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.

Nae Haggis Fer Me Dontcha Ken

Well, it's our last night in Edinburgh. Since our arrival Thursday afternoon we've gotten in our 5 miles of walking per day (over 6 many days) which may not seem too bad until you realize that Edinburgh is a city built on a handful of hills and that for some reason it seems like anywhere we wanted to go it was up hill.

After our big night of tea and Duran Duran on Thursday, Friday morning we got up and headed over to the Royal Mile to do the Real Mary King's Close tour. As Edinburgh was a walled city, as well as one built on a hill, as the city population grew, the town expanded up and down rather than outward. In the past decade many of these underground dwellings in the various closes (narrow alleys that ran between the buildings and neighborhoods) have been excavated and a handful offer tours-- often ghost tours although we did just the regular tour but did hear a couple tales of ghosts along the way.

So I lied. After the tour we did walk downhill to Clarinda's, my favorite tea room in Edinburgh. After a lovely lunch we then proceeded to the bottom of the Royal Mile to visit Holyrood Palace, home to the Queen when she's in town as well as former residence of Mary Queen of Scots and all those Jameses that were the kings of Scotland over the years. Another change in the ten plus years since I've been here is that devolution occurred and a new Scottish parliament building has been erected across the street from Holyrood so that was a shock to see-- very modern opposite the centuries old-- quite a contrast.

The palace itself was as lovely as ever and has a wonderful audio tour now. The day we were visiting the Queen's archers were having a shoot off against the archers of Arden and we witnessed them being piped into lunch. We were hoping to see some of the competition after we finished wandering around the palace and the abbey ruins but it was raining and they were obviously having a leisurely lunch. As I’ve only been to Scotland in November and March, the gardens of Holyrood were never open but they were on Friday so despite the drizzle we walked through and chatted for a while with one of the tour guides who was from Leith and recommended a good restaurant in Newhaven for us to visit on our trip there.

For dinner Friday night we headed over to Rose Street, part of the Georgian section of town. Rose Street is lined with pubs and restaurants and we ate at Milnes, another Edinburgh tradition although it hasn’t remained as good as Clarinda’s has-- it seems to be the place a lot of locals go to drink rather than eat and it was packed. After dinner we wandered around the new town area of Georgian townhouses until the rain drove us back to the hotel.

Saturday was another gloomy day when we woke up so we decided to focus on an indoor activity for the morning and made our way to the National Museum of Scotland. We arrived before it opened so spent a few minutes saying hello to the statue of Greyfriar’s Bobby and then poking around in the cemetery at Greyfriar’s Kirk. Becky bought a book on the underground tour about what life was like in Edinburgh during that time and part of it had freaked her out a bit as the last couple chapters were ghost stories. One particular ghost, Bloody MacKenzie, was said to make his way from the graveyard at Greyfriar’s so of course I had to hunt down his tomb, which was really quite impressive. There were also a ton of gravestones carved with skulls, bones and skeletons on them. I don’t remember that from before.

The National Museum is yet another new building since I was here last. Before the collection was in a museum off Princes Street in little cases with objects labeled that was quaintly dated. Now, the new construction is very modern and the displays are interactive and edgy. We looked at a bunch of the iron age artifacts with new appreciation after Jennifer’s lectures last week and also went through the section on modern Scottish life but just breezed through the middle section as we wanted lunch and the Witchery awaited.

The Witchery and its Secret Garden is yet another Edinburgh culinary tradition and it was every bit as lovely and delicious as I remember-- pea soup with pesto, fisherman’s pie and a nice glass of chenin blanc. Scrumptious. After lunch we tried to visit the castle but after waiting in line for tickets for about 20 minutes and not moving much, we bagged that and headed to the Whisky Heritage Center. Again, more changes in town-- while the barrel ride still exists, it’s been revamped into a high tech display of how whiskey is made followed by a tasting and then visit to the world’s largest collection of whiskey which is stored at the Center. It was informative but I must admit I miss the stuffed dog from the diorama display in the old barrel ride.

After a bit of shopping we returned to the hotel room and ventured out later to make our way back to the castle to see if we could hear any of the Simple Minds concert. Of course, it started raining as we left the hotel and by the time we got to the Royal Mile there was a torrential downpour. We sheltered under the overhang at the Missoni Hotel with a bunch of concert goers and tourists. After waiting for about 20 minutes or so, we decided to head back to the hotel as the rain let up a tiny bit and the music still hadn’t started. Of course, the minute we got to the end of the North Bridge and I remarked that we really should be able to hear at least a tiny bit of the concert from there, the first strains of music started but by that point we were far too wet to stay around and listen. Instead we came back to the room, changed and went to dinner in the hotel bar.

This morning we decided to treat ourselves to breakfast at Clarinda’s, only to discover they opened 30 minutes later than we thought so as we wandered and waited for them to open, we discovered a tiny public park setback off one of the closes at the lower end of the Royal Mile. We walked around in there a bit and then visited the cemetery at the nearby church (I have a thing for old cemeteries). After breakfast, we tried the castle again--- and again the line was humongous-- even longer than the day before so we gave up.

It was such a glorious morning-- sunny and warm with blue sky, that we just walked around and took some photos and did a little shopping before coming back to the hotel to dump our stuff and head to Leith, the waterfront area of the Edinburgh. Leith was lovely-- cool condos on the river, lots of restaurants, evidently the hot spot to live in Edinburgh right now. We walked around a bit and then trudged over to Newhaven, which is a fishing village and harbor area and where, per the guide at Holyrood, we ate lunch at the Peacock Inn. If you ever get to Newhaven I highly recommend the “ladies portion” of haddock and chips. After that it was bus ride back to the hotel and we’ve been packing up and getting ready to catch a very early train tomorrow. Becky heads for the Manchester airport while I head for Esther’s on the border of Southern Wales and England. I’m there for a few days and then, if there is space available, I think I’m going to head back to St. Deiniol’s for another week to do some writing and take a few more day trips around Wales. After the hustle and bustle of Edinburgh, it will be nice to have some peace and quiet again. I won’t have computer access at Esther’s so adventures from there will be posted after I get to my next locale. Until then, enjoy the pictures of Edinburgh in the sun as it’s a rare site!

Hungry Like The Wolf

You may wonder why I've entitled this entry with the name of a Duran Duran song. Well, the blurry picture attached is a crowd surrounding Simon Le Bon, lead singer of that wondrous 80's band, as he was exiting the Balmoral Hotel heading for an outdoor concert at Edinburgh Castle.  You can just make out his tiny (in the picture at least) blond head to the left of the doorman in the tam.

We arrived in Edinburgh yesterday afternoon after a cattle car packed train ride from Hawarden to Waverly Station (we didn't get seats on the main train until we reached Carlisle-- ugh). The Lake District and Scottish border countryside was just as gorgeous as I remember though but Edinburgh is another story. Maybe it's because it's summer or maybe it's how the world has changed in twelve years but the city is dirty, lots of construction, very very touristy (in terms of shops, restaurants, etc.-- more so than I remember). There's even a dungeon tour that includes two "rides" created to induce fear-- sort of tower of terror type of rides. It's becoming Scottish Disneyland and I don't like it one bit. Nope-- not one bit.

So in order to recapture some of the civilized aura of the place, we decided our first stop in town after checking into the hotel would be to visit the National Portrait Gallery which is a lovely, dignified museum . . . that is closed until 2011. Alas. In lieu of artistic culture we opted for culinary culture and went for tea at the Balmoral. That isn't when we spotted Duran Duran though. That happened when we were walking back from strolling the Royal Mile and Princes Street Gardens in the evening and noticed a small crowd with cameras and paper and pens gathering outside the entrance to the hotel. I suggested we linger to see who was going to exit (we weren't sure we'd even know who the person was as chances were it was going to be a British celeb). John Taylor exited first and while I knew he looked familiar, it didn't connect-- maybe because people weren't going crazy over him, which is odd given he was the one all my friends went crazy over back in the day. Next came the guitarist who has taken Andy Taylor's place-- don't know his name. Then came Mark Ronson, famed producer and DJ/musician (also brother of the infamous DJ Samantha Ronson of Lindsay Lohan/Samantha Ronson fame and he has another sister whose name I can't recall off the top of my head who is a fashion designer -- Charlotte maybe?). Of course, I didn't recognize Mark Ronson and neither did a lot of people as he put a guitar in the car and then came over by us to smoke a cigarette. A few people were having their picture taken with him and Becky asked if I wanted to do the same but I said no because I had no clue who he was at the time. He was actually much taller and cuter than he seems in his pictures. I missed an opportunity- darn. After Mark came Nick Rhodes-- poor guy. He's still rocking the make up but sister is looking harsh. A little Norma Desmondish. Finally Simon Le Bon emerged and they all headed off to the gig. I looked up the concert when we got back to the hotel and was thrilled to see that Simple Minds is playing on Saturday. We're going to wander up the Royal Mile on Saturday night to see if we can hear any of the concert. And I wouldn't mind being outside the Balmoral to see Jim Kerr emerge. Ahhh . . . memories of the 80's. If only this city was like it was two decades ago . . .

This morning off in the rain for a tour of the Real Saint Mary's Close - one of the underground sections of town. Then, depending upon the weather, it's either the rest of the Royal Mile or maybe the Royal Museum which will be interesting given our lectures last week on the Iron Age in Britain.

Mold and Saints - Not to be Confused with Moldy Saints

Mold-- you may have discovered it on two week old rolls or that piece of Parmesan forgotten in the dark corner of your fridge. But I bet you've never discovered Mold, the little market town in northern Wales. You know how you can tell how some towns are going to be from their names? Victoria, BC is quaint and English and a bit dated just as you'd expect. Berkley Springs, WV is a bit on the hippiesh new agey side with the springs and spa in the center of town. And Mold . . . well let's just say we found out why, when we said we were going to Mold on our free afternoon, people from around here looked at us with raised eyebrow and voiced a puzzled inquiry,"Mold? Really? Are you sure?"

On Monday afternoon after our morning lectures by Jane Cartwright, head of the Celtic studies department at University of Wales, Lampeter (where I was heading to work on a PhD before I decided to opt for the more practical DMin degree at Wesley), we had a couple free hours. More about that momentarily. First a few words on Jane's lectures. I must admit, I am a haggiography geek. As she was talking about obscure Welsh saints, patterns in haggiography, sources of stories, iconographical evidence to support the stories in various churches, the process of locating sacred wells-- well, let's just say I started thinking, "Hmmm , maybe a PhD in Celtic studies wouldn't be such a bad thing to start next year . . . " I soon came to my senses-- that is until she passed out a brochure about a special offer for the MA in Celtic Studies which is an on-line degree that would cost about as much as two semesters at Wesley. Hmmm. I'm still thinking about that one . . .

After the lectures, Joe, Becky and I hopped on the bus to Mold. Why, you might ask, in this area of Wales with all the lovely town names such as Penyfford, Breton or Rhydymwyn, did we chose to go to a place presumably named for microscopic fungi? Well, after we got there that's what we were wondering as well. Joe had read somewhere that Mold offered a great Welsh shopping experience. And granted, there were shops and they were Welsh. Great, however, is debatable. Maybe it's different on market days but basically it was just an ordinary, somewhat drab small town. We did a little shopping and then walked up High Street to St. Catherine's Church, which unfortunately was closed. As we wandered back to the bus station it started to rain and the heavens opened just as we dashed under the shelter to wait for the bus back to Hawarden.

On the way home, we stopped at the Hawarden Brasserie for dinner. In this little town that consists of about 10 blocks and one main street, there is a remarkable restaurant that's been written up in area gourmet magazines for its wonderful food . . . and it was indeed wonderful. So nice to have options for dinner. I had a fabulous mushroom soup with taragon and what tasted like garam masala followed by a pan seared salmon with roasted veggies. Wash that down with a nice glass (or three) of chenin blanc and a dessert sample of four desserts shared by three people that included an incredible strawberry panacotta. Scrumptious. After we came back to the Library, there was a lovely harp concert in the common room. It was not only entertaining but also educational as the harpist talked about the development of the harp, especially the Celtic harp (although she played a classical harp for us). After that, I was so relaxed I had to go straight to bed.

Yesterday was our final day of excursions. We first visited Oswestry, the remains of an iron age hill fort. These forts were built on tops of hills (thus the term hill fort, obviously) surrounded by a series of walls and ditches that would protect those inside the enclosure from attack . . . unless the attackers decided to come in the back door of the fort, which were usually pretty accessible. We went in what would have been the front entrance which was quite steep. At the top of the hill on the flat part, which would have been surrounded by walls, there would have been round houses nestled up against the walls which were the domiciles of the people. Animals, food, etc. would have been housed in small square buildings more in the center of the enclosure. As Gareth pointed out, the series of ditches that surrounded the fort would have been about twice as deep as those we saw and the walls twice as high during the times the forts were being used but over time the earth has slipped into the ditches. Nevertheless, it was quite impressive. The photos don't think it do it justice.

After leaving Oswestry, we stopped briefly at a church whose name I can't pronounce - Llanrhaeadr ym Mochnant which was the parish of the man who first translated the Bible into Welsh-- a remarkable feat as in later centuries it provided a standard for the language, which was dying out after the Act of Union with England, and enabled a resurgence of Welsh language and culture. We then headed on to Pennant Melangell, pilgrimage site of Saint Melangell.

The story of Saint Melangell is one that was new to me, but one with which I immediately fell in love. Melangell was a princess from Ireland who fled that country when she decided she didn't want to marry the guy her father had picked out for her. She landed in Wales and was hiding out for fifteen years on land belonging to the Prince of Powys. One day he was out hunting with his hounds and they came upon a hare. The dogs started chasing the poor thing, who ran into a thicket where Melangell was praying. The hare ran up under her skirts for protection. When the dogs saw Melangell, they were unable to move, struck immobile by her aura of holiness. The prince asked her for her story and was so impressed with her piety that he granted her a parcel of land to set up a community of nuns whose mission would be to provide sanctuary. The shrine church of St. Melangell's has been rebuilt over the past several centuries on this land and is now a pilgrimage site, with people walking the pilgrimage route over the Berwyn mountains or driving up the narrow road lined with fields of sheep, and, the day we were there, literally hundreds of pheasant (we had to stop several times as they tottled across the road in front of the bus).

Adjacent to the church is a center set up for sanctuary for those who have cancer and their care givers. It offers pastoral care, support groups, retreats, spiritual direction and just a place to get away. The women who work there had prepared a lovely lunch for us and after dining outside in the garden we then went to the church to look around. There were some amazing 2000 year old yew trees on the grounds amidst the cemetery. I had no idea yews got that large-- I'm so use to seeing them as just hedge or shrub sized at home. I can understand why yews were considered sacred trees by the Celts (they're often found in church yards in the British Isles. There is something very sacred about them. We had time to wander in the church and churchyard before gathering for a service in the church. After that, back to the ladies for tea and cake and then more time to wander before heading back to St. Deiniol's. On the way home, we drove through the Berwyn mountains which provided some amazing scenery through the bus windows.

Dinner at the Library was followed by a lecture on the Welsh poet R. S. Thomas. I quite like his poetry but never realized he was such a miserable man. Although he was well liked by his parishioners, he really looked down on them and some of his poems are down right snarky and cruel. He also never smiled-- in every single picture we were shown and in those that I found on line, he was always scowling, even as a young man. I think he needed to get to the pub more often. We certainly needed to go to the pub after that lecture so Joe, Becky, Laura and I headed off for one last pint together at the Fox and Grapes.

This morning we had the last two lectures of the course . . . well some people had two lectures. Joe and I skipped out on the very last talk to walk to the Hawarden Estate Store as he had to leave for Manchester right after lunch. We were given permission/encouragement and even instructions on when to skip and what to buy by Gareth so we didn't feel too bad about skipping. It was a gorgeous day and a nice stroll to the store, which from the outside looks like a giant fruit or vegetable crate and inside had an assortment of delicious local meat, cheese, produce, jams, jellies, baked goods, etc. as well as speciality items from all over Britain. I bought some bread and cheese for Becky and I to have for lunch tomorrow on the train. Yum-- can't wait.

After Joe departed, Becky, Laura and I headed into Chester. Laura hadn't been there yet so Becky and I played tour guide, showing her the Rows and the Roman Wall. We also decided to tour the cathedral because although we'd been in before to go to the gift shop and use the loo, we hadn't really seen the nave. Just a side note here . . . one reason the British are so wonderfully civilized, I'm convinced, is the availability of public toilets. Almost every little town has public loos that are convenient, clean and easily accessible. I guess it's a necessity though in a culture that survives on tea and beer.

The audio tour of the cathedral was wonderful. It was interesting to see a 1000 year range of art and architecture as well. The original church was build in 1092 and part of it still survives. In one transept there's a thousand year old Romanesque arch and in the other, modern silk banners and a big paper sculpture of Noah. But it all works. There are some interesting tidbits in the Cathedral that I never would have learned about without the audio tour. It was where Handel first rehearsed the Messiah. There is a spider web painting-- a Madonna and child painted on an actual spider web. One of the carvings in the choir is called the elephant and the castle but the elephant is really odd looking because while the wood carvers in the fifteenth or sixteenth century had heard of an elephant, they'd never actually seen a depiction of one so they had use their imaginations and carve one based on what they'd heard. One of the most interesting things I saw, however, was a boss stone in the lady chapel that depicted the martyrdom of Thomas Beckett. It was unusual in that it still existed. Evidently when Henry VIII broke with Rome he sent his minions around to all the cathedrals and churches throughout the land to destroy any images that might encourage other people to follow the path of resistance and martyrdom, which included many images of Beckett. Evidently Henry's men didn't look up, however, because they missed this image at Chester.

Well, it's now 10:45 pm here and I'm almost done packing. I'll finish up in the morning and after breakfast, we'll head to Edinburgh. After over ten years away, I'm excited about going back. Next post, providing we have internet access at the hotel, from Scotland. Stay tuned . . .

Monks, drunks,and skunks

It has been a full and interesting weekend . .. not over yet-- after this afternoon's excursion a visit to the pub tonight is definitely in order but more about that later.

Ok-- actually I just got back from the pub. I started typing this earlier and pictures weren't loading so I couldn't post. Went to the pub for a pint and back by 11 pm. This definitely isn't the Mullet on a Sunday night where 11 pm they're just getting started. . . Wales in general seems more quiet and reserved-- Celts in a different way than the Irish or Scots. Maybe because they're closer to the English in physical proximity or perhaps the lingering results of the enforced union but definitely a different vibe. But enough on that . . .

Yesterday was another day of excursions. We drove back towards Llangollen to Valle Crucis Abbey, the remnants of a Cistercian abbey set in a beautiful valley surrounded by rolling green Welsh hills and, right next door, a caravan park. For those non-Anglophiles, caravans are campers or motor homes and a popular way of having a holiday in the UK so it was interesting to drive up and see a field of people camping with their RVs right next to the abbey ruins. Nonetheless, it is a picturesque setting and very serene. It would be lovely to live here and indeed, before the abbey existed there was a village of what were presumably happy Welsh families living in peace and harmony. Then the Cistercians came over after the Norman conquest. The Cistercians are like the Greta Garbos of the monastic orders-- they just want to be alone. So the church accommodated their desire for being apart by throwing the Welsh villagers off their land and giving it to the monks to build their abbey. Ahhh the medieval Catholic Church. More about them later.

After departing Valle Crucis, we headed to a little Church of Wales church, Bryn Eglwys (Bryn means hill in Welsh and Eglwys--pronounced Egg-lewis-- means church and it was, indeed, a church on a hill) where we were met by the former rector, Margaret, who welcomed us and led us in a very brief time of prayer and singing. After telling us about the church she told us about the retreat ministry she and another woman who is the current rector at Bryn Eglwys, started several years ago. In addition to having a retreat center located a few miles away (we stopped there for lunch and it was lovely-- very cozy and homey and delicious lunch including a table full of different types of cakes to go with the tea and coffee), they also have a non-residential community of people who live according to a simple rule of life according to what they understand are the basic principles of Celtic Christianity.

Unfortunately we didn't have much time to chat because we had to board the bus and race to Llangar Old Church before it closed at 2 pm. It was a bit of a hike to the actual church, which was interesting primarily because of the remnants of wall paintings that were uncovered during some restoration. Evidently these paintings, unlike frescoes in churches in Italy for example, were painted on dry plaster with the idea that they would be temporary and when the church started getting a little grungy, the wall would be white washed over and new scenes painted. Consequently, not much of the work survives as it either flaked off as the plaster below the paint got damp and buckled, or it was painted over. The varying layers of images are able to be seen on one wall where the frames that are of an earlier date are painted over with a scene of what looks like a castle but is supposed to be Jerusalem. On the opposite wall are the remains of the painting of seven animals and it is conjectured that they are supposed to be the seven deadly sins. I was hoping for something more dramatic than animals when I read the seven deadly sins were depicted at Llangollen so I was a bit disappointed but there was a nice looking skeleton on the wall opposite the animals.

After Llangar we left for Rhug Chapel (prounounced Reeg). It's an example of a church that bridges the Elizabethan and Jacobean periods and was quite different from the churches we'd been seeing-- the interior had a lot of intricate wood work that had been painted rich colors. The ceiling was decorated with gold stars and cherubs on a midnight blue background, there were carved and painted wooden angels that looked like American or German folk art dotting the walls, and the carvings on the bottom of the pews were very Celtic looking. It just happened that Saturday there was a medieval craft display and fair where artisans were showing a bit of life in the middle ages. There was a blacksmith, basket weavers, spinners, people with weaponry, etc. It was a nice little diversion. I learned that stripping blackberry and holly branches, while painful work, yields stems that are purple and green and make a beautiful basket. I refrained from buying a blackberry basket (for blackberries, not made out of-- these particular artisans were working solely in willow) but did buy a few small skeins of hand dyed and spun wool for what in the US would be a steal.

On the way back to Hawarden, we stopped for a quick 45 minute break in Llangollen. A few of us were all churched out so we headed to a pub on the canal and had a quick drink on the deck overlooking the water. While we were standing there, a group of Morris dancers who had obviously been appearing at the Eisteddfod came in and they left about the same time we did. They over heard one of the women say she lived in New Jersey and they stopped her and said they did a dance called "The Rose of New Jersey" and said they'd perform it for her if she helped them. Evidently they do this frequently to unsuspecting women, just changing the location depending upon who their victim is. We were taking pictures and got the inside scoop from a couple of the group who weren't dancing. At the end, they lift the woman into the air and spin her around so while Becky and I knew what was going to happen, Laura was surprised, but a good sport, as you can see from the pictures. It was hilarious.

Although it was a long day yesterday, we had a lecture after dinner by archaeologist Jennifer Foster on the iron age Celts, which was fascinating. Nothing like pictures of bog bodies and stories of head hunting and human sacrifice by the Celts to keep you awake and entertained during a lecture. One interesting thing we learned is that the Iron Age Celts loved their wine-- they'd import great quantities from Italy or France, trading goods or services for it. And their beer as well. Caesar wrote about the Celtic fondness for the drink almost 2000 years ago and little has changed during that time.

This morning we had two more lectures by Jennifer-- one on Celtic Life and Society in the iron age and another on Iron Age Celtic religion. I love all that archaeology stuff so I found it fascinating. Last night I was talking to her husband, Martin, also an archaeologist, at dinner and he was telling me there is an iron age site that's been recreated right near Petersfield so I'm hoping to get there at the end of the month when I'm in that area.

After lunch we had yet another excursion planned-- this time we headed for St. Winifred's Church and Well, a popular pilgrimage site known as the Lourdes of Wales. Winifred was the niece of St. Beueno (whose site we visited earlier in the week). The story goes that Winifred decided to go into a convent which didn't go over well with her intended, so he took his sword and cut off her head. It rolled down a hill and where it landed, a spring appeared. Lucky for Winifred though, she had a saint for an uncle and thanks to Beuno's prayers, Winifred's head and body were reunited and she miraculously came back to life and lived for another decade or so as a nun and abbess. The well where her head landed became known for its healing power. Today was special in that the church had arranged for a Latin mass and procession to the well and we were to attend both. Big mistake. I mentioned earlier the Catholic church in the middle ages . . . that's where a majority of the people who were attending would have been right at home obviously. The music was lovely. I quite like the smell of incense so that was lovely. The Latin was amusing (no wonder the medieval Christians were superstitious and clueless-- there was no way of knowing what was going on in the service) even if the whole thing was incredibly patriarchal and clerical in terms of leadership. That still didn't get me angry enough to leave. Nope-- that was the sermon that did that. In fact, over half of our group, including Gareth, the staff person from St. Deiniol's who was with us, walked out either during or right after the sermon. Evidently, according to the priest who preached the sermon, this special day honoring Winifred was a great opportunity to speak about the evils of secularism, Isalmism and modernism. I never heard him get to modernism but that's quite alright as the first two were bad enough. Basically it was the most hate filled, ignorant, intolerant, thing I have ever heard. Rush Limbaugh is a bleeding heart liberal compared to this guy. He used words like "Mohamadism," "infidels," and the phrase we all enjoyed as Prostestants, "the scandal of the Reformation." As one of our group pointed out, it was the scandalous Reformation that allowed him to preach because before the Reformation, Rome had outlawed homilies. It truly appalling and archaic and antithetical to everything Celtic Christianity stands for-- so in that respect it was a learning experience, albeit one I don't ever want to repeat. The good thing about it was that in those of us who left early walked to the well and avoided the crowd that processed later from the church. Needless to say, it was an interesting discussion on the bus on the way back. We'll see what surprises-- hopefully good-- tomorrow holds. Lectures in the morning with Jane Cartwright, and a free afternoon. Becky, Joe and I are planning on going to Mold (sounds like an appealing place, huh?) and then having dinner at the local brasserie in Hawarden which is some award winning gourmet place. We'll then come back to the Library for the evening harp concert. A report to follow tomorrow . . .

Language and Llangollen

If you have seen any Welsh words written, you may think there is a shortage of vowels in this country's native tongue. This morning's lectures were designed to dispel us of that notion and give some insight into the development of the Welsh language and nation. The first lecture was an overview of the development of the Welsh language and its place in the family of Indo European, and more specifically, insular Celtic languages. I was going to say I won't bore you with the details but as the lecture was actually fascinating (and I'm not the only odd one who thought so), I will say I won't fascinate you with the details. The one fact I will share is that the word Wales comes from the Anglo Saxon word meaning "stranger" and the word Cymru (the Welsh language word for this nation) derives from a world meaning "fellow countryman." Something to think about.

The second lecture was a brief overview of Welsh history where we learned about Welsh heroes such as Taliesin, Llywelyn, Llywelyn ap Gruffod, and Owain Glyn Dwr. Good thing we had the language lesson first so we knew how to pronounce their names.

After lunch, we were fortunate to be able to attend the 2009 Llangollen International Eisteddfod Festival. An Eisteddfod is a gathering of musicians, dancers and poets and the international competition at Llangollen is actually quite a big thing. It was even nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize and both Pavarotti and Placido Domingo competed many years ago in the choir competition before they were famous. The various competitions take place over the course of six days in a huge covered pavilion-- there are dancers from around the world, musicians, soloists, choirs of all sorts, and groups that do a little of each. Outside the pavilion there are craft and food vendors set up and side stages with performances by non-competing musicians. After walking around for a bit, we went to our seats (which were somehow right down front near the stage) and heard the small Celtic ensemble competition and the mixed choir competition in which the James Madison University Choir was competing along with choirs from Riverside (California), Houston, Cardiff, Sardinia and Latvia. Luckily my new camera takes videos so what I'm posting today are three clips-- a harp group from Wales and England, a fiddle group from Scotland (they won the Celtic ensemble competition and the harpists finished second) and the Latvian choir.

After returning from Llangollen and having dinner everyone dispersed and went their separate ways-- some to the pub, some to bed and some to class (the students taking the course through Drew have to meet as a cohort-- poor Joe). I decided to poke around in the library and ended up checking out Wilkie Collins "The Haunted Hotel." I retired to the common room, poured myself a glass of sherry, and settled into a nice leather chair in front of the fire place (no fire-- too warm) and big windows looking out onto the garden to read and pretend like the library was my home and all the other guests were just visiting for the weekend. Turns out I had the place basically to myself (Becky did come later and I had to share my lamp with her so she could read as well-- she'd also raided the library). Sherry, orange cardamom chocolate, and a great mystery/ghost story set in Venice. I could learn to live like this.

Saint, Castle, Saint, Castle, Castle (from yesterday)

Today was our first full day of the course which involved excursions to visit the sites of two Welsh saints and stops for lunch and tea breaks at two towns with castles. After a two hour bus ride to the northwest coast and the Llyn peninsula (I learned to pronounce the double ll sound in Welsh you make a sound like a dentist's suction tool-- here they just pronounce it like CL which gives almost the same effect and you feel a lot less self-conscious). There we visited a church which supposedly is the burial site of St. Beuno, a Welsh saint from the seventh century. If you have a diseased cow, Beuno is your man. He's also the patron of sick children. UK, sick kids, diseased cows . . . it's not a good place where the mind takes one. Thank goodness I'm now a vegetarian.





Although the church dates back only to the 15th century (previous churches burned down until this most recent, built in stone, was erected on the site of Beuno's monastery) in the chapel there is a 7th century stone that allegedly was one that was used to mark a corner of the land given to Beuno by a local king. His resting place allegedly is in the chapel as well. In the middle ages pilgrims would visit the shrine and bathe in his well then lay rushes on top of the tomb and spend the night (slumber party with the saints!). This "sacred incubation" was supposed to cure pilgrims of their ailments. I imagine sacred incubation is covered by the NHS but in the US you'd probably be out of luck.




Our favorite relic in the church only dated back a few centuries--a clamp used to catch unruly dogs and get them out of church. Evidently it was customary to bring your pooch to services but they didn't always behave so the ushers would round them up and haul them out. I sent a picture to Daniel so he could show it to Henri as a warning . . .





After visiting Clynnog Fawr we then headed to Caernarfon, a royal town in Gwynedd (Guneth). The main attraction of Caernarfon is Caernarfon castle. While you may not know the name, if you've seen the scenes of the investiture of Prince Charles as the Prince of Wales, you've seen the inside of the castle grounds. It's primarily in ruins now and although we were just stopping in Caernarfon because it was a convenient place to eat lunch, four of our group, including myself, decided to use our lunch hour to visit the castle. That's two of the group (Carly and I can't tell if the second is Becky or Joe) waving from the turret. I started up and was getting claustrophobic on the winding narrow tower steps so I contented myself with walking along the battlements, which was just as lovely.




After leaving Caernarfon, we headed to the shrine of another saint, Seiriol, on the island of Anglesey which looks out onto the Irish sea and is quite lovely. The church where Seiriol's shrine is located, Penmon Priory, houses two examples of old Celtic high crosses and just beyond the church is the well that is allegedly Seiriol's well but per Gareth, one of St. Deiniol's staff members and an archaeologist, is probably not really from Seiriol's time. The priory ruins and dove cote across the street, however, are. The dove cote was huge which leads me to believe that Seiriol had a fondness for pigeon pie.

In addition to chowing down on doves in the priory, Seiriol also used to walk the half mile or so to the sea and then row across the treacherous waters to an island off the coast called, back then, Ynys Seiriol (pronounced Innis like the Irish word for island). In more recent times it became known as Puffin Island because it was inhabited by puffins rather than monks but after ship infested with rats wrecked near the island in the 1950's, the puffins became dinner for the rats and the population is now gone. Seiriol's island-- not a good place for pigeons or puffins.


On our return to Hawarden we stopped by Beaumaris, a cute little seaside town and home of Beaumaris castle, the ruins of one of the several castes built by Edward I in Wales to maintain a presence in the area. To his friends he was known as Edward Longshanks because of his height-- to his enemies in Scotland and Wales he was known as Edward the Hammer of the Scots and Welsh because he had designs on both nations and managed to get Wales under English rule and tried with the Scots (remember Braveheart? ). To me, he's just known as Gramps as I recently discovered I'm descended from his one and only illegitimate son, John Botetourt. I was all excited about being a Plantagenet when I first saw the surname on the family tree but I'm still coming to terms with having the Hammer's DNA, being of Scottish descent as well.


In addition to the pictures of today's castle, I'm also including pictures of Hawarden castle, where we wandered the grounds yesterday. We also visited the Hawarden jail-- a tiny one room cell barely big enough to stand in (allegedly-- the door's padlocked) which was basically the drunk tank for the town in the middle ages. Hopefully Friday night after a few pints of Brains no one in the course will end up there . . .




Another wonderful lecture from Ian Bradley tonight. Reassuring to hear that what he sees as the aspects of the so called Celtic church that can and should be adapted in today's faith communities in order to make them reinvigorated and relevant are all things which we were doing at the Center for Prayer and Pilgrimage-- pilgrimages, labyrinth walks, spiritual direction, new monasticism . . . so why were our staff positions elminated? ??? Something to ponder as I go to sleep and hope the pheasants and bells don't wake me up again (last night I learned that the bells in the church next door do indeed ring every hour through the night-- at least at midnight, 1 am, 2 am, 3 am, 5 am, and 6 am. I must have slept through 4 am somehow).