An old marker near Little Easton Church is just one among scores of signs throughout walker-friendly UK guiding pedestrians to public footpaths. Even though some paths are marked by newer signs now, many old signs like this one like this have been preserved and are still commonplace.
The narrow, wedge-shaped Black Friar Pub is jammed against the railway line in Blackfriars section London. It’s unusual exterior gives way to an extraordinary interior that conveys an immediate impression of an extravagantly ornate church, or scaled down cathedral. Every inch is decorated in marble, mosaic or bas-relief sculpture and green, red and cream marble-clad walls are covered with illustrations of merry monks while the ceiling of its smaller bar bears mottos of wisdom such as, “Finery is foolery” and “Don't advertise, tell a gossip.” Carved wooden monks carrying yokes on their shoulders from which the pub’s ceiling lights hang are just one part of the amazingly detailed interior.
A simple corner post at the edge of a front garden (yard) at Terling made an interesting photo.
The Beginning of the End: Winding Down
(Excerpts from an English Journal)
March 26: The day has arrived for me to embark on the final leg of what has been the most wonderful journey of my life. It’s been a fantastic ride and I hate to for it to be over but “all good things must come to an end.” (Whoever said that should have been wrong!). I don’t know when/if I’ve ever enjoyed visiting a place as much as I have here and saying goodbye is going to be bittersweet.
I didn’t sleep very soundly last night and woke up 10 minutes before the alarm sounded at 6:00 a.m. so we were on our way to the airport just past 7:00 The traffic wasn’t extremely bad as it often is and we got to the airport right after 9 o’clock, but by the time we parked, got inside and made it through the first check-in, it was close to 10:00.
After convincing the nice folks at Delta that much as I would have liked to, I couldn’t give up my seat just because they were overbooked, I said good-bye to Richard and headed through security. And that’s where things got a bit dicey.
First, I had to ditch my drinking water and contact lens solution even though the solution passed security with no problems on arrival three weeks ago. Seems both were above the amount of liquid allowed to pass under the watchful eyes of the Heathrow airport folks. Losing the water wasn’t so bad but I was really reluctant to toss my travel size bottle of Opti-free (That stuff is not cheap!). After trying in vain to convince the woman in charge that even if it was a tiny bit oversized, that shouldn’t count because it was half empty, I said a reluctant farewell to both of them and went on my way.
The next obstacle was a line I had to pass through with my carry-on bag. The bag went through x-ray and down the conveyer belt with no problems but I somehow managed to set off the alarm in the walk-through booth. My watch turned out to be the culprit but offering to remove it and go back and “walk the line” again was not enough. No-o-o. Not only was I wanded, I got a most thorough frisking as well. And I am talking really thorough. By the time the officer finished, I felt I was on intimate terms with her. (If she had been a few years younger, good looking and male, maybe it wouldn’t have been quite as bad but she definitely was not my type.)
After they were finally convinced I wasn’t a terrorist threat, they let me through the gate with time to spare. I browsed some tariff free shops a little and bought some souvenir tins of candy for Katie and Kiersten before going on to the waiting area. It was there where I met a sweet lady from Essex, also headed to Atlanta and quite curious about the city, Hartsfield Airport, Georgia etc. I answered her questions as best I could and I believe left her with a good impression of Southern hospitality. (Helping her get through security once we got to Atlanta didn’t hurt either.)
We boarded quite easily—maybe too easily—only to be greeted by a screaming infant just three rows ahead of me. Turned out to be several unhappy babies on the plane but this was the only one who screamed so hard and so long that it lost its breath and was reduced to a mewling sound. All before the plane was fully boarded. I was definitely praying s/he wouldn’t do this for the next nine hours!
The doors closed on time and we were advised our flight were ready for takeoff. Not! First, the pilot came on the intercom and said we had a 20-minute wait for a take-off slot. It seems things were a tad congested and apparently foreign airlines don’t have as many departure spaces as the primary domestic carrier.
Just as the 20 minutes were about up, there was yet another announcement. It seems one of the air conditioners had stopped working. The brief delay we had been promised stretched out until 1:15 before we were able to even start taxiing to the departure area. We eventually got into the air an hour and 25 minutes past the scheduled time. My son had thoughtfully booked a seat for me on the exit row over and back and the extra legroom was especially welcome during this seemingly interminable wait.
Lunch was finally served about 2:00 p.m. and the quality was much better than expected. At least it didn’t seem too bad for airline food. I have a feeling though that by the time we finally got something to eat, almost anything may have tasted good whether it was my chicken pasta with roasted tomato sauce and spinach or the cardboard container in which it was served.
My seatmate was the total antithesis of the Chatty Charlie I sat next to on the flight over. This one didn’t have a lot to say other than stewing about the probability of missing his connecting flight in Atlanta.
After the meal was cleared and everyone was more or less settled, I decided to splurge and order a Margarita. I hadn’t had one in almost a month and was looking forward to trying what Delta boasted as being “top-shelf” and being made with tequila and Midnight Bar Collection Margarita Mixer.
When it finally arrived, it was the funkiest tasting drink I think I’ve ever had. I looked at it for a moment and touched my tongue to it again the way you do when you can’t decide if something really does taste that weird. It did. I kept looking at it, wondering what made it so awful until my somewhat silent seatmate commented he was pretty sure “Margaritas are not made with rum.” Sure enough, I looked and the miniature spirits bottle left on my tray by the server was a cute-as-a button, tiny rum bottle.
The explanation I was given was worth the mistake. The first person I flagged down to ask if Delta had starting making Margaritas with rum stated of the culprit, “He’s from France,” as if that explained everything. When the guilty party came with a fresh drink he said, “I’m from France,” as the reason for his mistake. Two more attendants remarked the same thing so I suppose I was expected to conclude being from France either made someone irresponsible or kept him or her from mixing a drink correctly. I have to admit it was pretty funny they all said the same thing at different times. To add insult to injury, a slight turbulence a few moments later caused most of the new drink to spill, leading me to decide I should have saved myself the money and trouble and had a glass of water instead.
We caught a tail wind about half way over and the pilot thought we might even get into Atlanta at 6:30 p.m. instead of 7:30 as they’d announced earlier. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long and the rough weather made it virtually impossible for those hoping to catch a connecting flight, including my seatmate, to make it in time. As a matter of fact, our flight was so late they passed out unscheduled snacks of personal pizzas to tide everyone over until they could have a proper dinner. (I got tired of my pen slipping with every bump and gave up writing in my journal to make notes that I hoped I could still translate when they got cold.)
Gorgeous sunny weather was the redeeming factor of the trip even though outside temperatures were -48° F. If you’ve never flown above the clouds on a really bright day, it’s difficult to describe the breathtaking beauty of that view. It’s like looking down at snow covered forests, mountains and castles into rivers and lakes of incredible blue. As we approached the northern part of the continent, you could see large sheets of ice floating on rivers and St. John’s Bay. Water breaking through some patches wove some most interesting patterns and I saw the most amazing blue hues and purest white ever. A wonderful welcome back.
As much as I hated to leave England, it was nice to get back home safely. My son was there to meet me and friends here in Midtown seemed happy to see me too and that definitely cheered me up. I’m looking forward to seeing my little granddaughters very soon.
NOTE: The photos with this final journal entry are some of my favorites and not necessarily relevant to anything written here. I want to thank those who have told me these journal installments made them feel as if they were there too. Writing these articles made me feel I was living it over again with the same feelings I experienced while there. Thank you for taking the trip with me.
**********
A true Margarita uses only three ingredients: High quality tequila, orange liqueur and lime juice. Using 2 oz. tequila, 1 oz. orange liqueur and 1 oz. fresh lime juice shaken with ice and strained into a glass (with or without ice and rocks) will yield a drink as it should be made. Unfortunately, America’s sweet tooth has led to the use of sugar in the pre-made mixes used in most places. For that reason, I am including instructions for a mix that is low carb and sugar-free. All you need to do is add tequila.
Margarita Mix
6 juicy lemons
6 juicy limes
3 c. of Splenda©
6 c. of water
Squeeze juice from lemons and limes and mix Spenda© and water. (Yes, it’s that simple.) Store in the refrigerator until ready to use in your favorite Margarita recipe or use two ounces each tequila and mix. All lemons and limes are not created equally, therefore will yield varying amounts of juice so you need to taste test as you go to ensure that the flavor suits your personal palate. Spenda© can be replaced by equal amounts of sugar if you don’t mind the extra calories. Tip: I keep my tequila in the freezer so the drink stays cold longer without being watered down by too much ice.
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