High in the Highlands

He Says (Expletives deleted): Three *** hours of work on the perfect blog entry and the whole *** thing is wiped out! I refuse to rewrite the *** thing! I hate this ***stupid computer and refuse to ***touch it ever again. The ***blog is now your responsibility.

She says (expletives deleted): *** ***** ***** **** ******* ***** * ****. ****** ****** ****!

Much later, She Says: Due to-um- unforeseen circumstances, it looks as if our blog will be written from one perspective only for the rest of the trip. As I type, a grumpy little voice in the background says, “Don’t forget to say that Richard thinks that…”, and “mention how the scenery is just like a Gainsborough painting”, and it may even be telling me how to spell Gainsborough correctly, but I’ve made a point throughout my life to ignore all those little voices, especially the grumpy ones, so why start listening to them now? If anyone wants to add his or her tuppence to my comments, he or she can stop sulking and blaming defenceless computers, and take back his half of the job.

We have now explored the north of Scotland. The entire trip to date has been wonderful, and Edinburg was a fascinating historic city, but the past five days have been absolutely outstanding. On Sunday, we headed north from Edinburgh, and after a short stop in St. Andrews for the golfers to get photos of themselves beside the clubhouse and buy golf clothes with the logo of the world’s most famous golf course, we headed into the beautiful Grampian Mountains, heading towards Inverness. We covered mile after mile of rolling green hills and picturesque little towns, beautiful wildflowers that we never see in Canada, blooming rhododendron bushes taller than I am just growing wild beside the road, and beautiful cottage gardens that are so far ahead of our gardens this time of year and so filled with perennials that can only be grown as annuals in Ottawa, that I’m green with envy. It’s just after lambing season here, so the fields are filled with tiny bouncing baby lambs that we’ve all agreed we’d love to smuggle home as pets. We’re much further north than Ottawa is, but the ocean currents keep the winters milder and shorter than ours. It doesn’t get dark this time of year until after 10 PM, and the sun is up before we are. By the end of June, they’ll have just 3 hours of darkness, but of course, they pay for that in mid-December, when they only have 3 or 4 hours of daylight.

Temperatures since we crossed into Scotland have dropped a little; it’s now 10-12 C most mornings, and in the afternoons, it may get up to 14. Richard checked the newspaper today and found that it’s 8C in Toronto with showers, so we’re not upset with the weather, but the poor Australians, who have just come from their hot summer, and aren't really used to cool weather! Most of them are wearing winter jackets, hats, scarves, and gloves, and every time we get out of the bus, they turn blue. A few others dress in layers the way we Canadians do, and one hardy soul has worn shorts the whole trip, except for the last 2 days on Orkney and Skye, where the wind and the cool temperatures has made us all button up our jackets. Many of them can’t believe we manage to survive in weather much colder than this, and when we tell them how low our winter temperatures can fall, they stare in amazement and ask if we ever go out when it’s -30. What choice do we have?

We’ve been extremely lucky with the weather. Most days have been mainly sunny with good visibility, so we’ve been able to appreciate the fabulous scenery, but in this part of the world, sudden rain squalls pop up suddenly, last a short time, and then disappear just as quickly. We find it amusing that Dylan, the tour guide, never says the word, “rain”. Instead, he’ll say, “You notice that as we crossed the border, Scotland was crying tears of joy at our arrival”, or “We seem to be having a slight Scottish mist at the moment”, or “You’ll notice that the loch (lake) is being replenished at the moment”.

The highlands are Bonnie Prince Charlie territory, so we’ve been learning his story as we go. We made a stop at the battlefield of Culloden, where Prince Charles and his followers met the British in the third and final battle of the Jacobite (Scottish) Rebellion. It was a total slaughter: in as long as it takes to reach half-time in a modern football game, the British killed 1500 Scots and wounded another 400. Some managed to escape, but they were hunted down over the next few days and killed, as well. Prince Charles was spirited away into the highlands, where he was passed from place to place by supporters and hunted by the British until he was able to escape to France. Support for his cause continued in secret, and when Scots loyal to Charles were ordered to drink to the British King to prove their loyalty, they did it in a special way: they kept a bowl of water on a table nearby, and when they were obliged to raise their glasses “to the king”, they would raise the glass out and over the bowl before they drank, indicating to those in the know that they were really drinking to Charles, the king “over the water”.

Dylan told us about one man who helped Charles escape from the British. Charles had no possessions left to give the man in appreciation so he offered him the only thing he had left: the recipe for a brandy drink he had been served and enjoyed in France. The man replaced the brandy with Scottish whiskey and it was so delicious that he and his family began to bottle and sell the drink, which is still popular today: Drambuie.

Shortly after Dylan finished the story, we arrived at the ruins of an old military barracks from the Jacobite period and were invited to climb the hill to the ruins where we would make a toast to Bonnie Prince Charlie. We entered the ruins and all gathered in one room where an unseen helper (a ghost, maybe?) had set up a table with a large bowl of water in the centre. Dylan distributed “Scottish crystal” (plastic) glasses to us all, produced several bottles of Drambuie, and poured us each a “wee dram”. He offered a toast to the king, and we all raised our glasses over the bowl in our secret salute to Bonnie Prince Charlie, and passed around tins of Scottish shortbread. The setting set the perfect mood, and we all stood in silence after the toast. Suddenly, the silence was broken by the wail of bagpipes, and even those of us who really don’t believe in ghosts were startled a little until we realized that the kilted piper marching past our doorway was very much alive. We all filed out into the courtyard while the piper played songs written about Bonnie Prince Charlie. Until then, I had never realized that “My Bonnie lies over the ocean“ was a political song about a banished king.

Shortly after our toast, we stopped for the night at a highland hotel, where we were treated to a highland dinner, complete with haggis piped in by a piper and, of course, whiskey for us to toast it. Surprise! The piper was our ghostly friend from the ruins.

The next morning, we headed for Inverness, where we all had our cameras ready to shoot photos of Nessie, the monster of Loch Ness. The deal, Dylan told us, was that if any of us managed to get a photo, we’d share the money we’d make from the sale of the photo with the others, and each share would be more than enough to pay for our trips. Seemed fair. Unfortunately, Nessie was otherwise engaged that day, so we’re all still on the hook for our bills. We did see one interesting character, though. A man lives in a trailer right beside the loch. He has become so obsessed with seeing Nessie that he’s lost his wife and his job, and now supports himself selling little models of Nessie that he makes from coloured clay. I commented on the many colours available and asked what colour Nessie really was. He claimed that different viewers claimed to have seen monsters of different colours. Purple? Orange? Turquoise? OK. Maybe there are several of these creatures! This guy has never really seen her himself, so I asked how he knew that Nessie really looked like his models. Straight-faced, he said, “I guarantee it. And if you can show me a photo that proves me wrong, I’ll give you your money back.” Sadly, I didn’t get a photo. But then, I didn’t buy one of his models, either. As we left, I asked when the last sighting had been. Last November, apparently, but it had been on the other side of the loch so he’d missed it. Tough luck. But maybe he’ll be luckier next time.

Beautiful Scotland

HE SAYS: Absolutely nothing, apparently. He appears to be speechless at the moment.
Or perhaps he's worn out from the walking and too tired to type.

SHE SAYS: Our first six days on the bus: so far, so good. Our tour director, Dylan, is a lot of fun, with a great sense of humour, a real knowledge of the route and the sights, and all kinds of tidbits of history and myth about each place we visit. He and the driver are a great team who make sure everything works smoothly for us all.

Slowly, we’re getting used to the routine: Wake-up call at 6, bags packed and standing by the hotel room door by 7, then breakfast. Those who’ve never been to Britain before got caught the first couple of mornings. They’d head to the cold buffet table and stock up on fresh fruit, juice, cereal with a variety of dried fruit and nut toppings, toast and rolls with butter and jam. When they’d almost finished eating, the waitress would come along to see what they wanted for their hot breakfast. What the heck; they could handle a little more food, so they told her how they wanted their eggs and finished off their cereal while they were waiting. Then the hot food arrived: 2 eggs, back bacon, sausages, fried tomato, fried mushrooms, and sometimes baked beans or fried potatoes. We’d have to roll them out to the bus at 8. Now everyone’s getting smarter and choosing breakfast a little more wisely. Saint Richard usually sticks to cereal and fruit, while I’ve been skipping the stuff that’s good for me and ordering eggs most mornings. Now that we’re in Scotland, though, I’ll start ordering the oatmeal instead.

Luckily, most of the other passengers are old retired people like us, so Dylan knows that a “comfort stop” is always necessary 90 minutes or so after the last coffee. We stop for a break at 9:30 or 10, and everyone rushes to the toilets and then stands in line for another coffee to take on the bus. I do sometimes think it might be wiser to eliminate the middleman or woman and just pour the coffee directly into the toilet, but British coffee has improved a lot since the days when all they served was instant, so I join the others in the coffee line and hope the next break won’t be too far off.

Around noon, there’s another stop in an interesting town along the route, like the university town of Oxford, for example. First, we get another toilet break, and then we’re taken on a 45-60 minute walking tour of the town. We’re given directions and sometimes a map so we’ll know how to get back to the bus, and then we’re left on our own for 2-3 hours to walk around, re-visit the sights we’re most interested in, eat lunch where and when we like, and meet back at the bus at the appointed time to continue the trip. So far, we’ve all made it to the bus on time and Dylan hasn’t lost anyone, something that definitely impresses those of us who were once teachers and remember school field trips that didn’t always run quite so smoothly.

When we get to the town where we’ll be spending the night, we get a coach tour of the place, sometimes a walking tour as well, and then if we like, we’re dropped off to explore on our own with directions to get back to the hotel before the set dinner time. Meanwhile, Neville, the driver, takes our luggage to the hotel and has it delivered to our rooms before we return. At Stratford, we had a chance to visit the house where Shakespeare was born, as well as Anne Hathaway’s cottage. (Funny…all the histories tell us that Shakespeare was forced to marry Anne because she was pregnant. Then he left her behind in Stratford while he went off to London for several years to make a name for himself as an actor and writer. The implication is that he never returned to his wife, but then, the history books tell us, he and Ann had 3 children. Nobody seems to feel the need to explain how that was possible. Yes, he did have a set of twins, but that still leaves one pregnancy unexplained.)

We eat together most evenings, and so far the food has been fabulous. There are always 3 starters, 3 mains, and 3 desserts to choose from, with vegetarian and “meatatarian” options. At the start of the tour, we were given a list of optional excursions we could choose from time to time. We’ve chosen some of them, like boat cruises or special meals, but there were a few touristy evenings with banquets and cabarets and castle dinners, what we’ve decided not to bother with. On those nights, we think it’ll be a lot more fun to explore the town we’re in, visit the local pubs or restaurants and see how the real people live.

After our night in Stratford visiting Shakespeare, we headed for the ancient walled city of York. Of the 40 people on our tour, 5 of us are Canadians, 4 are Americans, and the rest are Aussies. We’re all used to seeing century-old buildings turned into “heritage sites”, so it’s a little overwhelming to visit places like York Minster cathedral, which has been a place of worship for two thousand years! While they were excavating for a shopping mall in York in the 1970’s, workers found evidence of a Viking settlement that existed on the site 2,000 years ago. Excavations revealed that a community of more than 10,000 people had existed there, and thousands of well-preserved artefacts have been uncovered several feet under the modern city. We spent a fascinating hour in the Jorvik museum under the streets of York, touring a beautifully curated reconstruction of the village, showing how the Vikings lived. One fascinating exhibit showed how they have used modern medical techniques on the skeletons they found, including CAT scans, X-rays, and DNA analysis, to identify 6 diseases that we consider to be modern. Later, above ground, we walked along the 500 year old cobbled street called the Shambles, with ancient leaning buildings that used to be butcher shops but which are now trendy boutiques.

The following day, we headed for the beautiful Lake District where we headed for the lovely town of Grasmere to visit Wordsworth’s grave. Since it’s located in Cumberland, Richard and I took the opportunity to eat real Cumberland sausage for lunch. I have to report that it tastes exactly the same as it does at home, but the atmosphere made it seem much more exotic. Then it was off to the borderlands. We crossed into Scotland and made our first stop at Gretna Green, where so many English couples ran off to get married back in the days when girls under 21 had to have parental permission to get married in England. In Scotland, the legal age was 16, and Daddy didn’t have to agree, so couples would cross the border to Gretna, tie the knot and consummate the marriage before Daddy caught up with them. Apparently, any Scottish tradesman could perform a marriage at the time. The closest one to the border happened to be the local blacksmith, so his shop and the "honeymoon suite" above it became the most popular place in town, and still has a place of honour (for tourists, anyhow) in Gretna Green. It’s become such a commercialized spot, with whiskey shops and tartan shops and souvenir shops, that I’m sure no self-respecting local ever bothers to visit the site.

For me, the most striking thing about this day was the constantly changing scenery as we moved further and further north, from the lush, flat green farmland in the York area, to the sheep-dotted fields of the Lake District where the scenery resembles Eastern Ontario, to the beautiful heather-covered rolling hills of Southern Scotland, where it wouldn’t have been much of a shock to see Mel Gibson in a kilt striding towards the bus, waving his sword. As we head towards the highlands, the cities are now getting fewer and farther apart, the land is getting wilder and hillier, the temperature is getting cooler, and the language is getting harder and harder to understand!

We’ve spent the past day and a half exploring Edinburgh. This city is really steeped in history! We’ve had a bus tour around the city, visited the castle, and wandered along the Royal Mile, elbow-to-elbow with thousands of other tourists. Richard wandered around the university while I felt the need for some retail therapy and went to check out the shopping on Princes Street. There seemed to be all kinds of great sales this weekend, but I resisted the urge to buy everything I saw because my suitcase is already too full.

Tomorrow morning bright and early we head across the Firth of Forth to spend a few hours in St. Andrews. The golfers in the group will drool over the golf course, Richard will check out the university, and the rest of us will just enjoy the town (and probably find a place to stand in line for coffee). Then it’s off through the Grampian mountains to the Spey valley, where we’ll spend the night in a highland town called Newtonmore.

After London, York, and Edinburgh, I’m looking forward to getting out of the cities and into more remote areas for a change. For the next few days we’ll be on Scotland’s north coast, visiting the Orkney Islands and Skye.

HE SAYS: Sir Roy Strong wrote in his history of Britain that the UK had become one large consumer theme park. He was right. The country’s most venerable institutions – historical, political and cultural -- have been reduced to a form of mindless infotainment requiring no effort or exertion by the public. History is no longer a process to be studied, it is a series of canned or staged events to be sampled with a hot dog or beer. Like watching Lady Jane going to the block….Get your hot dogs and cold beer, here. But people no longer understand the origins of an historical the event, or why it occurred. Consumerism is the new democracy.

Our Air Canada flight was the normal transatlantic run, except that there was a marked decline in the quality of AC service, as evidenced by the cold pound cake and watery coffee for breakfast. AC used to rank in the top three for the quality of its international service. The plague is more fun. Unless you are a shareholder in AC, fly anybody else. Blessedly, we finally arrived at Heathrow to begin our five week tourist marathon.

Our first week in London was fantastic - utterly charming; it was pleasantly exhausting, but genuinely marvellous. Both Eleanor and I had been to Britain before, Eleanor in the mid-1970s, while I had done my doctoral studies at the University of Warwick in Coventry in the early 1980s. But boy, have times changed. In 1980 a pint cost L 1.85, today in 2011 a pint costs L 3.80.
I’ll briefly summarize and recount some of the high points of our recent adventures in a thematic fashion, rather than chronologically. As well, I’ll try to put some of tourist activities into historical perspective, although we jokingly had certain theme days.

In the first instance, we often forget how recent modern Britain is in terms of its geo-political formation. Wales was incorporated in 1536, the Act of Union with Scotland in 1707, and Northern Ireland, after an ugly civil war in 1922.

Impressionistically, London is a highly integrated, multi-cultural city. Britain, unlike Canada, is a country, not a collection of ethnic communities. Here in central London, there is a high proportion of Arabs, Pakistanis and Orientals. Their status covers the entire socio-economic spectrum, but without a doubt there is a good deal of serious ethnic money, esp Arabic and they don’t hesitate to flaunt it in stores like Harrods, while the locals go the M&S (Marks and Spencer).

In reality, the prices faced by tourists are much better than we expected. But then we don’t live here. We were told that most “real Londoners” live in the east end, not trendy central London. But on the crazy side, dresses at Harrods for my new princess granddaughter ranged from L 150-300 (or C$225-450); but the niftiest thing at Harrods was a real leather motor cycle jacket for a 5 yr old which cost a cool L 1, 100 (or C $1, 500). And a man’s tie at Harrods cost L 135 , while at M&S it as more like L 16. Gas prices are staggering – about C$9 per gallon !, compared to about C$ 5.20 in Canada. And according to this morning’s Guardian, med school tuition has now just gone up to $40K per yr. But I digress….

We began our trip with the obligatory red London hop on/ off bus tour. Ordinarily, this is great fun (in any other city we’ve been in), but, of course it rained. This after all is Britain. In the afternoon it cleared and we took the bus to the iconic landmarks of Big Ben, the Parliament Buildings, London Bridge and the infamous Tower of London. If one really must be incarcerated, the Tower of London is the way to go – it was a hotel-prison, or a prison-hotel.

Actually, the Tower gets a bad rap. In reality, only 41 people were executed there. This compares with the 60,000 !!! people who were publicly executed across town at the Marble Arch. In the late 18th century the British criminal law had 1,200 !!! capital offenses. The British have a sense of superiority because they think that have a veneer of civility and civilization, but it is just that – a veneer. Just ask the Indians, Irish, or Kenyans…or even our own native people in Canada.

But this veneer of British civilization goes just so far. In terms of tolerance, the entire history of Britain down through the Georgian period in the mid- and- late 1700s, is marked by the most blood curdling religious violence, esp between Catholics and Protestants in terms of who was to reign. Indeed, it can be argued that the entire history of Britain and the evolution of its institutions is the result, to a greater or lesser extent, of religious discord. (As a historical footnote, the first polgrom against Jews occurred in Britain around 130.)

At the Tower of London we also saw the Crown jewels. They are as obscenely ornate as they are beautiful. In total, if sold, the jewels could easily pay off or retire all of Britain’s national debt. The only thing more obscene are the artifacts and art collection in the Vatican.

In the afternoon we took a relaxing cruise along the Thames from the Tower to the London Eye. Eleanor badly wanted to go on the London Eye (as opposed to the H or J) and it was something of a joke since I suffer from a very real sense of vertigo. She had been needling me and turned it into a dare, but it really was Eleanor’s way of guilting me for all the art museums and symphonies that we were going to attend.

Friday was one of our designated culture days. In the morning we tackled the Tate Britain art museum, considered by many to be one of the best in the world. We deliberately focused on the great British artists Constable and Turner, with their highly romantic and nationalistic view of land-and seascapes. Later that afternoon we went to see Shakespeare’s All’s Well That Ends Well at the reconstructed period Globe Theatre. This was truly a complete entertainment experience in every way. Later that evening we went to a spectacular West End play, A Woman in Black, which was a psycho-drama thriller which literally had the audience shrieking.

The next day was another designated culture day. We went to the British National Gallery and the Queen’s Gallery. The National Gallery indisputably is one of the top 4 art galleries or museums in the world today. In order to maximize our time in the most efficient manner, I had identified the top 10 paintings that we should see. The Rokeby Venus by the great Spanish painter Velasquez certainly was my favourite, both for its painterly technic and intriguing technical questions.

That evening we feasted at the Simpson-Strand, the well- known London roast beef house. The food was marvellous, tender and juicy. For dessert Eleanor had a tart with clotted cream that had the consistency of ice cream, while I had a cheese board with unpasteurized delights. A marvellous port made the cheese taste like velvet. These desserts were like directly injecting cholesterol into the body.

The following day we spent the morning touring selected exhibits at the refurbished or new British Museum, one of Britain’s great centers of learning. I had spent a few days there in the early 1980s doing research in the reading room and remembered it fondly, if for no other reason that Marx (Harpo, of course) had spent years there doing research for Das Capital. Librarians at the time told me that there was some dispute as to where he actually sat. Unfortunately, the new British Museums has fallen victim to the new fashion of infotainment curatorship. Basically, the British Museum, like the Museum of Civilization in Ottawa/Gatineau is nothing more than a Walt Disney theme park.

Fortunately, that afternoon, we were able to recuperate from the shock by indulging our baser instincts at Harrods for High Tea. It was a once in a life time experience which was thoroughly enjoyed. After High Tea we walked off our indulgence with a 40 minutes trek to the 8,000 seat, round auditorium at the Royal Albert Hall. That evening there was a performance of Haydn’s The Creation, strongly influenced by Handel’s Messiah, which was done with a series of choirs totalling about 800 people who had never previously met or practiced together. It was genuinely a musical experience of a life- time. Stupendous! As an aside, I should mention that one irritant here is that at all musical and theatrically performances one has to pay about C$ 7-8 for a playbill, whilst they are free in Canada.

All-in-all London was an exhausting, but exhilarating beginning to our British vacation tour. Tomorrow we are up very early and join our tour for real as we head towards my old stomping grounds in Coventry in the lower midlands near Stratford. Stay tuned….

SHE SAYS: What a fabulous week! Before we left Canada, Richard and I drew up a list of all the things we wanted to do in London. We booked theatre tickets online, and also used the internet to make reservations for dinner and afternoon tea. The good news is that we’ve accomplished almost everything on the list and had a wonderful time doing it. The bad news is that if we eat as much on the rest of the trip as we have in London, we’ll each need to pay for two plane seats each to get home!

When Richard and I travel, we always try to spend our first day in a new city trying to do as much sight-seeing as we can. If there’s a company that does hop on-hop off tours, we use them. They give a great overview of the city and give you the chance to get off, see a place in more detail, and then get back on the next bus to finish the tour. Also, they give you a clear idea of where everything is located so you can find your way around for the rest of your stay. Here, the Hop on-Hop off companies throw in free boat tours along the Thames as part of the package.

So on our first day, we took the double decker bus tour right across the city to the Tower of London and spent a couple of hours there, touring the place and checking out the Crown Jewels. Then we took the tour boat back to Big Ben and Westminster Abbey. Our plan was to walk through the abbey, but the line-up of people waiting to get in snaked out the gates and half-way up the street. A cabbie we mentioned this to later told us it’s been like this since the royal wedding last week; tourists who would never have dreamed of visiting Westminster in the past now had to see for themselves where the wedding had taken place. With all the other fabulous sights to see in London, we just weren’t prepared to stand in line for 3 or 4 hours. Luckily, Richard and I have both visited it before, so it wasn’t such a huge disappointment- especially since it was free when we visited years ago, and it now costs 16 pounds!

We switched to Plan B: a walk across the bridge to see the city from yet another perspective at the top of the London Eye. It’s like a giant ferris wheel with glass-enclosed capsules instead of seats. Each capsule holds up to 25 people, who can either sit on benches in the centre or stand up and walk around to look at the city as the wheel rotates. A complete rotation takes half an hour, so there’s plenty of time to appreciate the fabulous view of the entire city. It really hurts that Richard would think I bullied him on to the Eye to pay him back for all the miles we walked in art galleries on this trip! The truth is, it was to pay him back for other things, as well, including the two white-water rafting trips on the Ottawa River and the catamaran ride in Cuba. After the Eye, we walked along the waterfront until we couldn’t walk any more, hopped on the tour bus and continued the tour.

The next afternoon we headed for Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre. What an experience! The theatre may be relatively new, but it’s as close as they could get to replicating Elizabethan theatres, complete with an open-air stage, a standing room only pit around the stage and hard, (very hard!) backless wooden benches for those who were willing to pay extra not to have to stand for 3 hours. The cast was great, and the whole experience was fantastic. Then it was off to Covent Gardens for dinner and another show, “Woman in Black”, which has been playing in London for over 20 years but which we had never heard of. It’s an eerie ghost story with only 2 actors (3 if you count the ghost). The ads claim that it’s your own imagination that terrifies you, and they’re right. I’ve never heard so many screams!

When I was a teenager, my father visited London on business and was taken to Simpson’s on the Strand for dinner. He talked about it for years as the place where he’d had the best roast beef he’d ever eaten…unless my mother was listening, and then he’d add, “Except for my wife’s, of course.” The restaurant has been around for almost 200 years, and Picasso, Churchill, Agatha Christie, and many other people seemed to think as highly of it as my Dad did, so we thought it might be worth a try and we were right. Huge roasts are wheeled to tables on what they claim are antique trolleys, and the meat is carved at the table. Richard described my dessert, but the clotted cream that came with it was indescribable! It’s fattening, I know, but it was so good that I ate as much as I possibly could. There was still about 2/3 left of the mound they’d served me. I hated to waste it, so I applied the rest directly to my hips, where it would have ended up anyway.

Our next indulgence: afternoon tea at Harrods’, with the 3-tiered plate of fancy sandwiches, scones, and a variety of cakes…and of course, more of that wonderful clotted cream. True confession time: Last Christmas, 3 of my favourite females took me to tea at the Chateau Laurier in Ottawa for my birthday, and as delicious as everything was at Harrods’, they don’t do teas any better than the Chateau does, except for that fabulous clotted cream.

We packed an incredible amount into the last 5 days and walked for miles doing it. Now we’re packing up to join our tour around Britain; we leave right after breakfast tomorrow morning, and to tell the truth, I’m looking forward to being able to sit for a month!

Merrie Olde England 2- Arrived!

Richard says he’ll catch up later. Meanwhile, I get to do this blog entry all by myself.

SHE SAYS:

We arrived in London at 7 AM on Wednesday, 2 AM Ottawa time. The original plan was for us to check in to our hotel and sleep for a few hours before we explored London, but it was a warm, sunny morning, and London was calling, so we decided to start exploring right away and worry about sleep later.

If you’ve ever seen ”Oliver”, you’ll remember Oliver Twist’s first morning at his uncle’s home. After the terrible orphanage and the appalling slum house where he lived with Fagan and the other pick-pockets, this house seems to be the symbol of a wonderful new life for Oliver. As soon as he gets up, he steps out on to a balcony overlooking a beautiful London square. White houses, all with black trim, line both sides, and running down the centre is a beautiful park with trees and flowers and the occasional park bench. Down below in the street, tradespeople are calling out their wares: ripe strawberries, baskets of flowers, and trays of freshly baked bread. Housekeepers come to the doorways to buy, the gentlemen of the house are heading off to the office, everyone is perfectly choreographed, and Oliver, of course, bursts into song. Wouldn’t everyone? Maybe not, but it seems that I would.

Our hotel is on a square that could easily have been used for the set of that film, and every time we head off on another adventure, whatever the time of day or night, I find myself humming Oliver’s song “Who will buy this wonderful morning….” Hokey and annoying, even to me, so imagine how tough it is on poor Richard, who didn’t even enjoy the movie the first time around and knows from bitter experience that my singing voice doesn't improve with use.

We are just around the corner from Paddington Station, about a five minute walk from Hyde Park. That first morning we walked through the park to Marble Arch and Speakers’ Corner, joining the joggers and horseback riders and tourists, and marvelling at the contrast between the bumper-to-bumper traffic on one side and the serene park on the other. We walked for a couple of hours before dragging ourselves back to the hotel to sleep until late afternoon.

Dinner was fish and chips-perfect for our first night in England! The shop was crowded with people standing in line for their “take-away” dinners. The gigantic fish pieces were crisp, the chips were perfect, the mushy peas were appropriately mushy, the beer was good, and Richard looked around and said, “It can’t get any more British than this!”

And if you ignored the fact that Elvis music was blaring over the sound system and the cooks behind the counter were speaking in Arabic, he was right.

Merrie Olde England -1

HE SAYS: Greetings family, friends, mates, and maties:

We are back on the air as we are now about to roll to the lauch pad for our forthcoming trip to Merrie Olde England. After the excitement of our long trip to Africa in 2008, and touring sophisticated and modern Spain last fall, we thought we 'd be a bit more staid this time out and try England, Scotland and Ireland (going counter clockwise).


In the first instance , this will be an occasional blog. In the past , we found we were being a bit obsessive about our efforts, so this time it really will be occasional so as not to interfere with our sampling of single malts and over priced pints (L6, or CAD $9). As well, this time we have decided to have a "He Says", She Says" format. This will allow for a muliplicity of views and insights.


Alas, somethings in life don't change. I have read my required histories of England, with IRA songs in the background, and view it as nothing more than another form of tribalism. As well, I have caught up on my back issues of The Economist. Both Eleanor and I have spent many hours watching so-called British literary classics by the Bronte sisters and Jane Austen. Chick lit by any other name, but no doubt haut literature to academics who don't know the difference. Actually, I maintain that the The Full Monty and On A Clear Day are pretty good depictions of contemporary British working class life. But the Brits have really turned mysteries and spy novels into an art form.


We plan to go to London to do some serious (cultural) sightseeing for five days before we hit the hustings on our 26 day tour. True to form I have produced a calendar, no, really, a schedule of events while in London including, 5 museums, 2 West End plays, 1 symphony and an orchestra recital; as an equalization payment Eleanor has insisted on a High Tea at Harrod's and roast beef at the Simpson's on the Strand. We both, however, have agreed on the expected tourist sightseeing rituals. Topping Eleanor's list are the crown jewels and the occasional rolling head in the Tower, while I hope to return to my old reading room haunt at the British Museum, and if no one is looking sit in Karl Marx's chair (that was Harpo Marx, of course).

Hopefully, the weather will be decent. If we bag a Wild Royal will put them on our list with the Big 5.


Cheers,

King Richard I


SHE SAYS: I do need to point out that Richard's entry makes it sound as if he did all the work. Not true! While he was reading about dead kings and queens, I was doing serious practical reasearch about the shopping, restaurants, and interesting sights in each of the places we'll be stopping. Breakfasts and most dinners are included in the tour cost, but some nights we're on our own for dinner and we are responsible for our own lunches, so these things are important. Also, I needed to find out which hotels have gyms and/or swimming pools. Even I, as unlikely as it may seem, might feel the need for exercise after sitting for a few hundred miles every day!


He also makes it sound as if he did all the reading, too. Not true! I decided to research modern Britain through women's popular fiction and detective novels. I'd choose Maeve Binchey or Minette Walters over a history textbook to give the reader a true taste of a country any day!

And I'm the one who finally got bored with Jane Austin and the Brontes and insisted switching to The Full Monte and some modern detective films set in Britain.


I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted just reading about all the plans that Richard has made for us in the 5 days we're in London! He's been there more often than I have, so he does know how huge the city is, but if we manage to squeeze in everything on his list, we'll be running from dawn to midnight and have to forget little things like jetlag, tea times, and loo breaks. (Might as well start talking Brit right from the start, I say.) He seems to think I'll be content to run up to the 4th floor of Harrod's for 15 minutes or so for afternoon tea without checking out everything on the first 3 floors on the way. Silly man!

And unless it's so foggy we can't see a thing, he'll need to take into account the day we'll have to spend standing in line for the London Eye. And how can you visit London without spending a day at Covent Gardens, just wandering? I'm going to push for museums and galleries on rainy days and walking and exploring on dry days. And then I'll pray for sun!

Queen Eleanor

Out of Africa- Cape Town- 11

Our African journey came to an end in Cape Town, which was a pleasant and "civilized" change from the bush. While it took a while to adjust to the traffic and the hoards of people, we resolved to treat ourselves to the pleasures of civilization, including some sight-seeing, as well as more good food and South Africa’s well-established reputation for the fruit of the vine.


Cape Town is characterized by its pleasant Atlantic seaside humidity and temperate climate and, contrary to the extremely dry conditions we had seen in the past few weeks, a green, lush vegetation in stark contrast to the endless brown tones of the bush. Walking along the sidewalk near the sea with the high surf and spray pounding on the breakwater was a marvellously exhilarating and refreshing experience.

We visited Table Mountain, reputed to be the oldest mountain in the world (80 million yrs), which is part of a mountain range that rings the city to the north. The view was breath-taking. It was a bitterly cold day on the mountain top and it reminded us of the Canadian winter that we would be experiencing all too soon.

Our guide, Charlotte, of Cape Town Capers Tours, took us to the unique and fascinating District Six Museum. District Six is at the base of Table Mountain, and like 22 other city districts, its black and coloured (mixed) residents were ordered by the new apartheid regime in 1921 to move out of this well-established and flourishing area. People came home and literally found their belongings on the sidewalk and their homes bulldozed to the ground. This would be like levelling Harlem. The Palestinians in the Occupied Territories are subject to the same policy. The museum had a heart-rending series of exhibitions recording the history of this vibrant community and displayed a tower made up of the street signs from this earlier era. Unfortunately, the new government has not allowed new development or building in this area because of prior legal claims; it is still a vacant field.

Sprawled over an area of some 20 miles along the modern highway north of Cape Town towards the Stollenbosch wine region is Lughawe, a shanty town, which was erected in 1921. This is grim Third World development at its worst. Medical and educational problems abound for the three generations of people who have been trapped there; even public schools cost money in South Africa, and most are too poor even to afford the mandatory school uniforms. Those who can afford it send their children to the far superior private schools. Similar shanty towns exist in Jo’burg as well. This is the institutionalized "poverty trap" at its worst. And there are no short- or medium term solutions in sight.

In this regard, it is clear that the post-Apartheid government has created a "revolution of rising expectations" (esp housing) among large segments of the population which have not been realized. This is like a long fuse. Indeed, in discussions with some people, primarily black, we frequently heard their concern that South Africa might "go the way of Zimbabwe".

Another extremely interesting excursion was to the Jewish Museum (and Holocaust Memorial). We limited ourselves to the museum, which was fascinating for all sorts of reasons. In the first instance, the museum is a history of Jews in S. Africa (SA) from its earliest days, including its involvement in the gold and diamond fields starting in the 1880s. And while there was some migration of (white) Jews to SA from Europe during the early 1930s, creating its own social and political contradictions, the Jewish population in SA from 1936 to date has remained at a constant 100,000 people. Second, what was quite striking and dramatic was the universalist tone set by the Jewish Museum, rather that the much more ethnocentric one we found last year in the Jewish museums in Athens and Venice. There was only one very brief mention of Israel. Third, the museum went to considerable lengths to record the involvement of the SA Jewish community in the anti-Apartheid struggle, and in particular, their involvement with the South African Communist Party (SACP), such as Rusty Bernstein. Significantly, half of the white defendants in the infamous 1956 Treason Trials, which put the predominantly black executive committees of the ANC and SACP on trial, were Jewish members of the SACP. Fourth, when we were in Jo’burg (Sep/08), respectable daily newspapers had front page stories about the SACP; in short, it still retains considerable legitimacy notwithstanding recent world events.

We stayed at Blackheath Lodge, a marvellously renovated B & B -styled accommodation near the ocean in the Sea Point area of Cape Town. The proprietor, Antony, was a gracious and flamboyant host who genuinely went out of his way to make people feel at home with a casual afternoon glass of wine and who always had a quick suggestion for a first- class restaurant or sightseeing activity.

We had intended to start cutting back on calories in Cape Town. Honestly. But we hadn't counted on Antony's fabulous breakfasts. How could we be rude and stick to fruit and yogourt when he and his staff went to so much trouble making tiny, exquisite cheese quiches, scrambled eggs with smoked salmon, and delicious fruit tarts every morning? Maybe we could have cut back on our dinners a little, but we blame Antony there, as well. Every morning, he would check on our plans for the day. We would tell him the type of meal we would like and the time we'd like to eat, and he'd suggest the restaurant, book the table, book the taxi, and even talk to the taxi driver for us to make sure we were taken to the right place.

The first night, we admitted that we were tired of fancy food; we were ready for something simple: fish and a salad. He recommended The Codfather, where we pigged out, or actually "fished-out", on mouth-watering fresh fish, such as kingklip and shell fish, which we chose raw and had prepared for us while we nibbled on sushi appetizers. It was truly a memorable meal! The following night, we again treated ourselves to more exquisite African cuisine. At the Café African, after the traditional washing of hands in a bowl, we had a varied and tasty set meal of 10 African dishes. We rolled home. The third night, Antony recommended Nelson's Eye, memorable for its name as well as its food. Eleanor had another fish feast and Richard had a fitting last meal in Africa: ostrich steak, served medium rare, of course.

The day before we left, we went on a wine tasting tour north of Cape Town in the Stollenbosch and Paarl regions. We first visited the KVW Winery, with its enormous oak casks and stained glass windows which Eleanor calls The Shrine to Wine. Unfortunately, in our opinion the wine was not nearly as impressive as the setting. The wine at the Spiers Winery was far better and we indulged in a tasting of 6 different varieties, the cab -sauv being the best. For those wine connoisseurs let us strongly suggest, as Richard’s personal favourites, the following South African wines: a full bodied robust red called Tall Horse, which has a slight tannin aftertaste, and a crisp, slightly sweet, but mellow white Riesling from Stollenbosch. Cheers, or sudsa, as they say.

It wasn’t until we had checked in at the Cape Town airport and sat down, that reality finally hit us and we had to face the fact that our journey had come to an end. During our month in Africa, time had literally stood still, but yet had passed so quickly. We felt deliciously exhausted and happy and realized that it would take quite a while to fully appreciate and comprehend all that we had been privileged to experience and see.

Out of Africa-Namibian Sunset- 10

o We have left Namibia after a fabulous week, and are now in Cape Town, the last leg of this incredible journey. The change in temperature is dramatic, from very dry and hot in Namibia, to cool, rainy, and blustery here in Cape Town. During the course of our journey, we have done more than 60 hours of game drives. In many ways, the Namibian leg of our journey was the highlight of the entire African safari. The colours, the contrasts, the diversity and an infinite sense of space leaves one in a perpetual state of breathlessness. The colours, the space, and the silence are particularly powerful and magical.

o For both of us, Namibia was a life-altering experience. Our fantastic and experienced tour operator and guide, Andre Blaauw of Foxtrot Tours (with Eleanor, right), was our driver and a great travelling companion for the entire week and the 2500 kilometres we covered around the country. We never would have attempted the drive ourselves.......driving on the left, dealing with the bumpy, unpaved gravel roads (a great African massage!), locating the animals in their habitats, identifying the various birds and plants we saw en route, knowing where to find the points of interests in each area, and of course, knowing the great restaurants and being introduced to Namibian Tafel beer....the best beer in the world. He shared his incredible knowledge of Namibian wildlife, geography and insight into its indigenous peoples with us and his ability to speak the various languages certainly simplified every step of the trip. We travelled through arid desert, high mountain areas, Atlantic coastline, the dunes, and the cities. We visited a petrified forest and saw rock art made by the bushmen thousands of years ago. Thank you, Andre, for the experience of a lifetime. We WILL be back!

o One of the highlights of the trip was our assault of Dune 45, the most

frequently photographed sand dune in the world. It is 750 feet high- a beautiful windswept cone of reddish-brown sand with a 50-55 degree slope. The original plan was for both of us to climb it, but after a 15 minute slippery climb, Eleanor made the mistake of looking down. Far below, a toy bus was discharging tiny ant-sized tourists. At that point, she decided it was time to slide back down...slowly! Richard heartlesslessly waved goodbye, leaving her to descend alone while he carried on for another 45-60 minutes, and completed the 1 1/2 mile trek to the top. He says it was beautiful and well-worth the climb. Eleanor isn't convinced. The view from the ground was much safer! Below are two of the photos she took of him after she reached the bottom. In the first, he's the tiny speck rounding the curve at the centre of the photo. In the next one, he's a little further along that same curve.

o We were both overwhelmed by the colours of the Namib desert. Its hues range from a pale beige and pink, to a purple blue, to a dazzling rust. The tones and gradations of colour are infinite and change as the light changes. The Namib desert and Etosha pan are awe-inspiring. The complete and utter silence is incredible.

o In the bushveld it is said that every lodge is worth one pound of additional weight. Alas, it is true, and we visited over a dozen lodges. The meals have been fabulous and although we always meant to restrict ourselves to fruit for breakfast and a salad for lunch, one look at the other dishes offered was enough to make us change our minds. Richard says he feels 4 months pregnant. Eleanor is planning her shopping trip for size extra, extra, extra large. For the next few months, it'll have to be nothing but tuna and cottage cheese. Maybe.

o At Cape Cross, we visited a huge seal colony. 200,000-300,000 seals! The smell and the sound were unbelievable. Almost as far as we could see, there were black dots splashing and diving in the waves. On the shore, seals were sunning, barking, fighting, climbing over each other, and otherwise entertaining themselves, ignoring the tourists walking past. Definitely a sight worth seeing. Apparently, the herd grows even more during mating season in December, but this size was impressive enough.

o Windhoek and Swakopmund, the 2 Namibian cities we visited, were both modern, beautifully maintained cities, with a strong European atmosphere and a great deal of German-inspired architecture. We'd love to return and spend a warm winter vacation here.

o Every country has a hidden history and Namibia is no exception. The 1904 German-Herero-Nam War resulted in the extermination of 2/3 of the Herero tribe, when they were driven into the Kalahari desert to die of thirst. The 1985 UN Whitaker Report called the Herero genicide by the Germans the first genocide of the 20th century.

o SWAPO, the liberation movement which subsequently came to power in 1990, seems directionless in terms of its economic development strategy, notwithstanding the generous royalty cut from various mineral companies. A thin and uneven distribution of population, compounded by arid terrain and a severe shortage of fresh water, retards economic and social programming.

o Economic facts: Namibia has an unemployment rate of 35%, not counting those who have chosen to live in their traditional tribal ways; inflation is at 11% and a housing mortgage is 15.5%.
o Social services, especially public education and medical care, seem to have a bad reputation, but the U/Namibia in Windhoek, with a student population of about 15,000, seems modern and well-cared for, much like Trent U. In reality, there is a 2-track delivery system for education and health care: private services for those who can afford it (mostly whites) and public for those (mostly Black) who can't.

o Demographically, the population is 90% black and Catholic; 10% are white Dutch Reform or other protestant denominations. As well, there seems to be a small, fairly high profile and prosperous Jewish community.

o This will be our last blog from Africa. Here in Cape Town we plan some R&R- a city tour and an all-day wine tour. Strange, maybe, that we need R&R after a month-long holiday, but there have been so many new experiences and sights that we'll need some time to digest all we've seen and mull things over.

o On our return we hope to post some of our photos and add a final installment summarizing our feelings and conclusions about our African Odyssey.

Richard and Eleanor