Room with a View

"But Edinburgh is a mad god’s dream
Fitful and dark
Unseizable in Leith
And wildered by the Forth.
But irresistibly at last
Cleaving to sombre heights
of passionate imagining
Til stonily,
From soaring battlements
Earth eyes Eternity."
(Hugh MacDiarmid, The Complete Poems, 1978)

Back to Edinburgh now that Patty has finished her account of our foot travels across England...actually this story came from our first day in Edinburgh before we started on our trek.

Joan, Patty, and I flew all night from Charleston to New York to Edinburgh, arriving early morning, and naturally our room was not ready. We elected to stay at a hotel on the Royal Mile to be able to walk out the door into the footsteps of all those illustrious Scots -- Robert Burns, Adam Smith, Bonnie Prince Charlie -- well, his illustriousness is questionable -- Mary, Queen of Scots and, aye, Jamie Fraser.

"We'd like a room with a view", I told the desk clerk.

Reassured we could have a room later in the afternoon, we left our bags in Hisako and Tetsu's room and set out on foot down to Holyrood, up to the Castle, looking for Grassmarket, back up to look for Greyfriar's Kirk, stopping for afternoon tea at Clarinda's (more on Clarinda later), and finally dragging ourselves back to the hotel about 4:00.

Our room was ready. Determined, I asked the clerk again, "Does it have a view?"

And what a view... looking south to the heights of Arthur's Seat,

To the north, looking over the Mary Poppins roofs to Calton Hill with Nelson's Monument and the unfinished National Monument -- the money ran out in 1829 -- meant to honor Scottish soldiers killed in the Napoleonic Wars.

And our view of Patty's backside, hanging out the window. She couldn't get enough of that Edinburgh view.

Rear view photo by Joan

They Would Be Giants

I have a few more stories of Edinburgh to catch up on, but a story came out of this weekend's visit to Missoula, Montana, to see my wee bairns.

Saturday was a cool, fresh day, with a touch of rain, reminding me of the wonderful walking weather in England. My daughter, Jennifer, lassie Isabella and I made our usual trip to the Missoula Farmer's Market, truly a "feast" for the eyes as well as later for the bellies.

Beautiful red onions...


White onions...


Cauliflowers and cabbages the size of basketballs...


And a "now thar's a beet" beet...



I had noted a large number of Hmong (pronounced Mong) farmers on the last trip to the market in June -- they had delicious truffles picked from the forest. This time I asked Jennie on the way back to the car about the Hmong in Missoula -- seemed to be an unusual place to relocate.

"It must have been because of the weather", Jennie said.

"I don't think so", I responded. Missoula has two seasons -- winter and July -- and people from tropical jungle wouldn't be particularly drawn to the weather. Must be something else, I said to myself.

Soon after arriving home today, I sat down at the Internet to check out my suspicions, and found the connection to, what else, Missoula's famous Smoke Jumpers, those guys who jump out of airplanes into a forest fire. Now, if I were going to locate a place in the country where you could find guys willing to do this kind of thing, it would be Montana.

About 200 Hmong live in Missoula, most making a living by farming as they did in Laos. The guy responsible was Jerry Daniels, a Missoula smokejumper who went on to spend nearly ten years in combat with the Pathet Lao and North Vietnamese and the CIA's connection to the leader of the Hmong tribal army in Laos. A larger than life kind of guy.

An amazing story behind giant beets, cabbages and cauliflowers.

The Doors of Hadrian's Wall

Cha d’dhùin doras nach d’fhosgail doras.
No door ever closed, but another opened.

Before we entirely leave Hadrian's Wall, I must show my trail doors. Had I not been so preoccupied with the other eye candy on the trail -- and I'm not referring to the "sexy voice" guy in the pub -- my camera would have been filled with more doors. I wrote an earlier blog on the Doors of Bhutan. Joan has a gallery just for Doors.

What is it that draws some photographers to doors?


Farm building doors along the way were not your usual bland entrances. These farm doors were Mykonos colored and, curious... do you suppose Sarah Palin got hold of that second floor door to nowhere?


More farm doors...


The door to this fortified house entered into the second floor -- the better to defend your house from those nasty "reivers" come raiding across the border from Scotland in the 15th and 16th centuries. English law required the border houses have three foot thick walls for defense. How would you like that in your homeowner's association agreement?


Beautifully simple and classic church doors...


Classic doors in the little villages we walked through...


Joan spotted this loving door at the Low Rigg dairy farm that put us up for a night.


And, last but not least, a door to one of the many of the pubs we frequented along the way ... my kind of door.

End of the Trail

Tuesday, July 15th – 14 miles to Bowness on Solway. Our last day of hiking!

My feet, knees, and hips felt achy today – was I getting sick? Kathie and I slowed down after lunch (just past Burgh on Sands where there’s a statue of Edward I).

Supposedly, he died in a battle against Robert the Bruce in 1307. Kathie thinks he died of dysentery. Ick. He must not have washed his hands after taking off his trail-muddied boots.

Earlier in the day, cows (actually, I think they were young bulls) chased us all out of their pasture. Then after lunch, several young bulls blocked our way on the path and gave us the evil eye. We just kept our heads down and hustled by to the road. What’s with these guys?

We passed a fortified house, chatted with a lady about flowers and shopping in Jenners (Edinburgh) and stopped in the Highland Laddie pub for sodas before the final stretch.

Then we followed a nice road along the tidal flats, where there were lots of birds and sheep. You can see Scotland across the River Eden!



This guy was haafnet fishing. (From the Dictionary of Ichthyology: "Haaf net = a Scottish salmon net in the form of a large bag on a frame (5 m by 1 m). It is held by hand in tidal areas until a salmon is felt entering and then lifted to catch the fish. Haaf is from the Norwegian for open sea.") The next day we learned that you can actually walk across the flats here to Scotland when the tide's out. You just have to watch out for the quicksand. Yikes!

We ended victoriously in Bowness on Solway in a little lean-to shelter.

Veni, vidi, vici!

Anybody know what this means? Hail, Maia? I thought these guys were Roman!?!!!

We stayed in another lovely B&B, a nice place called The Old Rectory. This was our bathroom. Luxury!

After dinner at the King’s Arms Pub,



...we checked out St. Michael’s cemetery.

Kathie went back out for her traditional sunset photo and met up with a hedgehog.



It’s a good thing she didn't meet up with something bigger and more ferocious. She woulda been on her own because I was sacked out when she finally got back.

Of course, Kathie had to take her traditional end-of-the-trail boots photo.

The next morning, we caught a ride back to Carlisle with the father of the King’s Arms owner. As we passed the scenery we'd walked by the afternoon before, I cried silently to myself. I'd say I was just being overly emotional because I was tired, except I've been missing England and Scotland ever since we got back. WAH!!!

More Mud, The Mayor, Hugh Grant's Father, and a Nave

Monday, July 14th – 11 miles to Carlisle

More pasture land to Crosby on Eden.

I have never seen so much mud in my life.

We sat in a bus stop shelter to eat our packed lunch. An older gentleman came across the street from his house and chatted with us. He invited the group of older hikers behind us to eat their packed lunches at his house. What a character! Wonder if he was the mayor…

What kind of story do you suppose he was telling us that I had such a look on my face?

Just before Carlisle, we crossed over the Eden River. Kathie chatted up the firemen who were observing rescue practice going on below. I suppose they thought she has a sexy voice too. :) What a flirt!

Then we had a little difficulty finding our B&B, the Abberley House, where the owner/host/manager looked and acted just like Hugh Grant's father (although none of us know Hugh Grant's dad...). Kathie noticed it first.

I couldn't look at the man after that without snickering.

Kathie and I shared a postage stamp sized room, which was a far cry better than what Hugh's dad had for Hisako and Tetsu – no room at all! (He did find them a place up the street.)

After dinner at a Greek restaurant, we visited the Carlisle cathedral. The nave was topped by a beautiful darkish blue barrel vaulted ceiling, the panels of which were decorated with golden stars and suns. Lots of wood carvings adorned the whole place and there was a Norman chapel from the 12th century!


(Several of the above pics were taken by Joan and are saved on her SmugMug site. I'm too tired to figure out which ones.)

Flossies, Bossies, pint virgins, and pick-up lines

Sunday, July 13th – 8 miles to Walton
This morning, we passed (besides lots of pasture, poop, and mud) Birdoswald...


In the side yard, Joan spotted this heart-shaped hole in a tree stump. That Joan!

This is a nifty place at Bankshead where hikers can "camp" for five pounds a night. It's all furnished with a kitchenette, dishes, pots and pans, a table - the works!

We, however, stayed overnight at the Low Rigg Farm - a working farm of the Thompson family.

Nice view, eh?

On our way back out to dinner, we passed a bunch of Flossies and Bossies queued up to be milked.
We ate dinner at the Centurion Pub.

An older guy at the bar called Kathie a pint virgin when she bellied up to the bar and ordered her first pint ever, and then he took her out on the back patio and pointed to Cold Fell where her beer was made.

Sounded like just another pick up strategy to me. More successful was the young guy telling her that she has a sexy voice. Kathie blushed. Heh heh.

Plebes and Punky Girls

Saturday, July 12th – 9 miles to Gilsland
Today I wore the boots again and took some Aleve to reduce the inflammation. The Aleve helped a lot until it started to wear off…

Former blogging buddy August Caesar had suggested we visit Vindolanda, a Roman fort just south of Once Brewed by about a mile. Joan and Tetsu weren’t all that interested in Vindolanda, so they set out on their own for Gilsland.

Kathie, Hisako, and I took the Hadrian’s Wall bus, the AD122 (get it?), to Vindolanda, which is a pretty cool place.
This was a public bath in the fort.

The ruins are being excavated and there’s a museum that displays some of what has been found so far – correspondence, etc. We only had a short while before we had to hop back on the bus, though, or we’d be late getting to Gilsland. On the bus there was a gentleman (guide?) who had a plebe helmet – a very heavy, steel plebe helmet. With the mohawk and everything! He let us try it on. I thought to myself, “Joan is going to be disappointed that she missed the plebe helmet!”
Yes, that's Craig the snickerer. We picked him up (again!) in Vindolanda.
I think that's a milemarker we're standing next to.

Back on the trail, the walk was very strenuous at the beginning, but there were stunning views from the top of Winshield Crags, and there was a lot of the wall still in place. These made up for the up and down and up and down on the muddy, rocky crags.
At one point, we passed Thirlwall Castle just beyond a nice little brook. Then we parted ways with Craig, not to see him again. I think he was tired of us old ladies, especially after Kathie fired him as our mapreader.
I was thrilled when we walked into Gilsland and ecstatic when we finally found our B&B, Hill on the Wall. When we walked into the yard, I noticed white sheets hanging on the clothes line. A late 16th century manor with three foot thick walls, it was so wonderful and beautifully decorated on the inside. Kathie and I had “Hadrian’s Retreat”, a second floor bedroom that faces out over sheep pastureland (in the morning we watched a sheepherding dog at work – too cool!) with a huge bathroom across the hall. Ah, towel racks that warm your towels! But I digress…

After we lugged our bags upstairs, I threw myself down on the bed. Joan and Tetsu had gotten in much earlier and were showered and ready to go back down to Gilsland for dinner. “No way!” Fortunately, the owner of the B&B was driving into the village and offered us a ride, so we shoehorned ourselves into her little car and went down to the Samson Pub for dinner. There we noticed some young girls all dressed in pink with 80s-ish punked hair and wearing stiletto heels.
We asked the barlady if this is how the kids dressed usually, and she told us that they were celebrating the 18th birthday of one of the girls. They looked so grown up and punky, but were very sweet.
Also at dinner, Tetsu told us that he had kept up with Joan all day. No small achievement, I tell you.