The Carsons in the UK

After a rather lengthy trip from Heathrow to Prince George, we have arrived safely at home. The trip was great, although our flight from London was delayed, so we missed our connection from Edmonton to Vancouver and had to spend a few hours lounging in the Heathrow airport--there was nowhere to sit, so we made countless passes through the enormous Duty Free Shop; at each pass we had to run a smelly gauntlet in which we were spritzed by well-meaning perfume salespeople (they must work on commission) until our eyes were burning and we were redolent with strange aromas; we ended up sleeping at a hotel in Edmonton (on Air Canada's dime, I should add) before catching the early flight the next morning.

Anyway, we are home; before signing off for good, I thought it would be nice to end our Travel Blog with a few final thoughts about the trip from the whole crew, so here we go.

Mike:

It was an amazing trip. Our final night in London, Dan and I walked from our hotel to the London Eye--the giant ferris wheel pictured above--for a last glimpse of the city. As we rose higher and higher, ascending even above the highest towers and spires of London, I reflected on our journey around England. On one level, at least, we had borne witness to a human obsession for stacking things up really high in praise of other things. Stonehenge, for example, is an amazing monument, built, God knows how, to mark the passage of sacred time and the rebirth of the sun. Salisbury Cathedral--and all of the other enormous cathedrals--were built to praise God--or, more cynically, perhaps, to remind Him that we are still here (and not to smite us in His mercy) by giving him a really big, really beautiful, mark on the map to look down on from above. A sad irony, of course, is found in the fact that opposite all of those beautiful churches erected for the glory of God, stand the castles and towers erected for the glory of the King, in whose dungeons people of different religious views were tortured and broken, first the heretics, then the Catholics, then a few of each. . . .

All these astounding objects still stand as testaments to our obsession for stacking rocks, and as testaments to our capacity for faith in the Great Mystery, for faith in things greater than ourselves.

Dan and I spun around in our giant gerbil wheel high above London, higher than all the castles, all the steeples, far higher than Stonehenge, still standing miles away on a windswept plain, still silently counting the days, and I wondered, for whose glory was this thing built?

Well, we've spent a delightful few days touring around London, although I think everyone is ready to head for home tomorrow. London is, of course, a beautiful city filled with all sorts of intriguing things to see and do. Naturally, we couldn't leave London without at least one ride on the famous "tube." We descended into the bowels of the earth at Westminster Station--and it actually smelled like bowels, too. Very authentic--and decided to use the public toilets before we attempted to figure out the tube map (which looks a little like a mall-map of the digestive tract, complete with equally bizarre names). I was astounded to discover that you have to pay to use the bathrooms--50 p., no less. I paid for Dan, and then he proceeded to push the exit button to let Matt and me in. A rather unhappy little washroom attendant came over and scolded us in some incomprehensible language/dialect, so I gave him a pound, which he diligently proceeded to drop into the coin-slot on the turnstile. It was quite clear they haven't been using the money to keep the bathrooms clean. . . . It does seem strange to pay a man to sit in a bathroom all day making sure that people pay to go in, but I'm sure there is a perfectly good reason for it.

Anyway, right after the boys and I had unsuccessfully attempted to breach bathroom security, a punk showed up at the turnstile: he had a full-on spiked hair-do, a giant diaper pin through his septum, jack-boots and black leather jacket. He looked a little long in the tooth, but I think punk died in '78 or so, so we should cut him some slack. I watched with curiosity. I expected outrage, a hostile rage against the Man who would put a tax on urination. Instead, he rummaged around in his tights, found half a crown, an slid through the turnstile.

I'd have taken a picture, but I wanted to get out of the can alive.

Here are the boys in front of Albert Memorial.

Some London/Westminster skyline photos.

We spent a good part of the day today at The British Museum. We checked out the Rosetta Stone and the mummies. And, unlike the toilets, admission to this lovely museum was free.

Well, I'm going to see if Dan still wants to take a cruise around the London Eye before we call it a night.

And so to bed.

Here are Matthew and Daniel feeding a swan on the sunny banks of lake Windermere.
In case you didn't know--and we didn't--the Lake Windermere area is the playground of the incredibly wealthy and, as it seems, the incredibly boring. The speed limit on the lake is around six miles per hour, but that doesn't stop anyone from owning massive speed boats; we even saw someone waterskiing, which is a real challenge at such a low speed. The lake was so thick with yachts that it was difficult to see the water.

We survived an endless boat ride with a tour guide who may well have been the most uninteresting human being I have ever met. The boat putted along as our guide droned on in a voice simultaneously condescending and dispassionate about a lake which, although lovely, is, when all is said and done, a lake. I was hoping we would strike an iceberg just for some respite from the tour: I could imagine this guy slipping beneath the surface of the lake, still babbling on about Lord So-And-So's estate. I have to admit, though, it was quite a feat to go on for almost two hours about something which could have been summed up by the statement, "This is a lake."

That said, it was a beautiful spot, and we enjoyed a great lunch in the park near the lake and a little stroll around the town. Then we were off for York.

York Cathedral--250 years in the making--is absolutely breathtaking. The town itself is charming and lively and incredibly rich in history, from Romans and Vikings all the way through to the present day. For instance, Dan was delighted to discover that Guy Fawkes was born in York (he is a huge V for Vendetta fan), before meeting his horrible demise in London.

We enjoyed some banoffee ice cream from a shop in The Shambles--this was once the stinkiest part of the city--and visited one of the many "Most Haunted Pubs in England."

We spent a great night in York, along with a delightful farewell dinner--unfortunately our tour director could not eat with us, as the schism between him and a couple from Tasmania had developed into a rather snitty feud, making eating in the same room together rather awkward (then again, eating with a Tasmanian Devil is always a little awkward)--and in the morning we were off to London again.

We stopped for lunch in Cambridge and checked out some of the many colleges I would never be accepted into (especially since I keep ending my sentences with prepositions) but could purchase tee-shirts from (oops, I did it again).

Here are Dan and Matt posing in front of a bridge designed by Sir Isaac Newton himself. Incidentally, I have never hear the word "punt" as many times in my entire life as I did on this one day in Cambridge.

Now we are back in London and looking forward to a bit of leisurely sightseeing. The boys have just polished off a pizza and have returned to their funky little den across the hall.

And so to bed

Our first stop of the day was Glastonbury Cathedral. It was unbelievable. We visited Arthur's grave, and looked around for the Holy Grail. We didn't find it, but we did scarf down yet another of the ubiquitous cream teas--my bloodstream now contains 30% clotted cream--the area is famous for. We enjoyed a glorious ramble around the ruins of this place, and then we were off.

Just outside of Bath, the bus broke down. If you have seen the movie Alive, you know how distressing this can be; there were some lovely, plump passengers, and many of the older folks, although armed with sticks, would have been quite easy to bring down (although they would undoubtedly prove quite stringy-). In the end, however, we chose cabbing over cannibalism, and we spent an amazing afternoon in Bath. The history of the place was awe-inspiring, and we all really enjoyed the lively street-scene of the city.

Next we sped off to Stratford for a quick look at Shakespeare's birthplace. It was a great tour, and Stratford is a truly fun town. I could spend a week there, certainly. We had a wonderful meal at a 700 year old pub--it had been remodelled a bit, but not much--and then spent a great night at the Shakespeare Mercure, a really old, but totally cool hotel. In the morning we visited Anne Hathaway's place, but she wasn't home so we checked out some ducklings instead (see photo).

As I watched the boys feed these tiny ducklings, oblivious to Anne Hathaway's cottage in the background, it occurred to me how important it is to never forget the living things around you because their existence is all too fleeting: these old castles and cathedrals have been aroundfor hundreds, even thousands of years, and they aren't going anywhere. When we visit ancient places, we can see the incredible power and ingenuity of those who have gone before us. But they are gone. It is in wild, untamed places we can find ourselves, and discover who we are as individuals.

Anyway, back to the crabby old people on the bus--apparently we missed an altercation between Nick, our tour guide, and an unnamed member of our tour; she apparently swore at him so much that the manager of the Mercure complained. Most of us voted to leave her behind, but cooler heads prevailed, and off we sped.

We took a little jaunt into Wales--another place where I would love to spend more time--and then we drove to Liverpool. I must admit that I wasn't keen on visiting Liverpool, but my preconceptions were totally wrong. This is a cool place with a really rich history.

Well, the boys are bugging to use the computer--although Matt claims he isn't--so I'm signing off.

And so to bed.

We made it to London and flagged down a taxi; sadly, it took me 5 minutes to figure out that the cab didn't have a "boot," and that we would have to balance our enormous luggage on our laps as we sped along to our lovely hotel. And it was lovely: right on Albert Bank with a view of Big Ben (as well as Big Dave, who was apparently working the corner that evening :-)

Early the next morning we met our tour leader, were given a brief orientation, listened to several old people complain about various things, and then we were off. Several of the other passengers were eyeing up Dan and Matt with those, "I don't like the looks of those teenagers," expressions on their wrinkly faces, but I'm sure the boys' cheerful dispositions are winning them over (see photos) :-)

The highlight of Sunday was, of course, Salisbury Plain and Stonehenge. Despite the thousands of other tourists, including an endless train of Japanese schoolchildren wearing matching rain ponchos (some might say orange hefty bags, but this is difficult to translate into Japanese), Stonehenge was breathtaking.

Incidentally, some of the people on the tour had been to Stonehenge before, but construction hadn't been completed :-)

Next stop, Salisbury Cathedral. Thirty-five years in the making, but we managed to tour it in thirty-three minutes. I loved the sign that read, "Magna Carta, Toilets ----->" It's always good to have something to read while you're in there. Honestly, the place is incredible. It is astounding what beautiful--and, sadly, equally terrible--things human faith has inspired. What was especially amazing about Salisbury is that we arrived on Sunday, so they were playing the pipe organ: it was humbling, thought-provoking, and beautiful.

We were herded back on the bus, and, after a lovely ride through the countryside, we arrived in Plymouth where we spent the night. Dan and I walked to a ruined church that had been destroyed during the Second World War. I took some pictures, so it would be pointless to post them :-)

Our first stop today (Tuesday) was Tintagel--reputedly Camelot (mainly so the villagers can hock all things Arthurian to the tourists). I could have spent a week here, but had to be content with fifteen minutes :-)

Here are the boys at Clovelly: they were almost smiling, so Lisa snapped the picture. We hiked down for a delightful pub lunch at the Red Lion, and then a heart-attack-inducing walk back up to the bus. There were donkey rides available, but the proprietors of the business said their skinny donkeys could not lug my fat ass up the hill--or was it the other way around?

And so to bed.