impressions are everything. We were staying near the train station-- a convenient location I guess but not exactly the loveliest part of town with the run down stores, kebab shops, seedy bars, and dingy streets. And I spent my first morning doing laundry, which did nothing to enhance my perception of Berlin. Later in the afternoon I wandered down to Marionplatz which was packed with Saturday shoppers. Sunday it was the glochenspiel show followed by coffee at a cafe after which half of the group went off to do a city tour and three of us headed for the Englischer Gardens where we wandered and then had lunch in one of the beer gartens. I must say, other than Eddie's birthday dinner, which was Sunday night, I also wasn't impressed by the food in Munich either. I guess I'm more of a Berlin girl despite speaking German with a southern accent (people in Berlin couldn't understand me at first with the American southern German accent while in Munich no one had a problem-- didn't realize how much I picked up from my Bavarian college German teacher!).

Eddie's birthday dinner, which was the whole reason that 20 of us were gathered in Munich, was incredible-- great food, wonderful wine, delightful conversation and, thanks to my brilliant idea at lunch earlier in the day to do a seating chart, no drama (which hadn't been the case in the previous days and hours leading up to the dinner).

Monday we left Berlin and headed for Prague where today we wrap up our time here. I really could have spent a lot more time in both Berlin and Prague as they are both gorgeous cities I'd like to explore more. On Tuesday we did a bus/walking tour of the highlights of Prague and then wandered a bit and yesterday I struck out on my own and walked a ton as Prague is a great walking city. I went from our hotel to the Municipal House where I took a tour and fell in love. It is a great example of art nouveau/cessionist architecture and design, which I adore. I may even go back today with George as he's never done the tour before. After the tour I had coffee and cake at the cafe and then headed over to the old square and then to walk along the river, where I took a little boat ride. Unfortunately my camera battery had died so instead of walking across Charles Bridge and visiting St. Nicholas, which had been my plan, I just ended up walking back to the hotel.

Today more wandering and tonight, perhaps one of the many classical concerts Prague has to offer. So that's my last week in brief. I'll post a lot of pictures to fill in the gaps as I'm tired of writing, my lap top is running out of juice, and I'm in desperate need of coffee before I get started this morning.

Ancient Ruins and Modern Politics

Saturday was another day of of outings - to Baalbek in the east close to the Syrian border and then to Beiteddine, in the central part of the country. The drive to Baalbek took us through the Beqqa Valley, also known as Lebanon's bread basket. Where our excursions the previous day had us driving up and down narrow mountainous roads, the Beqqa Valley is flat and fertile with vineyards, orchards, and farms extending to meet the mountains that form the border between Syria and Lebanon. In fact, parts of the Beqqa Valley are Hezbollah controlled so the yellow flag with the green machine gun on the center and pictures of various Hezbollah leaders were prominent on the streets and buildings. This isn't particular to Hezbollah though-- throughout Lebanon you can tell the political stronghold of one candidate or party by the pictures and flags that adorn the buildings in the villages.

Baalbek is one of the most amazing places I've ever seen. Originally it was built as a temple to Baal in about 2000 BC and was then added on to and converted to a temple to Jupiter by the Romans when they took over. In addition the temple to Jupiter, the largest in the world, there is also a smaller, albeit more intact, temple to Bacchus. It is amazing how much of the structure, especially the temple of Bacchus, is still intact given not only it's age but also that it had to survive through various political conflicts as well as several earthquakes (Baalbek lies on a fault line that runs parallel to the San Andreas fault). We spent well over an hour exploring the ruins, much of the time with our mouths open in amazement, and we could have spent longer there if it hadn't been so hot. Baalbek was known as Heliopolis, the city of the sun, by the Greeks and it was apparent why-- not a good day to forget to put on sun screen, which unfortunately I did so I was a little pink when we left.

After leaving Baalbek we drove back through the valley and up into the mountains again to Beiteddine. Meaning "house of religion" in Arabic, Beiteddine is a Druze stronghold (Druze is an esoteric, gnostic sect of Islam) and the highlight of Beiteddine is the palace, built in the late 1700s and early 1800s by a local emir who used the palace as his residence until it was taken over first by the Ottoman government and then later by the French. Today the president of Lebanon holds summer meetings in the palace and, like Baalbek, it's also home to a big music and arts festival which had just ended so they were disassembling the bleachers in the courtyard when we visited.

Today the Ayoob clan is off to the village to visit relatives. I was going to go along but the combination of too much sun yesterday and too little sleep the past few nights led to a migraine this morning so instead I am going to spend a lazy afternoon reading-- perhaps walking over to the pool at the Phoenician (the drawback to the Vendome is that being a boutique hotel there isn't a pool but as it's part of the Intercontinental group we can use the pool at their other hotel, which is just a few blocks away). Not sure what the plan for tomorrow during the day is . . . we leave for Berlin late tomorrow night so most likely my next post will be from Germany so as they say over there . . . bis spater!

It's Not the Heat, It's the Humidity aka Welcome to Beirut

Despite growing up in DC I don't think I truly appreciated that statement until this evening. Although we spent the day outside of Beirut in the north of Lebanon (more on that to come), tonight we decided to head to the downtown area, wander a bit and have gelatto. Despite being 20 degrees cooler than it was in Damascus and being night so there was no sun, the humidity makes it feel almost 10 degrees warmer so by the time we wrangled our ways through the traffic and dark, narrow sidewalks we were drenched. In a few minutes I'll take a shower and climb into bed . . . a bed upon which, as I noticed this evening, is the "extra pillow" housekeeping brought me last night that has a monogrammed pillow case. I didn't pay any attention to it at the time the woman dropped it off -- thought it was weird they were bringing me an extra pillow when I already have 4 on the bed-- but tonight I looked at it and realized the initials on the monogram aren't HV (Hotel Vendome) or even IC (Intercontinental, part of the family of hotels to which the Vendome belongs). Nope-- the intials on the pillow case are TS, which begs the question, do they have premade pillow cases with all the possible combinations of first and last initials or do they make them up each time a guest checks in to this particular room (because neither Eddie nor his mother have the monogrammed pillow-- just me).

But enough about my hotel room (which I adore-- not just for that pillow and the four others but also because it's the shades of robin's egg blue and gold I love) and on to what we did today. As I mentioned yesterday, our first order of business today was meeting the patriarch of the Maronite Catholic Church at his summer residence in Dimane, the mountainous northern region of Lebanon. The drive up was beautiful, at first along the coast and then climbing up into the hills. There were about 15 of us at the meeting with the patriarch. We gathered in a room in the residence and were served strong coffee out of tiny cups before His Holiness came in to the room and greeted each person and then took a seat at the center of the semi-circle of chairs and chatted with a few of the guests while many of us were busy taking pictures. The meeting lasted about 10 or 15 minutes, after which we lingered a bit in the residence before heading off across to the other side of the mountain to the home and church of St. Charbel, a 19th century Lebanese monk who followed the example of the desert mothers and fathers and lived as a hermit in a cave for the last 25 years of his life. Evidently he's a big deal in Lebanon as his picture is all over the place

Our next stop was across the mountain from St. Charbel's, the Khalil Gibran museum in his birthplace (and final resting place) of Bsharri. The museum is built into a rocky hill and was pretty interesting. In addition to being a writer, he was also a painter (although as Dr. Ayoob said, he was a much better poet than painter) so the museum mainly is a venue to display his artwork and some artifacts relating to his life.

We left the museum and headed for the Cedars of Lebanon. Used for everything from mummification in Egypt to the building of Solomon's temple in Israel, the cedars were famous in the ancient world and a lone cedar is the central symbol of the Lebanese flag. What I didn't realize is that there are actually hardly any cedars left. Centuries of deforestation by the Phoenicians, Egyptians, Israelites, Romans, Greeks, Persians, Babylonians, etc. have left very few of the trees remaining. It was sad to look out over the bare hills and realize that at one time they would have been covered with trees for as far as your eyes could see. What few trees are left are protected so we stopped to wander through one of the old groves. The smell was wonderful and in one area, there's a tree that died in 1985 and rather than cut it down, it was stripped and an artist spent 15 years carving various images of Christ into the trees, including one image of the crucifixion with Jesus at the top of the tree hanging on the cross and Mary Magdalene carved below towards the bottom of the tree.

After the Cedars we stopped for lunch at a restaurant overlooking the valley and then drove to the monastery of St. Anthony in Qozhaya. St. Anthony is THE father of all the desert mothers and fathers of the fourth century and the oral tradition states that he came to Lebanon and stayed with his disciples in the cave at Qozhaya. The cave is now a chapel and the monastery is built into the hill-- quite a spectacle to see and even more of a spectacle to reach as we wound down winding, narrow roads to reach it. Not only does the monastery feature the dramatic location, it also houses the oldest printing press in the Arab world that is credited with saving the language from extinction when the area was ruled by the Turks.

Well, it is well past my bedtime here and I realize I haven't been that eloquent in my blog posting tonight so I hope the pictures do justice to what I'm feeling too tired to describe . . .

Sights, smells, sounds and oh so many cars in Syria

Well, it's been less than a week since I landed in Syria and what an eventful four days it's been! I was excited about my journey here because I suspected, and rightly so, that Syria would be the most “exotic” place I've visited in all my travels and I was correct. So what do I mean by exotic? Not only is it the sights (Bedouin fires in the desert seen from the plane) and sounds (Arabic being spoken all around) and smells (sheesha available on every street corner) but also the fact that here there is no mistaking that I am outside the culture. I've been taken for a native all over the British Isles and in various other countries, including Italy and Poland, but that will never happen in Syria and I'm finding it interesting to think about how my obvious identity as an American tourist is affecting the way I am experiencing the country. I usually try so hard not to appear too “touristy” but here, even just walking down to the lobby of the hotel it's apparent so I cut myself some slack and enjoyed playing tourist.

Damascus is reported to be the oldest continually inhabited city and boy is it crowded! It's almost like all those people who have inhabited it for the past few thousand years are still around-- most of them driving or running across the street like a human game of Frogger. The traffic is unbelievable and will just get worse until the end of the week when Ramadan begins. There are no lane markings which is good as lanes of traffic seem to be just some vague notion. Horns are used for communication. Speed limits are non existent, tailgating and cutting people off is common, and it appears that in traffic circles the traffic in the circle tends to yield to the traffic joining the circle . . . at least some of the time.

Fortunately we had wonderful people-- cousins of one of Eddie's clients-- take us around. Eddie, Fehraz and Gassan met me at the airport when I arrived Sunday evening and we came back to the hotel where I took a nice bath and collapsed into bed. Eddie's brother, Sal, arrived a couple hours after I did so Monday morning the three of us met up for breakfast and then were picked up by Gassan and Fehraz and taken to the old part of Damascus where we wandered the streets before meeting up with Ronza, Fehraz's cousin who lived in LA for a couple years when she was a teenager and therefore speaks great English. Fehraz gets by in English and Sal speaks a little Arabic so communication was ok before Ronza arrived but she was able to translate Fehraz's knowledge of the history of places and tell us what we were seeing and experiencing.

Our first stop was the Umayyad mosque, the third most important mosque in Islam outside of the mosques in Medina and Mecca. The story is that the prophet Mohamed stopped outside of Damascus on his travels and saw the city from the hill and said he didn't want to enter it as he knew he could only enter paradise once. The image of Damascus as paradise is portrayed in mosaics on the inside wall of the mosque courtyard. I had to get a special coat/dress thing to wear before going into the mosque, which given that it was probably already over 100 degrees was quite an experience but well worth it to be able to go into the mosque and walk around. The mosque was built on the remains of a pagan temple and the remains of the gate to the old temple can be seen outside the newer entrance. There was also a church on the site and when the Muslims took over the area, they allowed the Christians to continue to worship in part of the courtyard for almost a century. In fact, the main part of the prayer hall contains a shrine dedicated to John the Baptist as his head was purported to be discovered buried there. So now I've seen the shrine where his head is and his index finger (in Florence) so I only have a few hundred body parts left to go.

We were at the mosque during the time of the mid-day prayer so as we walked around the courtyard we could hear the prayers coming from inside. The mosque also has the shrine of Hussein, the prophet's grandson, so it's a pilgrimage site for the Shi'ite so we saw some pilgrims there from Iran. The shrine of Saladin is also right outside the mosque gates but as I'd already returned my “special clothes” I couldn't go in and see the tomb itself.

After leaving the mosque we walked through the famous old souk or market area where in one part the tin roof is speckled with holes left by celebratory gun shots in the early 20th century making for an interesting lighting effect as you walk through. Though we didn't do any shopping Monday morning, we did stop for some of the famous vanilla ice cream covered with sliced pistachios that the souk is famous for and it was very sweet but very delicious. After walking around the citadel, which was closed for construction, we then got back in the van and headed to pick up Ossama, another cousin, and Sandrella, Fehraz's wife. We all then went to Seidnaya in the hills outside Syria. Famous for a picture of Mary supposedly painted by St. Paul (there were so many pictures of Mary in it that I'm not sure which one it was though), the church was built to honor Mary the Mother of Jesus because a gazelle said to do it. Obviously there's more to the story than that but I can't remember the details at this point. Suffice to say, it's a beautiful and holy place that also now houses a convent and the sanctuary of the church is filled with more crystal chandeliers than Liberace could have ever dreamed of—I've never seen anything like that.

After leaving the church, we, unlike the prophet, are obviously able to enter paradise more than once because we were taken to what Fehraz and Ossama said was the most famous restaurant in all of Syria called, of course, Paradise. And indeed it was. From the gardens and fountains as you enter to the misters that kept the outdoor seating area cool, to the endless variety of food that was continually brought to the table, it was heavenly. We started our meal with beverages and little dishes of nuts-- the best almonds I've ever had along with two types of pistachios. That was followed by dishes of various green salads, tabbouleh, creamy hummus, great smoky babba ganoush, olives, pickles, a big bowl of cherry tomatoes, warm puffy pita bread, this delicious dish that's a cross between yogurt and cheese-- all wonderful and all stuff from which I could happily make an entire meal. And then came the kibbeh and the pastry with the cheese inside and the little sausages and the skewers of meat and grilled vegetables. I had said that on this trip I would consider eating meat and poultry, especially if it was in a circumstance where it would be rude not to accept someone's hospitality and this was definitely one of those cases . . . and it was delicious, especially the grilled chunks of chicken in this yogurty buttery sauce. Yumaroo. All this was followed by what was probably my favorite part of the meal-- huge platters of fruit for dessert-- a big dish of grapes, a platter of dark, dusky plums, a small plate of cactus fruit, which are similar in texture to a pomegranate but taste completely different, peaches, pears, apples, watermelon, and then small bites of Turkish delight and some sugary pistachio-y concoction.
After dinner we were deposited back at the hotel-- very full but also very worn out after a long, hot day so we retired to our respective rooms and I rejuvenated by taking an hour long bubble bath which is my idea of paradise.

Tuesday morning were were met again by Gassan and Ossama and we headed for Krak de Chevalier, an old crusader castle and according to people like Mark Twain and the travel writer Paul Theroux, one of the best castles in the world. It was an amazing place. The original outer tower pre-dated the crusades but after the Christian knights (Templars and Hospitalers) took it over they extended the outer walls and then built an amazing defensive fortress inside the original walls. We had a tour guide who led us around and told us about the history of the place as we took picture after pictures of things like the armory, the stables, the dining room, the bread oven, and even the loos.

After Krak de Chevlaier we drove back towards Damascus to stop in Maalula, which is a Christian Aramaic speaking town in the hills. There are several old churches, monasteries and convents in the town and we visited two-- the convent and shrine of St. Thekla, and the monastery of St. Sergius. While the shrine of Thekla was pretty cool, the church at St. Sergius was the most amazing church I've ever been in. It dates back to the early fourth century and they have the oldest Christian altar there pre-dating the council of Nicea. Instead of a flat table, as decreed at Nicea, it's shaped like a pagan altar with raised sides. In pagan temples the sides were raised to catch the blood from the sacrifices and then there would have been a hole in the middle through which it drained although since Jesus was the sacrificial lamb the altar didn't have the hole in the middle. There was a lovely guide there who grew up speaking Aramaic and gave us an example of what is sounds like by reciting the Lord's prayer in its original language-- that was an amazing thing to hear. If my camera battery hadn't been dead I would have asked her if I could have recorded that-- it gave me chills. There were also some interesting icons in the church, painted by a famous Greek iconographer from the 18th century, including one of John the Baptist looking very relaxed with his legs crossed because his work to proclaim and baptize Jesus was done (guess he didn't see the whole Salome and off with his head thing coming). After buying a few post cards we headed back to Damascus, stopping in the new city to have schwarma at this little hole in the wall place that had great food but no power when we first arrived. Evidently in parts of the city the power supply is spotty at best and can go out suddenly. About ten minutes after we arrived the power came on in the schwarma shop where we were eating but went off at the place next door.

Our final full day in Damascus was spent seeing a few more sites in the old city and doing lots of shopping. Eddie and I got up early and took a walk to the museum a block away from the hotel. We were just going to look at the outside but they have a huge garden area filled with artifacts - pieces of Corinthian columns, mosaics, sculputre, etc. so we got tickets and walked around for a bit before heading back to meet Gassan, our faithful driver, and Fehraz who was our escort for the day. Before shopping Fehraz took us to an old building that had been a market place and sleeping quarters for merchants that's now used as a place for special events and then we spent some time wandering around Azem palace, and 18th century dwelling that was the private residence of the governor of Damascus. Although not as old as other buildings in the "old" city, it certainly was gorgeous and well worth the visit not only for its beauty but also for the exhibits in the various rooms of the palace where you could learn more about the everyday life of the Syrian elite-- quite luxurious!

After leaving the palace we did a little shopping for spices and trinkets before heading back to the hotel to rest for a while. Fehraz had to go to work for a few hours so we took the opportunity to nap, swim, etc. A quick aside here to give my wholehearted endorsement to sunscreen. While I did get a little bit of color in the UK last month, I'm still pretty pale but with 30 SPF sunscreen I was able to spend 90 minutes in the Syrian sun by the pool without so much as a tinge of pink. It actually wasn't that bad despite the fact the forecast said it would be 101 outside. I alternated sunbathing with swimming laps so it was the perfect way to relax before round two of shopping which included a trip to Fehraz's favorite sweet shop which was incredible. The way the souks are organized in Damascus is that there will be one lane that's all spices, another lane that's all textiles, another that's cookies and candy, etc. The sweet shop we were in was packed so we knew it must be good-- people stocking up for the Iftars, big meals that occur during Ramadan.

With our wallets practically empty and our bags full, we then went up Jebel Qaissioun, the rocky mount that was my view from my hotel window. From there we, along with probably a quarter of the 6 million other people in Damascus, took in the nighttime view of the city below at night. There were tons of cars lining the lane and people sitting and having picnics, enjoying the view. It was like a circus with fluorescent toys and cotton candy vendors and even a neon outlined little train ride. We opted for the adult activity of going to a restaurant and having tea while looking at the view. Tea, however, wasn't going to cut it for dinner for the men so we went to Fehraz's favorite place for one of his favorite dishes, ful, a fava bean salad that can be eaten plain or with yogurt. I opted for with yogurt because of my love for the Mediterranean type of yogurt (I've been in heaven here with all the fruit, plate of crudite that are brought with meals and of course, the yogurt). The cafe was yet another hole in the wall place or actually a better description would be hole under the overpass as it was on a corner of a busy street with an even busier street above. The tables were set up on an expanse of sidewalk and cement by the street and under the overpass. It was awesome and a perfect way to end our time in Syria.

Today we did the drive from Damascus to Beirut. The border crossing was uneventful, which was a good thing. The only snag was that despite what Eddie's travel book said, we had to pay an exit tax. Our driver didn't even realize this so we got up to the window at the Syrian departure area and were sent back for not having the correct paperwork. It was a little snag though and only held us up about 15 minutes. It was amazing how when we crossed into Lebanon the landscape changed-- suddenly there were trees and more greenery and even the buildings look different-- more of the European influence. Our hotel is a block away from the Mediterranean and is gorgeous. Tomorrow will be the first full day in Lebanon and evidently there is a lot planned so I'd better get to bed as I have to be up early to go meet the patriarch of the Maronite Catholic church, which will be our first stop. What does one wear to meet a patriarch I wonder? We'll find out tomorrow, for now, time for bed.

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Look at all these shoes!

It's 7:30 am on Tuesday morning and as I type this I have most of my luggage unpacked, one load of clothes in the wash, and I'm overwhelmed by the outfits, and especially shoes, from which I have to chose after showering this morning. There's something to be said for living out of one, what I've now been told is not large but rather medium sized, suitcase for 4 weeks. Getting dressed is a much quicker proposal.

The weekend in London was great despite it's miserable beginnings. Shortly after the drive to London began I developed what was probably the worst migraine in my entire life. I unfortunately missed all the scenery on the way into the city and it wasn't until we were approaching our hotel that I could even open my eyes. Our suite wasn't quite ready when we reached The Soho Hotel (located in, of course, Soho) so I sat at the bar with sunglasses on and had a Coke (one of my migraine relief medications of choice) while the boys went off to meet a friend who lives in London for lunch. Fortunately by the time I was through with my drink the room was ready so I was showed upstairs to our suite, which was awesome but I didn't really take time to look at it then as all I wanted to do was shut the drapes, climb into bed, put a pillow over my head, and sleep for a bit, which blissfully I was able to do.

Fortunately I was feeling better by the evening because I would have hated to miss dinner at the Cinnamon Club. As I mentioned in my last post, it's an Indian restaurant set in the old Westminster Public Library building. Unfortunately there was a private party going on in the room that still has the books but the main dining room was quite nice as well and the food was out of this world. I highly recommend it for anyone venturing to London who wants a nice, fairly upscale dining experience. After dinner we went back to the bar at the Soho and had a couple drinks before hitting the sack.

Sunday we woke up to a glorious sunny day which dictated our plans. Since it was so nice outside, we walked to Waterloo Station where we took the train out to Hampton Court, Henry VIII's palace (and later, William and Mary's palace). The palace sits about 10 miles or so from central London on the banks of the Thames and, in addition to the palace buildings themselves, has huge gardens, part of which are open to the public without having to pay an admission fee. Needless to say, there were a lot of people taking advantage of the glorious weather and hanging out in the sun. We went through the palace (yet another recommendation if you're in London and go to Hampton Court - skip the audio guide - while the one at Holyrood was fabulous and easy to use, the one at Hampton Court was confusing, difficult to follow and not all that informative). One of the most interesting things they've done to reinterpret history, at least in my opinion, is in the banquet hall they have long tables set up with table clothes into which facts about royal dinners during the time of the Tudors have been embroidered-- tidbits such as the average courtier would have eaten between 4000 - 5000 calories per day, of course much of that was probably consumed in the form of beer and wine, the beverages of choice. And meat-- they ate tons of meat and little, if any, vegetables and fruit. I would have been screwed-- drunk, but screwed.

We wandered around the palace for a bit before deciding we needed some Tudor inspired food from the cafe. Ok, so it was just sandwiches and crisps and chips but still, it was nice to sit in the sun and refuel before we attempted-- and quite successfully-- to make it through the Hampton Court hedge maze. On our way out it was approaching closing time so we decided to go back and see how long the line for the special exhibit on Henry's women was. It is the 500th anniversary of his succession to the throne and Hampton Court had put together a special exhibit with portraits and memorabilia relating to all his wives. When we earlier went by the room where it was housed the wait was over an hour so we skipped it but later in the afternoon it was about half that long so we decided to see it. Again, while it was interesting, HC has a lot to learn about museum design and presentation. Everything was in one cramped room with only one entrance/exit so people were cycling through very slowly. There was definitely a better way to set it up but it was still interesting to see all the wives together and read about how/why each was chosen and what their fate was (divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived).

Sunday night we had yet another great meal in London, this time at a Lebanese restaurant overlooking The Green Park. Monday morning we had a bit of time to kill before our car to the airport picked us up at 1:30 so we headed over to the Royal Academy to see the John William Waterhouse pre-Raphaelite exhibit, followed by a far to quick foray into Fortnum and Masons where I could have easily spent an entire day rather than just 30 minutes. And I was rather proud of myself for exercising extreme restrain and only purchasing one tin of tea for myself-- a smokey Earl Grey which I will try shortly. As I told Daniel, there has only been one other time in my life that I've wanted to be filthy stinking rich-- when looking in the windows of the Fred Leighton store in the Bellagio in Las Vegas-- but Fortnum and Mason's evoked that same feeling in me. I could have easily dropped a ton of money in there, if I actually had a ton of money that is.

So, now I'm home and have to prepare today for the next adventure, which occurs in less than two weeks. Today it's off to the Syrian embassy to meet Eddie so he can get the visa application process moving. Also more laundry to do, mail to go through, pictures to edit and upload, etc. Ahh the joys of returning home. It was nice to see the family though, and as I mentioned earlier, I'm overwhelmed and overjoyed when I look in my closet.

Now off to make a cup of tea! Next post from Syria in about 10 days time.

Sense and Sensibility

Well, on Wednesday I reluctantly bid farewell to Hawarden and hopped the train for Winchester. I must say, I prefer the Welsh landscape to the English, at least the part of England that particular train ride took me through-- not as inspiring as the lush green fields and hills of Wales.

Winchester, however, is a cute little town and my hotel was right next to the Cathedral. In fact, I could look out my window and see the north side of the church. Evidently Wednesday night is bell ringing practice so I was treated to a concert for about 2 hours. I arrived too late on Wednesday afternoon to actually go into the cathedral so instead I walked around the pedestrian shopping area for a bit before retiring to my room for an early start on Thursday morning.

Daniel and Eddie were picking me up in Winchester on Thursday so I got up early, packed, had breakfast (ahhh-- yogurt and fruit how I'd missed you after the carbs only selection of toast, cereal or porridge at St. Deiniol's) and then went to wander in the cathedral. It's a Norman rather than Gothic cathedral and I must say I think my preference is shifting to that simplicity of architecture. Inside it is quite grand. I only really had time to look around the nave but took note of many of the details-- the medieval floor tiles, the carvings on the pews in some of the side chapels, the corbel carvings, etc. Based on personal experience of watching visitors to Washington National Cathedral for the past almost 8 years, I've noticed many people focus so much on the big, grand and obvious that they miss the small, simple and subtle expressions of iconography but that's what I've found myself focusing on in recent weeks. Hmmm-- have to think about that some more and figure out what lesson there is to be learned there.

After paying homage to Jane Austen's grave, I wandered around the cathedral close until I got the text message that Daniel and Eddie had arrived. We hit up Starbucks to get them caffeinated and then I checked out of the hotel and we got in the car to head towards Petersfield. I did make a brief stop on the way to the car to run into St. Swithun's Chapel, which is a tiny chapel built into the gate that was the original entrance to the grounds of the cathedral close. Winchester Cathedral was originally a Benedictine abbey and the thought is that St. Swithun's was a chapel for the lay workers in the abbey. It was quite lovely-- a place I'd visit often if I lived in Winchester.

On our way to Petersfield, we made a brief stop at another Austen pilgrimage destination, her house and museum in Chawton. There were two places Jane really considered home, the rectory in which she grew up that burned down in the 1820's and the house in Hampshire given to her and Cassandra and her mother by her brother, where she lived for the last 8 years of her life and revised her earlier works and wrote her later novels. The house contains Austen memorabilia, my favorite bit being the little table where she'd write each morning.

From Chawton we headed to Andy and Jo's to pop in and say hello. The bride to be was off getting her nails done when we arrived but the entire family was there. Lucy, Andy and Jo's 19 month old daughter, was toddling around being quite entertaining. In addition to being adorable-- big blue eyes and white blond curls-- she's also incredibly smart and verbal. If you didn't know better, you'd swear she was going on 3 instead of 2.

The wedding party had rehearsal at 3 pm so we hit the road to go check in at our respective inns in Buriton, 2 1/2 miles away. I got settled and was just getting ready for a quick nap when Eddie texted to say their inn was closed until 5:30 so the boys came back and hung out in the pub with me until they could get checked in . . . that should have been a warning sign about how they'd find the Five Bells . . .from the rooms smelling like cigarette smoke to non-working showers, it was just one fiasco after another but unfortunately there wasn't another place for them to stay. They finally were able to nap and then shower in Andy and Nick's (the best man's) room after which we all, in addition to our friend Nicholas who had arrived earlier from London for the wedding, had a dinner that was remarkable for the conversation and unremarkable for the food, also at the Five Bells (note to chefs: risotto isn't just the Italian word for rice-- it's a method of cooking that isn't supposed to resemble Uncle Ben's in any way, shape, or form). Nicholas and I followed up dinner with a drink at the Master Robert, where we were both staying.

We were up by 8:30 am the next morning for breakfast and while Andy and Nick walked down the road to meet us, Daniel and Eddie stayed in bed. They were finally up and moving by 10ish so we piled in the car to head for a nearby National Trust property with the intention of wandering around the gardens and having lunch in their cafe. Unfortunately, it was closed when we arrived as was the other nearby National Trust house we checked out on the web so instead we drove back to Petersfield where we had lunch in a cafe and then had to race back to get ready for the wedding.

The wedding itself was lovely as was the reception. Jo looked gorgeous, Andy was beaming, and everyone was having a wonderful time. I skipped out of the reception about 10ish as I was on people overload and came back and had a nice long bubble bath and read my Marie Claire before climbing into bed. This morning I need to finish packing up and we head to London at some point-- waiting for a PING from the boys. I'm looking forward to dinner tonight at the Cinnamon Club-- an Indian restaurant in an old library-- definitely my type of place!

Why I Love Train Travel in Britain

After leaving my adapter in Llandriddod I finally was able to pick another one up in Llandudno so I'm able to blog once more. As you may have noticed, there are lots of place names beginning with "Llan" in Wales. Originally Llan meant an enclosure and later was used as to indicate a parish church so Llangollen is the church of Saint Colleen, Llandudno the church of Saint Dudno, whoever he was, etc.

But enough about Llans. For my first post back I just wanted to take a moment to sing the praises of my Britrail Pass. Purchased in the US for a mere $400 and some odd dollars, it has given me unlimited train travel for 8 days in a one month period-- allegedly. The thing is, if you look at my pass, it looks like I've only traveled three days because most of the conductors haven't bothered to date it. So thus far here is where I've been on said pass:

• London Heathrow area (took a bus to a station) to Chester
• Hawarden to Edinburgh
• Edinburgh to Abergavenny

Abergavenny to Fishguard
Fishguard to Llandriddod
Llandriddod to Hawarden
Hawarden to Llandudno
Llandudno to Chester (I missed the train to Hawarden on my return today-- don't ask)

Wednesday will be Hawarden to Winchester and then Thursday, unless Daniel and Eddie pick me up, Winchester to Petersfield. So, more than 8 days of travel and much more than $400 worth of train travel (over 400 pounds in fact-- I just added it up).

Train travel in Wales appears to serve two purposes in addition to being used as an actual mode of transportation-- for families, it's a mobile picnic without having to worry about weather, insects or where to find a loo. Mothers seem to pack sandwiches for any train trip, no matter how long. (Another tangent here - yet another reason to love the UK is their love of sandwiches. I love being able to get an egg and cress or tuna and cucumber sandwich anywhere at any time and not have people look at me like I'm weird. And the plethora of reasonably tidy public bathrooms are also wonderful but I guess that's needed in a tea and beer drinking country . . . but more to come on that.) Once you've outgrown picnicking with the parents on the train, it appears to transform into a form of cruising for teenagers that doesn't require a drivers license. Groups of teens board the train at one Llansomething and disembark several stops later at another Llanortheother with no apparent purpose. And then, when you're old, it's back to the picnic again but this time you only have to pack a sandwich for yourself.

Traveling by train across most of Wales (I've only mentioned my beginning and ending stops, not all the in-between destinations stations I've either passed by or had to change at-- Shrewsbury, Wrexham, Shotton, Milton Keynes, Warren Bank Quay, Crewe, Cardiff . . .just to name a few) I've managed to see a good bit of the countryside, from the hills of middle Wales to the southern and northern coasts. If you can go there by train in Wales, chances are I've been there or at least close to it.

When I left Fishguard on Friday I was hoping to be able to take the train through the southern part of the midlands but unfortunately the train schedule is synched with the ferry schedule that goes back and forth to Ireland (I was tempted but resisted) so in addition to St. David's not working out (the bus schedules are apparently not linked to the train or ferry schedules as they stop running for about 90 minutes mid-day) neither did my plan to travel on the mid-Wales line the entire way north. But that's ok because the bit I did see was gorgeous. And Llandriddod was well worth the stop. It's a cute little Victorian spa town with old hotels framing the town square which contains a small garden, a smaller bandstand, and a grassy area where some standing stones -- either a Victorian folly or a rediscovery of ancient artifacts-- once stood. My hotel was an arts and crafts building that was originally built as the rectory for the church next door-- a rectory that could sleep 200 people! I never did read why they thought they needed a space that large-- must have been a popular priest.

After I checked in I wandered around town which took all of 7 minutes (later I did discover there was a lake a bit outside of the main part of town but I was pretty knackered at that point and didn't have time to check it out the next morning). I stopped in at an Indian restaurant and had dinner and then took a nice bubble bath and enjoyed some bad British television before retiring for the night. I can't figure out when all the good Britcoms I watch at home, thanks to a combination of BBC America and my brother, are on here. So far all I've found is Emmerdale and some news programs, neither of which really interests me.

Saturday morning there was time for another circle around town and a poke in some of the shops before I had to walk the two blocks to the train station and head back to Hawarden. It was so nice to come back here but a bit strange with all the familiar faces gone. Even two of the volunteers who were here when I was attending the course had departed although Donald is still here so it was nice to be greeted by a friendly face.

Sunday was a rainy day so I scrapped my plans to head into Chester as it was the perfect day for being in the library. I camped out at one of the desks on the gallery level.. The main part of the library is two stories with the gallery running along the top. The book cases in the entire room run floor to ceiling, including along the narrow walkways from one long side of the gallery to the other. Woe to anyone, like say a visiting American, who needs a book on say, Welsh spirituality and poetry, from the very top shelf of the middle of the row of bookshelves on that narrow part of the gallery. Yes, there are ladders to help you reach books that are up high on the shelves, and yes there is a railing around the gallery-- about 2 feet high with warnings not to lean on it because it's rickety. But somehow the two don't seem like they should mix. I braved it, however, turning the ladder sideways (figuring if I fell it would likely be backwards and then I'd just land in the aisle rather than over the side-- and, as I told a dinner companion last night-- if I fell over the side at least it would have been an exciting way to go-- not everyone could say they died reaching for a book by Oliver Davies in Gladstones Library in Hawarden, Wales, in fact I suspect no one can stake that claim to fame, fortunately including myself.) As it turned out, I actually only had to go up a step or two in order to reach the book I needed. I was quite proud of myself when I finished but unfortunately no one was in the library to witness my feat of daring and courage. It won't be repeated though-- everyone will just have to take my word that I did it.

I managed to get all the reading I wanted to do for my poetry paper done on Sunday so I was feeling very pleased with myself. I even had time to poke around in the bookshelves a bit. Think of 33,000 books at your disposal-- and books that you'd likely not come across in your local library. When I was looking for a couple books by Welsh poets I turned around an in the English Victorian literature section noticed a gazillion books by a woman called "Mrs. Humphry Ward." They had wonderful titles such as, "The Testing of Diana Mallory," "The War and Elizabeth," "Daphne," and "The Mating of Lydia." Intrigued, I noticed a biography of Mrs. Humphry Ward in the same section and pulled it out to look through it (it will be my bedtime reading tonight). Evidently she was the niece of English poet Matthew Arnold and wrote quite a few novels in the Victorian and Edwardian eras. I'm hoping I can find her books in the library at home.

Today I woke up to a beautiful sunny morning so I rewarded myself for my good behaviour and productivity yesterday with a trip to the seaside, Llandudno to be exact. Yet another Victorian town on the Welsh coast, Llandudno has hotels, shops, tea rooms, a promenade along the sea lined with palm trees and flowers, and a big pier that extends out into the ocean and houses tacky souvenir shops (although not as proliferous or tacky as in say Ocean City), arcades, rides for kiddies, and various booths selling edible treats. At the end of the pier is a lower level fishing pier where, as in the US, the men were all out fishing but not actually catching anything. I had fish and chips and mush peas sitting at the end of the pier in the sun and then treated myself to an ice cream cone, with the intention of walking back to the beach and hopefully catching a performance of Punch and Judy while eating my ice cream. Alas, neither was to be because I missed the noon show and the next performance wasn't until 2pm and even if it had been earlier, a very cheeky sea gull swept down and took the upper 3/4 of my ice cream right out of my hand. He grabbed it from the ice cream part as well (there was still a lot left) which was even more brazen of him. If I weren't so impressed with his chutzpah, I would have been more upset because it was really good strawberry ice cream. But it did provide amusement for the elderly people and the gaggle of teen aged boys sitting on the promenade who witnessed the tragedy. I thought about getting myself more ice cream later but resisted the temptation.

Now back to the loo issue. While I loved Llandudno as it enabled me to live the British childhood I'd always imagined but never had (I did forgo the pony ride on the beach and playing in the sand although I'm sure I could have if I really wanted to), one thing that really impressed me about the pier was the bathroom. If you've been to Rehoboth or Ocean City or any other seaside town in America and have had the misfortune of having to use the public restroom, you know it can be an experience that takes you a while to recover from. Imagine, if you will, a public restroom that is not only immaculately clean but also has tile decorated with cute Victorian bouquets of roses and stained glass windows running along the upper part of the wall just below the ceiling. That alone, makes the trip to Llandudno worth it. (I guess I need a guy to visit Llandudno and let me know if the same holds true for the men's room.)

On that note, I think it's time to turn in and learn more about Mrs. Humphry Ward. Good night!

From North to South and East to West in One Post

Despite not having internet (or even mobile for that matter!) access at Esther’s I decided I’d still begin my morning by writing and just post these blog entries later in the week when, hopefully, I’ll be back in Hawarden. OK - internet access now so I'm posting four days worth of blogging below . . .

We left Edinburgh early Monday morning on what promised to be yet another beautiful sunny day for those who remained in the city. Becky departed the train at Carlisle to head on to Manchester for her flight home while I continued on to Abergavenny in southwest Wales to meet Esther de Waal, with whom I would be staying for a few days. On the trip from Crewe, where I changed trains, to Wales there was a young boy-- maybe 8 or 9-- who was taking a day trip with his grandparents. They were headed to Ludlow for the day and although I’d never even heard of Ludlow, much less desired to spend a day there, after an hour on the train with this kid I was beginning to change my mind. I must remember to look up Ludlow later and find out more about it as any town that would provide “the best day of my entire life” for an eight year old boy must be worth knowing about.

I met Esther in Abergavenny and we made a brief stop for her to run errands in town while I looked around St. Mary’s priory and an exhibit on the history of the area set up in one of the former priory buildings that has been converted to a café and exhibition space. Abergavenny has quite the past. The priory church, in particular, is really remarkable. It was built shortly after the Norman conquest of 1066 and inside there are more effigies than I think I’ve seen in one small church. The most remarkable site, however, is the statue of Jesse, carved out of a single tree that dates back to the 1500s. Evidently it used to be part of the carved wooden reredos or altar somehow but now lies on a stone slab at the front of the church. Considered one of the jewels of medieval British art, it was recently on loan to the Tate and one of the women from the church who was in the visitors center told me that they felt quite bereft and missed him while he was away from home.

Upon leaving Abergavenny we drove to a Welsh craft cooperative with a little patio and a wonderful view of a local holy mountain, the Skerrid, where we had a picnic and did some catching up. We then proceeded on to Cwm Cottage, Esther’s home, via some narrow, windy, hedge lined back roads so that I could get a sense of the rural area in which she lives. The borderland in this area is a truly remarkable landscape with gently sloping fields hugged by the Black mountains. The clouds seem to be suspended from the sky by invisible lines that simply float them in place, almost like scenery in a stage production. Add to that the speckling of sheep and a handful of cows thrown in for good measure and that’s the borders for you.

Esther’s cottage is quite lovely. There is the main house and then The Pottery, a little building down towards the rear side of the garden, where I am safely ensconced. In fact, I am now sitting in the main room at a table by the window facing the garden watching the rain fall and having a cup of tea. We spent a good deal of yesterday afternoon in the garden. After depositing me at The Pottery, Esther left me to have a little nap and then, just as I was waking up, came and knocked to tell me the girls were back if I wanted to come out and play. The girls are Esther’s niece, Bridget, and her two daughters, Erin - 6, and Leah - 3, who are staying until Wednesday. Another woman from down the lane, Tracy, who is back from the summer while her husband is on a tour of duty in Afghanistan, was also over with her two boys and daughter so the kids were having a good time playing Frisbee and sword fighting with plastic sabers as we sat and watched. Esther brought me a stack of books of Welsh poetry to peruse so I have my work cut out for me while I’m here!

After a bit we all trudged off down the hill to the old mill where Bridget’s parents, Esther’s sister and her husband, lived until two years ago. Esther is looking after a neighbor’s chickens and cats so we had to make the rounds of the animals, which the kids enjoyed, and then we stopped by two tree swings that are set up near the mill and stream for them to play for a bit. While the mothers and kids finished playing and headed off back up the hill in one direction, Esther and I continued walking by the stream as she wanted to show me the waterfall that I can hear from her garden. I’ll have to walk back when it’s not raining (I’m hoping the rain is just a temporary thing) and take pictures because it is truly lovely.

Upon returning to the cottage, the one set of kids headed home while the girls played outside in the hammock . (Erin is quite the daredevil, or as Leah says, “a silly billy.” ) I read a bit in the sun and watched them until they went off to eat their dinner. As Bridget got them ready for bed, Esther and I sat in the garden and had drinks and got the Cathedral updates out of the way. (As she said earlier, she was dying to know what was happening but wanted to wait until she had a drink in hand.) We also talked about the course I’d just finished and a bit about the poetry aspect I was hoping to get but didn’t-- which she is going to provide over the next few days. I’d mentioned I was sorry to miss Donald Allchin’s input. He was scheduled to lecture, as I may have mentioned before, and was unable due to health reasons. So she rang him up and put me on the phone and we had a nice chat for 15 minutes or so about everything from R.S. Thomas really being an unhappy man to Donald being in a car with Thomas Merton when the news that Martin Luther King, Jr. had been shot came on the radio. It was wonderful conversation and gave me some ideas to work with for my paper that is due out of this course. Today evidently Esther is going to schedule another phone conversation for me, this time with the Anglo-Welsh poet Ruth Bidgood so after I finish this I am going to reread some of her poetry and come up with some questions to ask her.

Dinner was lovely as Bridget, Esther and I sat around the table and talked about everything from travel to books for teenagers (Bridget works in the library of what in the US would be the equivalent of a middle/high school), to genealogy. At times there was no conversation at all-- simply the sound of the sheep in nearby fields, the waterfall, and the chubby yellow and black birds who frequent the bird feeder outside the kitchen door. All in all, a lovely evening. I collapsed into bed wanting to read but too tired and despite waking up at 5:30 am as I have been doing since I arrived in the UK, I laid there listening to the rain for another hour or so. Now time to make some toast to go with me tea and attack the stack of books that are sitting on the table. More to come after today’s adventures . . .

My next to my last day - perhaps - with Esther but definitely my last morning in the Pottery. Today Bridget and the girls leave and another friend of Esther’s arrives so I’m moving into a room in the house so Susan can have this space. It seems Esther’s calendar is just as packed with friends and visitors at home as it is when she’s in Washington. The difference is here on the borders, she plays chef, chauffeur and tour guide as well as mentor, teacher and friend.

Tuesday morning after a couple hours of reading I went to the house for coffee then we all piled in the car to head to Abbey Dore. Fortunately when Leah packed teddy bears for the car she thought to bring three so there was one each for Erin, Leah and myself to hold for the short ride. Along the way we stopped so Esther could pick up her e-mail. She pulled into the parking lot of an inn/pub and stopped the car at the end of the lot and beginning of a winding road that led up the hill, presumably to a house. In the corner of the drive near the field was a dilapidated structure that we, left in the car when Esther got out, weren’t necessarily paying any attention to until Erin asked where great-aunt Esther was going. Bridget responded, “She’s going to a visit a friend who lives here to get her e-mail messages.” At that Erin bemusedly replied, “Her friend lives there?” Bridget and I both looked up to see Esther entering the shack and moving boards before pulling out a Tesco bag obviously containing her printed out messages. Bridget and I started laughing and were still laughing when Esther got back in the car. When we explained what was so funny, Esther told Erin that she was countercultural in picking up her e-mail messages from a shack and that while she might not understand what that means now, some day she would and she hopes she’d appreciate it and perhaps be inspired to be countercultural as well. I don’t know if Erin will be the countercultural one but I suspect Leah might be picking up messages from a falling down shed one day in her elder years . . .

Abbey Dore, a Cistercian abbey founded shortly after the Norman invasion, is quite lovely and quite a juxtaposition as it’s set next to an SAS training area. While we weren’t interrupted by any military maneuvers while visiting, as we were leaving the area later in the afternoon there was a Black Hawk circling the area for quite a while. What was occurring in the abbey was a craft/art show and music festival. The choir was rehearsing when we arrived and the south aisle was filled with pottery, paintings, photos, wooden trinkets, etc. Fortunately I could still get a sense of the structure and the apse area was clear of crafters. It was interesting in that they’ve taken bits of the broken architecture discovered during excavations and renovations and laid it on the floor in the apse, some with explanatory signs. There were several boss stones and some bits of arch as well as a green man and the head of a stone monk, who’s twin is still firmly ensconced outside in the abbey wall.

Esther showed me some of the highlights of the abbey including the reredos and the altar table, complete with a crude wooden drawer in the front of it that would have held relics. The church is now a parish church and even on a rainy Tuesday morning, there were people from the community visiting the craft fair and looking around. Esther introduced me to a member of her book club, a retired Methodist minister and his wife. He just discovered the poetry of Mary Oliver so we were chatting about her. He asked if she was married and when I replied she had been with her partner for many years before her partner died, he asked if her partner was a woman. When I replied yes, he said delightedly, “Oh wonderful! I’m so glad to know she has led a happy and fulfilled life.” When I told Esther later we were saying how amazing it is to have that kind of enthusiastic response from an elderly retired male minister in the Herefordshire.

We left Abbey Dore and headed to meet Bridget and the children, who’d taken off walking from the abbey to the nearby house and gardens of a friend of Bridget’s parents. While Bridget visited with Charis, Esther, the girls and I wandered around the lovely gardens, which are open to the public, and then down to the river. The gardens were truly amazing. I wish I’d taken photos but I was too caught up in enjoying them and in watching the girls race around. Every so often one would take one path through the garden and the other would take a different route and when they arrived at the convergence of the two paths they’d squeal and give each other a big hug. It was so sweet. I should have taken a picture of that to give to Bridget so she could show it to them when they’re 13 and 16 and, if they’re like other sisters, fighting like cats and dogs.

After a brief stop to pick up eggs (out of a friend’s garage where you pick the eggs and place the money for them in a tin) we came home and had lunch and then retired to our respective abodes to read. Well, I alternated between reading and napping. Esther had loaded me up with books yet again so I spent time reading about Alfred Watkins and ley lines, dozing, and reading more Ruth Bidgood, with whom I am having a phone conversation in about 35 minutes.

At 4:30 I went back to the house for tea with Simon McGurk, who is an English Benedictine associated with a monastery nearby but who, ironically, is the temporary prior at St. Anselm’s in Washington, DC. I’d heard of Simon but hadn’t yet met him and he is a delightful man. We were joined a short time later by another friend of Esther’s from the neighborhood, Marion. What a character! She’d been to Peru last January and Simon was in charge of establishing a monastery there a few years ago so they were chatting about Peru. Marion had been there in part to escape the Herefordshire winters and in part to study Spanish. She explained that she’s going back this coming January not only because she enjoyed it, but because of her Spanish teacher-- at which point she whipped out a photo album and opened it to a picture of her standing with two Peruvian gentleman. To give you the visual image-- Marion kind of reminds me of a hobbit. She’s short, probably in her late 60’s or early 70’s, very forthright with a clipped English accent, and a bit of a gruff, somewhat deep voice, and, it seemed evident within the first few minutes that we met, she tends to say whatever came into her mind> She also possesses a quick sense of humor and eyes that, when she smiles, disappear into narrow slits in her tanned, wrinkled face. Top all that off with brow hair that’s looks like it’s been cut by placing a bowl over it and you’ve got Marion. So imagine Marion with, on her left, a short Peruvian man of obvious native Indian extraction and on the right, a tall, very handsome, very dashing looking Peruvian of obvious Spanish extraction who looks more like a matador or tango instructor than a Spanish teacher. As I looked at the picture, Marion’s eyes sparkled (well at least what I could see of them) with glee as she asked if I could guess which one of the men was her Spanish teacher and why she was eager to return to Peru. I told her if I could get him as a teacher I’d be more than willing to brush up on my Spanish!

After tea I took a brief walk as the sun was finally shining and discovered I can get phone service at the top of the second hill in the lane leading to Esther’s so I stood by the side of a field of sheep and e-mailed home and then sent an inquiry to a hotel in Fishguard Harbor where I’m hoping to spend Thursday and Friday. I need to walk up the hill later and see if they’ve responded. At dinner last night with another friend of Esther’s, Anna, we were talking about sacred sites in Wales and she told me that I could get a bus from Fishguard Harbor to St. David’s so now I’m even more eager to get there as I was afraid I was going to have to miss out on seeing St. David’s as there’s no train that runs near there. I’m keeping my fingers crossed . . .

Dinner was another lovely time of great food and conversation. The girls were still having story time in front of the fire when I arrived so I sat and listened while Bridget read to the three of us (she was even kind enough to show me the pictures as she read!). I had bought a children’s book about St. Melangell and the hare at Pennant Melangell and someone asked me who I was giving it to or if it was for me. I told them at the time I bought it because I sensed I was going to find a little girl who would enjoy it and indeed I found two so I brought it to the house and gave it to the girls so Bridget included that in story time. Anna arrived and the girls were carted off to bed and we grown ups sat around and talked in front of the fire a bit before moving into the kitchen for dinner. Anna works in the local branch of a national organization that provides art therapy (as well as other types of therapy) for people who have sustained some sort of brain injury or compromise due to stroke, accident, illness, etc. She is also an artist and interested in ley lines, sacred geometry, poetry, etc. so it was fascinating conversation. After dinner we retired back to the sitting room for more conversation in front of the fire which continued after Anna left until we realized it was well past our bedtimes.

So now I’ve packed up everything but the books Esther has given me and am getting ready to move abodes. I’m looking forward to the conversation with Ruth this morning and can’t wait to hear what she has to say about poetry, perspective, pilgrimage, and a host of other questions I have for her. Then I don’t know what adventures we have planned for today-- I think perhaps another trip into Abergavenny but we’ll wait and see . . .

We’ll it’s now Thursday afternoon here in Wales. I’m safely ensconced in my hotel room in Fishguard Harbor, which was somewhat of an adventure but more of that momentarily.
First to finish up my time at Esther’s. Wednesday morning I had my phone conversation with Ruth Bidgood which was simply amazing. If you haven’t read her poetry, I highly recommend it. She was telling me she didn’t really start writing until she was in her 40s when she moved back to Wales after having left to attend university in England. It was a wonderful conversation about landscape, photography (she’s an amateur photographer), sense of place, sound, language, and some of her favorite poets. At the end, Ruth told me that when I’m back visiting Esther we need to make a point of going to visit her so we can meet face to face. When I was filling Esther in on the conversation she was thrilled with what Ruth shared with me and the questions I asked her.

After the call was over, the girls and Bridget walked me to Rowlestone church to show me the church where not only Esther attends, but also where Bridget’s parents were married, and where she and Erin were christened. It’s a Norman church and has an interesting arch over the altar in that there are angels at the bottom of each side of the arch but on one side they’re upside down. No one seems to know if that was on purpose or if the carving was just installed incorrectly but there it is. The girls went to get ice cream for us to have for lunch while I stayed and sat in the graveyard and just soaked up the atmosphere.

Susan arrived at lunch time. She and Esther were at Cambridge together and she is a delight. After lunch she and Esther took Bridget and the girls to the train station and they went to an exhibit in Abergavenny while I took a walk and then went back to my room, this time in the house, to read. Anna came over for tea later in the afternoon so we had another chance to chat.

In the evening, Esther, Susan and I headed out to dinner at the home of Rupert, an art dealer who formerly lived and worked in London and has spent the past couple years opening a gallery/garden/art center on the boarders. His gardens and gallery are incredible-- Saturday he begins a show of work by Eric Gill and so we had a sneak preview. After looking around the gardens and exhibit we went to the house where he was getting ready to make dinner. He wanted to make vegetable risotto but hadn’t ever made risotto before so he asked if anyone knew how. I, of course, volunteered (risotto being my comfort food) and he played sous chef while I did the cooking. It was wonderful as the vegetables and herbs came from his garden. That, along with a salad, some smoked fish, a couple bottles of wine and fascinating conversation (Rupert is quite entertaining and knowledgeable about local history) and it was a grand evening.

This morning after tea and toast, Esther deposited me at the train station and we said a quick farewell as she hates good-byes as much as I do. My final destination was, as I mentioned earlier, Fishguard Harbor on the far southwest coast of Wales. A friend of Esther’s Ann, who I’d met briefly at the Cathedral, was picking me up at the train station and taking me to the tourist information office to find a hotel and then for coffee. Unfortunately the town is so crowded (although I don’t quite know why after having walked around the town a while ago . . .) that the tourist information office warned me it might be hard to find a place to stay. Indeed, the first hotel we tried, which is the largest in town, was completely full. I finally found one that had one room just for tonight so I took it and figured I’d figure out a plan for tomorrow night later. After checking in and dropping off my bags, Ann drove me back up the hill into town and we had coffee and chatted for a bit. She then headed home to get ready for guests and I wandered around the town to get a feel for it. It sits high on a hill above a harbor and the Irish sea. To get the full effect and contribute to the atmosphere, I got fish and chips and took them to the marine walk, a winding path that runs along a cliff overlooking the harbor. I sat on a bench and ate while greeting all the dogs who were being taken on their afternoon walk. After a quick stop in the hotel I then walked down to the water and along a jetty to take some pictures and sit and write for a while. Now I'm back in the hotel room hoping for a fairly early evening although it's already 9 pm . . .

Tomorrow morning I’ll get up early and go to St. David’s and do a quick through the cathedral before coming back to catch the afternoon train to mid-Wales, as far as Llandridod Wells, a Victorian spa town in mid-Wales, where I’ll spend the afternoon and night. Then Saturday morning back to Hawarden and St. Deiniol’s where I’ll spend my time using the library, writing and maybe doing a day trip to Llandudno, another Victorian town this time on the coast.