Arundel Climping Diablo Bow-Drill

Saturday was Arundel Castle, what with the pirate festival there and all. It seems wholly unecessary to have pirates and sword-fighting demonstrations and "have a go" archery and fencing and even a staged skirmish (scrimmage) between the Redcoats and pirates - all of this seems rather unecessary when you have an honest-to-God castle right there, built in 1067 by William the Conqueror's right-hand-man, Roger de Somethingorother, in order to protect Sussex from attack via the Arun river. But there it is.

The kids held birds of prey - Rowan and Berit held the barn owl, Willow, and Griffin held the falcon, Amy. We toured the ancient castle which ws utterly amazing but for skirmishes of our own as Griffin took a hard stance on the no photography rule, which Rowan was merrily flaunting. 

We hiked to the keep and we walked through the library with 10,000 books and we saw massive stags' heads mounted on a wall and a lion rug on the floor and all of the accoutrements you'd expect in the home of the Duke of Norfolk / Earl of Arundel. My favorite stuff - the crossbows and rifles and the women's writing bureau of ivory veneer - was all intricately carved, and I wanted to sit and copy the designs. But I didn't.

Kim's Bookshop, a three floor, labyrinthine bookstore in the town of Arundel, yielded a used, hardcover copy of the last British version Harry Potter book the girls needed to acquire and provided some downtime space for them as well.

After Arundel, we headed for Bognor Regis, but I took a sharp left at the sign for Climping Beach and lucked into a nearly-deserted, or at least not highly-populous beach that was a wonderful venue at which to swim and play until Griffin fell while running up and down one of those wood embankment things that seem to hold the beaches up here.

A brief stop at Bognor Regis on the way home, long enough to be serenaded by a drunk bellowing a tune that I believe was called "The World's Going to End Tomorrow so Let's All Get Plastered Tonight." Cruel English teens threw a rock at him and he disappeared. We did too.

Today, Sunday, was the annual South Downs Wood Fair, and, as usual, any misgivings I had about this choice were proven pointless as it was really great hanging out with the English woodcarvers, watching demonstrations, and talking about the craft. Two highlights here:

Peter, of double-braided beard and Saxon lore and myth, helped us use the bow drill to decorate pieces of antler for pendants that we purchased from him. Not only was did this participatory craft yield great souvenirs, but the discussion with Peter sparked my interest in my Anglo Saxon heritage, which I have long given short shrift, possibly due to having come of age among peers of seemingly more interesting cultures - Jews, Italians, and Chinese. It is perhaps high time I discover what there is to learn more about my WASPy heritage, about these ancient tribes - the Angles, Saxons, and Jutes.

The second highlight:  Dan the Hat! Yesterday, at Arundel, Griffin evidently had to spend nine pounds on a diablo - it's that large double-belled thing that you roll on a string between two sticks, if you're a juggler on Boulder's Pearl Street Mall. I had no idea why he had to buy this thing at Arundel Castle, but now I do. It led us and adhered us to Dan the Hat, a juggler / busker / comedian who had these devices, along with other juggling paraphernalia, laid out for public enjoyment. He taught Griffin (and the rest of us) some of the basics of the device's operation,  was a very talented and funny juggler, and was just a super-friendly guy. 

Hayling Island for the rest of the afternoon where Rowan and I tried to ride the small waves, Berit and Pam hung out on the beach, and Griffin went back to the car, complaining that he was too cold. Back at home (Emsworth) tonight, where Pam cooked up a fantastic meal of tortellini and Scottish salmon. We're resting up for our big day tomorrow at the Warner Brothers London Studio and the Harry Potter Tour.

Wild horses not dragging me away.

It's Saturday morning, 8 am. A good night's sleep during which my dreams were infiltrated with details from my book. A good sign. Noticing that I'm steadily becoming more accustomed to my British Time sleep pattern, which does not bode well for the return to Colorado.

But for now I'll stay in the moment, and the moment is pretty good. Tea and blogging after Pam and I take a morning constitutional through the nearby wood. Griffin is watching minecraft videos and Rowan and Berit getting ready. For it is Saturday, and today we go to Arundel Castle.

On Thursday we sped East through Lavant and Singleton to climb Cocking Hill for a walk on the South Downs. I pulled the car prematurely into roadside parking that looked like the likely trailhead as it was dotted with vehicles, but it turned out to be merely a turn-off and the business location of a Scottish family's snack truck. Two middle-aged parents and a teenage daughter sat at table outside the truck, the daughter looking fairly sullen. Da gave us directions to the actual trailhead just a bit up the way and we left firmly decisive about the Scottish accent being the best in the world.

Walking on the South Downs yielded some initial complaining as we climbed a hill in full sun, but once we turned South into the West Dean forest, our conversation became enlivened with discussion that included descriptions of our dream days and of our dream rooms. We picnicked, as we are wont to do, on baguette sandwiches and apples, before heading back out of the wood and down to the Weald and Downland Open Air Museum.

I'm not a big fan of walking around old buildings and living history museums. Mom and Dad dragged us through enough of that sort of stuff in New England when we were growing up. But this was a big one for Pam, and I was happy to accompany as we walked through all of these homes that had been rescued from some other part of England and reconstructed here, each one a little older than the last until we ended up in the 13th century.

For me the best part was at the mill, where a waterwheel turned millstones that actually ground the wheat that was used to make the baked goods sold on the premises. The volunteer there that Griffin and I met explained how the grooves in the millstones were cut at angles to each other to facilitate the crushing of the hull that would release the white flour inside. This prompted an interesting discussion about the origins of white flour baked goods versus whole wheat - as that was at one time an advancement led by the French, who (though the English volunteer was loathe to admit it) - had invented millstones that would separate the hulls from the flour without having to do the usual sifting afterwards, which is why, while the peasants had to settle for the (nutritionally superior) whole wheat bread, the French aristocracy were enjoying the wonders of white bread (see what I did there). This was all very fascinating for me as, moments before that discussion, I actually had no flippin' idea what it meant for something to be whole wheat / whole grain / whole meal.

Yesterday was Friday, and though I poo-pooed the idea of biking in England, we drove westward along the coast to Brockenhurst and the New Forest where we hired five bikes and set out on a 15 mile ride among wild horses! It was a great adventure during which we had our picnic amidst several of the ponies grazing in a Rivendell-like grove. There were also Shetland ponies the size of Great Danes and steer the size Volkswagon buses wandering about. 

After the riding, we found ourselves down the road in Lyndhurst where, after a choice selection of meat pasties (bacon and cheese, chicken curry, and mince meat, potato and carrot - who says the English don't have great food?!), we settled in a hip and airy tea shop called Tea Total, where Kelly, the proprietor, and Josh, the barista, engaed us in conversation as it was Kelly and her golf pro husband's ultimate goal to make their way back to Arizona and set up a similar shop in Scottsdale. 

Brighton Beach

Yesterday, Brighton Beach taught me the following:

1. Britain has the cleanest and most well-lighted parking garages in the world.

2. You cannot put too much salt and vinegar on fish and chips.

3. Punk is not dead.

After some time lying around on Brighton's pebbles, in the shadow of amusement park and groovy and glitzy beach shops tucked beneath the boardwalk, the family abandoned me for the upper world of shopping and cafes. Pam purchased a purse that, in her words, "makes me look like the Queen Mother herself!" And Berit bought some gifts for friends. Rowan has so far saved her money - I'm betting on it emerging when we hit the Warner Brothers London Harry Potter Tour on Monday - but Griffin thought he'd died and gone to heaven with the sudden availability of seeming unlimited cheap plastic things to buy. I like his Union Jack bracelet.

I told Pam that all I wanted to do was sit on the beach, and I was given leave to do just that. Despite the cold water - you get used to it - I let the current carry me westward along the beach, and I walked back up looking for interesting rocks. Berit and Rowan both found geodes, and we found a number of rocks with holes in them - perfect holes that start with a perfect circle. Haven't figured that out yet.

My highlights included a cup full of fresh mussels with vinegar and meeting Jake, who was manning the beachside book shop - just a bunch of fold-up tables actually - where I purchased two more in the Harry Potter series. Yes, the kids are collecting the British versions of Harry Potter while we're here. We've found six so far. One left. 

Jake asked me if I was Canadian. He's the third person here who, after speaking with me, has asked if I'm Canadian. I joke that I'm Southern Canadian, and the British humor me.

On the drive home, we take a detour to stop at a Waitrose for groceries. I am lost in the tea aisle for a full 15 minutes before grabbing a package of looseleaf Lapsang Souchang and a box of Twinings Darjeeling. 

Hollybank Woods

After yesterday's big adventure on Purbeck Isle and the Jurassic Coast and a late return last night, today was a no driving day. This morning we lounged about, Pam researching various nearby options while I wrote in my journal. It was late when we finally got going, so everyone was good with walking out of here into the Hollybank Woods and heading towards Rowland's Castle.

This was a long walk to a small town where, by the way, there is no actual castle. We sat in the grass together and ate the lunch we'd carried there. All in all the walk was lovely - great to be in the woods, and I'd say it was about 75 to 80 percent non-squabbling (But when we do squabble, we really squabble. We squabble like British royalty. No quarter.).

On the walk back we saw an English deer, which are slighter in stature and of a lighter hue than their American counterparts, and we happened upon a cherry tree which, while delicious, was too tall for us to decimate its fruit in the manner we would have liked.

Thought I had escaped driving entirely when Pam coerced me, over a delicious tortellini dinner, to chauffeur her down the road to Westbourne to get milk for tomorrow's coffee. She doesn't drive in England. Mostly she rides shotgun, screaming when I come to close to the curbs and yelling "thatched roof!" when we pass one of those.

Tomorrow, Brighton Beach.

Corfe Castle sandwiched between two beaches.

A two hour journey West along the coast yesterday yielded a castle sandwiched by a couple of incredible beaches. Yes, I said castle sandwich.

Lulworth Cove is a gorgeous beach destination on Britain's Jurassic Coast with something like 200 million years of geological history embedded in the limestone and chalk of which the whole region is composed. From Lulworth, we hiked up and over the steep chalk mountain to Durdle Door, undoubtedly one of the most amazingly beautiful places I've ever been.  It's a pebble beach with a spectacular limestone arch that's been carved/drilled out by the sea. In fact, according to Jeff, a teacher from nearby Bournemouth we met on the cliffside down to the beach, "durdle" comes from the Saxon word for "drill" or "bore."

The water was the clearest I've seen, like a glass of drinking water. Or more accurately, like a glass in which ice cubes have been melted, because it was that cold. Despite this, Rowan was determined to swim the 75 yards or so out to the arch from our spot on the beach. I was unwilling at first, but she convinced me by showing me that if I just kept my head and face out of the water, the cold was perfectly bearable (refreshing!). She also convinced me just by heading out on her own; parental instincts took over from there. Griffin couldn't be stopped either, so I was fully committed.

Pam and I hiked back over Chalk Mountain to the car park at Lulworth Cove and then met the kids, who left the beach 15 minutes later, at the Durdle Door parking, and we headed for nearby Corfe Castle in Wareham. An amazing ruin of a castle built by William the Conqueror. We got there with something like 45 minutes to spare, and the five of us ran around snapping photos of the crumbling castle walls and of each other standing among its doorways, windows, arrow slits and murder holes.

Five miles away, we reached the seaside town of Swanage. With a picturesque blend of old and new buildings cascading down the hillside to the water, it's a pretty idyllic place. In fact, we've decided to move there as soon as I can worm my way into a full-time work-from-anywhere situation. 

We laid on the beach and swam in the evening light; Berit and Pam walked into the town to forage for food, and when they returned with a couple of small pizzas, we ate them in the grass above the beach road.

Humps for 300 yards.

No epic plans for the weekend since we knew that, what with this amazing weather (sunny with temperatures hovering around 80 degrees - the last time it was this warm in July was seven years ago), all of Britain would be out and about. On Saturday, we headed down to Chichester for a market that turned out to be not much more than a handful of stalls in a car park. That said, we did buy cherries and crepes, and we had a wonderful time walking the downtown area, a street mall with a jazz guitarist and an opera singer and a 500 year old cathedral.

Tea and sausage rolls for Griffin and I at the cafe and the girls had scones. Pam ordered an ice coffee, which turned out to be coffee with ice cream. The kids are all screaming for ice coffee now. 

We walked the Chichester Cathedral grounds inside and out, and the girls each lit a candle and said a prayer. Then we were off for West Wittering.

The empty beach we saw at 8:30 pm on the cold night of our arrival on Wednesday was now thronged with Brits basking in the sunshine and playing in the waves. Parking was eight pounds, and the guy must have laughed to himself when I asked if there was any parking left, as it turned out to be nothing more than a vast field packed full of cars. We found a good space right next to the entry over the dunes and hit the water.

It wasn't nearly as cold as the Solent had been in Southsea, and we swam around for a while before the girls flopped down on towels and Pam, Griffin and I took a walk down the beach; for Griffin the walk was more of a run and jump and swim. When he wasn't trying to catch fish in the water, he was sprinting from the sand onto the water in an attempt to emulate the "holy Jesus lizard."

Every day is a contest to see who can find the funniest sign. Berit took yesterday's prize:

Today we headed off for another walk. This time to Kingley Vale - a National Nature Reserve steeped in historic antiquity. A site where man has been living and dying since just after the last glaciers rolled through Britain, Kingley Vale boasts ancient barrows, burial mounds at the top of the walk where the remains of Bronze Age chieftains were interred. It's also the home of yew trees that are up to 2000 years old and some of the oldest living things in Europe.

After Kingley Vale, we rested in the cemetary of Saint Andrews, a church built in 1060, before heading off again into uncharted territory. Our finds included the Weald and Downland Open Air Museum, a very cool attraction to which we will return another day, and Petworth, a gorgeous ancient town defined largely by the wall surrounding the Petworth House Estate as well as by the tearoom that Berit said was "literally the cutest place she'd ever been." And finally, on our way back to Emsworth, a wrong turn at a roundabout landed us accidentally adjacent to the Cowdray Castle ruins which, despite Berit's initial protestations about making yet another stop, was, in fact, her high point of the day.

I'm Henry the Eighth, I am.

A bit of history today, as we headed out on a jaunt to nearby Portsmouth and her big British naval ships:

HMS Warrior:  The world's first ironclad ship and the fastest and most powerful as well when set sail (and steam) in 1860. Never saw battle, so this humongous four level behemoth with its three ton Canadian pine figurehead is as well preserved as an Irish corpse.

HMS Victory: Admiral Horatio Nelson's ship and the one he died on. I'll get this wrong, but I believe it was while battling the French at Trafalgar during the Napoleonic Wars. Nelson was shot when he was up high on something and there is a bronze plaque that marks the spot on the deck to which fell.

HMS Mary Rose:  Fascinating and brand new museum that houses the recovered remains of Henry VIII's battleship, the HMS Mary Rose, which lay for some four hundred years from its sinking in 1545 to when they recovered it from the sea floor between Portsmouth and The Isle of Wight in 1980-something. The museum houses all the recovered items from the ship and a number of cool interactive exhibits. All of this surrounds the large open area that contains the remains of the ship itself. This setup reminded me of the Mammoth Site in South Dakota, where they built a museum around an active archaeological dig of a large area containing the fossilised remains of untold numbers of mammoths.

Nothing better to wash down a few hours of British naval history than a couple of orders of fish and chips slathered in salt and vinegar. Mmm... And then I dropped Pam and Berit off on Albert Street to check out the shops, while Rowan, Griffin and I spent some quality time swimming in some of the coldest water I've ever placed my body into.

"You get used to it," Rowan tells me. Which is true. After your body numbs up a bit. Griffin bailed to the beach after a short time, and Rowan and I swim-raced to the getty. Small English children on the shore threw rocks at us while their mums sat idly by. I think they thought we were the French, attacking.

After the arrival of Pam and Berit to meet us, we moseyed over to King Henry VIII's castle fortress, right next door to where we were swimming. As we were walking in, a tall young man in a suit mumbled something to Berit and I that sounded to us like, "mnmmsnnsn champagne bar smsmnnsn nsns nnsns champagne bar mnnnm..."

We thanked him, laughing to ourselves and walked into the open courtyard where young English hipsters were enjoying alcoholic beverages against the backdrop of a DJ spinning records next to one of the interior castle walls, and it occurred to me how different my misspent youth might have been had I done my partying in the historic castles of British monarchs and also how, while studying these historic monarchs in school, I had no idea that British youths were at that very moment partying in the very castles of said monarchs.

Tea and scones and trains. Oh my.

Our first full day in England was rather unplanned. In the morning, we lounged about our house and drank tea before heading out on foot for a 45 minute walk on a wooded path to Stansted House, a classic British stately home. Once there, we joined throngs of classic British ladies in tea and scones at the tearoom before wandering around the impressive grounds of the place. At the farm market there, we met Fred who informed us of fresh fish delivery on Friday (sea bass, mackerel, and many others) and pizza on the weekend.

On the walk back, we made a stop to pet the horses at Holme Farm, and another stop when we saw a sign advertising a stop on the Chichester Art Walk. The sign proved to be out of date, but as a result we met Alison, a friendly and talented potter (great raku!) who not only had been to Boulder, but who knew someone that both Pam and I used to do pottery with at the fire station pottery lab by Chautauqua Park. Small world (though I wouldn't want to paint it)!

In the evening, we drove to the small Emsworth town center where Berit found the 3rd, 5th and 6th books of the Harry Potter series in a used book shop. Yes, we already have them. Now we're evidently getting all of the books in their British versions.

Landed in one piece. Actually, five pieces.

Berit:  Wouldn't it be cool if one of the actors from Harry Potter lives in the house next door to where we're staying?!

Griffin:  If I see Hagrid coming out to the mailbox, I'll be like "Watchoo doin' Hagrid!"

The flight to London is like a nine hour stay in a very small hotel room with your choice of movies on a four inch screen and bad miniature food. You sleep sitting up while the teenage girl acros the aisle casts a constant glow from her iPad onto your face.

Everybody's a little cranky after the plane ride and subsequent hours in the airport and then on the road South, but we get here and wrap up the night with a trip to the Tesco, a Walmart-esque grocery (promised to help Pam find the small store with green food tomorrow) for supplies and then to West Wittering Beach where we show up at 8:30 pm, just as they're closing the parking lot gate. The kids spend a few minutes crazy diving into the waves before it's time to freeze-walk back to the car.

I sleep the sleep of the dead. Dream I am living with Pete Townshend.

It starts with a yo yo.

It starts with a yo yo at the airport. Actually it starts well in advance of that. Days of preparation for a five-person journey for 3 weeks in England. As if that wasn't enough we've been preparing our house for the three English people - the retired couple and her sister - who will be staying in our house while we are staying in theirs on England's southern coast.

We've got an 8 hour plane ride in front of us. Departure at 8:45 p.m. Denver time; arrival at 12:35 p.m. tomorrow London time. After that will pick up our car and drive an hour or so south to our final destination.

With hot tea and speaking this into my phone I'm sitting in front of the jetway. I was going to say that nobody seems to mind, however I was just asked to move. The girls are making movies on their devices , and Pam went to get a nice coffee drink. Griffin is still practicing the yoyo; wish us luck. Better yet wish to the British luck.