Quite a week

Sunday Oct.3  Kennsington, London

Have had very limited access to computer during the week, so no chance to post.  Here are the highlights with a few photos.

Monday Sept. 27
Started out with another bus adventure, the drama provided this time by the driver who, apparently new to the route, came to a T junction, sat there for some time, then said out loud and matter of factly "I don't know which way to turn."  His admission was met by a chorus from the packed bus "Go right!"  A couple of minutes later, an elderly woman seated behind the driver leaned over and said, "Did you not see those people back there?"  "What?"  replied the driver.  "Those people.  There was a stop and you drove right by them."  "Oh." said the driver, and he stopped the bus in the middle of the very narrow, windy road and seemed to be considering backing up the half mile but thought better of it and continued on.  For the rest of the trip, the passenger chorus shouted "Straight on" or "Stop coming up"  No one was angry or upset, and new passengers, after a few moments of confusion, joined in.

Waked around St. Peter Port which means either up or down steep hills.  Walked a couple of miles to the site of V's godmother's old house which, we discovered, has been torn down and replaced with tacky apartments.  Disappointing.  Bus--with no adventures--Vazon Bay where V's dad, as a lad, used to dive off rocks into rip currents, and lived to tell the tale.  Walked quite a way out to a point, braced ourselves against the whipping wind and stared at the rocks and the sea for a few moments, then headed back.  Feet sore, and both tired, so decided to take the bus the remaining couple of miles back to Cobo even though we could see it in the distance around the bay.  Long wait before the friendly green and yellow shape hove into view.  Stepped on' relieved, only to be told by the driver that "I'm not going this way" with a tilt of his head in the direction in which the bus was facing.  So, a little stunned by the claim, we got off.  We then watched him drive around the bay and go exactly where we wanted to go.  Who knows?  Long walk back to the hotel.  Collapsed into bed.

Bill's rocks at Albecque

Tuesday Sept. 28
Up and packed.  Flight out at 10:30.  Lovely last view of Guernsey in the sunshine.  Rental car at Gatwick, M4 to Chepstow.  Love driving at 80 mph.  Checked into George Hotel on main street.  Old inn above a pub, but clean and a good shower.  Out for a walk to find dinner.  Strolled along the banks of the river Wye which at the time could be better characterized as the Trickle Wye with tide at its low ebb.  Boats resting in the mud at sharp angles.  Told that this is the second highest tide(40 feet) in the world after the Bay of Fundy.  Surprisingly tasty meal at the Boat pub, a century and a half old and retaining its original character. 

Wednesday Sept. 29
Ryder Cup day.  Off to Celtic Manor via the park and ride in the pouring rain.  Overly optimistic , it turned out, about the value of our small, collapsible umbrella.  Bus dropped us at the spectator entrance located some 20 or so miles from the actual course.  No one seemed to mind the long walk along muddy paths in the rain.  As in Guernsey, people in Wales grin constantly and are cheery, apparently, all the time.  Stumbled onto Tiger's foursome, few people following him. Same with the Mickelson foursome. More rain, more mud.  Tea in pavillion full of smiling laughing people in wet clothes and sodden shoes.  Souvenirs, including a gift golf towel that ended up drying V's feet before she changed into her new Ryder Cup socks.  Found the European team.  Much bigger crowd, and a more relaxed feeling.

Westwood & Harrington



 Players were chatting to the spectators and signing autographs between holes.  Had my hat scrawled on by McIlroy and Donald and one of--don't know which--the Molinari brothers.  Highlight was following the Jimenez group for a few holes.  Big cigar and bigger smile.

Jimenez through the rain

Relations with the crowd characterized by a fan shouting from the back row of the bleechers  "Hey, Manuel, give us a wave up here in the cheap seats", and Jimenez taking off his cap and waving and carrying on a short, shouted conversation with the guy and his friends.

Long walk back to bus in rain and mud.  Left Wales and headed for Somerset   With V navigating, decided to go to Exmoor National Reserve.  Down smaller and smaller roads until we reached the village of Bossington--look it up on Googleearth--population not many, and found Lynch House, a century-old country manor.  Friendly caretaker couple and charming room with spectacular view across the moors to the Bristol Channel. 

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Lynch House bedroom view

Off to Porlock, a slightly larger village, for dinner at the Royal Oak another perfect traditional pub with low ceiling beams and full of ruddy faces.  Busy for a Wednesday evening, with a throng that included two large golden retrievers being fed meat flavoured crisps, a Jack Russel being fed off his owner's plate, a boxer with an underbite problem and a scruffy terrier mix with an intense gaze.  The crowd swelled with the arrival of a van/taxi which disgourged a large group of ladies of various ages who, we discovered, comprised the Porluck Wednesday night Ladies Dart League.  Judging by the number of pints they ordered, the van/taxi seemed prudent.

Thursday  Sept. 30
Started day by watching what I thought was a pheasant race across the front lawn.  Was quickly disabused of that notion once the mating began in earnest.  Walked through the woods to an old lifeguard station high on a hill overlooking the channel.  No rain, lovely and serenely verdant landscape.  Walked along pefect stream that called for wellies and a trout rod.  Unfortuately, neither at hand.  Simple lunch of cheese and Exmoor Gold in the room.  Planned a second walk for the afternoon, but fell asleep instead.  Drove to Lyntton/Lynmouth, the "Switzerland of England". It ain't.  However, it did have a short funicular operated by an ingenious water system. Got there in part along a toll road where we had to stop and drop a pound through a slot in a door beside a gate across the road.  No attendant, and the gate wasn't locked, so could have avoided payment, but it all seemed worth the price of admission.   Had first cream tea in Devon.  Dinner again at the Royal Oak.  No dogs nor dart ladies, but there was an Edgar Winter look alike, and a parade of people from what looked like a closet.

Harbour at Lynmouth.

Every harbour we've seen has looked like this.

The rumour that the UK is an island is apparently false.

However, they try to maintain the charade by keeping lots of boats about. 

Friday Oct. 1
Packed up and reluctantly left Lynch House.  We will come back to this place. Family group holiday??  Drove in driving rain to the northeast.  Lunch in Wiveliscombe with a childhood friend of V's, and her husband.  Very pleasant couple, and damned cheery.  Beginning to think that the dour  British character is a myth.  Onwards through small towns and interminable roundabouts.   Kept looking for a place to stay, but nothing appealed.  Finally, after getting lost in Devizes--not an easy task for even the most directionally chalenged--and with darkness coming on, we stopped at the Castle Hotel in the middle of town.  An interesting old inn that reminded us of Fawlty Towers.  To reach our room, we had to negotiate several flights of stairs--some long, several of only a few steps,  some up some down--and five different doors. Out for dinner at an excellent Italian restaurant.  Pasta and Chianti--no fava beans.

Saturday  Oct. 2
Drove last leg into Heathrow, and dropped off the rental car.  Picked up by driver who brought us in to the London apartment.  Not exactly what we had hoped for, especially after being switched from Notting Hill to Kensington due to a bedbug infestation.  Met by manic Swedish owner and his partner.  He spent a long time detailing the life cycle of bedbugs, and assuring us that all of their apartments had been "test slept" by their children to ensure the bugs were gone.   Thinking of reporting them for abuse, but the "children" are adults and have probably long since been brought to the attention of authorities for other, equally horrific treatment.  The excitable Swede gave us long instructions on the neighbourhood, including the information that when we left the apartment we could either "turn left or turn right"  Good to know.  Out to get groceries right away because we had been informed that the shelves would be empty on Sunday.  Insanely loud supermarket filled with locust-like shoppers who would undoubtedly by the end of the day, have cleaned out the stock.  Stopped at modern pub/sports bar to watch a bit of the Ryder Cup because the tv at the apartment does not get the channel it's on--kind of ironic to be so close to the course and not able to see play.  V. left me to watch a while, and walked back to the apartment on her own.  I had a couple of pints then attempted the same.  After walking for almost an hour to get to an apartment which had, earlier, been only ten minutes away, it dawned on me that perhaps I had taken a wrong turn.  I had none of the following--the address nor even the street of the apartment, a phone or a phone number for that matter, a map, a hope in hell of finding the place.  I did however, remember that the Georgian embassy was on the corner of our street.  Went into a handy Hilton, and asked the concierge for help.  He pulled out a very detailed map that, unfortuantely, stopped a quarter of an inch from the area of the city I needed to see.  I had actually walked, quite literally, off the map.  Aha, I said.  Perhaps you can look up the address of  the Georgian embassy for me.  He did that on his computer and helpfully printed out a map, and put a large X where the embassy was.  Alas, even with my limited knowledge of London geography I knew that his X was nowhere near the apartment.  "I don't understand" says I.  "That's where it is."says he.  "You'd better help these ladies while I have a think"   I stared at the printed map for a few moments before it dawned on me that he had printed out a map to the Jordanian embassy.  When he was done with the ladies I pointed this out to him.  "It's the Georgian embassy I'm looking for." says I slowly so he can understand my Canadian accent.  "Yes" says he  "the Jordian embassy.  That's it there" says he pointing to his X.  No, no" says I ever more slowly, "the Georgian embassy.  You know, the one Russia .invaded."  Oh" says he, and printed out the appropriate map.  I had made the mistake of walking down Holland Park Avenue instead of Holland Road, both of which run into the same roundabout.  Several miles and buckets of perspiration later, I was back at the apartment.  V was very understanding.

A bientot.