Here are some videos from Christmas day out on the sundeck at Emerald.
Wednesday, 31 December 2008
Tuesday, 23 September 2008
A ROMANTIC LAST TRIP
We have arrived back in the Cotswolds after an eventful and unforgettable time in France.
To begin with, just as we were preparing for the last big adventure, there was a fire in the Channel Tunnel. For a day or two we weren’t sure if trains would be running and so we had to find alternative transport. We booked tickets on coach and ferry which would mean leaving at 10pm on the Saturday and sitting up all night, arriving in Paris to make a connection next day for the Loire Valley.
In the end, train services through the tunnel were restored, albeit on a limited schedule and all was well. We forfeited 35 quid on the ferry tickets but it was worth it. The train journey went smoothly and we picked up a train in Paris to Tours and then a bus to Loches where we arrived by late afternoon. We stayed in a hotel called the George Sand, very provincial and very friendly. The window of our room opened onto a terrace overlooking the River Indre flowing over a little waterfall alongside the public gardens, with beautiful flowers and trees.
Next morning we wandered the city in search of breakfast, and found a typical cafe and bar where we sat in the morning sun and enjoyed orange juice, fresh croissants and hot coffee.
Then we explored what is a really interesting city at every level. It is of course, typically French with rows of shuttered houses and shops facing onto quite narrow streets which wind all over the place. Cars and motor scooters roar around with pedestrians dodging them with their shopping of bread sticks and groceries poking out of bags and baskets. We walked past bakeries and cake shops literally following our noses. The scent of fresh bread is most enticing at breakfast time, and those beautiful pastries and brioches are very tempting.
Contrary to popular image, people were very friendly. Almost everyone we passed would greet us with a cheerful “Bonjour”!
Not knowing much about Loches we just wandered about past the shuttered windows and little shops and cafes until we spotted a narrow lane leading upwards towards the towers of the medieval part of the city.
This took us past older stone buildings and then under a little stone bridge from which we emerged into a street dominated by a high cliff on one side, with a massive castle rearing up. This was a real fairytale chateau and you could imagine the Sleeping Beauty up there in one of the towers. There were turrets and tall chimneys, with pointed roofs and dormer windows.
Built on a rocky outcrop the chateau towers over the town and its outer walls conceal a beautiful medieval city. We passed through the medieval gateway passing firstly a house once lived by the artist Emmanual Lansyer. This was full of beautiful landscape paintings but for me the garden and the view across the town was what made this place special.
As we entered the main tower of the chateau we learned that it had quite a history. Apparently it was taken from the English
King John in 1205, when the city was besieged during the 100 years war. The heir apparent to the throne, Charles, took refuge there. We stood in a huge room lined with ancient weaponry and suits of armour. Here Joan of Arc begged Charles, the Dauphin to go to Reims to be crowned king. Once he had become Charles VII, he went back to the chateau with his "Damoyselle de Beauté", Agnès Sorel, the first "official mistress" of a king of France. From there we walked along the road to the 12th century church of St Our. It was once part of a monastery founded by the aforementioned St Our in around 500AD. Beyond that we found the expansions to the chateau where there are dungeons and more defensive towers. This was the work of Louis XI who enlarged the fortress and made it a state prison. This part contrasts with the southern wing, which looks more feudal with its turrets, watchtowers, and its parapets. From the top of the towers, the view across the rooftops of Loches could only be French.
Leaving the chateau we walked back down the hill past more houses and little shops and cafes and restaurants. The good part was that there were hardly any tourists like us around, so it all looked natural .
By the time we had finished peering into book shops and charcuteries and patisseries it was mid afternoon and we hadn’t eaten. So we popped into a bakery and in broken French, asked for baguettes avec jambon et fromage and some pains de raisin, (ham and cheese rolls and raisin buns). This along with drinks, we took down to the river bank and enjoyed in the sunshine.
After that we paid a visit to the local tourism centre looking for a way to get to one of the many chateaux in the Loire Valley. There were no tours as such and the woman who dealt with us seemed disinclined to offer any advice. So we gave that a miss temporarily and took to drink.
It was around 5pm so we selected a sidewalk bar, sat down and ordered vin rouge along with everybody else after work. It was a sheer delight to relax in the sun and just watch people walking by, or greeting each other over drinks (and in some cases smoking ghastly French ciggies) and chatting animatedly (probably about those weird looking tourists guzzling cheap plonk). After that we wandered back to our hotel to rest and think about dinner.
At around eight we’d decided on a restaurant called Tour St Antoine, oddly enough named after the tower which overshadowed the building. This is a tall medieval tower in the centre of the town.
After that we returned to the George Sand to plan tomorrow.
LOCHES DAY 2
After breakfast we wandered down to the township again to find out about visiting one of the chateaux. This time a more helpful lady was on duty at the tourist office. She explained that there were no formal tours going at this time of year, and no regular bus service. She suggested that a taxi might be the answer, and the nearest and most visited chateau was at Chenonceau about half an hour away. We found a willing taxi driver and set off.
When we left our driver, with a promise to return for us at 4pm, we walked up a long drive lined with tall chestnut trees and there it was. Chenonceau!
This chateau is simply breathtaking. Set literally on the River Cher (There is no River Sonny), this beautiful building was created in 1513. It stands in wide formal gardens and surrounded by the waters of the river which runs around it and through the arches of its very structure. The whole is reflected in the slow flowing waters of the river. And of course there are those fairytale turrets and pointed roofs.
Inside we wandered through marbled halls and rooms hung with Belgian tapestries and furnished with gilt and silken hangings and canopied beds, and portraits of the high and mighty, of kings and mistresses and famous men and women of the Renaissance. From the balconies we overlooked the gardens below. There was the garden of Diane de Poitiers, a broad expanse of walled garden with hundreds of shrubs and plants, climbing and stemmed roses and in the centre, the original fountain still working. On the other side of the water which acts as a moat around the chateau, is another glorious garden, the garden of Catherine de Medicis, another riot of shrubs and plants, including an avenue of orange trees and more rose trees all elegantly laid out in formal style. Beyond the walls of these gardens are seventy acres of forest where the rich and famous once hunted.
We enjoyed lunch of fresh baguettes and fruit juice before proceeding to the sixteenth century farm which adjoined the chateau. This is a series of restored old barns and stables and leads on to the vegetable garden, a huge expanse of beds crammed with every conceivable vegetable, including the biggest pumpkins I’ve ever seen.
Four o clock came all too soon and our driver picked us up for the return journey and once back in Loches, we had to pack for our departure in the morning.
That night we enjoyed dinner in our hotel restaurant overlooking the gardens.
LOCHES TO PARIS
In the morning we had some time to spare before taking the bus back to Tours, so we took a last stroll around the streets and gardens of Loches, to discover that it was market day. We spent the next hour checking out stalls selling flowers and fruit and vegetables, the most marvellous local cheeses and wine, chickens and rabbits and homemade pate.
Then it was time to take the bus to Tours where we joined a train to Paris. A few hours later we were dragging our suitcase off the train at the Gare d’Austerlitz and finding out how to get to our hotel.
A friendly railway employee directed us to the Metro and we took it to the appropriate station. The Hotel Jardin d’Eiffel was a ten minute walk from the station which came out on the left bank of the Seine, in a charming residential area. We looked up to find the Eiffel Tower looming over us so we knew we’d never get lost with a landmark like that so close. We dined that evening at a small nearby bistro and went to bed. Just outside our window we could see the top ten metres or so, of the Eiffel, all lit up and sparkling with stars.
PARIS DAY ONE
As we had visited Paris before, we decided to do one or two specific things we hadn’t done before. One was to go to the top of the Eiffel Tower, and the other was to do a tour of the famous sewers of Paris.
So the morning found us walking, in perfect weather, along the banks of the Seine to the tower. On the way we passed a man who suddenly stopped and picked up a gold signet ring which was lying on the footpath. He asked if we owned it. We said no.
He tried it on his finger but it didn’t fit so he gave it to Barbara. Somewhat bewildered we accepted politely and walked on.
Then came the sting.
Could we give him some money “pour un sandwich”
We were hooked and effectively paid him to go away. That ring cost us several euros.
Further along our way, we passed a number of those big glass topped tour boats which travel the river full of sightseers. One of the things they offered was a romantic dinner and evening cruise along the river.
As tomorrow evening was our 45th wedding anniversary we decided to throw caution and our credit cards to the wind and book a table.
More on that later!
We joined the queue for the ride to the top of the tower, feeling some trepidation but determined to go on.
In the end it wasn’t all that daunting. We took one lift which went up on an angle along one of the giant pylons and then to another lift which went straight up to the top. I was so busy with my camera that the altitude didn’t come into it.
Once at the top we stepped out onto a wide observation platform that was enclosed with glass, and went around 360 degrees. Even though there was a little smog around we could make out all the famous landmarks of the city; the Arc de Triumphe, Notre Dame, the Ile de la Cite, the Place de la Concorde and of course the winding River Seine.
We spent nearly an hour up there, gasping at the view and taking far too many photos. On the way down we got off at the second level and sat drinking coffee and pinching ourselves to ensure that we were in Paris.
We walked back along the river and then up another charming residential avenue to a broad square, the Champ de Mars, and there we took a table in a bistro of the same name, and had a lunch of delicious salads and chilled white wine. For the rest of the afternoon we rode the Metro down to Notre Dame and spent more hours inside the cool gloom of this wonderful old Gothic building, marvelling at the rose windows, the high arches of the nave and numerous side chapels. Outside the architecture is something else again, with the gargoyles and the rows and rows of statuary and flying buttresses.
Then more wine at a sidewalk cafe, and a long walk along the left bank past all those little book stalls selling “dirty French postcards” and old copies of French magazines and those ubiquitous prints of the Moulin Rouge and the Eiffel Tower and the other landmarks.
After another pleasant evening meal we retired for the night, our only distraction being CNN on TV, rattling on endlessly about the financial crisis. We were in Paris and all that seemed very far away.
To begin with, just as we were preparing for the last big adventure, there was a fire in the Channel Tunnel. For a day or two we weren’t sure if trains would be running and so we had to find alternative transport. We booked tickets on coach and ferry which would mean leaving at 10pm on the Saturday and sitting up all night, arriving in Paris to make a connection next day for the Loire Valley.
In the end, train services through the tunnel were restored, albeit on a limited schedule and all was well. We forfeited 35 quid on the ferry tickets but it was worth it. The train journey went smoothly and we picked up a train in Paris to Tours and then a bus to Loches where we arrived by late afternoon. We stayed in a hotel called the George Sand, very provincial and very friendly. The window of our room opened onto a terrace overlooking the River Indre flowing over a little waterfall alongside the public gardens, with beautiful flowers and trees.
Next morning we wandered the city in search of breakfast, and found a typical cafe and bar where we sat in the morning sun and enjoyed orange juice, fresh croissants and hot coffee.
Then we explored what is a really interesting city at every level. It is of course, typically French with rows of shuttered houses and shops facing onto quite narrow streets which wind all over the place. Cars and motor scooters roar around with pedestrians dodging them with their shopping of bread sticks and groceries poking out of bags and baskets. We walked past bakeries and cake shops literally following our noses. The scent of fresh bread is most enticing at breakfast time, and those beautiful pastries and brioches are very tempting.
Contrary to popular image, people were very friendly. Almost everyone we passed would greet us with a cheerful “Bonjour”!
Not knowing much about Loches we just wandered about past the shuttered windows and little shops and cafes until we spotted a narrow lane leading upwards towards the towers of the medieval part of the city.
This took us past older stone buildings and then under a little stone bridge from which we emerged into a street dominated by a high cliff on one side, with a massive castle rearing up. This was a real fairytale chateau and you could imagine the Sleeping Beauty up there in one of the towers. There were turrets and tall chimneys, with pointed roofs and dormer windows.
Built on a rocky outcrop the chateau towers over the town and its outer walls conceal a beautiful medieval city. We passed through the medieval gateway passing firstly a house once lived by the artist Emmanual Lansyer. This was full of beautiful landscape paintings but for me the garden and the view across the town was what made this place special.
As we entered the main tower of the chateau we learned that it had quite a history. Apparently it was taken from the English
King John in 1205, when the city was besieged during the 100 years war. The heir apparent to the throne, Charles, took refuge there. We stood in a huge room lined with ancient weaponry and suits of armour. Here Joan of Arc begged Charles, the Dauphin to go to Reims to be crowned king. Once he had become Charles VII, he went back to the chateau with his "Damoyselle de Beauté", Agnès Sorel, the first "official mistress" of a king of France. From there we walked along the road to the 12th century church of St Our. It was once part of a monastery founded by the aforementioned St Our in around 500AD. Beyond that we found the expansions to the chateau where there are dungeons and more defensive towers. This was the work of Louis XI who enlarged the fortress and made it a state prison. This part contrasts with the southern wing, which looks more feudal with its turrets, watchtowers, and its parapets. From the top of the towers, the view across the rooftops of Loches could only be French.
Leaving the chateau we walked back down the hill past more houses and little shops and cafes and restaurants. The good part was that there were hardly any tourists like us around, so it all looked natural .
By the time we had finished peering into book shops and charcuteries and patisseries it was mid afternoon and we hadn’t eaten. So we popped into a bakery and in broken French, asked for baguettes avec jambon et fromage and some pains de raisin, (ham and cheese rolls and raisin buns). This along with drinks, we took down to the river bank and enjoyed in the sunshine.
After that we paid a visit to the local tourism centre looking for a way to get to one of the many chateaux in the Loire Valley. There were no tours as such and the woman who dealt with us seemed disinclined to offer any advice. So we gave that a miss temporarily and took to drink.
It was around 5pm so we selected a sidewalk bar, sat down and ordered vin rouge along with everybody else after work. It was a sheer delight to relax in the sun and just watch people walking by, or greeting each other over drinks (and in some cases smoking ghastly French ciggies) and chatting animatedly (probably about those weird looking tourists guzzling cheap plonk). After that we wandered back to our hotel to rest and think about dinner.
At around eight we’d decided on a restaurant called Tour St Antoine, oddly enough named after the tower which overshadowed the building. This is a tall medieval tower in the centre of the town.
After that we returned to the George Sand to plan tomorrow.
LOCHES DAY 2
After breakfast we wandered down to the township again to find out about visiting one of the chateaux. This time a more helpful lady was on duty at the tourist office. She explained that there were no formal tours going at this time of year, and no regular bus service. She suggested that a taxi might be the answer, and the nearest and most visited chateau was at Chenonceau about half an hour away. We found a willing taxi driver and set off.
When we left our driver, with a promise to return for us at 4pm, we walked up a long drive lined with tall chestnut trees and there it was. Chenonceau!
This chateau is simply breathtaking. Set literally on the River Cher (There is no River Sonny), this beautiful building was created in 1513. It stands in wide formal gardens and surrounded by the waters of the river which runs around it and through the arches of its very structure. The whole is reflected in the slow flowing waters of the river. And of course there are those fairytale turrets and pointed roofs.
Inside we wandered through marbled halls and rooms hung with Belgian tapestries and furnished with gilt and silken hangings and canopied beds, and portraits of the high and mighty, of kings and mistresses and famous men and women of the Renaissance. From the balconies we overlooked the gardens below. There was the garden of Diane de Poitiers, a broad expanse of walled garden with hundreds of shrubs and plants, climbing and stemmed roses and in the centre, the original fountain still working. On the other side of the water which acts as a moat around the chateau, is another glorious garden, the garden of Catherine de Medicis, another riot of shrubs and plants, including an avenue of orange trees and more rose trees all elegantly laid out in formal style. Beyond the walls of these gardens are seventy acres of forest where the rich and famous once hunted.
We enjoyed lunch of fresh baguettes and fruit juice before proceeding to the sixteenth century farm which adjoined the chateau. This is a series of restored old barns and stables and leads on to the vegetable garden, a huge expanse of beds crammed with every conceivable vegetable, including the biggest pumpkins I’ve ever seen.
Four o clock came all too soon and our driver picked us up for the return journey and once back in Loches, we had to pack for our departure in the morning.
That night we enjoyed dinner in our hotel restaurant overlooking the gardens.
LOCHES TO PARIS
In the morning we had some time to spare before taking the bus back to Tours, so we took a last stroll around the streets and gardens of Loches, to discover that it was market day. We spent the next hour checking out stalls selling flowers and fruit and vegetables, the most marvellous local cheeses and wine, chickens and rabbits and homemade pate.
Then it was time to take the bus to Tours where we joined a train to Paris. A few hours later we were dragging our suitcase off the train at the Gare d’Austerlitz and finding out how to get to our hotel.
A friendly railway employee directed us to the Metro and we took it to the appropriate station. The Hotel Jardin d’Eiffel was a ten minute walk from the station which came out on the left bank of the Seine, in a charming residential area. We looked up to find the Eiffel Tower looming over us so we knew we’d never get lost with a landmark like that so close. We dined that evening at a small nearby bistro and went to bed. Just outside our window we could see the top ten metres or so, of the Eiffel, all lit up and sparkling with stars.
PARIS DAY ONE
As we had visited Paris before, we decided to do one or two specific things we hadn’t done before. One was to go to the top of the Eiffel Tower, and the other was to do a tour of the famous sewers of Paris.
So the morning found us walking, in perfect weather, along the banks of the Seine to the tower. On the way we passed a man who suddenly stopped and picked up a gold signet ring which was lying on the footpath. He asked if we owned it. We said no.
He tried it on his finger but it didn’t fit so he gave it to Barbara. Somewhat bewildered we accepted politely and walked on.
Then came the sting.
Could we give him some money “pour un sandwich”
We were hooked and effectively paid him to go away. That ring cost us several euros.
Further along our way, we passed a number of those big glass topped tour boats which travel the river full of sightseers. One of the things they offered was a romantic dinner and evening cruise along the river.
As tomorrow evening was our 45th wedding anniversary we decided to throw caution and our credit cards to the wind and book a table.
More on that later!
We joined the queue for the ride to the top of the tower, feeling some trepidation but determined to go on.
In the end it wasn’t all that daunting. We took one lift which went up on an angle along one of the giant pylons and then to another lift which went straight up to the top. I was so busy with my camera that the altitude didn’t come into it.
Once at the top we stepped out onto a wide observation platform that was enclosed with glass, and went around 360 degrees. Even though there was a little smog around we could make out all the famous landmarks of the city; the Arc de Triumphe, Notre Dame, the Ile de la Cite, the Place de la Concorde and of course the winding River Seine.
We spent nearly an hour up there, gasping at the view and taking far too many photos. On the way down we got off at the second level and sat drinking coffee and pinching ourselves to ensure that we were in Paris.
We walked back along the river and then up another charming residential avenue to a broad square, the Champ de Mars, and there we took a table in a bistro of the same name, and had a lunch of delicious salads and chilled white wine. For the rest of the afternoon we rode the Metro down to Notre Dame and spent more hours inside the cool gloom of this wonderful old Gothic building, marvelling at the rose windows, the high arches of the nave and numerous side chapels. Outside the architecture is something else again, with the gargoyles and the rows and rows of statuary and flying buttresses.
Then more wine at a sidewalk cafe, and a long walk along the left bank past all those little book stalls selling “dirty French postcards” and old copies of French magazines and those ubiquitous prints of the Moulin Rouge and the Eiffel Tower and the other landmarks.
After another pleasant evening meal we retired for the night, our only distraction being CNN on TV, rattling on endlessly about the financial crisis. We were in Paris and all that seemed very far away.
PARIS DAY TWO
This was the day of our anniversary and we had decided just to wander about, so we found one of those open topped buses on which you could buy a ticket and hop on and off at will. For the rest of the day we looked at Paris from the open top, stopping firstly at the Louvre and strolling around the grounds. We’d been inside before, so today we enjoyed the sunshine and admiring the famous pyramid glass entrance before walking into the lovely Tuileries gardens. The day was once again clear and cloudless with just enough chill in the air to let us know that this was autumn. The long wide walkways of the gardens were perfect for strolling, stopping to admire the Romanesque statues and the chestnut trees and the pigeons and the Parisians enjoying the sun. Every few hundred metres we’d reach a pond with a fountain and lots of chairs where we could rest and enjoy the warmth.
We stopped and drank coffee under the trees before walking on towards the roar of traffic.
Here was the Place de la Concorde with what seemed a chaotic circular race of cars and motor scooters competing to reach the next set of traffic light first. And in the centre the tall slender needle of the Obelisk of Luxor. This is the largest square in Paris, covering 20 hectares. It was once called the Place de la Revolution and the guillotine stood here providing the mob with grisly entertainment.
Very cautiously Barbara and I crossed the Place dodging the traffic and along the arched verandahs of the shopping precinct before reaching the Place Vendome. This is where Cartier and Tiffany and Bulgari and many more jewellery and fashion shops abound. In the centre of the Place is a huge monument commemorating Napoleon’s victories. It’s also the site of the Ritz Hotel, from which, according to the bus guide, Princess Di left to “meet her fate.”
We took the bus again and drove up the magnificent avenue of the Champs Elysee. We passed more of those fabulous shops and theatres and apartment blocks with their wrought iron balconies looking down.
We lunched again on baguettes and cakes, and then walked to the great mausoleum of the Arc de Triumphe, with its enormous French and European flags hanging from the centre above an eternal flame. They relight this flame every evening and later we would see French soldiers and veterans marching to the forecourt for this solemn ceremony.
Once again we took refuge on the bus as the homeward bound traffic was building and it was the safest way to go. We crossed the Pont DÁlexander past Notre Dame again and Les Invalides, where the body of Napoleon lies beneath a magnificent gold covered dome glinting in the late afternoon sun.
There was the Greek columned church of Mary Magdalene, the Madeleine, and then the Trocadero gardens, their terraces of trees beginning to lose their leaves now, and finally back to the Eiffel Tower .
There was still the evening ahead, and so we walked back to the hotel via the Champs de Mars where we shared a half bottle of Bordeaux before changing for dinner.
An hour later a suave French waiter was ushering us to a table for two aboard our glass topped boat.
This was the day of our anniversary and we had decided just to wander about, so we found one of those open topped buses on which you could buy a ticket and hop on and off at will. For the rest of the day we looked at Paris from the open top, stopping firstly at the Louvre and strolling around the grounds. We’d been inside before, so today we enjoyed the sunshine and admiring the famous pyramid glass entrance before walking into the lovely Tuileries gardens. The day was once again clear and cloudless with just enough chill in the air to let us know that this was autumn. The long wide walkways of the gardens were perfect for strolling, stopping to admire the Romanesque statues and the chestnut trees and the pigeons and the Parisians enjoying the sun. Every few hundred metres we’d reach a pond with a fountain and lots of chairs where we could rest and enjoy the warmth.
We stopped and drank coffee under the trees before walking on towards the roar of traffic.
Here was the Place de la Concorde with what seemed a chaotic circular race of cars and motor scooters competing to reach the next set of traffic light first. And in the centre the tall slender needle of the Obelisk of Luxor. This is the largest square in Paris, covering 20 hectares. It was once called the Place de la Revolution and the guillotine stood here providing the mob with grisly entertainment.
Very cautiously Barbara and I crossed the Place dodging the traffic and along the arched verandahs of the shopping precinct before reaching the Place Vendome. This is where Cartier and Tiffany and Bulgari and many more jewellery and fashion shops abound. In the centre of the Place is a huge monument commemorating Napoleon’s victories. It’s also the site of the Ritz Hotel, from which, according to the bus guide, Princess Di left to “meet her fate.”
We took the bus again and drove up the magnificent avenue of the Champs Elysee. We passed more of those fabulous shops and theatres and apartment blocks with their wrought iron balconies looking down.
We lunched again on baguettes and cakes, and then walked to the great mausoleum of the Arc de Triumphe, with its enormous French and European flags hanging from the centre above an eternal flame. They relight this flame every evening and later we would see French soldiers and veterans marching to the forecourt for this solemn ceremony.
Once again we took refuge on the bus as the homeward bound traffic was building and it was the safest way to go. We crossed the Pont DÁlexander past Notre Dame again and Les Invalides, where the body of Napoleon lies beneath a magnificent gold covered dome glinting in the late afternoon sun.
There was the Greek columned church of Mary Magdalene, the Madeleine, and then the Trocadero gardens, their terraces of trees beginning to lose their leaves now, and finally back to the Eiffel Tower .
There was still the evening ahead, and so we walked back to the hotel via the Champs de Mars where we shared a half bottle of Bordeaux before changing for dinner.
An hour later a suave French waiter was ushering us to a table for two aboard our glass topped boat.
The trip began with a glass of champagne and as our vessel pulled away from the wharf we relaxed, shared an anniversary kiss, and prepared to enjoy a superb meal under the stars.
And a superb meal it was.
As the flood lit buildings glided by on either bank of the river, we enjoyed smoked salmon and frogs legs, beautifully grilled steak, duckling, and excellent wine to match each course. The Eiffel Tower when it is floodlit blue and twinkling with white stars looks absolutely spectacular. And those many landmarks with golden domes also floodlit formed part of an unforgettable journey. As we passed under bridge after bridge we were greeted by another fine building or another great monument each with its own flood lighting. And on board we were enjoying strawberries and ice-cream and sorbet accompanied by a violin player and a singer singing Edith Piaf songs. She also sang Ave Maria as we passed Notre Dame which seemed a little over the top, but it couldn’t take the edge of this wonderful evening.
After three hours as we drew slowly in towards our moorings, Barbara enjoyed a last glass of wine and I enjoyed a brandy. And then we walked hand in hand, back to our hotel. This was a night neither of us will ever forget.
PARIS AND HOME
We still had a few hours left on the following morning and we spent it down the sewers.
The sewers of Paris are perhaps one of the lesser known tourist spots but if you ever get the chance to visit them, do it.
You follow a prepared tour first down below the streets near the river and then along a labyrinth of tunnels. There is plenty of information about how this city beneath a city came to be and how it was engineered. On the walls are the same street signs as above, so you know where you are, and you can see the various strange machines they used to keep everything flowing. And below your feet under steel grillwork you can distinctly see fast flowing water and whatever is in it, running past. Of course in such a place there is still a bit of an atmosphere, but it’s not overpowering and well worth putting up with. We spent about an hour down there and found it fascinating.
But then we had to go. We took a bus heading for the Gare du Nord, only to find it had to terminate in the Place de la Concorde because there was a festival going on in the centre of town. So we found a taxi that got us there in time to catch the Eurostar. Three hours later we dragged our case down the steps onto the London Underground and then on to Paddington.
Then a train to Charlbury and a taxi to our Costswold refuge!
POST SCRIPT
It is now Tuesday morning and this is our last blog. Unfortunately all that hauling of a very heavy suitcase caught up with me on Sunday and I spent two days in bed with a very painful strained muscle. Thank God I still had some anti-inflammatories and they’ve done the trick. And now we’re packing for the last time. We leave Stable Cottage on Saturday, and stay in London with Fritha until Thursday...then Heathrow and home.
This has been a wonderful time in our lives, an experience we shall never ever forget. There are so many memories that we shall cherish. The Norwegian fjords, that unforgettable dog sled ride, the concert in Vienna, getting lost in Bratislava, beautiful Budapest, the Battle Proms at Blenheim, learning to dance the Galliard at Hampton Court, our village fete and the Morris Dancers, the Isle of Skye, being awakened by bagpipes in Scotland, staying with Ros and John in the Border country, dinner at Claridges, Beatrix Potter’s house in the Lake District, the Giant’s Causeway and that rope bridge, the incident of the daffodils, and the friends we made at the Swan and so much more!
And now we are looking forward to coming home and seeing our grandchildren and our children and boring all our friends with photographs and reminiscences until we get itchy feet once more.
PS: Aren’t you glad people don’t do slide nights anymore!
And a superb meal it was.
As the flood lit buildings glided by on either bank of the river, we enjoyed smoked salmon and frogs legs, beautifully grilled steak, duckling, and excellent wine to match each course. The Eiffel Tower when it is floodlit blue and twinkling with white stars looks absolutely spectacular. And those many landmarks with golden domes also floodlit formed part of an unforgettable journey. As we passed under bridge after bridge we were greeted by another fine building or another great monument each with its own flood lighting. And on board we were enjoying strawberries and ice-cream and sorbet accompanied by a violin player and a singer singing Edith Piaf songs. She also sang Ave Maria as we passed Notre Dame which seemed a little over the top, but it couldn’t take the edge of this wonderful evening.
After three hours as we drew slowly in towards our moorings, Barbara enjoyed a last glass of wine and I enjoyed a brandy. And then we walked hand in hand, back to our hotel. This was a night neither of us will ever forget.
PARIS AND HOME
We still had a few hours left on the following morning and we spent it down the sewers.
The sewers of Paris are perhaps one of the lesser known tourist spots but if you ever get the chance to visit them, do it.
You follow a prepared tour first down below the streets near the river and then along a labyrinth of tunnels. There is plenty of information about how this city beneath a city came to be and how it was engineered. On the walls are the same street signs as above, so you know where you are, and you can see the various strange machines they used to keep everything flowing. And below your feet under steel grillwork you can distinctly see fast flowing water and whatever is in it, running past. Of course in such a place there is still a bit of an atmosphere, but it’s not overpowering and well worth putting up with. We spent about an hour down there and found it fascinating.
But then we had to go. We took a bus heading for the Gare du Nord, only to find it had to terminate in the Place de la Concorde because there was a festival going on in the centre of town. So we found a taxi that got us there in time to catch the Eurostar. Three hours later we dragged our case down the steps onto the London Underground and then on to Paddington.
Then a train to Charlbury and a taxi to our Costswold refuge!
POST SCRIPT
It is now Tuesday morning and this is our last blog. Unfortunately all that hauling of a very heavy suitcase caught up with me on Sunday and I spent two days in bed with a very painful strained muscle. Thank God I still had some anti-inflammatories and they’ve done the trick. And now we’re packing for the last time. We leave Stable Cottage on Saturday, and stay in London with Fritha until Thursday...then Heathrow and home.
This has been a wonderful time in our lives, an experience we shall never ever forget. There are so many memories that we shall cherish. The Norwegian fjords, that unforgettable dog sled ride, the concert in Vienna, getting lost in Bratislava, beautiful Budapest, the Battle Proms at Blenheim, learning to dance the Galliard at Hampton Court, our village fete and the Morris Dancers, the Isle of Skye, being awakened by bagpipes in Scotland, staying with Ros and John in the Border country, dinner at Claridges, Beatrix Potter’s house in the Lake District, the Giant’s Causeway and that rope bridge, the incident of the daffodils, and the friends we made at the Swan and so much more!
And now we are looking forward to coming home and seeing our grandchildren and our children and boring all our friends with photographs and reminiscences until we get itchy feet once more.
PS: Aren’t you glad people don’t do slide nights anymore!
Wednesday, 10 September 2008
AMSTERDAM
Wednesday September 10th
We’re back from Amsterdam after a very pleasant four day trip. The visit was all because our son-in-law Anthony has a job there and Fritha, our daughter was going over for the weekend and we decided to go too.
Instead of flying we took the Eurostar train under the Channel and as far as Brussels. From there we picked up a train to Amsterdam. It was a very smooth and comfortable trip albeit about 5hrs long. The actual bit under the channel is only about fifteen minutes and for the most part we just relaxed and watch the flat countryside fly past at a hundred miles an hour until we arrived in Amsterdam. Our hotel, we discovered was only five minutes’ walk across a square from the station. The front of the hotel is very modern and smart, but our room, which they called the “junior suite”, turned out to be part of a much older building. From the outside it looked like an old wooden house, quite narrow and several storeys high. Inside was a real surprise. It was one large sitting room and bathroom attached, with a ceiling supported by huge old wooden beams. But there appeared to be no bed. That was until we opened a wooden door to discover a very narrow winding staircase up to another level. Up thereunder more ancient old beams and a vaulted ceiling, was a huge king sized bed. Check out the photos
Fritha was already in town but she was already committed to an evening with colleagues of Anthony’s so Barbara and I set off to explore, and find somewhere for dinner. Everybody in Holland speaks good English so asking directions and things was no problem. We wandered in and around little lanes and found ourselves in the famous “red light district”. We first became aware of this fact when we passed a shop window with a young woman in black lingerie looking out at the passers by.
This was followed by numerous shops selling porn and erotica of all sorts. But there were also lots of restaurants and bars, all with lights blazing and customers spilling out onto the sidewalks. We chose a Chinese restaurant specialising in Sichuan cooking and enjoyed a banquet for two washed down with Heineken beer and white wine. After that we did some more exploring and eventually sank into bed at around eleven.
Rather than pay exorbitant hotel meal prices, we found a little cafe deli a few doors from our hotel and enjoyed a delicious Dutch breakfast of pancakes and bacon with maple syrup, scrambled eggs and warm croissants and marmalade plus huge cups of good hot coffee.
Fritha had called to say she couldn’t meet us and was spending the day recovering from the previous evening, so undaunted we set out again to explore. Amsterdam is not a difficult place in which to get around. We could have taken the tram or a boat on the canals, but we chose to walk. And walk and walk and walk!
We strolled along the many tree lined canals, peering into shop windows selling flowers and postcards and toys and clothing and vibrators and fruit and souvenirs and marijuana and everything else. Eventually we found ourselves outside the house where Anne Frank had spent two years hiding from the Nazis during WW2. You have to queue to get into this house but it was well worth the wait. Having read The Diary of Anne Frank years ago we knew what to expect, but when you climb that narrow staircase and enter the rooms hidden behind the bookcase, you appreciate what it must have been like for a teenage girl virtually imprisoned with seven other people, unable to go outside and unable even to peak out from behind the blinds in case of being discovered. The experience was really very moving, especially when you can look at hand written pages of that diary, and the pictures of film stars pinned to the wall, typical of any teenager’s room.
As we continued on our walk we passed all sorts of beautiful buildings, many of them very narrow.
Most of these were built in the 17th century by rich merchants, politicians, doctors, lawyers and artists, and because of a lack of space along the rings of canals around the city, they are mostly about six metres wide, with very narrow staircases inside. Each house has a unique gable top usually with a protruding pulley hook so that goods could be hauled up from the street below.
The whole network of canals is lined with trees and there are hundreds and hundreds of brightly coloured houseboats moored alongside. And of course across these canals there are hundreds of little arched bridges. People do drive cars along these narrow ways but by far the best way of getting about in this city is by bicycle. There are millions of them or so it seemed to us. They are in every street and in every lane. There are racks of them parked on every corner, chained to canal railings, and in some cases even chained hanging over the sides of bridges. In a region so devoid of hills, bikes are the way to go.
Strolling on again we passed rows of elegant houses, some of them leaning at slight angles. Many are built on wooden pylons sunk deep into the soft soil. No wonder they call Amsterdam the Venice of the North.
We crossed the Dam, a wide square in front of the royal palace, where people gather on the steps beneath the tall column of the national monument. Actually crossing anything here is challenging. If the bicycles don’t get you, then you’ll be startled by the clanging of the tram bells as they whiz by.
As the afternoon wore on, we reached one of the city’s main museums, the Rijksmuseum (pron: Rix-museum). This is a virtual treasure house of paintings by the great seventeenth century Dutch Masters. We spent the next hour or so gazing in awe at the works of Rembrandt, Vermeer, and Franz Hals and many others. After that we had to sit down in a cafe where they served coffee and pofferjes, a sort of fat drop scone which is dusted with icing sugar and dipped in melted butter. Yummm!
It was dinnertime by the time we dragged our weary feet back to our hotel, so we staggered into a nearby bar and ordered chicken and salad and more Heiniken. As it happened the TV was on, without sound and as we ate, the barman flicked through the channels. So for about two seconds we caught a glimpse of some very explicit sex movie which nearly caused us to choke on the chicken. A moment later we were treated to a soccer match between Holland and Australia and normal dinner service was resumed. Our Saturday was complete when Australia won 2-1 although as the barman pointed out, it was only a “friendly “game
The next morning, Sunday was dull and overcast with the threat of rain, but undaunted we set off again, this time to Amsterdam’s famous flower market. We found it, although with Spring and Summer now over, the accent was on bulbs rather than flowers. And there was no shortage of those. The various stalls were selling every conceivable tulip bulb in every colour. As well there were sunflowers and hydrangeas and many many others. And along the way we went into “The Christmas Palace”, a shop which specialises in Christmas decorations of all sorts. Including some very rude Santa Clauses! Barbara was highly amused by the way things were laid out, with a Christmas cribs bearing the message “Jesus loves you!”alongside a Santa with an outsize appendage.
Braving the rain, we walked on, stopping for coffee and to get out of the continuing rain. Then on to the Van Gogh Museum!
This huge collection of Van Gogh’s paintings, follows the artists’ career from his early sketches and paintings, through all his periods, when he lived in Paris and his time in the French and Dutch countryside. We spent a long time moving from one picture to the next, many of which we recognised from exhibitions in Melbourne, but to see these works in context and in sequence was unforgettable.
We walked along the canals again past more of those beautiful houses and eventually back towards our hotel. Next door is St Nicolaaskerk, the Church of St Nicholas, a 19th century neo-Baroque building with two Baroque spires rising from its towers, and in the centre, a large dome.
This place is not normally open to tourists, but as there was a Mass in progress we went in anyway. We were well rewarded. The Mass was coming to an end, but there was a magnificent choir singing the last part of the service, and we just stood and listened wrapt.
Then we walked again until we’d had enough and rested back at the hotel until Fritha and Anthony joined us for dinner. We felt it was time to try the local cuisine, so we walked along the main thoroughfare until we found a likely restaurant and asked for a table for four.
We started with green pea soup, and that was where we should have stopped. This soup was thick and rich and full of chopped up sausage. It was a meal in itself.
But by then we’d ordered main courses and there was more meat and sausage and bacon with mashed potato and even dumplings. We retired gracefully after that and called it a night.
Monday was check out day, and Barbara and I packed for home. We breakfasted again at the local deli. (More bacon and pancakes), and left our bags at the hotel while we went on one last safari. This time we were looking for a special church, you might call it a secret church.
This is a place hidden away in the middle of the red light district but you wouldn’t know it was there without directions. It is also the oldest museum in Amsterdam, called the church of Our Lord in the Attic. It was built in the 17th century at a time when Catholics were not allowed to practice their religion in public.
The owner of the house decided to convert the top floors of the house into a church complete with altar, a chapel, a confessional and even an organ, so that masses could be held there in private. Apparently the city authorities knew it was there but turned a blind eye as long as it wasn’t public.
Today from the outside it just looks like a house, but inside you climb the steep staircase and emerge into a full sized church with seats and statues and an altar, with a cunningly designed rotating pulpit that could be pulled out when it was time for a sermon. These days the place is purely a museum but they do have weddings there sometimes.
By now Barbara and I only had a few hours left before we had to catch the train so we decided to relax a bit and take a cruise along the canals. We bought tickets on a hop on hop off cruise boat and spent the rest of the afternoon just sitting back and looking at the passing houses from a different perspective. We got off for coffee and then caught another boat back to the city centre. From there it was a short walk across the square to the station and our ride home. As usual we could have spent a lot more time in Amsterdam. It is a beautiful city, vibrant and very friendly.
Another memorable experience in a long series of memorable experiences which are now sadly drawing to a close! But then the upside is that soon we’ll be reunited with family and friends and home.
Postscript: We had a fun time getting back to Fritha’s Canary Wharf flat in Limehouse. We took a taxi from St Pancras station and the driver couldn’t find his way into the right street. He said it was blocked off and he couldn’t find an alternative route. So he dropped us off and said our street was somewhere ahead. So there we were, at eleven at night in a strange neighbourhood in the east end of London. Jack the Ripper may have been just around the corner. Fortunately we met a man who seemed to know where we were and pointed us in the right direction. So much for the infallible London cabbie!
We’re back from Amsterdam after a very pleasant four day trip. The visit was all because our son-in-law Anthony has a job there and Fritha, our daughter was going over for the weekend and we decided to go too.
Instead of flying we took the Eurostar train under the Channel and as far as Brussels. From there we picked up a train to Amsterdam. It was a very smooth and comfortable trip albeit about 5hrs long. The actual bit under the channel is only about fifteen minutes and for the most part we just relaxed and watch the flat countryside fly past at a hundred miles an hour until we arrived in Amsterdam. Our hotel, we discovered was only five minutes’ walk across a square from the station. The front of the hotel is very modern and smart, but our room, which they called the “junior suite”, turned out to be part of a much older building. From the outside it looked like an old wooden house, quite narrow and several storeys high. Inside was a real surprise. It was one large sitting room and bathroom attached, with a ceiling supported by huge old wooden beams. But there appeared to be no bed. That was until we opened a wooden door to discover a very narrow winding staircase up to another level. Up thereunder more ancient old beams and a vaulted ceiling, was a huge king sized bed. Check out the photos
Fritha was already in town but she was already committed to an evening with colleagues of Anthony’s so Barbara and I set off to explore, and find somewhere for dinner. Everybody in Holland speaks good English so asking directions and things was no problem. We wandered in and around little lanes and found ourselves in the famous “red light district”. We first became aware of this fact when we passed a shop window with a young woman in black lingerie looking out at the passers by.
This was followed by numerous shops selling porn and erotica of all sorts. But there were also lots of restaurants and bars, all with lights blazing and customers spilling out onto the sidewalks. We chose a Chinese restaurant specialising in Sichuan cooking and enjoyed a banquet for two washed down with Heineken beer and white wine. After that we did some more exploring and eventually sank into bed at around eleven.
Rather than pay exorbitant hotel meal prices, we found a little cafe deli a few doors from our hotel and enjoyed a delicious Dutch breakfast of pancakes and bacon with maple syrup, scrambled eggs and warm croissants and marmalade plus huge cups of good hot coffee.
Fritha had called to say she couldn’t meet us and was spending the day recovering from the previous evening, so undaunted we set out again to explore. Amsterdam is not a difficult place in which to get around. We could have taken the tram or a boat on the canals, but we chose to walk. And walk and walk and walk!
We strolled along the many tree lined canals, peering into shop windows selling flowers and postcards and toys and clothing and vibrators and fruit and souvenirs and marijuana and everything else. Eventually we found ourselves outside the house where Anne Frank had spent two years hiding from the Nazis during WW2. You have to queue to get into this house but it was well worth the wait. Having read The Diary of Anne Frank years ago we knew what to expect, but when you climb that narrow staircase and enter the rooms hidden behind the bookcase, you appreciate what it must have been like for a teenage girl virtually imprisoned with seven other people, unable to go outside and unable even to peak out from behind the blinds in case of being discovered. The experience was really very moving, especially when you can look at hand written pages of that diary, and the pictures of film stars pinned to the wall, typical of any teenager’s room.
As we continued on our walk we passed all sorts of beautiful buildings, many of them very narrow.
Most of these were built in the 17th century by rich merchants, politicians, doctors, lawyers and artists, and because of a lack of space along the rings of canals around the city, they are mostly about six metres wide, with very narrow staircases inside. Each house has a unique gable top usually with a protruding pulley hook so that goods could be hauled up from the street below.
The whole network of canals is lined with trees and there are hundreds and hundreds of brightly coloured houseboats moored alongside. And of course across these canals there are hundreds of little arched bridges. People do drive cars along these narrow ways but by far the best way of getting about in this city is by bicycle. There are millions of them or so it seemed to us. They are in every street and in every lane. There are racks of them parked on every corner, chained to canal railings, and in some cases even chained hanging over the sides of bridges. In a region so devoid of hills, bikes are the way to go.
Strolling on again we passed rows of elegant houses, some of them leaning at slight angles. Many are built on wooden pylons sunk deep into the soft soil. No wonder they call Amsterdam the Venice of the North.
We crossed the Dam, a wide square in front of the royal palace, where people gather on the steps beneath the tall column of the national monument. Actually crossing anything here is challenging. If the bicycles don’t get you, then you’ll be startled by the clanging of the tram bells as they whiz by.
As the afternoon wore on, we reached one of the city’s main museums, the Rijksmuseum (pron: Rix-museum). This is a virtual treasure house of paintings by the great seventeenth century Dutch Masters. We spent the next hour or so gazing in awe at the works of Rembrandt, Vermeer, and Franz Hals and many others. After that we had to sit down in a cafe where they served coffee and pofferjes, a sort of fat drop scone which is dusted with icing sugar and dipped in melted butter. Yummm!
It was dinnertime by the time we dragged our weary feet back to our hotel, so we staggered into a nearby bar and ordered chicken and salad and more Heiniken. As it happened the TV was on, without sound and as we ate, the barman flicked through the channels. So for about two seconds we caught a glimpse of some very explicit sex movie which nearly caused us to choke on the chicken. A moment later we were treated to a soccer match between Holland and Australia and normal dinner service was resumed. Our Saturday was complete when Australia won 2-1 although as the barman pointed out, it was only a “friendly “game
The next morning, Sunday was dull and overcast with the threat of rain, but undaunted we set off again, this time to Amsterdam’s famous flower market. We found it, although with Spring and Summer now over, the accent was on bulbs rather than flowers. And there was no shortage of those. The various stalls were selling every conceivable tulip bulb in every colour. As well there were sunflowers and hydrangeas and many many others. And along the way we went into “The Christmas Palace”, a shop which specialises in Christmas decorations of all sorts. Including some very rude Santa Clauses! Barbara was highly amused by the way things were laid out, with a Christmas cribs bearing the message “Jesus loves you!”alongside a Santa with an outsize appendage.
Braving the rain, we walked on, stopping for coffee and to get out of the continuing rain. Then on to the Van Gogh Museum!
This huge collection of Van Gogh’s paintings, follows the artists’ career from his early sketches and paintings, through all his periods, when he lived in Paris and his time in the French and Dutch countryside. We spent a long time moving from one picture to the next, many of which we recognised from exhibitions in Melbourne, but to see these works in context and in sequence was unforgettable.
We walked along the canals again past more of those beautiful houses and eventually back towards our hotel. Next door is St Nicolaaskerk, the Church of St Nicholas, a 19th century neo-Baroque building with two Baroque spires rising from its towers, and in the centre, a large dome.
This place is not normally open to tourists, but as there was a Mass in progress we went in anyway. We were well rewarded. The Mass was coming to an end, but there was a magnificent choir singing the last part of the service, and we just stood and listened wrapt.
Then we walked again until we’d had enough and rested back at the hotel until Fritha and Anthony joined us for dinner. We felt it was time to try the local cuisine, so we walked along the main thoroughfare until we found a likely restaurant and asked for a table for four.
We started with green pea soup, and that was where we should have stopped. This soup was thick and rich and full of chopped up sausage. It was a meal in itself.
But by then we’d ordered main courses and there was more meat and sausage and bacon with mashed potato and even dumplings. We retired gracefully after that and called it a night.
Monday was check out day, and Barbara and I packed for home. We breakfasted again at the local deli. (More bacon and pancakes), and left our bags at the hotel while we went on one last safari. This time we were looking for a special church, you might call it a secret church.
This is a place hidden away in the middle of the red light district but you wouldn’t know it was there without directions. It is also the oldest museum in Amsterdam, called the church of Our Lord in the Attic. It was built in the 17th century at a time when Catholics were not allowed to practice their religion in public.
The owner of the house decided to convert the top floors of the house into a church complete with altar, a chapel, a confessional and even an organ, so that masses could be held there in private. Apparently the city authorities knew it was there but turned a blind eye as long as it wasn’t public.
Today from the outside it just looks like a house, but inside you climb the steep staircase and emerge into a full sized church with seats and statues and an altar, with a cunningly designed rotating pulpit that could be pulled out when it was time for a sermon. These days the place is purely a museum but they do have weddings there sometimes.
By now Barbara and I only had a few hours left before we had to catch the train so we decided to relax a bit and take a cruise along the canals. We bought tickets on a hop on hop off cruise boat and spent the rest of the afternoon just sitting back and looking at the passing houses from a different perspective. We got off for coffee and then caught another boat back to the city centre. From there it was a short walk across the square to the station and our ride home. As usual we could have spent a lot more time in Amsterdam. It is a beautiful city, vibrant and very friendly.
Another memorable experience in a long series of memorable experiences which are now sadly drawing to a close! But then the upside is that soon we’ll be reunited with family and friends and home.
Postscript: We had a fun time getting back to Fritha’s Canary Wharf flat in Limehouse. We took a taxi from St Pancras station and the driver couldn’t find his way into the right street. He said it was blocked off and he couldn’t find an alternative route. So he dropped us off and said our street was somewhere ahead. So there we were, at eleven at night in a strange neighbourhood in the east end of London. Jack the Ripper may have been just around the corner. Fortunately we met a man who seemed to know where we were and pointed us in the right direction. So much for the infallible London cabbie!
Wednesday, 3 September 2008
A VISIT TO YORK
Monday September 1st
We have just returned from the city of York after spending all too little time in a wonderful place. It took us four hours to drive there and we left home early, using motorways mostly and arriving before lunchtime.
The ancient centre of York is strictly for pedestrians and we were able to walk there within ten minutes from our B and B.
This place goes back to pre Roman times and wherever you walk, you are in the footsteps of Romans, Normans and Vikings. As we passed through one of many arched city gateways we could already see the towers of York Minster, which dominate the city. The city itself is quite small with rambling narrow streets and very old houses and shops which lean out overhead, threatening to tumble into one another. The most famous of these little streets is called the Shambles and it was once the street of butchers in medieval times. It is now filled with little cafes and gift shops and very old pubs. And there is another street leading to the Minster. It is now called Stonegate but 1900 years ago it was the Via Praetoria because it led to a Roman barracks.
And so we came to the magnificent Cathedral of St Peter in York, better known as York Minster. We have seen many cathedrals and churches in this country but York Minster is something else again. It is the largest Gothic cathedral in Northern Europe, and the finest example of what’s known as perpendicular Gothic architecture. We spent the next hour or so looking at medieval stained glass, the tombs of bishops going back to the 6th century, and memorial effigies of aristocrats and princes from across the centuries. The screen which divides the nave is fifteenth century and it’s decorated with statues of English kings from William the first to Henry the sixth. I think these pictures speak for themselves.
The ancient centre of York is strictly for pedestrians and we were able to walk there within ten minutes from our B and B.
This place goes back to pre Roman times and wherever you walk, you are in the footsteps of Romans, Normans and Vikings. As we passed through one of many arched city gateways we could already see the towers of York Minster, which dominate the city. The city itself is quite small with rambling narrow streets and very old houses and shops which lean out overhead, threatening to tumble into one another. The most famous of these little streets is called the Shambles and it was once the street of butchers in medieval times. It is now filled with little cafes and gift shops and very old pubs. And there is another street leading to the Minster. It is now called Stonegate but 1900 years ago it was the Via Praetoria because it led to a Roman barracks.
And so we came to the magnificent Cathedral of St Peter in York, better known as York Minster. We have seen many cathedrals and churches in this country but York Minster is something else again. It is the largest Gothic cathedral in Northern Europe, and the finest example of what’s known as perpendicular Gothic architecture. We spent the next hour or so looking at medieval stained glass, the tombs of bishops going back to the 6th century, and memorial effigies of aristocrats and princes from across the centuries. The screen which divides the nave is fifteenth century and it’s decorated with statues of English kings from William the first to Henry the sixth. I think these pictures speak for themselves.
The Minster
The Nave
15th Century Screen
York Minster Pictures
Memorial Effigy
The OrganBut below the present day Minster there was another world to see; the Roman, Viking and Norman world. In the undercroft and crypt we saw the ruins of Roman occupation, stone statues of the Emperor Vespasian, Roman drains, early Viking walls and Norman foundations, all in amazing condition. A Roman fortress stood here in the time of the Emperor Constantine and before the first place of worship was built. This is also the last resting place of St William of York.
Emerging into the sunlight again, I spent time photographing this fantastic building from every angle, before plunging back into those narrow little streets, which they call “Snickleways”.
We enjoyed a pleasant afternoon tea in an upstairs tearoom called Betty’s. This was an elegant little place which served tea and coffee in silver plated pots and dainty china cups. I had a fruit scone called a “warm Yorkshire fat rascal”. Barbara had elderflower cake with China rose petal tea.
We visited three other places of interest. One was a sort of time travelling experience back to 975AD, the city of Jorvik. This is what this city was called when the Vikings lived here. You sit in a sort of capsule which transports you through replica streets of Viking times with market places and tradesmen and merchants on either side. It was really quite well presented, with the noises of the place and even the rather unpleasant smells you’d expect to encounter in an unsewered settlement back then. As well there were all sorts of skeletons and relics of the former inhabitants.
We also visited the Merchant Adventurers’ Hall. This is a medieval guild hall and it is still used by the same guild which built it 650 years ago. Apart from the hall itself which features an impressive ceiling supported by huge old wooden beams, there is a chapel and portraits of all the Worshipful masters of the guild going back centuries.
We spent a little time in another very old church; “Holy Trinity”, which is notable for it’s rickety stone floors, and the pews which are all divided into separate boxes with lockable doors, which parishioners apparently purchased and enjoyed their exclusive use.
In the middle of Stonegate there is an old pub called the Guy Fawkes, which, according to the plaque on its wall, is where the man himself was born. The pub wasn’t built until 200 years after his death but I suppose he may have been born on this site. Anyway that is where we decided to have dinner, accompanied by a pint of very dark bitter called Midnight Bell. There was another one called Old Legover but I gave that a miss. The meal was Beer and Ale Pie with chips, not exactly Claridges fare, but filling enough. By now it was almost sunset and just for fun, Barbara and I joined a so called “Ghost Walk “through the city.
Our guide was a young man in a black top hat, with black cape and carrying silver topped ebony cane. He looked like an undertaker and he took us to various locations where the spirits were said to walk. One was said to be a child who starved to death in a plague house. Apparently she survived the plague but her parents did not and she spent her last days trying to escape the boarded up house, with only her dead parents for company. The house is still there and the little girl is said to have been heard crying in her room and knocking at the window. Another ghost is that of a man who was beheaded and his head buried in a graveyard at one end of Stonegate, and his body at a graveyard at the other end. The body has been seen walking the street, trying to reach its head at the other end.
We of course saw no ghosts of any kind, but the ‘’undertaker’s” performance was very entertaining, and it was a fun way to end our visit.
We drove home via Stafford on the following day, and had lunch with my cousin Brenda and her husband. She’s about to leave for Melbourne soon, as indeed will we.
That’s a fact that is becoming more sharply into focus as we draw near to the end of our time here
I walked around the corner this morning to the local village shop, where I get the Times, and I found myself looking at every house and every front garden and trying to imprint them on my mind in case I forget any little detail.
Tomorrow we go up to London and then by train to Amsterdam.
A week later we will be in France and the week after that we have to pack up, dispose of the car and all our furniture and then.......home.
The Nave
15th Century Screen
York Minster Pictures
Memorial Effigy
The OrganBut below the present day Minster there was another world to see; the Roman, Viking and Norman world. In the undercroft and crypt we saw the ruins of Roman occupation, stone statues of the Emperor Vespasian, Roman drains, early Viking walls and Norman foundations, all in amazing condition. A Roman fortress stood here in the time of the Emperor Constantine and before the first place of worship was built. This is also the last resting place of St William of York.
Emerging into the sunlight again, I spent time photographing this fantastic building from every angle, before plunging back into those narrow little streets, which they call “Snickleways”.
We enjoyed a pleasant afternoon tea in an upstairs tearoom called Betty’s. This was an elegant little place which served tea and coffee in silver plated pots and dainty china cups. I had a fruit scone called a “warm Yorkshire fat rascal”. Barbara had elderflower cake with China rose petal tea.
We visited three other places of interest. One was a sort of time travelling experience back to 975AD, the city of Jorvik. This is what this city was called when the Vikings lived here. You sit in a sort of capsule which transports you through replica streets of Viking times with market places and tradesmen and merchants on either side. It was really quite well presented, with the noises of the place and even the rather unpleasant smells you’d expect to encounter in an unsewered settlement back then. As well there were all sorts of skeletons and relics of the former inhabitants.
We also visited the Merchant Adventurers’ Hall. This is a medieval guild hall and it is still used by the same guild which built it 650 years ago. Apart from the hall itself which features an impressive ceiling supported by huge old wooden beams, there is a chapel and portraits of all the Worshipful masters of the guild going back centuries.
We spent a little time in another very old church; “Holy Trinity”, which is notable for it’s rickety stone floors, and the pews which are all divided into separate boxes with lockable doors, which parishioners apparently purchased and enjoyed their exclusive use.
In the middle of Stonegate there is an old pub called the Guy Fawkes, which, according to the plaque on its wall, is where the man himself was born. The pub wasn’t built until 200 years after his death but I suppose he may have been born on this site. Anyway that is where we decided to have dinner, accompanied by a pint of very dark bitter called Midnight Bell. There was another one called Old Legover but I gave that a miss. The meal was Beer and Ale Pie with chips, not exactly Claridges fare, but filling enough. By now it was almost sunset and just for fun, Barbara and I joined a so called “Ghost Walk “through the city.
Our guide was a young man in a black top hat, with black cape and carrying silver topped ebony cane. He looked like an undertaker and he took us to various locations where the spirits were said to walk. One was said to be a child who starved to death in a plague house. Apparently she survived the plague but her parents did not and she spent her last days trying to escape the boarded up house, with only her dead parents for company. The house is still there and the little girl is said to have been heard crying in her room and knocking at the window. Another ghost is that of a man who was beheaded and his head buried in a graveyard at one end of Stonegate, and his body at a graveyard at the other end. The body has been seen walking the street, trying to reach its head at the other end.
We of course saw no ghosts of any kind, but the ‘’undertaker’s” performance was very entertaining, and it was a fun way to end our visit.
We drove home via Stafford on the following day, and had lunch with my cousin Brenda and her husband. She’s about to leave for Melbourne soon, as indeed will we.
That’s a fact that is becoming more sharply into focus as we draw near to the end of our time here
I walked around the corner this morning to the local village shop, where I get the Times, and I found myself looking at every house and every front garden and trying to imprint them on my mind in case I forget any little detail.
Tomorrow we go up to London and then by train to Amsterdam.
A week later we will be in France and the week after that we have to pack up, dispose of the car and all our furniture and then.......home.
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