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Liverpool

This is a difficult post to write.

When I signed up for the tour, I saw that we had “several hours” in Liverpool between Wales and Cumberland and I immediate hit the travel sites to see what we would do with our unprogrammed time.

The Beatles, obviously. Or the Tate Museum. Or the International Slavery Museum….as I read those words a chill went up my spine. Of course I had to visit that exhibit. Every fiber of my being said I had to visit it. Fortunately my progressive husband (who also likes the Beatles) didn’t argue; he was all for it, even as I second guessed myself and wondered why on earth would I want to see such a place while on vacation.

My world perspective was rocked. First, by the accounts of modern people, from every race and country, who had been sold or trafficked into slavery.

Second, by the well documented section on the historical global slave trade, which for the first time made me realize the economic impact of the practice. The untold wealth generated by unpaid humans who were ripped from their homes and bred to provide an unending supply of more workers.

The last few years have brought media attention to economic injustice and the racist institutions that perpetuate generational poverty – I’m not an expert nor am I personally affected by this. But I know that it exists, and the exhibit at this museum brought home the truth.

I’ve heard a lot of people dismiss U.S. Slavery by saying “well, slavery still happens today” like that cancels out the past. It doesn’t. It can’t be swept aside like it’s history with no lasting impact.

It’s a big issue and I have no answers for fixing it, but I am learning. I appreciate the opportunity to learn. It was so important for me to know this.

And when I was shaking with rage and horror, I went to second floor to the Titanic exhibit to cheer up. It was that impactful.

The silver handled ladies whip and the muzzle.

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Day….I have no clue

Wales is exhilarating.

Our local guide is charming and knowledgeable with a great storyteller’s vibe. He mixes Welsh and English and gives us a “potted history” of the country peppered with side comments about how it has been portrayed in film. Note: I hadn’t heard of a “potted history” and thought it had to do with alcohol. It refers to a shortened version of the whole story. More than a summary, less than a chapter. I like my definition better.

Castle Conwy is well preserved by the National Trust and Unesco and it’s fascinating to walk where King Edward surveyed his perimeter. Lots of twists and turns and it must have been cold back in the day. We recognize the “ringed defense” architecture that we saw at Windsor and admire the defensible walls. The day is sunny and clear and it’s all very satisfying. We get the overview and a lot of history and then have time to explore. Les checks out the tower and I pick my away along the stone walls, leaning on my cane to stay upright. Fire knee is well braced and the cane is a necessity. I’m able to move about quite freely without pain so I’m a happy girl.

Conwy Castle – defended by fewer than 25 men

The vistas are marvelous and the site isn’t crowded and there are windy stone stairs and hidden chapels and a few unexpected sculptures. It is all good.

We scatter for lunch and Les and I decide on a tea room close to our next destination. The proprietor is on her own thanks to Covid and labor issues but she welcomes us in and feeds us in good time to make our next stop. Les and I try the Welsh Rarebit which is not what I thought it would be, but delicious nonetheless. (It’s a cheese sauce on brown toast. A bit soggy) We’re table sharing with a couple from our tour and they are slugging down massive milkshakes and cheese and pickle sandwiches. I’m maybe a bit envious.

Our next stop is the “Tudor House” which was, you guessed it, built in Tudor times by a gentleman who worked for the court and accepted a lot of coin for access to the people in power (okay, it wasn’t said quite like that, but that’s the gist). He also went to the continent for soldier duties and had seen the glories of Rome and Greece. When he retired to Wales, he built a substantial home for his sweetheart and eventual family. Alas, she died, but he found a new wife with the same initial (he had worked her initial into the decorative plaster walls) and it all worked out. The house was completed in 1577 or thereabouts.

It is airy and prosperous, lots of rooms, and I am quite taken with the plaster motifs and decorations. The owner really liked the caryatids in Rome and sketched out the general idea for his Welsh craftsmen. The result is a primitive homage. Paint choices take it up several notches and it’s a bit grotesque….a lot groteseque….but very lively. I take a number of pictures and hope that the owner lived a long and happy life.

TBH these were shocking at first sight, then I decided to be charmed

Check out the Welsh Baker to try these in the U.S.

After the tour we pause at a local bakery where I snag a few Welsh Cakes – there’s a place in Southern California that bakes and sells them and I want to compare. I also grab an “Eccles cake” because I’ve never had one.

The evening is capped with a concert by a talented Welsh harpist who entertains with a wide range of medieval songs, classical tunes and jazz. Our guide cajoles us into buying her CDs and we are happy to oblige. Les mentions to her that her style reminds us of Rodrigo y Gabriela and she knows of them! She says she’s tried to blend their percussion into her more modern pieces and we part with the glow of mutual appreciation.

Wales rocks.

Undated but so beautiful; it certainly could be a Tudor era embroidery

Back at the hotel….the most elegant set up

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Day 9/7 Chester

Food on the road is very inflammatory and my joints are feeling it. Lots of bread and potatoes, tons of sweets, the milk that makes the tea palatable, the two sugars that do the same….my knees ache and the deep gnaw of arthritis has begun. Sigh.

Yesterday we boarded our motorcoach for a long trek to Wales. Our driver had been on the job six months and lacked confidence. I heard him muttering about Google maps and sent a brief prayer that we would arrive in grace and good health.

The bus was quiet as 22 seniors caught up on sleep.

I was out for about 90 minutes and then my body rebelled against constriction and I had to get that seatbelt off and I felt a bit queasy and and…I wriggled in my tight window seat searching for a comfortable position but was unsuccessful.

Fortunately I had listened to my inner voice and picked up an extra croissant at breakfast. That distracted me and helped settle my stomach. A sip of water helped as well and then I tuned into the sad story of Tim the driver. He felt like he was doing a terrible job and not representing his company very well and perhaps he should just chuck it all. Our leader spoke to him in bracing terms, saying that the job would get easier and she was certain he’d get the hang of it. “Just project confidence” she told him. Tim was unconvinced.

A foreseen consequence of Brexit was that foreign workers found it difficult to get through the paperwork et al in order to stay employed in the UK. Covid drove many of them home and they weren’t flocking back. It’s fine to complain about “foreigners taking our jobs” but the locals aren’t picking up the slack. Restaurants are short staffed. Tube stations are shut down. Shops can’t stay open. The effects are everywhere.

Tim drops us off in Chester, which is an ancient town noted for its splendid cathedral and many historical sites. It is a walled city that served as a border town between the Brits and the Welsh. I’m a big fan of the Romans and I am thrilled to be in proximity of Roman Ruins – an ampitheater, some walls, a few mosaics. So much history! It is deeply satisfying.

The city is a blend of old and new. There are actual Tudor-era buildings and the town was a popular tourist destination during the Victorian era. The cathedral is vast and highly ornamented. The streets are a mixture of ancient and Victorian cobblestones. My eyes can’t settle but I know Les is capturing it all, from multiple angles and exposures.

There is a famous Chester clock atop the West Gate but another imposing clock has a humorous story. I am told that the square clock tower has three clock faces – one to Ireland, one to Scotland, one to Britain and none to Wales because “we don’t give them the time of day.”

We have a delightful ploughman’s lunch in a pub before exploring the cathedral interior. Then we find our group and tour bus and continue into Wales. Tim has been replaced by another, more confident driver and a new motorcoach. Adventures!!

Our hotel is on the water and it feels like a holiday beach town, with older and fancier buildings. After dinner, Les and I cross the street and enjoy the final moments of an outdoor concert. The sun is setting and the water sparkles – it’s beautiful and reminds me a bit of summer in Seattle. The evening lasts longer, the sun shimmers and bed is impossible. We trek along the bay and enjoy the fresh air and the snap of flags in the evening breeze. Wales is great!

Roman mosaic – the lighter grey is the restored section

Chester was a walled city (and now I’ve seen a weir!)

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Day 8/5 Honey Colored Cotswolds

(Santa is still our tour guide, so a bit light on facts).

Gentle rolling hills carpeted with lush green grass, bisected by hedgerows and low stone walls.

Honey colored limestone buildings that proclaim “you are in the Cotswolds” (There is a cozy mystery series set in the Cotswolds and the protagonist always describes herself as living in the ‘honey colored cottage my aunt left me’ so this is imprinted on my brain now.)

The area was settled by the Conqueror. It is bucolic, prosperous and the site of a million British cozies. (One of the sisters thinks I’m referring to tea cozies and I’m not going to correct her).

There are spare angular Norman buildings with implacable flat facades.

And beautifully curved arches and saints and noblemen gazing down.

At some point the Victorians moved in and decorated the place.

Artists, craftspeople, poets descended and drew inspiration from the beauty of the English countryside. My soul is stretching and loosening under its aspect.

Such a beautiful corner of the world.

And dogs, so many dogs.

They outnumber children and shops offer dog incentives – a favorite seems to be a scoop of puppy ice cream. The Brits love their dogs.

Chipping Camden, Broad Way and Stow-in-Wye – charming villages with little to see but so much to discover.

A restful day. Tonight we do laundry and tomorrow…..Wales!

And if you don’t obey, the Smart Water will come for you

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Day 5/2

We have been away from home for five days but it’s Day 2 of our Road Scholar experience. Does that make sense to anyone but me?

It seemed like the best choice of some terrible options

I will begin with last night’s dinner – which was honestly appalling. It’s my own fault for ordering it, but I so wanted flavor don’t you know….

The item in question was a “Korean Chicken Burger” – and it consisted of a chilly whole wheat bun (I promptly discarded the top half), a cascade of brown gravy with a mild brown curry tang, some cooked onion strips, some chilli jam and a lightly breaded chicken breast.

The chicken was oh so dry which maybe explained the curry flood. The flavors….well, point 1 is that there were flavors. Point 2 for the not unpleasant presence of cooked onions. Minus 1 for a very dull butter knife that sent chunks of chicken and bun skittering across the plate. Plus 3 for actual American catsup for the chips. Plus 1 that I didn’t get terrible indigestion. Plus 1 more for the entertainment value.

In all fairness I wanted fish and chips but the pub was out (Royal Ascot week). My sandwich was weird. It was fusion. I was an American eating a millenial brown gooey mess with a knife and fork.

Travel broadens the palate.

I’ve read a lot of Britain-set mysteries and at least one character always refers to an historic home as a “pile” as in “Yes, it’s the family pile”. I decide that Windsor Castle is a splendid pile. It has satisfying round turrets, double wall defenses, sturdy architecture. Not a lot of embellishment. It is lovely and tidy and if you have to live in a castle…it’s not a bad choice. Our local guide is a knowledgeable gent named Mike and he keeps us entertained as we wait in line to enter.

(BTW, this is my travel journal, not a compendium of history, so what you’ll read from here on out are my impressions. Check the interweb if you want facts. I’m on vacation.)

Named for the dearly departed husband of Queen Victoria

Henry VIII lived here as did some of his wives and children. He’s buried with his third wife in St. George’s. The current Queen will likely join her parents and grandparents there. It’s all quite civilized; living near your final resting place among the ancestors.

I’m very amused by the knitted/crocheted tableau atop the post office box. It depicts her majesty on a throne, her majesty in riding garb with a horse, a scepter, a tiny crocheted tea set and a few corgis. It is ridiculous and hand crafted and quite satisfying to see.

We witness the changing of the guard – it’s the Irish Guards this week – and I let Les jockey for position to get photos while I take a break in the shade. I can’t imagine standing around in wool uniforms in the blazing sun. They are disciplined and they carry modern weaponry over their shoulders. I think the castle is pretty well defended. The new guard is announced with a marching band that gathers in formation and plays a selection of music. They’re all in the sun and I’m drooping in the shade. I hope Les is getting good pics.

After this we queue up to see the state departments and we are no sooner inside than I see a cafe sign and peel off in search of water. It feels good to sit for a bit in a cool room. Our guide winks at us as he sits down with a coffee and snack. Refreshed, we head up the stairs.

The state departments are sumptuous and grand – lots of gilt and ornamentation and a few astonishingly preserved old masters. The colors are deep and well lit; they glow like they were painted yesterday. I’m beginning to pick out symbolism and note postures and garments (all tell a tale). There is a portrait of a previous queen holding a lamb. She looks very motherly. The lamb is the size of a Maine Coon cat. I am entertained.

We find a little Greek restaurant down the street from the castle and have a tasty lunch and a beer. It’s hot, but there’s a tiny breeze from the river. After, we trek back up the hill and get some souvenirs – postcards, a Jubilee tea towel, stamps, some British money from an ATM. We then decide to trek down a side street in hopes of some interesting local sites on the way back to our hotel. There are a number of backyards, garages, a park….no sign of High Street….oh dear….hot, so hot. After many, many steps we find the right road and exit into the hotel for some packing. Tonight is a no host dinner at the Duchess of Cambridge pub and tomorrow we leave for Stratford on Avon.