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2001-11-26 - 11:31 a.m. U.K. Day 5: Please refrain from using mobile phones inside the sacred circle. It's finally gotten cold. I'm very happy about coldness rather than balmy 50s with 85 degree indoor heating. Michael, Beth's flatmate, is fascinated by the history of the London Underground - he even knows why the Tube lines are *not* color-coded. Color printing was non-existent to too expensive when the Underground started at the turn of the century. With the maps printed in black-and-white, they named the lines after the major stations on the route. We got up quite early and nipped next door to that wonderful corner cafe called Le Brunch. It's a few feet from Beth's front door and makes quite a good breakfast. I'm getting very fond of brown sauce on chips (fries), but I will never grok the baked beans with breakfast thing. There's way more American music than I expected in Britain and breakfast was accompanied by "Horse with no name" which promptly got firmly stuck in my head. With Beth playing the role of map girl, we wend our way out of Tooting and take the M4 towards Avebury. Traffic completely shuts down for a minor accident so we loose an hour on the London orbital (beltway). But we survive because we have fascinating company. My observations about the British road system to date. M roads are motorways - these are good. They go fast and have junctions (exits) rather than evil, traffic killing roundabouts. A and B are the smaller roads, which seem to make up the majority of the road system - One lane with maybe some passing zones and plenty of roundabouts (traffic circles). B roads are even narrow and occasionally feature the dreaded eight foot tall hedgerows which hug the road, block forward visibility, and scratch the car. The roads are not labeled 'north' or 'south', like the states. Nope - at the roundabout, you get the road number and a town in that direction. So you have to study the area geography to figure out which town lies in the direction you want to go. To other odd thing is they hardly ever mention what road you're actually on - they just label turns. Rob, by the way, is doing an amazing job driving on the left with a stick shift in heavy traffic. It takes some winding, but we reach Avebury, which is a 28 acre stone circle. Unlike Stonehenge, these are large boulders of wildly varying sizes and shapes, which range over the area. We left the car park and paused for a quick facilities stop before hiking out. Unheated bathrooms in November. Beth: Well this is going to be uncomfortable Me: Dammit, I hadn't thought about it until you ... whoa, cold seat, cold seat - I am so awake now! As we reach the trailhead, we pass a very intense man yelling into his mobile (cell phone). Ignoring the boor, we walk out into the circle. There's a feeling of awe associated with these places, and it makes you quiet and thoughtful. Well, at least it does me - but along comes mobile man stomping down the trail, looking neither left nor right, missing all the beauty, yammering away. Beth leans over: Cell phones anger the goddess. What we really need it little 'no mobile' sign - maybe a man on a mobile with a lighting bolt exploding the phone. Me: Can you hear the guides - like the Tube warnings: 'Please refrain from using mobiles within the stone circle.' Rob just shakes his head. A little further on, we pass some stones that are cordoned off. The sign proclaims 'These stones are unstable and may fall without warning.' The sign explains local construction has disturbed the soil and probably made them chancy. Beth: No, I don't buy it - it's the idiots with mobiles within the stone circle. We hike only a small portion of the circle (it's well over an hour to hike it all) because we're short on time. Beth's developed quite a crush on R.K, the little Pooh Bear, who had stowed away in my backpack. He seemed quite fond of Beth's coat pocket. Deciding time forces us to skip the museum, we press on to Stonehenge, which is completely different than Avebury. You've all seen the pictures and it's just as cool as the posters. You pick up an audio wand that gives you little tidbits at each of the observation spaces around Stonehenge. We took three of the things and managed to break two - so by the final station we were huddled around the one little ear device. Stonehenge is smaller than you would think and completely mystifying. I can't fathom why someone would go to all that trouble to build a clock, though it works as that. Maybe a temple, but for what. It was rebuilt three times on the same spot. I wish we knew, but we never will. Beth said her favorite myth is it was a giant's pub - top of the stone lintels are what's left of the bar. Did J'itake call yet? Beth checks her messages - nothing from James and Mitake. By coincidence, they are spending the day in Winchester and the night in Salisbury. That's too cosmic and it is inevitable we will meet for dinner. In the interests of time, we sacrifice a real lunch and eat some sort of pastry at the tourist shop, then zip south to Salisbury Cathedral. Me humming I've been through Great Britain on a road with no name ... mumble, somebody filk the next verse My carmates make me stop that little ditty. Parking in Salisbury was an interesting adventure. We sort of did a zen bit to find parking in Market square, decided the time limit was too short, and went instead around the corner to Brown Street car park. From there, we followed the spire to the Cathedral. Salisbury, by the way, is a fantastic town - well worth an entire day at museums, cathedrals and quaint little shops. We only had a brief afternoon. We studied the West face (main entrance) for quite a while trying to figure out the saints statues. Beth The guy with the dragon is St. George Me: Sure, take the easy one. We did mediocre at the saints identification - where's Deidere when you need her? Cold and futility drive us inside. Prepare to be stunned Beth murmurs. Standing in the western entrance looking east toward the high altar, Salisbury Cathedral overawes. It's a 13th century cathedral built by the founding bishop, St. Osmond. There are a number of stunning effigy tombs in the church. The details of the cathedral are, however, a startling mishmash. They went to great effort to restore the ceiling with painting based on 13th century design. However, the altar cloths are these bizarre modern designs, which look quite out of place. Still, the architecture is breathtaking. Beth tries to pose R.K. in the arms of the saint statues, but I take the bear away, unwilling to have my stuffed animal commit sacrilege. The gift shop provides us with a pamphlet identifying all the saints on the western face, so we toddle back outside to study the statuary in the setting sun. St. Stephen - stones, St. Christopher with the child - wow, we should've gotten that. Why does St. Jude have a halbred? Beth begins to sing 'Hey Jude'. Why would a children's saint have a halbred - did he get killed violent cause he's not holding a martyr's palm like St. Stephen? Beth hums the next verse. Me: You have no clue, do you? Beth: None whatsoever. We trundle back through the streets and shops, waiting and waiting for the J'itake to call. No joy. We unload parcels at the car and check the better beer guide - no luck on a downtown pub. So we decide to pick the pub closest to the car park, "The Cloisters." We wander in and note it's an hour till food service. We pick up pints from the bar, and settle around a small table in front of the fire - the bliss of warm fire, comfy wingback chairs and a full pint on a cold evening. Let me say, I like this British law that *requires* you get a true pint when you order one. They fill the glasses to the tiptop, so you have to sip them before you can even leave the bar. Just as we put the pints on the table, Beth's mobile rings. J'itake has found their hotel so Beth gives them directions to the pub. Half a pint later, they join us around the fire, where James seems a bit shocked to find R.K. hugging a pint of Strongbow cider. Everyone should travel with a stuffed animal. (Laura has 'Staggers' the crab.) They add a certain dimension to a dinner party. Beth teaches the tipsy bear to dance. We are a merry crew of five and one little bear for dinner. British pubs simply have the ambience American pubs try so hard to achieve. We claim a table away from the smoke and compare touring notes over a leisurely dinner of excellent pub fare. Mitake and I synch our palms, exchanging addresses for postcards and the details of Beth's neighborhood. (We're leaving Friday morning and James and Mitake are arriving Friday evening.) Dessert is finished and the party disperes, J'itake for their B&B and us for Beth's flat in London. � � Scribble to Theo previous - next �