UK TRAVELS - FINAL CHAPTER 15

Back on the massive ferry to south Wales. No glimpses of daring dolphins or wallowing whales unfortunately. We take the long way around and follow the coastline finally ending up near Cardiff, the capital where the downtown area-modern to the extreme-is dominated by the ancient Castle Cardiff. There is a newer version originally erected by an eccentric millionaire but it is built inside the keep of the 11th century original model. As our guide to the "new" castle explained it is actually owned by the people of Wales-no doubt passing on expensive upkeep and utilities in the guise of a charitable act.

Actually the modern version is built into the outer defenses of the castle proper though at the time of construction raids from marauding Vikings were rather sparse and economic and shipping wars were more the norm. We later attended a dinner in the castle after our tour and were treated to a wonderful dinner and cabaret of Welsh humor and music. We also got a sample of "mead" made the old-fashioned way - mehhh.  Rather sweet for my taste, which was quickly washed away with bottles of both red and white on the dining tables. All the food was recognizable, unlike some of our culinary experiences in Scotland and Ireland. I'm not sure if all Welsh men resemble Tom Jones but the ladies were quite taken with our version in the MC who also belted out a couple of numbers in both English and Welsh. Sighhhhh

Our hotel, finally, was quite modern with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the busy Cardiff downtown area with its mixture of modern and old timey buildings and it had honest to goodness, real live AIR CONDITIONING! Yay.

Funny side note:  the Welsh in Cardiff apparently speak a language that is not all Welsh or English more of a Wenglesh. Anyway all bus drivers are called Drive for I guess obvious reasons, so when you enter or depart the bus (with a Welsh driver) you greet with a "Ta Drive".  When in Wales.... Anyway they were having some type of athletic event right downtown the next day and we were a bit late getting back to the local bus after our Welsh dinner. Someone was sure she left her purse way back in the castle. After 3 gentlemen including the guide went back to look for several minutes, she suddenly realized "oops I didn't bring a purse". LOL  However we were faced with the dilemma of how to turn a giant bus around in a narrow street as the way ahead was now blocked. Well our "Drive" was an expert especially after we laid bets on his ability to do so.

The next day we headed out bright and early for Bath and my personal favorite, Stonehenge!  I was of course looking forward to any signs of ancient or unworldly indications of time travel associated with the stones. As the date was not near any Solstice I assumed I would be perfectly safe in getting close to the source.

Bath is of course, the location of the original Roman settlement near an underground spring or spa. Much of the ancient ruins had been unearthed and the green medicinal waters still bubble up from the ground. Quite a bit of the area was intact which gave one a pretty good idea of how it must have been for the privileged class to skinny dip their way to good health, recreation and amorous romps in the beautiful surroundings.The architecture of the rest of the town is a preservation of the Georgian and Victorian styles when, again, the privileged classes would come here to rest and recreate. The streets are narrow and the buildings are tall. They saved on space by going up rather than sideways. As we traversed the extremely narrow streets with parking on both sides (why I don't know) we heard the wail of a fire engine. Well I can tell you, no one was going anywhere and moving out of the way was not an option. I really don't know how it came out, but I am convinced the town is content to just let the old wood buildings face a fiery demise so they can replace them with modern buildings.

On to Stonehenge.  Disappointment number one - you can't drive near the stones. You park about a mile away and either walk up or take a crowded trolley. Though some have figured out if you come in from the back you can avoid the trolley fees and the inevitable gift shop. Disappointment number two- you can't get near the stones. They put wire rope around the monument keeping visitors back  due to egotistical dummies in the 70's placing their stupid graffiti on the stones. Hence I was not close enough to hear the "humming" of the time travel portal. Disappointment number three - once you've seen and walked around the stones, you're pretty much done and ready to move on. Love the history; puzzle as to how they got these massive stones here and piled them on top of each other, but that's about it. Glad I saw them alive and in person before they are destroyed by something, but I am pretty much over it.

The end of the day was the final drive back to London and our hotel next to Victoria Station. The tour guide warned us, several times, that they were not supposed to stop and unload in front of the hotel as it is a bus stop. So the plan was they would unload the bags asap and we would be poised to grab them and run also thwarting any possible thievery on the busy street. Ok in theory. Old people. Spoiled old people. Milled around, complained about no porters and were promptly overwhelmed by savvy London commuters who basically ran over them. Heard one say "damn Yanks blocking the sidewalk" LOL. He told you!

We opted for dinner in as we had a 5:30 am pickup for the airport the next day. Asked for a hamburger in the restaurant as I was hankering for one and it came out as a piece of charcoal basically. Did I say how much I enjoyed English cooking? Well on their final try, they did not fail to disappoint. Oh well jolly last night with some of the folks from our group.

Next morning our foreign driver (of course) picked us up. Our debate was whether he was French or Arab. Did not matter as I did not understand him anyway. Our ride to Heathrow was uneventful until we got there. As there was another lady being dropped off he went to her terminal first. Then he proceeded to leave the airport and drive for 20 minutes while visions of kidnapping and held for ransom ran through our heads. However he delivered us to our terminal no problem. Apparently the airport is that freakin' big!  Tipped him nicely in gratitude for not being kidnapped. The terminal for Delta also housed some British Airways and was massive. Every luxury store you can think of was represented because where else would I buy diamond earrings than Tiffany's or Harrods at the airport. Strangely there were few restaurants and fewer bathrooms, both of which we needed.

We also walked into a complete breakdown of British Air's computer system which meant 100s perhaps 1000s of disgruntled passengers were now milling around vying for any available seat to virtually anywhere. We clutched our tickets home and headed for the gate post haste. Rather uneventful eight hour trip home with many snack and meal interludes. They do treat you right on a long trip. All stews enjoyed the M&Ms I got them for the trip back, but we didn't receive any special perks for our thoughtfulness. After clearing customs in Detroit where the customs agent did say "Welcome Home" our next encounter was with the money changers. They hollered out "you need to change any money into US?" Hell no, I spent it all! Perfect ending to a really terrific trip.

UK TRAVELS CHAPTER 14

Another typical day on the bus. Death defying as we inch past a truck coming from the opposite direction and holding our breath. I really think that giant inhale helped. Though by now the "sportier" of our crowd would place bets on how close we would actually come to the opposing force. Inches is an accurate description of the distance between. The design of the bus places the rear view mirrors tucked into the front of the "coach" or collisions would be an ongoing event. Though nothing protects from the wild and free hedgerows and tree branches that kiss the windows as we traverse the narrow roads.

Today we will be visiting Blarney Castle. Again I quote the tour guide "home of the famous stone of eloquence, once kissed, never forgotten!" Bleeahhh. Where's the Simple Green between, ahem, kisses.  Anyway, Blarney Castle, Blarney Stone not what you think and scarier than what I thought.  A long walk through the city of Blarney, past the souvenir shops, up some hills, across acres of gardens and then....your amorous date with the cold, cold stone. But first one warms up with a 1,000 (well maybe 100) step twisting turning, claustrophobic producing climb up the fateful tower. Again, this is not Disneyland, no elevators, escalators or timid, out-of-shape visitors accommodated. As we slowwwllllyyy climbed it struck me that the original owners were not only shorter than we are, but obviously had much smaller feet.  Though I definitely see the defensive advantage. Try climbing these nasty twisting and ever skinnier steps in a full suit of armor brandishing a sword.  In very short order, your brandishing becomes a crutch that is constantly getting caught and defenders are taking pokes at you as you reach each unexpected wide spot.

It was the occasional wider spots on the climb that kept my claustrophobia at bay. I felt I could take a big breath or even step out if I needed a break. However once you start up these stairs, there is no turning back as the mass of humanity behind you effectively covers any hope of escape. One very narrow staircase that becomes narrower the higher you climb. Yay, daylight in sight. A short walk along the parapet and there it is, cue music.  A line of people whose upper body briefly disappears as they hang over the 100 foot drop to buss a rock! Very much an assembly line operation. One guy holds you, another guy stands by I guess to count the bodies that drop or clean the rock, not sure which; and a third snaps a picture. Very efficient. However I brought my own photographer as no way in Hades was he going to drop and hang for a silly rock.  He got some nice pictures of the countryside as well as there was much more time after the "event" to snap some shots. Your time on your back is short and sweet, well relatively speaking.

Anyway, the stone is flat and laid right into the wall with the rest of its fellow rocks. Somehow I thought the sucker would be rounded and easy to embrace. Wrong. I gripped the metal bars conveniently available until my knuckles were white, bent as far back as I could go and gave it a shot. Did I actually contact that nasty rock with my lips? Well you'll never know. Here's the thing though. How do I know that's the "real" rock brought back from the Crusades in Jerusalem? On the word of the guy who was my last hope of survival gripping my midsection and saying that's the one. Oh well. Also being of the shorter perspective, My body was pretty much halfway out over that drop. (see picture) Taller people definitely have the advantage.

Somehow the trip back down the tower was quicker than the climb up; always quicker coming back once you know the way. First stop - restroom, for obvious reasons. Side note:  the restrooms over there were very clean and they use the air dryers so no nasty used paper all over the place and no graffiti.  We could learn a little from our friends across the pond about neatness. Karen, the Australian lady who accompanied us up the tower and subsequent embrace, and I congratulated each other and felt that giddiness one experiences after doing something that was incredibly scary, yet incredibly silly. I was actually light-headed going back down the stairs!

After lunch and the proverbial stop at the Blarney Castle gift shop we headed to Waterford. The home of the most beautiful crystal. However, they no longer make it there but keep a small production area for the tourists and a shop filled with their classic glass. As we perused the display area after the tour I realized that no one from our tour group was there. We hurried out to the bus to experience that "everyone staring at us in silence routine "as we were the last to return-Drat!  But why the heck do we visit such a beautiful crystal outlet and not get to shop? Our hotel was literally a couple of miles away and we had a two hour break before dinner. Bad planning. However Burt had come down with a head cold, so we scurried out after check-in to find a "Chemist". It is still mind-boggling to us when they give directions like, "take a right by the Norman tower by the river".  Well it is literally hard to miss. Don't know what they gave him for a decongestant but it was cheap and literally worked in "hours".  No more head cold. Hmmm. Also their aspirin has to be dissolved in water but it has a delightful lemony taste.

As we leave Ireland tomorrow, one last giggle.

An Irishman was heading to Spain for vacation. His friends suggested he speak very slowly when trying to communicate to be understood. After a hot dusty trip into town, he visited a pub for some much-needed Sangria. He very slowly asked, "Could...I...have....some...Sangria?" and hoped for the best. The bartender said "Do....you....want....a....large.....glass?" The Irishman slapped his head and said "you're Irish too?" "Aye" was the reply. "Then why are we speaking Spanish?"   (Think about it)

Final days on the trip in the next and last chapter.   To Be Continued

UK TRAVELS CHAPTER 13

"A crew of old Irish lads were riding the train. All of a sudden one goes running into the next car yelling "Is there a Priest in the car?" One gentleman responds saying "I'm a Rabbi, can I help? " No, no" and he heads back to his car. 10 minutes later he calls out again, "oh Lord, is there a Priest in the car." A second gentleman rises to the occasion and says "I'm a Protestant Vicar, can I be of assistance?" Again the man shakes his head in sad denial. 10 minutes later the cry comes again. "Please, is there a Catholic Priest aboard for the love of the Saints?" Another collared man responds, "I'm a Baptist Minister, can I not be of some help?"  "No, no" says the crestfallen man "we be needing a corkscrew!"  Yeah, well.

The travel guide called it a delightful trip around the "Ring of Kerry".  I called it a suicide mission with a terrified busload of tourists and a driver who claimed "he just shuts his eyes on the scary parts".  Hmmm.  You start out climbing some hills slowly almost imperceptibly so no one panics and pass through some small villages on the water that are quite picturesque. One has a special affinity for Charlie Chaplin to the point of erecting a statue to him along the waterfront. I believe their affection arose from he and his family vacationing there frequently and not expecting a big fuss made over him when he hit the local grocery or pub.

We then became encapsulated in some fog that got progressively worse the farther up the hills we traveled. Again a nice way of hiding the distance to the valleys below and the narrowness of the roads. Though the downside is wondering if you can't see the lines in the road what is the driver using, radar? sonar? Nice stop at a statue of Our Lady enclosed with a metal fence so you can't get too close. Only reason I mention this is, I had my first opportunity to venture to the side of the road to see the sheer drop-off peeking through the fog, which actually obscured the statue until you were right on top of it.  We "valley-dwelling" peoples are not used to how the weather can be so different as you literally climb into the clouds on your journeys.

Up and down the curving mountain (ok they call them hills) and hairpin curves and I no longer scoffed at fastening my seat belt. It was kind of like hitting air pockets on a plane. The rough roads and constant tight turns bounced you around in your seat like bacon grease hopping around in a hot skillet. As the average age of people on this trip was about 65, it would have been difficult to say the least, to try to drag one off the narrow floor and back into their seat. But like the laughably short flimsy fences along the side of the sheer drops, both seat belt and fence are useful only for keeping your lifeless body near the buss and to mark where your vehicle plunged over the side to make it easier for recovery.

After safely completing our jolly ride around the Ring we passed through a tunnel that required all lovers, couples and whoever was sitting beside you on the bus to lock lips promising forever love or something like that. Well it was dark in there, who knows. There was a beautiful overlook of the three lakes below that was named for Queen Victoria's ladies rather than herself as she was not enamored with the view or the primitive setting or ride over, I can't remember which.  Again this is not your "make it as people friendly as you can to avoid lawsuits" America. Over here you take your life in your paws if you're foolish enough to want to get a better picture.  No fences...

Funny side note. Stopping in a "tourist" village for lunch (my usual Guinness & sandwich) I wasn't paying particular attention to the conversation. All of a sudden I looked up and the biggest freaking goat I have ever seen was prancing past the window. Not sure the protocol, I basically pointed and yelled "Goat!"  Now no one would have believed me except they were just talking about this guy who brings his goat into town all the time and it follows him like a dog. But all I saw was a huge unfettered goat prancing through town.  Geez, I need to get out more...or listen more...

Our tour guide recommended Murphy's in Killarney as the best ice cream ever.  He went on and on about it for two days. Maybe, but for 6 pounds apiece for two teeny-tiny scoops, that's dinner. We would have been smarter to stick to the free samples they were handing out. I just feel it only civilized to buy something after you have been plied with so many tasty bribes. Wrong.

Dinner tonight was cheese and crackers and a restful evening. As we keep waking up at dawn, 4:30 or 5 am we tend to get sleepy earlier. That coupled with the sheer terror of the "Kerry" ride and a lot of walking today. I believe we bought the cheese and crackers in a tiny little shop as I could not quite understand the sweet lady who kept slicing off different cheeses for us to try. All the cheese was made by local farmers and the variety was intriguing and tasty. I bet they don't even know how their cheese is going to turn out, but considering the amount of sheep everywhere it's probably somewhat consistent.

Another interesting fact. Burt has an ear for the accents and figures out what they're saying way before I do. Though he said it was a challenge translating four different ones before breakfast most days. That includes our bus group.

So after an elaborate Italian dinner last night, we were content with ice cream, cheese, crackers and trail mix tonight. Definitely have not been hungry on this trip. Huge breakfasts, which after two days I switched to yogurt and cereal; tea and scone (with clotted cream & jam, yumm) breaks, lunch, snacks in the afternoon, dinner; there is no time for hunger pangs.

The ruined churches and abandoned, crumbling houses speak volumes about the cruel treatment of Catholics and the angst of the potato famine. Among much beauty, there is much history that has been left intact to educate future generations. The difference between the have and have nots is on display and many, in the places we visited, rely on tourism to survive. To Be Continued....

UK TRAVEL TALES CHAPTER 12

"A wealthy farmer put great stock by his wonderful dog.  When the old mastiff died, the farmer was naturally heartbroken. This had been a member of the family! He approached his local priest and requested a full funeral mass for his beloved lost companion. The priest looked at him sympathetically and said "we don't do funerals for  dogs Paddy, you should know that". As he was looking so sad, he added, "though boyo there is a church about 15 miles out of the village that follows no religion I would understand and it's possible they might perform a service for your dog. The farmer with tears in his eyes, says "so you're thinking if I offer them the 60,000 pounds to do the fun------"  "Wait, wait" the priest quickly interrupted him. "You didn't tell me the blessed dog was Catholic!"

On with the trip.  We traveled some more narrow two-laners along the water and were proudly told this road is new. OK. But then the guide pointed out the old road several yards away which basically consisted of a couple of goat tracks with some asphalt still clinging precariously to the surface, and though I don't know how it was possible, appeared narrower than the one we were traversing. It was a typical "soft" Irish day, meaning overcast with an occasional little showers which left everything a little damp and a glistening verdant green.

Beautiful country with tumble-down stone houses apparently abandoned during the potato famine and slowly going back to nature. Again I do not know how they grew potatoes or anything considering how rocky and hilly the land is. We passed the ruins of the Daniel O'Connell (the Liberator) house, not restored in any way but just slowly slipping into the Irish countryside at its own pace of deterioration. This is their way of preserving history.  Mr. O'Connell was an Irish political leader in the first half of the 19th century who campaigned for Catholic emancipation including the right for Catholics to sit for London Parliament and was one of the first to do so for his local County in Dublin.  He believed that equality with the English was possible through peaceful means and was the most successful champion for democracy in Europe as well as playing a significant role in ending slavery.

"The boys were enjoying an evening down at the pub - drinking, cussing, carousing. The local priest stopped in and gazed about in obvious disapproval. He asked each of the drinkers if they were wanting to make it into heaven. One by one he had the ones who wanted to be saved line up against the wall. When he came to Casey, he just kept drinking.  The old priest says, "Casey, me lad, don't you want to go to heaven?" "Course I do Father, Just not right now!"

We actually started our day with a visit to the Irish National Stud farm. These beautiful stallions are bred with hopeful mares at an astounding price "per ride" so to speak. They win a few significant races and spend the rest of their lives in comfy stalls and graze on the most tasty green grass Ireland has to offer. Their only responsibility is to successfully "cover" the ladies brought to them.  They retire at a ripe old age cared for by attentive grooms who come here from all over the world for the opportunity to learn how to run a successful stud operation.  The young lady who was our guide would name a famous (to her) race horse and say "You've heard of so and so right?" Empty stares all around. About the 3rd of 4th time she was pretty frustrated with us. So school being cancelled due to stupidity, we all just enjoyed wandering the farm and enjoying the beautiful horses and foals living there.

We did feel kind of sorry for the sweet old pony who is used to determine if the ladies are, ahem, ready to be serviced. If they are in heat, the pony is quickly jerked away and the real "star" is brought in to perform his duty. Nice retirement plan.  I like to think that maybe that pony was smarter than the grooms and got his goods in when they weren't looking.  Though I suppose the proof would be in the offspring. Oh yeah, they had some Japanese Gardens that are quite famous there, but we opted for tea and scones in the snack shop instead.

We traveled on to Killarney via Tipperary (yep, those songs long long way to etc, etc). We saw the famous Rock of Cashel which is rumored to be a stopping place for St. Patrick and his tussles with the devil. All I know is I didn't see "no stinkin snakes 'round there." Much more exciting was the town that honors it's goat Puck. He is declared King Puck of Killorglin and paraded up the inevitable hill, after which the town celebrates his three day reign with three solid days of drinking as the pubs do not close throughout the festival. Many party goers spend the night on the riverside as going back up those hills is not an option after three days of partying. After leaving Killorglin which is quite a nice little village when not in the throes of its 3-day debauch we viewed more gorgeous Irish countryside and met "the richest man in Ireland" according to our travel guide. He spends all day with his donkey and his dog making Brigid's crosses and having tourists take his picture for which he is generously tipped.

The tour guide said he doesn't know if it's the same dog, but he is always sitting on the donkey and the three of them happily spend their days delighting the tourists. Interesting fact about the crosses. As the Catholics were not allowed to practice their religion, these reed crosses were placed unobtrusively in spots to signal a priest would appear and hold a forbidden Mass for the underground faithful. It is easy to hide in this wild and beautiful country.

"An Irish pilot was in touch with the control tower on what was supposed to be a routine flight. He says loudly "Christmas", no response, "Halloween", again nothing, "New Year's Eve". He was getting frustrated and said "I know it's a holiday". Finally a voice from the tower speaks "I believe the word you are looking for is MAYDAY!"

To Be Continued......                                                           

UK TRAVEL TALES CHAPTER 11

This Irish chapters will be sprinkled with jokes heard from the Irish cabaret we attended Sunday night. Jokes like "me Grandmother was so short her feet showed in her passport photo".

Sunday morning in Dublin, Ireland the land of 90% Catholics, and we were honored to attend the Church of Guinness at 10:00 am.  Fascinating and apparently the Number 1 tourist attraction in Europe. History and beer - how can one go wrong? I shall remember it as the my first proper taste of the "black & white". After worship, I have definitely become a "believer". Guinness at 10:00 am, well it is Ireland after all. I followed that up with a whole pint at lunch, followed up by a nap... Actually I found myself "worshipping" every day the remainder of the trip.

At any rate Arthur Guinness was a canny lad. As he was being pooed pooed for his brewery plans, in 1759 he managed to rent the facility for IRL45 (45 Irish pounds) a year for 9,000 years. However, the lease is no longer in effect because the property has been bought when it expanded beyond the original four-acre site.

"Airline personnel - Has your suitcase been out of your sight? Well it's been in me attic for 15 years"

By the time we reached the "Gravity Bar" at the very top of the brewery, we were pretty much ready for more light refreshment as we enjoyed a 360 degree view of downtown Dublin.  The old brewery building is technically a 7 story museum showing both the brewing process and advertising animals created by John Gilroy working off the tag line "Guinness is good for you".

I also had the pleasure of enjoying my first beef and Guinness pie.  All things Guinness the rest of the trip. At the time I said if it doesn't taste like this in the States, I will be disappointed. (It doesn't).

"A friend talks another friend into trying Viagra. You'll feel like you're 20 again laddie. After a few weeks they met again and the friend asked him - did your try that Viagra. Well said his friend I did me boyo. Were there any side effects asked his friend? After a brief ponder the second man said, well only one-the Missus' headaches are back..."

Some other facts about Guinness is that it has to be chilled to 60 degrees to be perfect and it takes two minutes to settle in two stages; each time waiting for the bubbles to stop. I did perform homage by sporting the foam mustache proudly when I quaffed a pint.

Although I would never attend something like this normally, we did sign up for the Irish cabaret. Wall-to-wall tables and chairs loaded with a couple hundred people and only one exit that I could see. Tight quarters for attendees and performers whose stage is so small they actually dance on the tables! Lol.  I think the wait staff was in on the idea as certain areas were surreptitiously cleared just ahead of the dancing feet.  The Irish music, dancing and comedian were awesome. I am repeating some of the cleaner jokes, but you had to be there. We were laughing so hard we were crying.  Plus I regaled some of the rest of the gang with the jokes in the days following. Still made us laugh.

"I was such an ugly baby the nurse slapped everyone in the delivery room. She yelled out 8 pounds and me Mater yelled back he's yours and I'll throw in the baby carriage. How ugly was I? Well for the longest time me parents thought I had bad breath and a cleft palate until they realized they'd been holding me upside down".

After our Guinness tour our Dublin guide James narrated our riding tour. Unfortunately his voice was lyrical and low and he lost a few of us after our "pint" at the end of the tour. However he did relate the circumstances around the rebellion of 1916 which led to the Irish Republic being formed. As history is yesterday there, 1916 is the same a 2017. He told of the brave men who were executed by the British and showed us their resting place-a monument honored by all. Their sacrifice triggered the rest of the country to take up arms and eventually win their freedom as a free and independent nation. Queen Elizabeth eventually visited, greeting the populace in their native Gaelic, thus burying the hatchet for centuries of persecution, for good.

James also showed us where the American counsel lives near a park with a gigantic cross erected for the visit by the Pope. 5,000 people thronged this area to see the Pope but I especially remember the fantastic ice cream vendor truck stationed nearby that provided us our late morning snack. Guinness and ice cream on a Sunday morning Tra la.

"So many of the travelers are honeymooners and me and the Missus are sitting to breakfast listening to all the billing and cooing.  Pass the sugar, sugar; pass the honey, honey; care for a bun, bunny. Me wife looks at me and hollers pass the bacon you fat pig!"
To be continued....

UK TRAVEL TALES CHAPTER 10

Enjoying a walking tour of Chester because it's a walking tour not a bus tour although one had to take a bus to get here. A timed walking tour because if we miss our rondez-vous, we miss the boat to Ireland - not acceptable.  Of course I don't know how important that is to the rest of the group.  (At any rate, we all made it.)  This is the second walled city from Norman times we visited. Even explored a recently unearthed Roman structure located many feet below the streets of Chester which was next to an ancient Roman-inspired garden located above the city streets. They also had a few tombstones moved from outside the city that depicted Roman burial practices.  Quite pleasant  and beautiful actually. And if I recall correctly the town also contained the first protestant church commissioned by jolly old Henry VIII. But after a while I got my castles and churches mixed up.

We walked to the town center and then along the top of the Norman wall all the way down to the River Die. And what did we see on the River Die in the British city of Chester in the western part of England?  See below:

Yes I am as puzzled as you.

As usual it started to rain pretty good, but it got us back to the bus early where we passed the time chatting with other bedraggled members of our group. In the U.K. you wear waterproof or carry umbrellas and soldier on. It's an island folks: misty mornings, sunny daytime, cool evenings.

As we entered Wales we stopped in a little town whose name is longer than the main street. Apparently the thinking was, if they made the name long and unpronounceable people would bypass it as we always want to say we traveled to------------------------------. I think it's 52 letters or something.

Loosely translated:  The Church of Mary in the Hollow of the....." well you get the gist. Of course there is a tourist stop - canteen and souvenir shop and look a "James Pringle Weavers" outlet! Also free samples of variously flavored whiskey. Amazing the amount of alcohol available regardless of the hour though the pubs close early so maybe that makes sense. I did not know the Welsh flag features a rather ferocious looking dragon, but I told Joe it's a dinosaur on the shirt I bought him. However, he probably knew the difference.

The ferry boat to Dublin which the bus just drives right up into, has eleven decks. We tried going outside but the wind even on a calm day blows you right off your feet. Inside there are chairs, couches, food and the inevitable gift shop. But all I kept thinking was "a 3-hour tour".

After an uneventful trip across the Irish sea during which I saw a porpoise dive, we arrived at the docks of Dublin. We made slow progress to our hotel due to traffic and a special concert that was being held that night. Ariana Grande was performing and we saw all the teenagers in their best outfits standing in a huge line to get into the concert venue, in the rain.  The view of all those excited young people was especially poignant  and sadly memorable when two days later a coward bombed the same concert in Manchester, England.

Arriving at the hotel most appropriately named the Trinity Hotel as it is located across from the famous Trinity College. This hotel certainly personified the point at which opulence just become gauche and apparently their favorite color is royal purple. I'll just leave it at that.

Big rainstorm prompted our deciding to sample the hotel cuisine rather than going out. At least the affinity for purple was more subdued in the dining area. Burt finally got his lamb.  We had been seeing tons of sheep and lambs but it was never on the menus. Then actually the next day at our Irish Cabaret night they offered lamb stew.  I stuck with steak and chicken until I learned to partner it with my new favorite brew which I discovered a day later.

I don't know what they use, but I can't get used to their salad greens. They just taste bitter and dressing is either non-existent or a form of vinegar and mayonnaise. They do love their mayo, but not my favorite. Tomorrow, Sunday, we will enjoy a different kind of religious experience followed by an extremely hilarious night at the Irish Cabaret.  To be continued......

UK TRAVEL TALES CHAPTER 9

Leisurely day. Bags out at 8:30 rather than the crack of dawn, which is about 4:30 am actually. At least that's when we seem to wake up with the sun. Short nights here. A couple of rides south and opportunities to explore a town on the banks of Lake Windermere of which I cannot remember the name and also some time in Liverpool before heading to the English town of Chester for the night.  Looking forward to our ferry across the Irish Sea to Eire in a day or two.

Wandered the town after breakfast which for the first time ordering off the menu was allowed! Burt immediately opted for Eggs Benedict where I stuck to my tried and true granola and yogurt, though I do drink a pot of tea now.  This hotel was so luxurious from the room, the public areas to the food. Tea or alcohol served in a marvelous parlor where one could imagine the formally dressed guests planning out their day's activities and evening dining with golden pens and white gloved waiters at the ready. The English on vacay really know how to Par--tee!

As we traversed the streets along the Lake I now believe that all the sheep's legs are shorter on one side. You would not believe the steepness of the hills where you literally went uphill both ways. Also apparently the grass actually is greener on the other side as Burt just noticed a sheep halfway up a stone wall next to his/her field trying to get into the neighboring one. We don't think he/she made it. 

It is interesting to see all the free-standing stone walls that do not rely on mortar to stay together and erect all around the farms. When the English farmers/landowners were forced to "enclose" their lands they turned to what was plentiful - lots and lots of rocks. Apparently the tax man became wise to the practice of neighbors shifting sheep (say that 5 times fast) when he came around to assess the tax burden based on the number of animals owned. Which reminds me of another piece of farming info. We learned some of the brightly colored marks on the ewe's backs were not identifiers of who owned "ewe" but are caused by the rams, ahem, covering them. Thus the farmer can mark both "effort" and "virility" - no sheep!

A couple hour stop in Liverpool was next on the agenda. The dock area, once busy and dangerous is still busy but much more trendy these days as the younger crowd likes the eclectic flats, pubs and the giant soccer stadium that dominate the area. Deciding to forego the Beatles tour (on the bus) in favor of a pint at a nearby pub, I sampled a draft called "Yellow Submarine" (well in Rome or Beatles' country). We sat with a young nursing student as the only open seating and had quite a conversation. Though a new friend Mary asked me, "how much of what he said did you understand?" "Not much" lol. But we smiled and nodded appropriately and our tour guide who was also enjoying a pint with us, kept the conversation going. 

On to Chester ........

Arrived at the Queen's Hotel in Chester which sported lots of portraits of lady rulers and crazy roman statues. Rooms and suites were marked with Queen's names including Henrietta Marcia one of the few times I have seen my sister's name spelled out. Also another room was marked "so & so was conceived in this room". Well ok, probably many rooms owned that legend I would guess.  After a major hunt, we found the "giant chair" we were told to look for though I don't know what it signified if anything.

Also found an old style red box phone booth which had a video screen rather than a phone.  There were many of these red box phone booths still alive and kicking on London streets that actually housed phones.

A little excitement this night as there was a wedding reception going on in the courtyard of the hotel with guests literally being thrown out at midnight. As everyone at the reception was pretty "oiled" when someone starting banging on our doors yelling for help some assumed it was just some misguided guests looking for more booze. However it turned out to be one of our group who had some trouble in the bathroom - either fell or couldn't figure out how to work the faucets at midnight-not sure which story was correct from our rudely awakened fellow travelers. When you travel with a "mature" group, little mishaps like this are daily occurrences. People forgetting to return on time, people getting lost, people almost falling down staircases, people wandering where they should not wander and then feigning deafness when challenged.  Ahh the life of a tour guide.  Tomorrow we board our ferry to Ireland.....