Current home of the Weeesleys

Tomorrow we leave the Wesleys to their cute little town and their labour. God bless their home and that baby, because they are so great and have been the best, most gracious and delightful hosts. I will eagerly anticipate returning here in October where will be greeted by a new 3 month old babe and weather that actually suits the time of year.



We're in Scotland now. What gives it away?



Big duded chucking big rock at our first Highland Games, and in fact, Scotland's oldest, running yearly since 1314. A few big dudes kept to themselves a chucked lots of heavy and awkward stuff. I am man.



St. Andrew's has a long, gorgeous beach like Long Beach on Vancouver Island. On the beach is the oldest golf course, if you like golf.



Beach.



View of St. Andrew's from the beach. Breathtaking and so darling really.




Cathedral ruins.



More Cathedral ruins, because ruins are just as cool as the whole thing in a way, aren't they?




Being cute in the ruins. This is subjective.



Castle ruins. John Knox was imprisoned and martyred here.



More cute. This town is just chock o' block full of cute, ain't it?



The pregnant lady in on the Secret Gardens of St. Andrew's garden tour. Now that is really cute. All that I said about cute before, I take it back. This is as cute as it gets. Seriously.



Blue poppy. This pictu7re is in the worng blog entry. Oh well, too late. It may be accompanied later with metaphorical thoughts, but maybe not.



"The maple and the thistle are the emblems of the free!"

Grand and Ancient York

York is famous for its Cathedral, York Minster. OK for Henry the 8th, since it is ANglican. Matt even liked it. We attended said prayer and Evensong (bald ones and bored little ones singing very beautifully).



York is also famous for its teahouses--here's a sampling of their treats on offer.



York is home to the oldest, best preserved medeival quarter in England.



Clifford Tower and Canadian geese. A welcome sight from home.



Matt and Betty's Tea House. One of those photos you have to take since Matt's mom is named Betty.


As we rolled into York, the coach driver said, "Welcome to the grand and ancient city of York." Though Bath is the same age, York did feel uniquely ancient. Not only had the Romans stormed through, but so had the Vikings, Anglo-Saxons, and the Normans. The latter left a huge stone wall that encircled the small, tourist-filled city. I liked that it didn't just feel like another English town. It felt unique. We relaxed very nicely here. Plus we ate out for the first time here which felt like the treat of the century for people who normally eat out 3-4 times per week. Turkish BBQ and ma and pa poached fish and chips--yum yum.

Stonehenge and other rocks

From Bath we did a daytrip out to Stonehenge, Avebury, and two picturesque villages. Quite a grand day. Here are the photos from that day:



English countryside. So infamous it is like a character on the scene all itself, and understandably so. It is lush, tranquil, most idyllic. It soothes the soul and weary traveller.



Um, if you don't know what this is then you've been living under a rock. It was indescribable to finally see this in person after seeing it a million times in pictures. But, after some time you realize we've made it into just rocks. Only the birds could touch it as were roped off from it. I never felt so jealous of a bird. I so wanted to lay my hands on those rough, lichen covered stones, like ancient hands had done 5000 years ago after a long hike through shaded woods. Then it was not exposed as it is now, stripped of mystery. When I thought of how it had been versus now, and watched the careless birds fly all around in it, I realized this circle reflects us as we are now. Stumbling about in the sacred, careless and without a sense of the holy around us, stripped of soul awareness and exposed in our barrenness. But that is a beautiful place to start a pilgrimage, isn't it?



Is that a face I see in the ancient rocks? What could it mean? We'll never know! Ah, mysterious places...



Sarsen stones, like at Stonehenge, but this time at Avebury. These are in the original shape, rather than being beaten into rectangular shapes as at the more famous site. A circle 16 times the size of Stonehenge. It's actually two smaller stone circles in one large one enclosed by a giant ditch. The great thing about a less famous site is that its equally as cool, far less tourists, and free.



Big rocks, small boys.



Lunch in picturesque Lacoc at George's, the oldest lisenced pub in England, having held one for 600 years.



Lacoc. The Prince's sweetie has a home here. It is also where the BBC filmed their best film, "Pride and Prejudice." Harry Potter dining room scene's were also filmed here. So as you can gather, this mini town is quite the joint.



Matt enjoying his first Whippy in Lacoc.



I like old graveyards. I like Matt.



Equally picturesque village of Castle Combe. Famous for nothing escept being cute.



Sheep are cute, too.

Gentle days in Bath

Bath's lush green bowl that hugs the city.



Me at Jane Austen's old house--she didn't really approve of Bath, but whatever.



Bath terrorist controlling his allergies.



Bath's Royal Crescent--now the city's finest Georgian era apartments.



The Roman pumphouse--only one of Bath's baths. There was also the cross bath, the hot bath, and so on. For the Romans bathing was art.



The main bath with the Cathedral in the background, which is on the spot of what was the bath's main temple to Minerva.



The main bath again--it was just so inviting despite its algae green colour. It really is the temperature of a nice warm bath.



Experience the tranquility...



...we are.



Light pouring into the Cathedral.



Despite Austen's feelings for Bath, we quite enjoyed it. A beautiful, green city with gorgeous limestone architecture. The Baths were definitely worth admission. For 2000 years, pilgrims came here to pray, to seek assistance and healing, to relax. Interestingly, all the Roman drainage still operates. And their lead lining at the bottom of the main bath still keeps it water tight. They would have bathed in clear, warm water. Later the English removed the roof and it is the sunlight that makes algea grow and the water turn green. During excavations, they found many offerings to Minerva in the bottom of the pools--personal items, household items. Most interestingly were written curses asking the goddess to curse whoever stole their pitcher or did them a bad turn. It is hard to imagine these ancient peoples sometimes until you read these curses, and then you realize, oh, they were human, just like us. They made the same ground a place to ask for blessings for themselves and curses for their neighbour. It sounds familiar, doesn't it?

st. andrew's-by-the-sea and me

St. Andrew's is treating us well. Actually, we're doing nothing here. And that is what is just so great. Isn't that what a holiday is about? The stress is finally seeping out and we're sleeping for hours, eating well, and loafing around. It is awesome. My lofty spiritual goals are now to be nice to my husband and have fun. Basic. Doable. Mostly.

The best thing about St. Andrew's is Kate. My best friend of almost 20 yrs. She is 8 months, 1 week pregnant. If you've never been around a pregnant woman that means she has officially had enough. Time to pop that thing already. She looks like she always has except like she's swallowed a basketball--or for those who don't know what Kate looked like pre-bun in the oven, she looks like a grown up starving kid. It's quite adorable. Photos coming soon. The care and presence of a good friend is one of the best things in life. I'll be sad to leave, which we are doing in one day. Off to Ireland for us.

Camping in the UK

Well we decided that it is too expensive in the UK to B&B it. So we trimmed down the belongings and got everything (including stove, tent, dishes, sleeping bags, clothes, guidebooks, camera stuff & therma-rests) into our two backpacks and leaped into the world of UK camping.
The campgrounds (aka caravan sites) here are stellar. Beautiful shower facilities, only a short walk to town, lush grash everywhere. The only downside: only one picnic table so far. We also had the pleasure of sharing a campsite in Bath with Mr Yellow. He was quite a character, but provided some good insight into the local colour of Bath.
We're hitting a good pace of arranging details ahead of time and being okay with not having the entire next month figured out. So far we've got transportation and accomodation figured out to July 25. Oh well, I guess that is the next month.
One highlight for me was touring the Bankside Power Station. This oil-fired plant on the bank of the Thames right across from St Paul's was closed a few years ago and converted to the Tate Modern Art museum.
I also spotted some cooling towers from the window of the train as we made our way from York to St Andrews I'm not sure, but I think they were the Chapelcross nuclear station. I think I also spotted the Torness nuclear station. Only a few of the coolings towers had steam rising from them. Apparently 20% of the power in the UK comes from Nuclear energy.
that's about all from me for now. as usual, stay posted pictures to follow.
matt

In a field, nestled at the bottom of grassy hills and beside a rushing brook, is our wee tent. We are in Bath now. From millions to a quiet and supremely gorgeous town of 85, 000. Extremely resfreshing for our souls. In a few minutes, we'll take some leisure in a park that Jane Austen would have promenanded through. I love it here and am so glad we came. The city is dense and all built of creamy, yellow-tinged limestone, surrounded by lush treed hills. And the River Avon winds its way with narrow river boats through town.

Two days ago, we visited the natural, thermal baths that the Romans flocked to and worshipped at. They called it Aquae Sulis. 2000 years of history lays beneath the streets, but emerges in to the surface at the algea green baths. No longer swimmable, but still magical as they steam and bubble.

Tomorrow we are off to York and then to see the 8 month pregnant Kate in Scotland. I can't wait. At some moments I still just catch my breath and cannot believe I am really here. I never felt this more so than at Stonehenge yesterday. My first glimpse of it made me choke back tears. Strange and mysterious. I'll tell you more later. My library internet minutes are running out!! And I really must go lounge and snack and blend in to the beautiful scenery.

Miss you, my friends!

Gain the world, lose my soul

So long, London. You've worn us out, painted us red, and all that. We're off to Bath--to get clean. Ha ha. I mean it. Clean the smog from our lungs, the manic panic frantic from our brains. Out comes the tent. It's plan B but we just can't pay hotel and hostel prices. I guess we're just two cheap mofo's.

I've had a revelation. I cheapen the word. It's a small one, but nonetheless, here it is. Consuming can be more than just shopping. I haven't bought a thing, but I can stomp through Europe greedily consuming the sights. Stuff stuff stuff! Stuff in the art! Stuff in the museums, the galleries, the cathedrals! Fill my gaping soul. Arg! I am empty still. I have not escaped distraction. I have replaced TV, food, whatever, with Europe's beauty, but seen nothing, experienced nothing. Gained nothing, lost more of myself. Transformed beauty to ugliness that clutters my soul. God, where are you? Better yet, where the hell am I? I am sightseeing myself all the way to the devil's gate quite literally.

Then, to make it worse, I can blog in the name of connection, but really, who is this helping? "Who is your audience?" Me. I can't blog knowing you're all looking. It makes me warp my words. But I want you all to look. It helps fill that hole. It's sick. It's twisted.

Purify me--from me.

So, I may blog less. See less. Experience more. Rest more. "Be in the moment" and all those other platitudes, but really mean it. Be still. And more still. So, you'll hear less of me, so I can hear more of Him. We're all better for it. You know it.

England-1, Paraguay-zip

I always said, "you haven't seen an African until you seen them eat sugar cane." And now I say, you haven't seen a Brit until you seem them screaming at the screen in a pub floating up to their eyeballs in pints singing Vindaloo. Thus, is the cultural joy of watching football fans do the football frenzy.

I forgot to mention the Tate Modern. So many big names (Picasso, Matisse, Monet, Sherman, Bacon, Kandinksy, Warhol, Degas, Guerilla Girls, Pollock, Beuys, Rauschenburger, Oldenburg, Duchamp, Lichtenstein, Braque, Munsch, Miro, Magritte, Koons, Dali) its just a bit ridiculous. Its fun to giggle at the craziness of some of it. A delight to see an artist's work "in the flesh" for the first time (a Koons) One cannot help being overwhelmed, but it is truly incredible to walk up to a work that one has long wanted to see.

"Unique Forms of Continuity in Space"
bronze
Umberto Boccioni

http://www.moma.org/collection/browse_results.php?object_id=81179

Seriously, check it out (note above link). I loved this at first sight while studying Art History. And, before my overdosing eyes, by total surprise, there it stood in the Tate. Unbelievable. Your eyes move across it quickly, then slower and slower, always moving, searching over it. It was, however, smaller than I had hoped/ remembered. I wished it was bigger. Bigger than me so that this dynamic figure would dwarf me. Seem almost threatening in its powerful and forceful stance. Quite a sight.

And Braque, I always had a soft spot for his little, Cubist paintings. I've always imagined he crafted such small, dark paintings, because I've long thought of him as a poor, neglected underdog, lost in the shadow of his huge counterpart, Picasso. Never gaining Picasso's mega-fame. Just want to put him in my pocket.

But by far, my favorite sighting, for whom I have an even softer part, was Rothko. I will always be partial to the richness, density, and simplicity of colour fields--his in particular. They had one dim, quiet, meditative room dedicated to six of his paintings. All red--a favorite. And they are huge. At least 10 or 12' by 10 or 12'. Truly awesome. I am lame to communicate it. I just want to crawl up in them, and they would fit me. And it'd all be understood without words between me and everything.

What is art? It's that.

DAY 3 IN LONDON

Oooohh...pretty.


Even prettier (St. Paul's in the background I mean).

"In the place of a dark lord, would you have a terrifying queen?!"

Um. Yeah. We noticed.


The only thing better than one Matt is two Matts.


Sunset out our friend's window.

Of FIFA, frenetic frenzying, and fevers

It's Morldc Dup (Tibetan spelling) fever. Day 5 in London brings us England's first game in the World Cup, and for the Brits, the World Cup doesn't start until they are playing. England's team flag flies from most cars, windows, anywhere that will support a flag basically. I think FIFA should stand for Football Insanity, Football Anarchy. 100, 000 British passports of known "thugs" were seized so they wouldn't make a public embarassment of themselves in Berlin. Seriously. Nonetheless, it seems I am doomed to wedge myself into a screaming pub with the rest of England in order to watch their first game. "It's a cultural experience."

As for fevers in general, it is the only symptom I and Matt are not suffering after being beaten by the ache-y, sick stick. Bla. How dull. Sick on holidays. Matt took ill on Day 3 and me yesterday. Yesterday's other news headline was: HIGH SMOG ALERT AS SUN BAKES ENGLAND. Or it could be the Transatlantic fight after an insanely busy month. Or it could be from me draggin gour butts all across London in a tourist frenetic frenzy...

...which brings me to my next topic. I caught the tourist bug almost immediately. My own excitement at being here has driven us hard. Leiscester Square, Covent Gardens, Trafalgar Square, National Portrait Gallery, Picadilly Circus, St. James' Park, Buckngham Palace, Westminster Cathedral, Westminster Abbey, House of Parliament, Big Ben, misc bridges, London Eye, Tate Modern, St. Paul's, and all on foot or Tube, the hottest and rickitiest thing on rails. And all in 3 days. I am like a kid in a candy store, gorging myself on beauty. What can a girl do? Every corner, every building, every square is overwhelming in its gorgeousness. Sculpture everywhere. Antiquity eveywhere. On each street, you feel you want to turn the next corner just to see what is around it.

It's a sickness. Before we left, a friend reminded of us of the quote, "beauty heals." It is so true. But can one have too much of a good thing? Maybe not, but a gluttuny can make you sick. Hence, my running nose and pounding head. Ah, the price one pays for beauty. "Beauty and pain are constant bedfellows."

So, what can I say for all we've seen? Westminster Cathedral, and not the Abbey, was my favorite. It is less famous, but more beautiful in my opinion. Its exterior wrapped in striped white and sienna brick almost like Islamic design. The interior a Byzantian style feast of mosaics. Truly stunning and moving. In a backdrop of high, rounded, blackened brick ceilings--a quiet, simple companion to such awesome glimmering tiles. My favorite mosaic is in Day 2's pictures below. I felt the presence of God there, which seems to me the purpose of a church. His beauty, His perfection. High above all created things yet powerfully in our midst. The temptation, however, in a place so majestic is to try to stir up a religious feeling to match the building. Thereby, crafting a false and proudful thing which leads one back to oneself in a self-centered way. Really not the point.

This in contrast to Westminster Abbey, which is indeed beautiful as well, but more grand, less introspective. And owing to its being a tomb to "great" people, I felt not lead to God, but into the contemplation of the futility of human beings puffing themselves up for all to see. (which I suppose could lead you to God after all....) I toured the tombs for my Dad mostly. So I could tell him I had seen Queen Victoria and Queen Elizabeth's tombs, etc. I felt more interested to let my mind run on the idea of walking over the ashes of people like Newton, Faraday, Joule, Darwin, the Bronte sisters, WH Auden, TS Elliot, George Elliot, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, her husband, and so on. Quite cool in a way. Morbid, but I can like that too sometimes. Asked a older quide lady why in a place symbolic of life they entombed all these corpses here, and she said, "Oh, well, there's lots of people buried outside, dear." Hmmm.

As for other London steroetypes, I've rather amusedly seen them all. Older bird like Grandmas and Grandpas with this noses on thin bodies lookin out over low perched spectacles. Short haired, edgey, smoking, almost a lesbian types. Mohawks of all kinds, and the traditional, neon, stiff glued one still makes a showing. Fashionistas. Gorgeous ethnic women. Lonely Bridget Jones' on the Tube, albeit with cute shoes. Everyone has cute shoes no matter what. And in full force, the urban metrosexual (a heterosexual with gay tastes, for those out of the loop). Though our friend Tom insists that they really are just homosexuals. Whatever, they may be, it's all quite fun. And all quite a circus. Picadilly nothing. They should call this whole town London Circus.

DAY 2 IN LONDON

Thoughtful in Westminster Cathedral.


My favorite mosaic in Westminster Cathedral. The Old Man, Adam, or sin.


Sculpture on the Thames.


Enough said.


Westminster Abbey, tomb to more than 2000, including every moarch since 1066.


Westminster Abbey, also location of Princess Di's funeral.


Westminster Abbey, also where all monarchs are crowned in the special throne.


Main entrance to Westminster Abbey, where Prince Charles sits as Grand Master of all living knights whom each have their own chair, coat of arms, and sculpture from such.


Lunch in Westminster Abbey's garden.


House of Parliament, an impressive neo-Gothic building, loaded with sculptural detail, and well guarded by bobbies with machine guns. They are bobbing up their heads in the bottom.


House of Parliament and the Abbey. They're across the street from each other. A tourist mecca.


Big Ben in a dramatic mood.