Walking in Winchcombe

The delightful village of Winchcombe, England is on the famous Cotswold Way: 100 miles of paths from Bath to Chipping Camden. During the week we stayed there, we took a couple of walks, the best one being a snippet (5 miles) of the section from Winchcombe to Hailes Abbey.

 Leaving the tea room in town center

You walk down Witches Way...

through fields of grazing sheep, some with lambs.

 


Up and over "kissing gates and stiles"...Richard still has his eye closed after the kissing.

   

Navigation was interesting as you leave your GPS behind and follow instructions like these....
 
"Diagonally cross the field towards a clump of trees, aiming for the left of the trees and over a small knoll down to a stile. Climb the stile, past an ancient oak tree and head straight across the field to a stile. Climb the stile and continue straight on towards a house. Here you will see the Malvern Hills coming into view on your left. Climb the stile and bear right
uphill towards another stile, climb the stile and up to a gate leading onto a lane. Go through the gate and turn left along the lane past St Faith’s Church and Farmcote Herb Garden on your left. Leave the metalled road and follow the track descending slightly with lovely views ahead."


Fortunately you run across signs which help guide you along. I loved the names of the towns:
Spoonley, Guilting Wood, Hinchwick, Ozleworth Bottom, Chipping Norton, Bourton-on-the-Hill,
Milton-under-Wynchwood, Stretton-on-the-Fosse.

This part of the path was pretty unmistakable......

Just after a rain, we picked up quite a load of mud and gunk on the shoes, but it was mostly marvelously green.

We passed by some beautiful English gardens...with sweet peas blooming in late August and
zucchini laid out for passers by to take home.

We ended the walk at Hailes Abbey which was financed by pilgrims visiting its renowned relic, 'the Holy Blood of Hailes - allegedly a vial of Christ's blood. The Abbey was shut down and its coffers emptied by Cromwell.

I'd love to go back and try to do as much of the whole walk as we could.

Dublin - where hearts are stolen

In Dublin we enjoyed glorious weather. Our raincoats and umbrellas rested in the hotel room while we walked around sweating in jeans and shirts. In the bright sunshine and 80 degrees, every citizen of Dublin appeared to be out on the streets. The darkish pubs were empty, with the patrons spilled out on the curbs, hands shading their eyes from the sun glinting off the amber gold of their pints. Gift of gab notwithstanding, I observed that the Irish begin the real talk mostly when the hand holds a pint and then the floodgates open. The pub-scene-girls looked beautiful to me...gorgeous dresses, super fancy heels, sophisticated makeup. As we passed through these merry throngs I heard plenty of energetic babble, espresso machines coughing and phlegming, the screeching of seagulls and every few minutes, a siren. I couldn't make out a word but caught the friendly ambiance nonetheless.

We ate at "The Hairy Lemon" -  typical pub fair: Irish Stew and a Dublin Coddle with a pint of ale each. The combination of too much food and the beer we're unaccustomed to (9% alcohol) nearly did us in so we put the brakes on the pub visits. The music starts too late and for every bit of Irish music you might hear you have to endure too much Johnny Cash for my liking. I'm happy to have done my pubbing in Dublin twenty years ago when my constitution was more inclined.
 

The Book of Kells at Trinity College is the national treasure of Ireland and worth standing in line to see for the second time. We heard evensong at St. Pat's and enjoyed reading about Jonathan Swift who was Dean for thirty years. He's buried there next to "Stella", a woman with whom he had what is called an "ambiguous relationship". He met her when she was eight years old and fatherless - smacks a bit of Woody Allen to me. I hope a whole generation hasn't been turned off Swift because of the terrible "Gulliver's Travels" film of last year. His satirical writing as in the below summarized "modest proposal" shouldn't be missed.
 

A Modest Proposal for Preventing the Children of Poor People From Being a Burden on Their Parents or Country, and for Making Them Beneficial to the Publick, commonly referred to as A Modest Proposal, is a Juvenalian satirical essay written and published anonymously by Jonathan Swift in 1729. Swift suggests that impoverished Irish might ease their economic troubles by selling their children as food for rich gentlemen and ladies. This satirical hyperbole mocks heartless attitudes towards the poor, as well as Irish policy in general. In English writing, the phrase "a modest proposal" is now conventionally an allusion to this style of straight-faced satire.

The hop-on hop-off bus provided an overview of the city and considerable entertainment on it's own. Few people actually "hop" especially when they've just finished the Guinness tour. I clambered on, almost fell asleep and dragged my butt off. The sun, warm air, excess clothing and "bus bobble" did me in. Richard stayed alert and got us to the right stops. We loved visiting the Chester Beatty library

and Christ Church Cathedral, which is reeling from the shock of having their principal relic stolen earlier this year. A petrified heart that hung on the wall since the 1300's was pinched. There's a major appeal out world-wide to dealers in such rare antiquities to provide help and information.

Home of the heart

 

The heart thieves didn't have to fight the crowds in Christ Church. This was the scene just after a week day service ended. There was a woman and Richard. I was only a photographer and so don't really count.

Etched in Stone

In Ireland instead of spending our time in pubs drinking and catching the craic*, we haunted the churches looking at tombstones and inscriptions. The morning after we had no hangovers and no regrets.

Some tombstones drive you straight to Wikipedia, like this one.  Bishop Bishop was obviously made for his job. Seems he was quite accomplished during his lifetime and notable that his family/friends chose to "etch in stone" the circumstances of his demise.

The Irish can't tell a story the short way and consequently put a lot of information on their tombstones - after all, it is the last word. This one following must have cost George's Mom a pretty penny. She chose not only to recount the way he died but also to give a permanent dig to the Galwegians who didn't keep the docks adequately lit.

It reads:

Sacred to the memory of George Frederick De Carteret, ensign in her majesty's 30th regiment, son of the late Major De Carteret of the Honorable East India Company's service, and Elizabeth his wife, both natives of Jersey. His lamentable death was occasioned by want of lights on the docks into which he fell and was drowned, during a dark and tempestuous night, on the 21st of March 1843, at the early age of 22. Deploring her irreparable loss and bearing in remembrance his many virtues, his childless mother has caused this monument to be erected. She was "The was only son of his mother
and she was a widow".

Here was a very well-loved person who made an endowment that was supposed to last as long as the tombstone - for ever!! I wonder how long it actually lasted?

Near this place rests in full assurance of a Blessed Resurrection, Jane Eyre, Daughter of Sir  Maynord, Baronet and Relict of Edward Eyre late of Galway Twnq. She was a loving and obedient Wife, A careful and indulgent Mother, Affabel and courteous to her Acquaintance. Her Piety Prudence and well disposed bounty to the poor giving bread to the hungry and clothing the naked made her a worthy example to her sex. She took leave of this world on the 29th day of  December 1762 in the 88th year of her age, Resigned herself chearfully into the hands of her Redeemer with a faith, hope and charity, which never fails to obtain an Inherritance among the Saints in Light. Two daughters Elizabeth and Margaret survived her. The sum of 500! was given by the widow Jane Eyre to the Corporation of Galway for the yearly sum of 24! to be distributed in bread to 56 poor objects on every Sunday for ever.

The etcher who worked on this one couldn't get that "y" onto the end of "body" and had to hike it up one row. I'm not sure "died" was ever spelled like this - "dyed" and personally I don't think a good etcher would have split up Catherin's name like this. I hope they got a discount. 

 *
"Craic" (/ˈkræk/KRAK), or "crack", is a term for news, gossip, fun, entertainment, and enjoyable conversation, particularly prominent in Ireland.^[1][2][3] It is often used with the definite article – the craic.^[1] The word has an unusual history; the English crack was borrowed into Irish as craic in the mid-20th century and the Irish spelling was then reborrowed into English.^[1] Under either spelling, the term has great cultural currency and significance in Ireland.

Edinburgh

 

Flat in new town Edinburgh

While attempting with difficulty to book hotels in Edinburgh we were told several times that the "festivals were on and space was scarce". Festivals, we yawned... the avocado festival, the county fair; deep-fried chocolate bars and macrame necklaces. It turned out to be the festival of all festivals; like all the festivals we've ever seen going on simultaneously. Book fairs, choral and music fairs, live theater of all kinds, comedy festivals, mime, dance of every variety. Reputedly the largest culture festival in the world, it's program is the size of a small telephone book. 24 hours a day every conceivable nook and cranny in the city is booked. We managed to see a couple of concerts, the best - a preview of the Purcell opera, Dido and Aeneas. Wandering the Royal Mile every day to watch the "previews" presented on the streets could keep you busy all day every day for a month.

Performances everywhere

Pipers were a-piping on every corner.

 

Beautiful flowers in hanging baskets all over the city

 
The military tattoo was a wonderful experience but the expensive whiskey tasting aforehand overblown and contrived for tourists. We had to buy a "package" in order to get the really good seats for the tattoo and thought it couldn't be all that bad. It was. Part of it was the cheesiest ride I've ever experienced in a whiskey barrel on rails which travels through a series of tableaux depicting how whiskey is made. There isn't enough whiskey in the world to turn that sow's ear into a silk purse. The only two things of value we learned were: 1. Whiskey is spelled with an "e" in Scotland and spelled "whisky" in Ireland and 2. No matter how you spell it, people will pay incredible prices for a prized bottle - up to $20,000.00. The tasting organizers also housed a collection of rare whiskeys, perhaps the best part of the experience.

There was a shadow head in every one of my photos

Whiskey collection

Sepia Saturday 138: Keeping on your toes

Riding a bike while wearing high heels? These wonder women are probably wearing girdles too. In the 40's, 50's and even the early 60's an anatomical jiggle anywhere on the body was considered unladylike and in bad taste. A girdle was essential, even on a bicycle! I fondly remember my friend's mother coming home from her job, going straight to the bedroom to remove the offending garment then rubbing her back against the door jamb. She'd moan and say, "Someday you girls will know what this is all about". Fortunately, we never did. Thankfully, my generation burned their underwear. Selling a girdle to a woman in the 70's was like selling a refrigerator to an eskimo? What for? 

I googled "riding a bike in high heels" to see if there was any advice on the matter. Biking is coming back in hip urban areas and cities all over the world are re-figuring their highways to allow for more bicycle traffic and offering incentives to those who choose to ride them. Websites with riding advice abound. The single most important rule of high heel riding seems to be that you pedal with the toe part of your shoe. Do not, as these ladies are doing, let the pedal cradle in the arch of your foot. This is dangerous as is riding without a helmet and doing that tandem thing over the shoulders. What is that anyway? Could anyone really ride a bicycle wearing today's foot fashions?

Ultimately, there are some things you do in high heels and some things you do not. At least that's what I thought until my friend Nancy sent me the story of the legendary Maurice Wilson, who attempted a climb of Mt. Everest in spite of an incredible lack of experience. He didn't make it -  you can read the whole story here.

Whttp://www.bbc.co.uk/insideout/yorkslincs/series3/everest_mountaineering_climb_maurice_wilson.shtml

But Maurice, who owned a woman's clothing store, was even more complicated than your ordinary nut case who crashed a plane into Everest and then without training or experience attempted to climb it. When his body was found, there was women's clothes in his rucksack and some claim "he was decked out in woman's underwear".  But wait, there's more......

In the 60's during a climbing attempt by the Chinese, a woman's shoe was found at 21,000 feet.
Enough said.

For more stories on this photo, cycle over to Sepia Saturday.

Return of the Peacock

We heard a noise this morning and looked out to see the peacock, back again in all his glory, this time right on the patio. 

Last night, I left a few plastic containers containing small irrigation parts on the patio. The bird was very interested in the containers and the parts, pecking experimentally at them a couple of times. The cats were amazed at first and began stalking but they soon realized the bird had the advantage and pulled back to observation mode. 

"Hello! I'm Buster."

Hello! I'm Pink."

The peacock, quite obviously somebody's pet, seemed relaxed in the company of the cats. I walked out and he didn't appear to be upset by my presence either.  The cats, their legendary curiosity satisfied, actually wandered off and left him alone.

"Oh well, another big bird on the patio. Guess I'll go see what else is going on."

Family Reunion 2012

Another great family reunion over the weekend in Nipomo and Paso Robles. Uncle Kelly was the oldest attendee at 92 and Travis, the youngest, is 14 months. We enjoyed seeing everyone again and ate and drank well.

Saturday night: Tri-tip and chicken barbecue, Nipomo






......and beans






Pretty Penny Vineyard, Paso Robles






Looking out the kitchen windows






Jim with his Leica






Marianne's beautiful flowers






Everyone waiting for pizza hot from the oven









Marianne and Bob's delicious pizza






and we enjoyed a very fine syrah from their vineyard.

Sepia Saturday #137: Don't Run, Walk

I I love watching Olympic racing of any kind. But I particularly like to watch race walking. It's an event you'd be hard pressed to find televised at any other time in the U.S. People (Americans) think its nerdy and laughable. I like it because it looks like something anyone could do. I sit on the couch eating chips and guacamole, watching the event and between mouthfuls and sometimes during mouthfuls I've been known to say, "Oh look, we could do that."

Race walking began 400 years ago when a footman routinely walked alongside the coach of his employer. As is the wont of men, it was inevitable that one coach owner would shout across to others riding nearby, "My footman is better/faster than yours! I bet you 20 quid mine can beat yours to the next pub"....and the races were on. Over the years these race events gained the name, "Pedestrianism" and were a popular venue for wagering.

To make a long story readable, the race events grew in length and became and more formalized. Some events were really endurance contests - like the one in the notice above which was simply the one who "goes farthest in six days" wins 500 pounds.  Footmen clearly disappeared and race walkers dressed in shorts and jerseys took their place. Race walking became an Olympic event in 1906.

I'll be munching my guac and chips while watching the men's 20K this Saturday August 4th (if its televised) and next Saturday August 11th when the men's 50K and the women's 20K will take place. Borscht will likely be on the menu that day in honor of the many Russians who enjoy some dominance in the sport.

Always trying for the last word, my husband observed that women look so much better doing this than men. I have to agree.

Sepia Saturday #135: The Health Fairy

The Health Fairy was a lovely almost angelic looking young woman and certainly seems captivating to her young audience. The favorite fairy of my youth was the scantily clad show-girly Tinkerbell who some claim erroneously was modeled after Marilyn Monroe. Even though she seemed a bit cross-eyed, she was everything young girls wished to be: beautiful, sparkly, good, wise, fun and she could fly away if anything bothered her too much.

I wonder if this Health Fairy was delivering messages about diet. In the twenties America had just emerged from a period of diet madness where great numbers of people believed that consumption of the wrong foods would cause moral decay. One Reverend Sylvester Graham believed for instance that ketchup and mustard would cause insanity and the consumption of meat led to hormonal overload causing men to take advantage of "pliant" women. Perhaps he was right! All the current ills of our society could be traced back to the twenties when hamburgers as we know them began to be popular. 

Horace Fletcher, a charlatan, with a harmless but inconvenient theory convinced the world that each bite should be chewed 32 times. It slowed us all down and couldn't be all bad. Despite advances in nutrition education, diet madness still grips us. We regularly fall prey to ridiculous diet fads with no scientific evidence to support them such as the 3-day diet, the cabbage soup diet, the negative calorie diet, the Beverly Hills diet, the Zone diet and various combining diets.

Perhaps the Health Fairy was educating the children about the spurious health claims being made by food companies such as Quaker Oats claiming to curb nervousness and constipation, Fleischmann's yeast to sooth frayed nerves and loosen the bowels and the "Chicken Dinner" candy bars so called because it provided satiety, like a chicken dinner. 

Worrisome also to the nutritionists of the day, the twenties were the golden age of candy bars some of which are still around: Baby Ruth, Milky Way, Butterfingers and Oh Henry, only one cent!

Cooler sweets hitting the market included Good Humor bars, Eskimo Pies and Pospsicles. The grocery store was laden with temptation and danger. I guess "Yea Bo" was some sort of cool address form, like today's "Hey Dude". `

The Health Fairy of today would probably have to look like a very buff version of Lady Gaga (dressed in thrift store clothing - she'd have to give up her meat dress) in order to hold the kid's attention for any length of time. Her magic wand would be some kind of electronic stylus or perhaps the magic wand patented by Microsoft a few years ago. She would likely be a vegetarian juicer with no personal possessions (except an Iphone), intent on saving the planet, eschewing energy consumption by eating raw and riding her bicycle to the job. Whatever her message it would be conveyed by rapping and she'd have a nose ring and be covered with tattoos of healthy fruits and vegetables. Oh yes, and they'd have to change that name!!!