Tuesday, July 13, 2004 – Hexham, Haltwhistle, Twice-Brewed

The mileage estimate for today’s hike is 11.5 miles so I decide to do my laundry.   I agree to do some of Tom’s, too.  Dave assures me there is a launderette in Hexham.  I grab the bus, laundry bag in hand, only to discover there is no launderette in Hexham.  After asking a lot of questions, I realize the nearest one is in Haltwhistle, which is my day’s destination.  Looks like I’ll be doing laundry this afternoon.  Dave was correct, though, about Internet access at the library so I spend two hours catching up on e-mail and deleting spam. 

I plan to visit Hexham Abbey, the Parish Church of St. Andrew, but for some reason it’s closed from 11:30 AM to 1:30 PM.  I head for the TI office to double check my launderette information.  On the way, I visit the open-air Hexham Market.  The strawberries and tomatoes look fantastic, no hydroponic junk here.  I buy a tomato and eat it as I would eat an apple. It’s juicy and tasty.  I vow to have a bowl of fresh strawberries, first chance I get.

I am very impressed with the lady who helps me in the TI.  After verifying my information, she volunteers to call the local caravan park to see if the owner will let me use his laundry facilities.  In fact every TI, I visit in England, is staffed with people who search for ways to help me.  I do not find the same dedication in either France or Germany.  Maybe it’s a language thing but I suspect it’s more an English cultural value of politeness and helpfulness.  This value does not extend, however, to the caravan park owner and he turns the TI lady’s request down.

On my way back to the Abbey, I pass a small tearoom promising fresh mushroom soup.  It being lunchtime, I stop in and have a discussion with the owner in her kitchen about how she makes her soup.  She uses only fresh mushrooms that she collects herself.  I am so impressed I order a bowl and it is as good a mushroom soup as I have ever had.  I go back to the kitchen to thank her when I notice fresh apple pie.  I order a slice and am once again delighted with the offering.  I wish I could remember the name of the place but I forgot to write it down.

I’m off to the Abbey, walking some very interesting side streets on the way.  You can see pictures of some of these streets as well as the Hexham Market, and the Abbey in my Hexham Album.  The Abbey itself is a bit of a disappointment.  Maybe, because I had to wait two hours to see it, I allowed my expectations get the best of me.  I believe it has some historical significance but its architecture and furnishings are not unique in any way.  I do wonder why it seems that half the churches in this part of England, including this one, are named for Saint Andrew.  I know he's the patron Saint of Scotland so it must be the Scottish influence since we are so close to the England-Scotland border.

Hexham Abbey and Market

I grab the AD122 bus to Haltwhistle.  Upon arriving, I ask around for the location of the launderette, which, I discover, is in plain sight right across from the bus stop.  I missed it because it has no sign outside.  It has no attendant or instructions inside, either.  Nor does it have a soap dispenser or change machine.

I head up the street to find if anyone knows how I can get soap, change and instructions.  At the local newsstand and tobacco shop, I ask a very young lady, who blurts out, “I have no idea. I’ve never done laundry.”  She does suggest I try the Co-op Market down the street.  I locate the laundry soap section and, while checking out, ask the clerk, who is definitely more mature, how I might find someone who knows how to use the launderette.  She tells me that if I can wait until her fellow clerk comes off her break that she can help me.  Sure enough, the new clerk has all the information: not only where I can find the owner, at a nearby hotel, but also how much the machines cost to operate, etc.  I get the small change I need and search for the hotel so I can get instructions.  When I find it, only a couple doors from the launderette, I realize that the hotel owner and the launderette owner are the same person.  At last, I have all the requisites to do my laundry, a launderette, soap, change and instructions.  Of course, it has only taken me most of the day to put this all together and my friends think they have it tough hiking up and down small mountains. 

Since here is no place to sit in the launderette, I am forced to find someplace to have a beer while I’m waiting.  I first stop in a small restaurant that’s just closing for the day.  The owner, a young woman, agrees to serve me a beer while she finishes up her duties.  As we chat, I discover that she is a single mother, running the place by herself with some help from her aged mother.  She can’t afford to hire help so she has to limit the operating hours.  I also discover that her license requires her to serve food with any beer or wine so she’s taking a chance serving me a beer by itself.  I guess this is another example of the complicated licensing laws in England.  I finish my beer, thank her and go back to the launderette to transfer the washed clothes to the dryer.

Now, I must find a place to wait while the clothes dry.  I end up at the Black Bull Pub.  I have a very interesting conversation with two thirty-something young men.  One has a broken arm.  He’s a plasterer and injured himself tumbling off a ladder.  The other guy is a veteran rock climber.  He works part-time to support his obsession.  They both have interesting stories to tell.  They express a strong desire to visit the U.S.  I know many Brits and most Europeans are opposed to the war in Iraq but never once did we run into any kind of political backlash because we were Americans: quite the opposite, actually, with most people throughout Europe expressing a combination of admiration of America and, at worst, disbelief at the mess in Iraq.

After a couple pints, my clothes are very dry.  I do the necessary folding and step across the street to grab the bus for Milecastle Inn .  I am supposed to meet my companions there as we had heard that the food was both interesting and good.  My pub companions warned me that the Inn’s reputation was questionable, because it had recently changed hands.  After arriving, I order a beer from a somewhat dour bartender, when Tom shows up to tell me that plans have changed.  The group has discovered there is a quiz night tonight at the Twice Brewed Pub, so we are going to spend the evening there.

We are staying at the strangely named Saughy Rigg Farm.  Kathi and Brad Dowle, a wonderfully hospitable couple, own it.  When we get to the farm, my roommate, Larry, relates what a tough walk it had been for the three of them.  Evidently the hills were quite steep and the headwind very strong.   To make things worse, the place they were counting on for lunch was closed.  Larry said the only reason he finished the hike was that he had no choice.  Making matters worse, they had to walk at least another mile to get to the Saughy Rigg Farm after they reached the end of the day’s scheduled hike.  It appears, from information on another web site chronicling a hike along Hadrian's Wall, UniBrain Travels, that the actual distance my three friends walked was 13.5 miles not the 11.5 on the Contours information sheet. 

Tom, Larry and Dave also reveal a phenomenon that, I too, run into later in the week.  We label it the “mile and a half half-mile.”  It seems that whenever someone is asked to give an estimate of how far it is to some distant point, the answer is invariably, “about a half-mile.”  This answer is standard no matter how far the distance actually is.  Unless, of course the distance is less than a half-mile, in which case, the response is, "just a short way."  As you can imagine, this can be somewhat disconcerting, if not depressing, for the guys, especially at the end of a very difficult day’s hike.  After telling me this sad story, Larry crashes for an hour or so and I read.  He doesn’t need his static machine to sleep.

Later, we have a delightful evening at the Twice Brewed Pub.  The food is excellent.  I am finding that ordering lamb dishes, chicken or steak pies, or sausage plates almost always guarantee a good meal.  I stay away from steaks, seafood, fried dishes and anything with a French or Italian name.    After dinner, the Dowles join us for the quiz.  With their help, we win the quiz and a prize of £20.00.  We insist that the Dowles accept the money since they have been driving us around all afternoon and evening.  We also have our first experience of so-called “lager louts,” young men who drink beer and ale for effect rather than thirst or taste.  The pub owner handles them very skillfully, though, and there is no real trouble.  If this had been a bar in the U.S., I’m not so sure there wouldn’t have been some violence.

Woodland Nymph Temple, Vindolanda

Wednesday, July 14, 2004 - Once Brewed, Walltown, and Gilsland

The Dowles serve up a fine proper English breakfast.  I have always believed, mostly based on my Hong Kong experience, that such a breakfast included baked beans.  It appears that is not the case in Northern England.  Maybe black pudding is more traditional here.

I notice that the weather looks very threatening and I decide once again to “do” Hadrian’s Wall on the bus, especially after listening to my companions’ stories of the previous day.  I wish my friends Godspeed and climb into Brad’s van for the ride to Vindolanda Fort and Museum. 

Vindolanda is a most interesting site.  It not only has the usual ruins of a Roman fort, it also has a number of exhibits and displays of what life was like in the adjoining village.  The museum is excellent.  The site includes a reproduction of a temple to woodland nymphs, actual Roman tombstones, stone plaques and a restored croft from the sixth century showing how much harder life was after the fall of the Roman Empire.  As usual you will find photos in the Vindolanda and Walltown Album.

I am so entranced, I lose track of the time and am in danger of missing the bus I planned to take.  If I do miss it, I’ll have to wait an hour for the next one.  I hurry as much as my aching tendon and tender knees will allow.  I see the bus and wave my arms at the bus driver who I can see in his side view mirror.  I’m sure we’ve made eye contact and he can see me waving.  I believe this right up to the time he pulls away, leaving me cursing my crippled state.  I decide to walk to the next stop, the Once Brewed Northumberland National Park Centre. 

This turns out to be a serious mistake. I am about a half mile into the two-mile trek when the wind whips up and the rain starts falling in great quantities. I laugh in the face of this as I’ve remembered to bring my umbrella and my Celebrex this time. Unfortunately, the weather laughs back as I realize the wind is so strong that I can’t use my umbrella. Hah! I have my Gore-tex jacket and hood to protect me. What I don’t have is windshield wipers on my glasses so I’m forced to put them in my pocket and struggle on with what’s left of my eyesight. The headwind is so strong that I can’t see much anyway. Then disaster strikes. My left knee buckles. Pain I can handle but it’s difficult to walk on one leg. I hold on to a nearby tree to stay erect and try to figure out what I’m going to do next. I can wait an hour for the next bus. I can wait for my knee to recover, or I can try hitch a ride, something I had tried unsuccessfully the previous Sunday. I decide, instead, to try to wave a car down. Lucky for me, an older couple stops and picks me up for the short ride to the Visitor’s Centre. There are times pity can be a positive emotion.

The Visitor’s Centre is a beautiful little haven from the elements. It contains much information about the flora and fauna of the area and even has free Internet access. There is a couch where I can take the load off my buckled knee and do some exercises I know will alleviate the pain. I grab a Coke Light from the machine and start to feel good again.

I start a conversation with the attendant at the Centre. I ask her what is with the two names “Once Brewed” and “Twice Brewed?” She tells me the story, as she knows it. It appears a contingent of soldiers led by a General Wade was headed for Carlisle from Newcastle to engage Bonnie Prince Charlie.  They stopped at the inn for a pint or two and the general complained the ale wasn’t strong enough, and urged the innkeeper to “brew it again:” hence the name “Twice Brewed.”  The general liked the result so much that he stayed too long at the inn missing Bonnie Prince Charlie.  Wade blamed it on poor road conditions, which helped get the 18th-century Military Road built.  As for Once Brewed, it was at one time a youth hostel.  The sponsor was a tee-totaller named Lady Trevelyan.  In her speech opening the hostel she observed that it was uncomfortably close to the Twice Brewed Inn. “We will serve nothing stronger than tea,” she remarked, “and I hope even that will only be once-brewed!”  The name stuck.

Around noon the rain stops and I take the bus to the Roman Army Museum (Carvoran). This museum, which is administered by the Vindolanda Foundation, is a little kitschy but I love it, nevertheless. It has among other things, a virtual tour of Hadrian’s Wall as it was in the second century. You are actually presented with a bird’s eye view of the wall as seen by a Roman eagle. It also has a recruiting film for the Roman Army. I watch it with a group of eight and nine year old children and they are transfixed.

Walltown Crags

After a late lunch in the very nice museum canteen, I head for theWalltown Crags and Quarry, which are less than a half-mile north of the museum.  These are very well preserved wall ruins along the rugged crags.  The quarry provided stones for the wall.  You can see pictures of the crags and the museum in the Vindolanda and Walltown Album.  I imagine my friends are up on the crags hiking towards Gilsland.  Later I find that they did indeed walk along the crags but not at the same time I was there.

I ride the bus to Gilsland.  I’m not at all sure where our night’s lodging, The Hill on the Wall B & B, is located.  I ask a woman who acts more than a little bit tipsy.  She seems to know the place and gives me excellent directions.  She says it’s a short ways up the road so I know it’s at least a half-mile.  Turns out it’s just about a mile.  I get there before my friends, who again, make a wrong turn at the end of the formal hike and end up walking an extra half-mile or so to get to our place.  I was sure they would report a tough day but they said that once the rain stopped, it was really quite a benign day.

The owner of the place, Dick Packer, is a nice enough chap but he’s bit uptight to be running a B and B.  He reminds me of the radio operator from New Orleans in “Apocalypse, Now.”  Martin Sheen describes him as being wound a little bit tight for Vietnam and then adds, “Hell, he may be wound a little too tight for New Orleans.”  Packer has recently retired from working for a subsidiary of Union Carbide.  The house itself was built in the 15th century and has foot thick walls.  It’s an impressive structure but requires a lot of upkeep.  I suspect the romance of running a B and B is more myth than reality.  He more or less verifies my supposition.

We run into another small glitch.  The bathrooms are described as en suite, which we take to mean in the room but not so.  The bath is across the hall but we are the only ones who can use it.  This still means we have to, at least, put on our pants to visit the bathroom, unless we want to risk terrifying the two women in the next room.   I realize I can hear Larry’s static machine in the hall and suspect our neighbors can hear it too.  I’ve grown used to it and I am sleeping well.  Maybe Larry has a point.

Tom and Dave are staying up the road a ways at the Slack House Farm B & B, another last minute change from Contours.  It sounds like an interesting place.  Everything grown or produced there is organic.  They stop by about 7:00 P.M. and we walk to the pub where we are to eat dinner.  The three of them had stopped there for a quick pint towards the end of their day’s hike and the owner promised us a ride back to our digs.  The place is called The Samson Inn and the food is pretty good.

In the morning, the owner shows up at our room while I’m showering.  I assume he’s complaining about the noise of the static machine.  I couldn’t be more wrong.  As Larry explains he was worried about the extra electricity the thing was using. I feel vindicated in my earlier judgment.  We meet his wife, Elaine, at breakfast and she is also rather tense.  I predict a short career for them as B and B owners.

Birdoswald Manor House

Thursday, July 15, 2004 – Birdoswald, Carlisle, Brampton, and Walton

I’m worried about my knee buckling so I decide to pass on accompanying the guys today and instead will do my usual thing of visiting forts, museums, and castles. 

I walk the mile or so to the Birdoswald Roman Fort and Visitor Centre.  The Visitor Centre is interesting primarily because it’s housed in the ancestral home of  John Clayton, the man acknowledged as being responsible for first recognizing the historical and cultural importance of the wall.  He started some of the archeological uncovering of the forts and towns as well as reconstructing stretches of the wall.

I walk the ruins of the fort and follow the wall to the ruins of a nearby milecastle.   Amazingly, while I am strolling through a farm field in Northern England, I am talking to Pam who is visiting the Canary Islands on my mobile phone, even though, we both have Hong Kong cell phones.  I also exchange text messages with my friend Glenn in Hong Kong.  I may not be intimidated by technology but I can still be amazed by it. 

The vistas from the milecastle are outstanding and I take a number of pictures.  You can see them in the Birdoswald Album on my photo site.  I walk back to the bus stop and grab the trusty AD122 to Carlisle.  On arriving in Carlisle, I first check out the train station and the immediate downtown area.  It is a vibrant interesting place.  I jump back on the bus to visit the Tullie House Museum and Art Gallery.

Carlisle Castle

The museum is interesting but not compelling.  I do learn quite a bit about the lawlessness of the border country for the more than 300 years between the 14th and 17th centuries up to the accession of James I as King of both England and Scotland.  The people who lived in this part of the British Isles were called Reivers and they stole from each other as well as harassing travelers.  Kidnapping was quite common also.  If you lost a spouse or a child, you were "bereaved."

I decide to visit Carlisle Castle and am just in time for one of the daily guided tours.  The tour guide is quite good and I learn more than I ever wanted to about a number of things including what a medieval toilet was like.  Let's just say, you wouldn't want to go swimming in the moat in those days.  The guide also gets into talking about peoples' personal hygiene.  Baths were not popular.  He quotes Queen Victoria who said, "I bathe four times a year and that is quite enough."  You can view my photos in the Carlisle Castle Album.

I have to leave the tour early to catch the last bus to Brampton, which is the nearest sizable village to Walton where we are spending the night.  Brampton is a surprisingly interesting town.  The TI is in an Octagonal building built in 1817 called Moot Hall.  Moot Hall served as a market place for many years and is right in the middle of town.  The Lady in the TI is helpful and directs me to the Nags Head pub for an afternoon refresher.    While there I call Tom to find out what the plan is for the evening.  He informs me Dave is somewhere in Brampton and maybe I can find him.  Tom tells me he took a cab so I go to the cab company and describe Dave.  They recognize him.  After leaving instructions that he should wait for me I go looking for him.  I don't find him so I wait with the taxi drivers who are very entertaining.  Dave finally shows and we head for our night's B & B, Town Head Farm in Walton.

Moot Hall

The guys announce we will be eating at a local pub called The Centurion Inn.  They had stopped there for a late lunch at the end of their walk.  The owner makes his own sausages under the Border County Foods label, so it's pretty clear what we will be eating.  Cumberland sausage, featured in this part of England, is a special kind of English sausage and the more I hear about it, the hungrier I get. 

The pub is another of those truly friendly places where in minutes you feel at home.  The owner, who I only know as Austen, is happy to recommend different versions of his sausage.  Evidently his son had been running the place but had not done well so he had to reassert active management of the place.  We meet a Slovakian couple who are newly arrived as immigrant workers. They don't speak much English but the smiles on their faces indicate how happy they are to be here.  We are not only pleased with the sausage plates, we learn that the cook had made a special apple crumble after hearing from my companions earlier that they wanted apple crumble for dessert.  It was the best crumble we had the whole trip and at least one of us ordered crumble every night. 

We stagger back to our rooms full of beer, sausage and apple crumble.  On the way we see a small church being refurbished into a residence.  Dave, the interrogator, has learned that it will evidently contain two apartments and the person doing the refurbishing expects to double his money in a year or two.  I knew real estate was going crazy in London but I didn't know it was hot up here in Northern England, too.

Lanercost Priory

Friday, July 16, 2004 - Bowness-on-Solway and Carlisle

This is my last chance to walk with the guys but I know I can't do the 11 plus miles scheduled.  We try to work out a way for me to meet them part-way but the scheduling is just too difficult.  I have to make a choice so I decide to visit the priory, which I had noticed during my bus ride yesterday.  It looked fascinating.  Then I plan to take the bus all the way to Bowness-on-Solway which is where the wall ends.  My companions are only walking to Carlisle.  I am disappointed but I must remember I still have six weeks to go before I return to Hong Kong.  I don't want to spend that time as a cripple.

The Lanercost Priory is an incredible place.  The nave is still used as a parish church.  Part of it is in ruins dating from the 12th century.  The Priory, itself, was finally dissolved in 1538 by Henry VIII.  I arrive early.  I suspect my eager B & B host wants to do something with the £5.00 he charged me for the ride.  I don't mention to him that at all the previous stops we made, the owners generally drove us short distances at no charge.
The ruins, a National Heritage Site, are not accessible until 9:00 A.M. so I spend time in the church and on the grounds including an incredible graveyard that takes up the better part of an acre.  At 9:00, I explore the old priory.  Having just finished reading "The DaVinci Code," I am fascinated with the tomb of a Knight Templar.  I take many photos which are in the Lanercost Abbey Album. I also have an interesting conversation with the woman selling tickets and running the book and gift shop.  She's lived on Maui and in Maine and has now come home to take care of her aging mother. 

I catch the next bus to Carlisle.  Once I reach Carlisle, I have an hour to kill before I can get the bus to Bowness on-Solway so I walk around the attractive pedestrian mall in the center of town, visit the TI and the train station to insure I have the correct schedule.

The bus ride to Bowness-on-Solway is interesting but not exciting.  We do have to wait for cows and sheep to cross our one-lane road and pull over for cars coming the other way.  I'm sure my friends are going to be happy to learn they didn't miss much by ending the walk in Carlisle.  When we get there, I go to the nearest pub for a bite to eat.  While I am enjoying my lunch, an older couple who are sitting in the same area and who haven't said a word to one another since I arrived 30 minutes ago, suddenly launch into a spirited conversation that soon turns into an argument.  As far as I can tell, it's over whether some distant relative is alive or dead.  They never settle the issue but at some point just stop arguing, finish their half-pints, say good day to everyone and leave the building.  When the proprietress discovers I'm part of a group walking the Wall, she gives me an official stamped certificate of completion.  I plan to present it to Tommy Terrific tonight at dinner, for all the effort he put in to this adventure. 

After I get back to Carlisle, I spend an hour and a half on the Internet, deleting spam and reading the few messages that are real.  At the Internet place, I am reminded of similar venues in Asia where most of the customers are young men playing "shoot-em-up" video games against one another.  The noise level is horrific.

I escape into the beautiful late afternoon sunshine and walk to our last night's lodging, the Courtfield Guest House.  I run into Tom on the way. He's out looking for Dave.  In case you haven't guessed by now, Dave has a tendency to go his own way both on and off the trail.  I can't really blame him, what with all the Mattel stories the three of us are constantly telling.  I find our room is on the third floor which is a long haul with my 70 pound duffel bag.  It's another en-suite arrangement that isn't en-suite.  The loo is across the hall from our sleeping room. 

We decide to dine at a near-by pub called The Beehive.  It is reminiscent of an English version of T.G.I. Friday's.  I have been threatening to order a pasty since the Newcastle train station so I do just that.  It's not that great but the desserts are terrific.  I make the presentation of the Official Completion Certificate to Tom and he is appropriately humble about his efforts.  After dinner, all I want to do is hit the sack.  The guys want to take a walk, believe it or not.  Before we do anything Tom wants our closing remarks on his video.  We do so next to a beautiful flower bed.  I feel a little bit out of it because I only walked for one day but I sure enjoyed our evenings and our breakfasts.

After the video formalities, I say goodbye to Dave who is catching a 5:00 A.M. train to London. As I return to my room, I feel somewhat sad that I couldn't have shared all of my companions' ups and downs but I also feel good about the time we did spend together and am proud of everyone's ability to finish what they started.

London Interlude

Houses of Parliament

Saturday, July 17, 2004 - Carlisle and London

This is my last day in Northern England.  Not so amazingly, considering how we've been eating, I had a reflux attack last night.  I think it was the rich fresh strawberry dessert, I had after dinner.  Nevertheless it was worth it. 

I say goodbye to Larry and Tom.  Larry's headed for Manchester and his flight back to the U.S.  Tom has an extra day and was going to spend it in Carlisle but at the last minute, they cancelled his room.  Time for his Plan B which I believe is to spend the night in Newcastle.  We agree to consider doing something together next summer.  Larry and Tom take off.  I've got a later train so I relax, shower and re-pack.  Since it is raining, I have the B & B lady call a taxi for me to take to the train station. 

I'm about two hours early for my train so I look for the baggage check place.  No such place in this station.  I can't go too far with my 70 pound duffle and 20 pound backpack so I head for the nearest restaurant, which is Mexican.  Based on a lifelong rule to never order Mexican food outside of Mexico or the American Southwest, I get a Coke Light.  The owners are very friendly and allow me to leave my duffle for an hour or so.  I almost feel guilty but not guilty enough to order a taco.  I check in at the internet place, delete some spam and poof an hour has gone by.

As the train pulls in I look for my car.  I have a seat reservation on the train and it's in car J.  I can't find a car J.  There are plenty of empty seats in first class so I just pick one for the three and one-half hour trip to London.  It's a lovely trip.  Food and drink is complimentary.  The scenery is mostly green and I read and nap all the way to London's Euston Station.  Since the Eurostar to Paris, which I am taking tomorrow, leaves from Waterloo Station, I have made a reservation at the Mad Hatter Hotel, only "four minutes from Waterloo station" to quote their ad on the Internet.  This means I must get to Waterloo Station with my 90 pounds of stuff.  I take the Underground and struggle up and down the user-unfriendly stairs in both stations.

I am lost when I get to Waterloo Station and cannot figure out which exit I should take to get to the Mad Hatter.  Additionally, there is a Waterloo International Station and a Waterloo East Station, all of which are connected to the Waterloo Main Station.  There is no TI booth in the station so I try the South West Trains Information Booth.  In the past I've always had bad luck with railroad company information people who, understandably, only want to give information related to their trains but this guy is great.  He spends 5 minutes with me, gives me a map and explains in great detail how I must go down an elevator, through an underpass, walk by the Imax theatre and lastly go up some stairs to get to the street the hotel is on.  I would have never been able to figure it out on my own.

I start out for the hotel and I soon realize that it is going to take me a lot longer than 5 minutes to reach the Mad Hatter.   Perhaps this is a 30 minute five minutes.  To worsen matters, I develop a blister on my left foot.  What irony, I've been walking in these shoes for over a week and on a short trip from the station to my hotel, I develop a blister.  The Gods must be angry.

I do reach the hotel in a little over 20 minutes.  I am exhausted when I check in.  I treat my blister and take a short rest before going out to explore the neighborhood for a few hours.  After consulting my guru, Rick Steves' guidebook, I decide to walk to "The London Eye."   The relatively new but already famous British Airways sponsored huge Ferris wheel with its 32 fully enclosed capsules.  Unfortunately Rick's assurances of easy access are far too optimistic and it looks to me like a two or three hour wait.  No way!  Next time I'll make reservations on their web site.

Trafalgar Square

Instead I walk across the Thames on the Jubilee Bridge and head for Trafalgar Square.  I'd never seen it before except in photos or films.  When I get there I am slightly overwhelmed, not only with the size of the square and the height of the statue of Lord Nelson but also with the beauty of the surrounding buildings housing many of the Commonwealth Embassies to say nothing of the Admiralty Arch.  It's a photographers dream and I take many pictures, some of which you will find in the London Album on my photo site.  The square is also crowded with people enjoying the late afternoon, climbing on the lions at the base of Nelson's statue, watching the fountains or just hanging out.  It's a great scene and I'm happy I came here instead of riding The London Eye.

I return to my hotel via the Jubilee Bridge and the river walk along the south bank of the Thames.  This area is fascinating also, with its concert halls, theatres, al fresco restaurants plus bike riders, pram pushers, jugglers, artists, other street entertainers and smart-ass beggars.  In spite of my weariness I enjoy every step of the way. 

I decide to eat at the pub in my hotel.  I quickly down a pint of beer, order another along with a steak, ale and mushroom pie, which turns out to be the best meat pie I've had since I arrived in England.  I can hardly keep my eyes open so I retire to my room and fall asleep with an open book on my chest.  It has been a full day.