A Travellerspoint blog


Memories ....Memories

sunny 11 °C

It was Remembrance Sunday in England yesterday - a sure sign that Christmas is nigh - and we went to the ceremony at the Cenotaph in London. We saw the Queen and the rest of the Royals and watched as thousands of ex-servicemen paid their respects at the War Memorial in Whitehall. Here are some of the Chelsea Pensioners...

The French also have much to remember. Languedoc Roussillon may be a long way from the German border, but the inhabitants weren’t spared in either of the World Wars. In the centre of every town and village stands a memorial to the slaughter of men and women for whom the French Republic’s motto of ‘Liberte, Fraternite and Egalite’ meant something worth fighting for. Here is the memorial in Villemoustaussou …

The virginal snow caps on the Pyrenean mountains last week told us that it was time we headed home. Autumn has arrived in the forests of the Montaigne Noire and the mushrooms are sprouting under the oaks and beeches. Here are a few that we could have picked…

But which of these could turn out to be a deadly delicacy?
No problem in France - just take them to the nearest pharmacy. All French pharmacists are experts in identifying edible fungi. So, if you see a young man scurrying furtively out of a pharmacy with a brown paper bag it’s not what you think. It’s probably full of mushrooms that he doesn’t want his neighbours to know about. Mushroom hunting is a lucrative business and gatherers jealousy guard their hunting grounds. But a greater prize awaits under the oak trees of these forests; soon the specially trained dogs and pigs will be nosing their way through the fallen autumn leaves in search of edible gold - the prized black truffle.

The forests of Languedoc Roussillon are at their colourful best at this time of the year and as we walked under the gentle showers of crisp golden leaves we were reminded of the cycle of life and the fact that we too are in our autumn.
As we head home to Canada, via London, we take with us many happy memories of Spain and France. But now it’s time to say goodbye until the next time we board the ferry from our little Pacific Island and head out into this wonderful world for another adventure.

So, “Au revoir” and “Hasta luego” from us and from our delightful granddaughter, Charlie. We hope you’ve enjoyed the ride.

Posted by Hawkson 07:30 Archived in England Comments (2)

Oh Yeah! Oh Yeah!

semi-overcast 19 °C

Oh Yeah! … Oh Yeah.
This Town Crier in the historic City of Wells, Somerset, is carrying on a tradition which has been unbroken for 700 years. Wells was already an ancient city in the 1300’s when the first Town Crier proclaimed that the Crusades had been a huge success and the Christians had finally defeated the misbegotten Muslims of the Middle East … “Mission Accomplished” as George Bush so valiantly proclaimed 700 years later. (A man whose knowledge of history wouldn’t land him a job in a kindergarten).
Wells Cathedral, like all of the great Norman cathedrals in England, was built in the twelfth century. But, like many English towns and cities, Wells stands on foundations laid down by the Saxons, Romans and Trojans. Britain is today one of the most popular tourist destinations in the world and we tend to think that this is a recent phenomena. However, two thousand years ago, legions of Romans came here to take the healing waters in Bath and, perhaps, to visit the ancient settlements of Iron-age, Bronze-age and Stone-age men … Nothing changes – only time.
Here are some relatively recent houses in Wells that were completed in 1363…
Nearby Wells is Glastonbury, famous for its Abbey. We would have visited this ancient building but from a distance we could see that most of it had fallen down so we didn’t bother. We did, however, walk the streets of this Medieval town and view some of the sights.
Here’s a sight…
......and here’s another…
Yes- Glastonbury is home to the largest community of weirdos in the world. They come here for the annual folk festival and most never leave. There are more pierced nipples and noses here than in the whole of sub-Saharan Africa. And then there are the shops! In the High Street there is one travel agent, a dozen charity thrift stores, a score of junk shops, and about a hundred new-age metaphysical emporiums bursting with angels, crystals and witches broomsticks. Just two minutes in the doorway of any of these incense-filled temples of the occult is enough to convince the average person that there is something very funny about this place and the people who live here.
This is one of the store windows …
We noticed that the travel agency was closed. Maybe no one ever leaves this place – not in this world anyway.
This, however, is the local hotel. It was opened in 1420 and we found lots of spirits there.
After Glastonbury we took a short drive to Cheddar. Hands up everyone who knew that Cheddar cheese originated here because the ripening curds could be safely kept in the limestone caves that bore deep into the gorge's cliffs.
Here is Sheila standing in the famous Cheddar Gorge. We would have stopped to buy some cheese in the village but fifty coach loads of Japanese tourists beat us to it.

Posted by Hawkson 10:39 Archived in England Comments (4)

Under a Spreading Chestnut Tree ...

semi-overcast 19 °C

Under a Spreading Chestnut Tree …
The sun’s shining and it’s conker time here in the southwest of England. Now … if you’re saying, “What on earth is a conker?” you are obviously not an old Brit.
In our first couple of days in England we walked the battlefield where King Alfred’s army fought in 878A.D.; viewed the battlefield where Cromwell’s Roundheads were defeated by the King Charles 1st’s Royalist in 1643; we’ve stood at the base of Silbury Hill – the World’s largest Neolithic monument – built 4,000 years ago, and we’ve meandered the Medieval streets of Lacock where the world’s first photograph was taken by William Fox-Talbot. Here is Lacock Abbey where William set up his pinhole camera and snapped a shot of his dining room window in 1835.
All of the above, plus the ancient circles of stones at Stonehenge and Avebury are within 10 miles of Jim’s boyhood home.
Every time we return to Europe we are stunned by the wealth of historical monuments – and by the increasingly exorbitant entry fees. However, much can be seen without payment because it is part of everyday life. Behind the modern facades of almost any High Street are buildings dating back to the fourteenth or fifteenth centuries. Five-hundred-year-old hotels and houses are ten a penny here and there are numerous buildings dating back to Roman times. Here is a typical scene…
And here is an example of another historical feature which can be freely seen…

Giant white horses like this, along with other allegorical symbols, have been carved into Britain’s chalk hillsides since Neolithic times. This is the Westbury White Horse and it marks the site of a 4,000 year-old Iron Age settlement. We marveled at the incredible artistic abilities of ancient man; of the symmetry and style of their carving; and, above all, the lasting quality of work which has brought this monument to us in such pristine condition. Then we climbed the hill and discovered that the whole thing was recently plastered in concrete donated by the local cement works. Oh well! Nothing lasts forever.
Now – back to “conkers.” From time immemorial English schoolboys have been rounding up the large brown nuts of the hors chestnut trees – not to eat, but to thread onto a bootlace with a knot tied in the end…one nut per lace. Armed with his conker the young lad would sally forth and challenge any similarly armed young man to a dual – Nut to Nut at dawn. Nowadays, the mere mention of young men smashing their nuts together could be considered unsavoury but, be assured, it’s all clean fun. The nuts are smashed together until one breaks and the triumphant nut goes off in search of his next victim. Jim was thrilled to discover that the spreading chestnut tree where he used to pick his nuts fifty years ago was still standing and still supplying conkers to the youth of the ancient market town of Devizes – little changes here.

Posted by Hawkson 08:13 Archived in England Comments (2)

The Kite-Runners

semi-overcast 11 °C

As we prepared to leave yet another country, and the lovely granddaughter whom we have got to know for the first time as a real little person, we were bouyed by the prospect of re-uniting with family in England and, in just a couple of days, our friends in Canada.
Here is Grandpa Jim flying a kite with son and granddaughter on l'esterel mountains above Theoule ...
... and Charlie quickly learned to make bubbles with her new machine.
Provence became its usual sunny self, after a somewhat wobbly start, and hardy bathers could be seen along the golden shores. Cannes' film festival is seven weeks away and the crews of the super-yachts in the harbour are sprucing up their craft to greet the glitterati. We walked the familiar quays and marvelled at the multi-zillion dollar playthings that are the ultimate extravagance in a world where Ferraris and Lear Jets are just for getting about in.
Markets of all kinds have fascinated us on our trip and Cannes was no exception. However, the Marché Forville in the heart of the old city is no dingy rat-infested germ factory. Only the finest and freshest flowers, fish, meat, vegetables and fruit make it onto these stalls and the prices are steeper than the average supermarket. But don't even think of bargaining.
Here are some of the gorgeous flowers on offer.
Today, back in England, we met for lunch with Sheila's brothers and sisters-in-law.
Here's the happy bunch.
We leave for home tomorrow - our twentieth flight of the trip.

Posted by Hawkson 00:47 Archived in England Comments (1)

The Queen at Windsor

sunny 17 °C

We are now near Cannes, (Yes- the place in the Mediterranean where all the world's rich and famous go to watch movies), and it's freezing. But tomorrow they promise sun so until then we'll tell you about our last day in England when we went to Windsor Castle to have tea with the Queen. Here we are on the Long Walk at the castle approach.
Unfortunately, Her Majesty had apparently forgotten our appointment and we ended up with pie and mash at a greasy spoon down by the river Thames. At least the swans were happy to meet us.
From Windsor we walked to Eton to oggle the toffs in top hats and tails at the famous school, then we drove a few miles to Runnymede . As every English schoolboy is supposed to know, Runnymede is the very centre of the first world. It is the place where all modern democracies were born; the exact spot where, on the 12th. June 1215, King John was forced by the Barons of England to sign the world's first, (and still surviving), constitution - The Magna Carta - upon which all other constitutions are based. Apparently no one in Britain thought it worthwhile commemorating this momentous occasion so they left it to the American Bar Association who put up this monument.
However, having put up a memorial to a great British event, the Americans saw no reason why they shouldn't salute one of their own. So the Brits gave them a few acres of England's green and pleasant land to erect a monument to John F. Kennedy right next to the Magna Carta memorial.
What is the message here? Are the Yanks suggesting that JFK was as fundamental to world democracy as the Magna Carta? No answers required - we have our own opinions!

Posted by Hawkson 12:49 Archived in England Comments (1)

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