Follow the travel diary of Val and Rosney (The Man) as they travel to the UK via Vancouver one way and San Francisco on the return trip. The self-drive ‘innocents abroad’ expedition was planned in celebration of The Man’s 70th birthday to walk in the footsteps of their ancestors
On leaving London our big suitcase died on the walk to Waterloo Stati
on (broken back, and its wheels wouldn’t turn.) near killed The Man having to haul it up the considerable steps to the railway platform, no elevator in sight, and no one offered to help. The train left for Salisbury right on time though and was nice to sit back and enjoy the countryside roll past the window.
On arrival in Sailsbury we took a taxi from the station to the Cathedral Hotel, and were given a warm welcome, but then found we had to trudge our broken suitcase up three floors to our room. The first floor being the kitchen for the restaurant which was on the ground floor, a little odd. Each floor had fire-doors, with twist and turns, so it was quite confusing finding our room, which was more than adequate with a view out over the street – however, the windows were nailed shut, so no fresh air, a big bed, with a tiny bathroom.
We found Salisbury to be exceedingly Englishly pretty, it possessed a refreshing quaintness. As well as being quieter than London, we were pleased to find the cost of things had also reduced. We had a scoff up at a yum-bakery, then visited the cathedral, another architectural wonder that was once again full of deads.
The pintsized dog was clearly distressed. His owner in a wheelchair, the dog on an extend-a-leash was dancing a crazed fox-trot as it walked the floor in Salisbury Cathedral. I stop (as I do) and chatted to the dog’s owner and the reason for the crazy dance? The dog wouldn’t walk on the sites that bodies were buried, and had always been like this; right since puppy-hood. My heart immediately went out to the overly-sensitive critter, because I suffer the same problem. I don’t like looking downwards to discover I’m standing on the remains of, ‘Here lies Harold the Greatest.’ Out of respect I don’t stand on graves in cemeteries, although The Man suffers no such qualms. While I was totally awestruck and humbled by the architecture of the magnificent cathedrals and abbeys, I never felt spiritually at ease; as the historical dust of death kept invading my senses and try as I might; I couldn’t throw it off. Castles and stately homes I adored, feeling once again suitably awed, but well inside my somewhat unfathomable safety zone.
The Man was concerned that the cathedral was structurally unsound, and it wouldn’t surprise him if one day it came crashing down. We then went shopping for a suitcase to replace our deceased one, and the nice manager of our hotel said he would dispose of our old one for us – we then rang the car-hire firm to check our car would be ready for us in the morning and afterwards dined at the hotel. I have to say the staff at Cathedral Hotel did everything right, and tried hard to satisfy, but our room was far too hot and creaky, with strange noises in the night. I was pleased when morning dawned and it was time to meander along our way with Stonehenge being our first port of call – then onto Bath.
Nowhere yet to do some laundry, the hotel in London had an expensive wash service (an example: One pound for four hankies) and haven’t come across a laundromat yet. So missing my clothes left behind in Vancouver.
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Our rental car was a cutie black merc, nice for the narrow country roads that lay ahead. We could have had a GPS for a little extra. My heart sank into my shoes when The Do-It-Yourself Kiwi fellah said, ’No, it’s okay, the wife can navigate.’ Why anyone would want a half-blind-long-sighted-wife as a navigator, one that has to change glasses to read maps to another pair to read road signs, rather than a GPS I have no idea. The devoted husband was soon to discover that the faith he had placed in his wife’s abilities, was indeed, sadly misplaced.
First stop was Stonehenge, and as we got a wee-bit lost finding the place, we missed the early morning magic-bit, which also meant the tourist buses from London were arriving non-stop. I desperately wanted to feel awestruck but there were too many people around for that, so while The Man was taking photos I found a semi-quiet spot and let my mind wander back in time… and that worked, the wondrous bit crept through.
We stopped at the delightfully, quaint village of Warminster on the way to Bath, (beautiful countryside) we had a yum-lunch (Cornish Pasties to die for) and I found a ‘Heart Foundation’ op-shop and I bought a cardigan, much needed I might add. Needless to say, I was so impressed with this wee shop, that I visited every other Heart Foundation shop along the way (sobbing husband).
We only got a ‘small-bit-lost’ finding Bath, and then seem to spend ages going around in circles trying to find our accommodation (Badminton Villa), once we arrived we were greeted by a waggy-tailed black spaniel and its welcoming owners. Leaving our luggage in our ‘naval theme’ room, we walked downtown to Bath itself, visiting first of all the Roman baths, a bus tour of the town, walked about Regent Park (impressive), then spent the rest of our day wandering around town with the crowds.
Late afternoon we stopped for a beer at the Huntsman (a scruffyish pub) and ended up staying there for a bar-meal as the streets were now so crowded we figured seeing we had a seat-to-sit-upon, we’d stick with it. It was near-on dark when we walked back to our digs and snuggled in for the night… next morning we had breakfast downstairs with four Americans, an Australian, and two Brits. Breakfast was top-of-the-class and was served by a delightfully-attractive-dizzy-darling who pandered to our every whim. Would totally recommend Badminton Villa as a place to stay.
The downside of Bath was the crowds and the tourist high prices – but without a doubt the place was a ‘not to be missed’ winner. Next stop Oxford.
To be continued….
By Val Bird
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