Over hill and dale, with sheep

We arrived back in Canada late on Friday night, on yet another 2-hour delayed flight. This time it wasn't due to a suspicious customs inspection, but instead was the fault of 200 mile-an-hour headwinds that necessitated a landing in Ottawa for refueling before heading on to Toronto. This was a delay that I could get behind. So, my head didn't hit the pillow until 1:00 am Saturday morning (that's 6:00 am UK time). And, I was woken at 3:00 am by a little person at my bedside saying, "You home Mom?" He had to stay awake for the next hour and a half to make sure this was actually true. So, between the jet lag, lack of sleep, a wedding reception, Thanksgiving, and laundry, I haven't had time to finish up the tale of the English leg of our adventure.

We left off after our day-long drive through the Lake District. Monday was a down day, which was nice to have since we'd be on the go for over a week. The big thing (literally) we saw that day was the Anglican Cathedral in Liverpool. This cathedral was relatively new, started in 1904 and finished in the 1980s (a couple of world wars sort of set them back a bit). But, it definitely had the wow factor of many of the older ones. It's hard to describe how big it was, as it was even hard to comprehend when you were standing in it. The best part was this very cool little chapel off the main cathedral called The Lady Chapel with stained glass images honouring British women from all walks of life.

Tuesday was the first day of our three day trip through the Peak District, up to York and back through the Yorkshire Dales. The trip was to see the sights, but also to visit the ghosts of our ancestors. Unfortunately, Tuesday started out as our only day of rain. Pouring rain. Oh, and fog. Cynthia drove us into the Peak District over the Cat and Fiddle through thick, thick fog. I was in the passenger seat navigating and pleasantly lulled by the fog. Mom, however, was in the back seat popping drugs and trying not to picture the sheer drop hidden in the mist. The "27 bikers killed or injured in the last 5 years on this road" signs all over the place didn't help either.

Our first stop was Buxton, an old spa town, where my great-great-grandparents met when they were both working as apprentices at a "drapery" - basically a fabric store. We ate lunch at the Lee Wood Hotel, an old place in town, that my great-great aunt used to manage.

Then it was on to Bakewell, a picturesque English town that is the home of "Bakewell pudding". I could have walked around this town all day, but the pouring rain made it a little difficult. So, we popped into a cafe for some pudding and scones with cream and jam. Cream that was as thick as butter!

That night we stayed in Calver, in a little valley in yet another cute town, where we had yet another great dinner and Mom got the biggest fish'n'chips meal of the trip. I, on the other hand, had soup...victim of a cold that I fought for the next couple of days.

Wednesday we headed to Winster...yet another picturesque little town where we saw my great-great-great grandfather Cantrell's house, and his surgery next door. (Surgery = dr's office in the UK.) We hit the church graveyard to find the old family gravestone as well. (Strangely enough, I like to wander around taking pictures in graveyards. Call me creepy.)

After this we got completely lost and headed up taking another goat path up a mountain (at least, a mountain to those of us from the flatlands) hoping that we didn't meet another car and gasping alternately at the great views and the thin road ("Breathe in!"). We ended up at a pub in Youlgreave asking for directions. After we got back on track, we landed in Kniveton at The Red Lion for lunch. Next, we headed up to the local church, which is about 1000 years old, to check out another family plot that included a grave for the unfortunate John Cantrell. This poor guy fell off his horse one winter in the 1800s and ended up buried at Kniveton. The unfortunate part is that he was buried alive. He was able to climb out of his coffin, but not dig himself out of the grave. What a way to go.

Next we took at leisurely drive through the heart of the Peak District National Park. Breathtaking views once again.

Thursday we headed up to York for a visit to York Minster cathedral. We did the Park n Ride thing, which I'd highly recommend if you ever visit York. We could have spent days in this city seeing the sights, but unfortunately we only had a few hours. We took an entertaining tour of the Minster, which included an explanation of the old practice of buying your way into heaven more quickly by paying for services to be said in your name. As the guide said, they hoped to be "wafted up to heaven on a cloud of incense and prayer." York Minster has a stunning collection of stained glass windows. We unfortunately didn't get to see the largest stained glass window in the place (size of a tennis court). The 100,000 pieces of glass had been taken out for restoration. In its place was a life-size replica photograph...a wise investment as it's going to take 15 years to restore. Mom, Marg and I have made a note in our calendars to return.

After York, we headed up to a little town called Pickhill, for another dead relative. Then, we drove across to the Yorkshire Dales National Park to visit Kettlewell (my mom's maiden name). We did the drive at sunset and the colors over the hills and in the dales were fantastic. The Yorkshire Dales is basically one big sheep and cow farm as you can't do much else there. We even had a sheep jump out into the road in front of us! I spent most of this drive loving the views and clutching the door handle for dear life as we drove up and down and around, and around, and around. (Being back home now, I have a much better appreciation for wide open, flat spaces.)

Kettlewell is a pretty little town set in a valley with a river running through the center of it (also famous for being the setting of Calendar Girls). We didn't stay too long, as it was getting dark, but Mom and I snapped pictures like crazy and then zipped back to the car to drive out of the national park area and back to civilization.

And so ended our trip...well except for the packing and the airport and the plane ride. It was truly amazing, and great to go through it all with my aunt and mom.

The Lake District and dead ancestors

Sunday was our designated day for a tour of the Lake District. Our main reason for heading up there, besides the great scenery, was to stop at John Ruskin's home, Brantwood. One of the big reasons for the trip to England was to explore a little family history. Cynthia is big into the geneaology, so she has lots of good stories to tell.

 

Brantwood played a part in our family history because it was originally owned by James Linton (he sold it to Ruskin). My great-great-great grandfather, Matthew Henry Frost Cantrell (b 1830) fell in love with Eliza Lynn Linton, a writer. But, Matthew was Catholic and Eliza was not (and the daughter of a clergyman to boot), so they didn't marry. Instead, she married James Linton, a poet and wood carver who did some of his work at Brantwood. Matthew was also a doctor who ended up taking care of the Linton's son at Brantwood for 18 months. Matthew got around, as he was also friends with Dickens and Thackeray. Apparently he called at Dickens' house the day Dickens died. Of course this is also the relative that, after his wife died, knocked up the 16-year-old maid when he was fifty-something and married her. They had three children, but she was never allowed to eat at the same table as him and his older children from the first marriage. Lovely.

 

Sorting out the family connections to Brantwood is almost as difficult as actually getting there. We took a long route, by Windemere -- one of the many lakes -- and then up to Coniston Water, which is the lake that Brantwood overlooks. On the way, we ended up taking a cow path--paved, but only 6'6" wide with tall hedges on either side! Luckily, we only met a motorcyclist coming the opposite way so we could squeeze by each other.

 

Once we got to Brantwood, the view was gorgeous...water, mountains, blue skies mixed with storm clouds, and, of course, sheep. We had lunch at Jumping Jenny's (named after Ruskin's boat) where the food was all homemade, locally grown, and organic. (We've managed to avoid fast food the whole time we've been out.) We toured the house and then came out to a little downpour so I whipped out the handy blue poncho (thanks Sherry!) and walked up a little ways into the gardens. It was easy to see why both the Lintons and Ruskin loved to be at Brantwood, in spite of the treacherous route in.

 

We continued our tour through English literature by stopping at Grasmere to see Wordsworth's grave and get some Grasmere gingerbread. Along the way we saw amazing vistas, and some very touristy spots, including Ambleside and Keswick.

 

Then, we headed out to the motorway to make our way down to Blackpool for "The Illuminations" -- four miles of lights along the seaside. We stopped at a rest area to eat in the Westmorlands, and this is when I expected we'd finally have to break down and eat fast food. Not to be. The rest stop (Tebay) is run by a local farmer's co-op, so they had locally grown, fresh food. Lamb dinner for me! When we sat down, we had this gorgeous view of the hills, and a little pond out back complete with rabbits hopping around. When they replace the rest stops on the 401, could they please provide us with something this peaceful?

 

We finally made it to Blackpool at about 9:00 and drove down along a fantastic light show. It was kind of like a parade of lights, but we were the ones moving. They had complete, moving scenes, and more traditional lights along miles of coastline dotted with hotels, arcades, shops, bingo halls, and theme park rides.

 

After that, it was back to Liverpool where we arrived home at 11:00 pm completely exhausted.

 

Did I mention that Cynthia is 72? We were worried about wearing her out, not the other way around!

UK bound

We left Ireland on Friday via the fast ferry to Holyhead, Wales. Mom was suitably drugged up with gravol, etc., as she is the most likely to get seasick, but we had a very smooth ride. (Fortunate for us, as the next day a huge wind storm blew in.)

 

About 5 minutes out of port, Mom and Marg took off for the slots...something they assured me I would like once I got over 40. I assured them that this was unlikely to happen, so I read, while they gambled. They returned about 20 pounds richer. My Mom has the luck of the Irish...she paid for her vacation ticket with her winnings from a slot machine!

 

When we arrived in Holyhead (I love that name!), we hopped the train for Chester. It was a Friday afternoon commuter train, so we were stuffed in, but the scenery was nice as the train wound its way along the water. If it wasn't water it was sheep out the window. Once in Chester, Cynthia picked us up. Cynthia is our last relative in England on my Dad's, Mom's side (if you can follow that). She had kindly offered us her place for our stay in England and was going to drive us around the countryside...so Mom and I could revert to passengers.

 

Cynthia lives in a 1930s home in Childwall (pronounced chilled-well), that looks like the green room for the antiques road show. The first night she mentioned that she would be giving me a doll (called Amelia) from 1897 to bring home to Faith. It's made of kid (goat's skin...had to ask) and was all handstitched with the original underclothes. She'd taken it to the Doll Hospital (real place!) to get the doll a new dress and a new wig, but other than that, it's in fantastic shape for being 108 years old. It's going right into the cabinet when I get home...sorry Faith...this one's only for looking at.

 

Anyway, after the day of travelling, we were all falling asleep over the Lancashire hot pot that Cynthia made for us, so collapsed for an early night.

 

Saturday morning, Cynthia headed down to the Liverpool port - Albert Dock - to the Maritime Museum. The docks are completely redone, and the museum was actually a series of museums in one, including the International Slavery Museum, which was fascinating and sickening at the same time. Liverpool was a port to the New World, so much of the slave trade was supported through the city. We also saw exhibits on the Battle of Britain, and the Titanic, Lusitania and Empress of Ireland. Again, supporting my much more favourable attitude to flying from place to place than taking a boat.

 

I wasn't sure what to expect from Liverpool itself, but it has some very interesting Architecture, which we got to see as we drove around on a detour due to a blocked road. The wind was so bad that a couple of tarpaulin signs tied to one of the buildings had blown partly off, and were ready to tear away completely, so the police had the road cordoned off.

 

For lunch we ate at a Carvery -- kind of like a buffet but focused on turkey, beef, or lamb as the meats "carved" for you fresh. We sat along the Mersey River and watched out the window as a huge storm came up during lunch, and then passed over before we left. Lunch was with Cynthia's brother, James (a retired radiologist!) and her nephew Andrew who is a partner at a law firm in Tokyo. Cynthia's mother was a Doctor as well (lots of doctors in the family), and Cynthia was a teacher, so they have lots of interesting stories.

 

Afterwards, we headed over to Speke Hall, a tudor-style black and white house. Yet more interesting history and lots of very old, ornate, and dark wood furniture. What a dreary life. The best part was the servants' quarters where you could see the row of bells, one marking each room of the house where they may be called by the lord and lady.

 

On the way home, we drove past John Lennons house (a very nice middle-class home) and stopped at Strawberry Fields. Yes. Strawberry Fields.

Dublin...and our last day

Thursday was Dublin Day. But, I was up at 6:30 (!), so I headed out for a photowalk on the beach. Unfortunately, the sun was hidden behind the clouds, so no wonderful sunrise. But, I did get a great walk on the beach...just me and a guy doing some beach fishing.

 

The big deal this day was figuring out how the hell we were going to get our car dropped off in Dublin City Centre without getting lost. Two ladies at the hotel desk helped us out big time by giving us the most direct route they could think of to get us there, and we started out, with me driving, Aunt Margaret navigating and my mom in the back seat hopped up on gravol. (After a few hairy drives, she decided her best seat was behind the driver, slightly drugged.)

 

Due to good directions, and some Irish luck, we actually made it to the rental place without getting lost, and in one piece. Then, we cabbed it down to our hotel, Jury's Inn Christ Church, which was, of course, right across from Christ Church Cathedral. After dumping the luggage we headed out for a walking tour of the city. We saw Dublin Castle, strolled through the Temple Bar district (which I had to go to mostly because it was the central location of many scenes from a series of books I'd read recently), and then headed over to Trinity College to see the Book of Kells and the Long Library. The Book of Kells/Library was the main thing I wanted to see in Dublin, so when we got there and found that it had closed at noon for the rest of the day, I was totally shocked! WTF? All the tourists were going up to the door and shaking their heads. Gah! But, all was not lost. We didn't have to leave for the ferry until 11:00 the next morning, so Mom and I decided to try it the next day at 9;30, opening time, to see if they were open again.

 

Then we walked over to Grafton Street to see lots of people shopping, and headed up over to St. Patricks Cathedral and back on to our hotel. Mom and Margaret decided to have a nap while I headed over to Christ Church Cathedral for a quick tour. I even popped the extra money for the audio tour...totally worth it. The best part of the cathedral, besides the ornate mosaic tiles on the floors, and an old dud's heart in an iron cage, was the crypt underneath. It was almost as large as the whole cathedral, and had monuments to various people who were buried there. Fascinating and slightly creepy. I headed back to the hotel to pick up the nappers, and then we headed back to Christ Church for their Evensong service. They have a world-renowned choir, so we didn't want to pass up the chance to see them.

 

So, what was it like hearing a 22-voice choir in a cathedral with a 14 metre high organ? WOW. As Margaret said, "I think you have to audition for this choir." :) This was definitely the highlight of the day.

After that, we headed over to The Bull and Castle for our last, and best, meal in Ireland. I decided to go traditional and order Guiness Beef Pie, while Mom had rotisserie chicken, and Marg had fish and chips. Mom also sampled one of the pubs 120 craft beers...I don't like beer but this one was good. We topped it off with a chocolate brownie dessert in Bushmill's caramel sauce. We also had good visit with our Slovak waitress...most of the waitresses were from Poland, Slovakia, etc. and this one was a hoot.

 

The next morning we were up bright and early for breakfast, and then Mom and I hoofed it down to Trinity College. We queued up behind the other early birds and waited for the Book of Kells exhibit to open, while we were misted on...the only time we got rained on during our stay other than a few drops on the car. The exhibit was excellent, describing how the book was made, the dyes used, etc. But, actually seeing the book was fascinating. We got to see the Book of John, the opening pages which are best described as two intricate paintings, and then two pages from the Book of Luke, showing the decorated writing. Mom pointed out you could actually see how the paint was sitting on top of the page.

 

After the Book of Kells, we were able to walk into the Long Library. If heaven were made for book lovers, it would look like the Long Library. Enough said.

 

Happy that we had been able to see these two sights, Mom and I headed back to the hotel, checked out with Margaret and hopped into a cab for Dun Laoghaide (Dun Leary) to catch the fast ferry to Holyhead, England (in Wales actually). We left Ireland exhausted but thrilled by all the sites we had seen.

Horses, gardens, 5000 years, and a castle

On Wednesday morning I got up early and headed out for a photo walk in Kildare. The town had the most fantastic doors, and I even had a quick chat with the local beer delivery truck driver who stopped me to point out a very picturesque pub down the street.

 

After breakfast, we headed over to the Irish National Stud farm and Japanese Gardens. The farm is huge, and we enjoyed our walk around seeing the horses, but the Japanese Gardens were the highlight. We took the "rugged path" through the gardens (built in the early 1900s), which had the theme of the journey of life. The cave of ignorance was particularly fun...and dark! I kept thinking the kids would love winding through all the little paths, including the stones that were stuck in the little streams of the garden. We did a little shopping here (had to get something horsey for Faith), and then headed out to the north of Dublin.

 

We were on a mission on this day as we had to get in the Kildare sights, then Newgrange, and end up back at Malahide (just outside of Dublin) before we headed into Dublin to see the sights.

 

Newgrange is a World Heritage Site, so I was very excited to see it. We got to the visitor centre just as a bus was about to leave to Newgrange, so we had to hoof it out to the bus stop (a bit of a jog). The bus took us about 5 minutes away to the actual site. The day itself was bright and sunny, as most of our days in Ireland were, strangely enough. So, when we walked up towards Newgrange, which is a "passage burial mound", it was stunning to see this mound with brilliant white rocks on the front of it and bright blue skies behind, surrounded by lush green grass. Newgrange is over 5000 years old, and we were able to go into the burial mound, in small groups to see the central area built into the mound, in the exact state it was more than 5000 years ago. It was exhilirating for me, but a bit of trial if you were at all claustrophobic.

 

After this jaunt, it was getting late so we had to head out to our next stop, Malahide. Here we stopped at a Malahide Castle, which had been lived in by the same family for about 800 years until the 70s when the last son died without heirs (according to the tour guide, "he didn't like women, if you know what I mean"). His sister sold it off to pay the death taxes, and the local county took it over as a park and heritage site. Mom and I took the tour while Aunt Margaret enjoyed watching the sights in the park. This was the better option by the end of the day as my legs were screaming for me to sit down and put my feet up!

 

We headed into Malahide to get a B&B (a very posh seaside town that reminded my of Niagara on the Lake), but ended up down the road in Portmarnock at the White Sands Hotel as they were full-up in Malahide due to a conference. The White Sands was right on the water and we could see Ireland's Eye as we walked out of the hotel. The hotel was just redone in a very modern style, which I quite liked, but it took us a bit to figure out how to turn on the lights! They had an energy-saver program going, so you had to put your room card into a slot by the door and then leave it there for the lights to stay on. As well, we almost got to spend the night with three guys. Why? Well they originally sent us to a room that the three had previously booked. Luckily they caught the error before we'd put in our luggage and possibly given everyone a big scare when the men would have shown up later. It gave us a good laugh.

 

That night we walked along the seaside down to an Italian place and on the way back saw the almost full moon reflected on the water. Yet another beautiful sight in Ireland.   

Whiskey and the rock

After homemade scones and jam (and another full Irish) breakfast, we headed out to Midleton to the Jameson Whiskey Distillery for the tour. I've never been a whiskey/scotch drinker, although George has so I figured it would be interesting, plus a good opportunity to pick up some nice Irish whiskey. We were on a very small tour of about 14 people, and at the end they asked for 8 volunteers to be Irish Whiskey Tasters. So, I figured what the heck? When in Ireland.... I also volunteered Aunt Marg for the experience.

 

The eight of us got three shots of whisky -- a Jameson, a scotch, and JD from the States. To my total surprise, I actually liked the Jameson...which we had learned through the tour was triple-distilled. The Scotch was OK...but I wasn't as fond of the smokey, peaty taste, and the JD was undrinkable for me. After the tasting, we got a full shot of Jameson, which I drank, although I realized that I have to put water in it to drink it (I know...George is absolutely cringing right now). So, I walked out of the distillery with a nice certificate saying that I was an official Irish whiskey taster, and a slight wobble in my walk.

 

Mom had to drive the car to the next stop, which was the Rock of Cashel, while I sobered up. We weren't sure what to expect, but knew it was a must-see site. When we came round the bend in the road, it was absolutely stunning to see the old stone church on top of the rock overlooking the vista below. It's hard to describe the kind of impact it had, but all of us exclaimed when we saw it. When we got to the rock, we were just in time for a tour with Mary from Tipperary. This was hands-down the best tour guide we encountered on the trip (and we had some good ones). She was full of facts, figures, tales...it was unbelievable and completely engrossing. Luckily, we hit the rock at the right time, as the next week a good portion of it is going to be under scaffolding for a huge preservation project.

 

After Cashel, we headed back to Cahir to stay overnight in an inn with the friendliest host! We decided to go for Italian fare that night...you can only eat so much pub food...and were introduced to Hawaiian pizza with sweet corn! Strange indeed, but it tasted pretty good. Cahir also had a nice castle, but we skipped that one to head off to Waterford the next day.

 

To be honest, Waterford was the only disappointment we had on the trip. They no longer have a tour, so it's just a big building with lots of nice crystal on display, and a big shop where you can buy glasses, etc. As none of us were in the market for crystal, it was a waste.

 

We had some lunch and headed on to Kildare where we arrived in time for supper after grabbing the cleanest B&B we stayed in, with the sternest host we had. She did, however, recommend The Silken Thomas for supper. It was our best meal of the trip with what Mom and Margaret described as the best roast beef they'd ever had. I remember it as a place with a fantastic Pinot Noir from New Zealand, and yet another fast-talking Irish waiter -- friendly but hard to understand.

 

We called to say Happy Birthday to Duncan, and then went back to the B&B to collapse for the night.

 

More Ireland...the Ring of Kerry

I'm actually in England now, and back with access to a computer. I have officially become one of those people that finds it incredibly difficult to be disconnected from the Internet for this long. Next time I leave home, I'm swiping Faith's IPod Touch so that I can have WiFi access where ever I go. Sad but true.

 

Now, back to our story....

 

On Sunday we headed down to the Ring of Kerry, which we had heard was terrifying to drive on, but discovered after driving in The Burrens that it wasn't so bad. Other than a few spots where the yellow lines on the side of the road (almost all roads in Ireland have white lines in the middle, and yellow lines down either side) were actually painted on the grass as the road was so narrow, it was pretty good by comparison. I had a few heartstopping moments driving through Kilarney National Park, where just a few sticks strung together with wire seemed to be the only thing keeping us from plummeting off the side of a mountain, it was actually a great Sunday drive. Oh, and the guy coming towards us driving on the wrong side of the road (i.e. the right side for North America), gave me a little start.

 

Apparently the Ring of Kerry is best enjoyed counter-clockwise, so we took the advice of the guidebooks and headed out through Magillicuddy's Reeks (the mountains). It was one beautiful vista after another. For lunch we stopped at a village called Waterville that was, surprise, right on the water and we all had fish and chips. I'm not a big fisheater, but my rule is that if you're going to eat fish, it has to be next to the water where it was caught. And, it was delicious.

 

After lunch, we headed back around the ring for more breathtaking vistas...good grief! It was almost boring after awhile, it was so beautiful. The most interesting part was seeing all these little sheep/climbing paths on the sides of the hills, and wondering how you could possibly farm on the side of a mountain. We also stopped to take pictures of what looked to be an old village that was just left to ruins. (For some reason I love old broken-down stuff, and Ireland definitely has lots of ruins dotting the countryside.)

 

Once we got into Kilarney National Park, our big stop was Torc Falls. After walking about 200 metres back into the forest, we came upon the "most photographed falls" in Ireland. (And, yes, when I get home, I'll upload all the pictures.) The funniest thing, however, was the guy in the parking lot stuffing some of the local plants into his minivan to take home with him! Apparently National Park means local garden centre to some.

 

It took us about 8 hours to drive the whole ring but it was well worth it.

 

We ended up outside Macroom that night at a B&B in the middle of nowhere...somewhat of a mistake because we had to head back into the local village for supper. Supper was great...but finding a B&B on an unfamiliar road in the middle of the night, driving on the wrong side of the road was not. After we had to turn around the second time, I was just glad we didn't leave the luggage and could go on to the next town if needed. Luckily we found it and tucked ourselves in for the night, after a well-deserved glass of wine.