The next day, I slept late. I also went online to buy extra checked baggage room, as I just couldn't be bothered lugging around a small suitcase anymore, be it wheeled or not. Only my PC in a bag over my shoulder would now be handled physically by yours truly.
Since I had landed, the Engerlish had come up with further restrictions to travel, chief among them was the requirement to wear fucking mouth covers upon entering a public building, such as an airport. In Salisbury, I'd bought one with the Union Jack on and this was now put to good use.
I checked in, went through security and spent my time in the airport with the music on my phone & EarPods cranked way up. I don't think I lowered the volume of the music even once before landing in Oslo.
The car was where I'd left it and I drove to my home pad 90 mins north of the airport. I'd bought gifts for my landlady, various types of jam from England. As it so happened, she'd JUST finished a huge batch of waffles and the family was about to sit down and stuff face.
Naturally, I was invited in and the next hour was spent in good company while we all shoveled waffles into our respective faces and there were several exclamations of oh and ah when the jam hit someone's taste buds. People were even talking about going online to see if they could order more of some types; it was that good.
Anyways; to summarize two weeks in England while the corona virus was doing its worst: It didn't manage to destroy the experience for me, but it did diminish it quite a bit. Having to use the damn mouth covers on the plane made it difficult to breathe and it was the same thing in stores.
On the one hand, I am glad I went and got to spread my wings a bit before Europe closed everything again and I did see and do some good stuff. Maybe the best was when I could interact with others in bars or shops, but the whole thing seemed subdued and dulled by the virus.
On the other hand, had I known beforehand how dull it was going to be, I might just have stayed home until this whole thing had blown over. However, as there was no knowing then how long this would take, on balance it was probably best that I went. But this was the least joyful trip to the UK ever, and that's just sad.
Wednesday, July 29, 2020
Tuesday, July 28, 2020
UK Day 14: For once, a lovely church
This is the entry that I had prepared on the evening of day 13: "The day before, I had booked a 10 o'clock free entry to Salisbury Cathedral, but when the morning came I preferred to sleep in instead."
As it was, I awoke early and instead decided to go see the cathedral after all. And I am very glad I did. I think as these things go, Salisbury is now my favorite church in the whole wide world, not that the competition is strong for that title.
First, I arrived at the place where you pay for parking. I had my ticket info on my mobile phone and showed it to the old guy on duty. However, when time came to pay for my parking, the card machine refused both my cards. I hadn't bothered to withdraw any cash as I had gotten along electronically thus far and was going home the next day.
In the end he just said I could donate to the church, gave me a sticker to put in my window and gave me directions to the church parking lot. I walked from there the roughly five minutes (others probably take three) to the cathedral close, which is the largest in the UK.
I spent almost half an hour just outside the cathedral, strolling the grounds and taking in the various art pieces that dotted the green. There were quite a few of them and kids were particularly fond of climbing one that gave me associations to my grandfather's ashtray.
Elsewhere, there was a flight of stairs to nowhere in particular, perhaps symbolic of our final ascendance to the guy in the sky; something that may or may not be angel's wings and something possibly purely abstract. Plus loads more that I couldn't be bothered with.
Stairs:
Is this abstract or a human shape or both? See if I care.
Something wing-y.
It is a magnificent, imposing structure.
*Impose, impose*
Finally, the doors opened, and we went in, first to an inner garden with trees and paved floor and some info boards along the wall. This covered walk extended around the whole inner area and is known as a cloister. This, too, is the largest in the UK.
The church tower as seen from the corner of the cloister.
I then entered the church proper. I can't remember exactly where I paid my "donation", but I do remember it was more than the parking fee, so by all measurements I should now be guaranteed a one way trip upwards. Isn't that how these things work?
From inside the entrance area.
It's good to see that the church hasn't lost its taste for ladies of the night...
Mammon is also present.
Model of the cathedral.
Burma!
Supposedly, the cathedral houses the oldest working clock in the world.
Art.
More art. Meh.
The cathedral is interesting from an architectural point. It was built between 1220 and 1258 and since 1549, it has had the highest spire in the UK. It also contains the best kept of the four original copies of Magna Charta, but that exhibit was closed due to the Corona situation.
I talked a little to the volunteers who stood at presumably important places throughout the church and they were all friendly, well informed and in a good mood. No one batted an eye if I mentioned that I was atheist, few Britons can afford to be American fundamentalists on that subject.
The pulpit.
T'was spacious.
There were no terribly important people buried in the cathedral, but I still stopped and photographed a few graves. I also looked up to the mighty roof and got a little lecture about the various restructurings that had taken place over the years, something which I forgot before even leaving the building.
This must have been a badass.
Nice, painted glass.
My ecclesiastic needs met, I then set out for Old Sarum. It was the site of not just the old cathedral, but also a reputedly grand palace, perhaps the grandest looking in the land at the time. Now, all you can see is the foundations.
It's a splendid little site, even in Corona times. Kids can play around and there's a lot of paths, slopes and walls where you can do a proper hide and seek. Needless to say, it is also a place where dogs frolic (outside the walls, that is).
It has a moat!
Hide and seek!
You can walk along the ramparts for much of the way.
...if you dare...
The views over to Salisbury proper from the ramparts of Old Sarum are unsurpassed.
There's a nice area immediately behind Old Sarum, which is very popular among dog walkers and the likes.
Naturally, I was skeptical of Old Sarum.
And Salisbury.
I even shot a video from Old Sarum.
After about an hour I made the final trek down to my hotel in Crawley, but stopped for a decidedly mediocre burger in a Whetherspoon's in Andover.
In Crawley, I managed to confuse the hell out of a delivery guy. I was hungry, so I went online to book something and after several false tries, with places that were closed or didn't do delivery after all, I finally found an Indian place. They promised quick delivery and I sat back and anticipated a huge, good, hot meal.
Twenty minutes later, my cell phone rings. He's outside, where am I? I go down to the reception. Nobody there. I walk around the building, same thing. I have him on the phone the whole time and he sounds more exasperated by the minute.
Turns out, there were two hotels with the same name just a couple of miles apart. Misunderstanding resolved, to his credit, he drove over to my hotel and delivered the meal, which by now was rapidly cooling. I still stuffed face, but it wasn't the best Indian meal I've had in the UK.
As it was, I awoke early and instead decided to go see the cathedral after all. And I am very glad I did. I think as these things go, Salisbury is now my favorite church in the whole wide world, not that the competition is strong for that title.
First, I arrived at the place where you pay for parking. I had my ticket info on my mobile phone and showed it to the old guy on duty. However, when time came to pay for my parking, the card machine refused both my cards. I hadn't bothered to withdraw any cash as I had gotten along electronically thus far and was going home the next day.
In the end he just said I could donate to the church, gave me a sticker to put in my window and gave me directions to the church parking lot. I walked from there the roughly five minutes (others probably take three) to the cathedral close, which is the largest in the UK.
I spent almost half an hour just outside the cathedral, strolling the grounds and taking in the various art pieces that dotted the green. There were quite a few of them and kids were particularly fond of climbing one that gave me associations to my grandfather's ashtray.
Elsewhere, there was a flight of stairs to nowhere in particular, perhaps symbolic of our final ascendance to the guy in the sky; something that may or may not be angel's wings and something possibly purely abstract. Plus loads more that I couldn't be bothered with.
Stairs:
Is this abstract or a human shape or both? See if I care.
Something wing-y.
It is a magnificent, imposing structure.
*Impose, impose*
Finally, the doors opened, and we went in, first to an inner garden with trees and paved floor and some info boards along the wall. This covered walk extended around the whole inner area and is known as a cloister. This, too, is the largest in the UK.
The church tower as seen from the corner of the cloister.
I then entered the church proper. I can't remember exactly where I paid my "donation", but I do remember it was more than the parking fee, so by all measurements I should now be guaranteed a one way trip upwards. Isn't that how these things work?
From inside the entrance area.
It's good to see that the church hasn't lost its taste for ladies of the night...
Mammon is also present.
Model of the cathedral.
Burma!
Supposedly, the cathedral houses the oldest working clock in the world.
Art.
More art. Meh.
The cathedral is interesting from an architectural point. It was built between 1220 and 1258 and since 1549, it has had the highest spire in the UK. It also contains the best kept of the four original copies of Magna Charta, but that exhibit was closed due to the Corona situation.
I talked a little to the volunteers who stood at presumably important places throughout the church and they were all friendly, well informed and in a good mood. No one batted an eye if I mentioned that I was atheist, few Britons can afford to be American fundamentalists on that subject.
The pulpit.
T'was spacious.
There were no terribly important people buried in the cathedral, but I still stopped and photographed a few graves. I also looked up to the mighty roof and got a little lecture about the various restructurings that had taken place over the years, something which I forgot before even leaving the building.
This must have been a badass.
Nice, painted glass.
My ecclesiastic needs met, I then set out for Old Sarum. It was the site of not just the old cathedral, but also a reputedly grand palace, perhaps the grandest looking in the land at the time. Now, all you can see is the foundations.
It's a splendid little site, even in Corona times. Kids can play around and there's a lot of paths, slopes and walls where you can do a proper hide and seek. Needless to say, it is also a place where dogs frolic (outside the walls, that is).
It has a moat!
Hide and seek!
You can walk along the ramparts for much of the way.
...if you dare...
The views over to Salisbury proper from the ramparts of Old Sarum are unsurpassed.
There's a nice area immediately behind Old Sarum, which is very popular among dog walkers and the likes.
Naturally, I was skeptical of Old Sarum.
And Salisbury.
I even shot a video from Old Sarum.
After about an hour I made the final trek down to my hotel in Crawley, but stopped for a decidedly mediocre burger in a Whetherspoon's in Andover.
In Crawley, I managed to confuse the hell out of a delivery guy. I was hungry, so I went online to book something and after several false tries, with places that were closed or didn't do delivery after all, I finally found an Indian place. They promised quick delivery and I sat back and anticipated a huge, good, hot meal.
Twenty minutes later, my cell phone rings. He's outside, where am I? I go down to the reception. Nobody there. I walk around the building, same thing. I have him on the phone the whole time and he sounds more exasperated by the minute.
Turns out, there were two hotels with the same name just a couple of miles apart. Misunderstanding resolved, to his credit, he drove over to my hotel and delivered the meal, which by now was rapidly cooling. I still stuffed face, but it wasn't the best Indian meal I've had in the UK.
Monday, July 27, 2020
UK Day 13: Stonehenge sans Asians
At my hotel in High Wycombe, there was a door right next to my room that led to several more rooms beyond. At the bottom of this door there was a type of barrier that would slow the door down if someone went through, so that it wouldn't slam.
Instead, it made this whooshing sound that sounded EXACTLY like the sound my late dad would make when he tried to walk from A to B and the cats would try to tackle him and he was trying to brush them off.
Anyways, that morning as I was lying half asleep I heard the sound and I remember thinking to myself that this was no way to run a hotel, with cats going in and out all the time. Thoughts from a fevered mind.
And yes, I was getting a type of what I've earlier dubbed "old ruins fever". Or maybe a slump in my mojo, a spraining of the ole' travel leg, I dunno. Could be that the corona virus and the masks and all that insanity was taking its toll too.
In the early afternoon I went to Stonehenge and was seconds away from leaving altogether because of a huge traffic jam the last few miles. It was pissing down sideways when I parked, but it abated somewhat before I took the shuttle bus out to the stones.
I stuffed face on soggy sandwiches (due to the sideways rain) and I think the whole experience can be summed up quite nicely by the expression on my face.
If there was one good thing about the whole Corvid-19 thing, it was that Europe was no longer overrun with Asian tourists waiving their fucking cameras around. However, when I arrived at the temple, I found the place as barren and boring as on the two previous occasions. As it was, I took some pics from afar and left after five minutes.
There were some new info boards put up.
Barren and boring.
I did go a little bananas in the gift shop afterwards and that lifted my mood a little and the Indian food I ordered for dinner and had brought to my hotel for free, was very good. So there's that.
The remainder of the evening was spent in the hotel bar overhearing a bartender giving a young 'un the run-down of the place and the routines and boy, did I get a wake-up call as to how much work there is to that profession; the serving of drinks is just a tiny part of it all.
Instead, it made this whooshing sound that sounded EXACTLY like the sound my late dad would make when he tried to walk from A to B and the cats would try to tackle him and he was trying to brush them off.
Anyways, that morning as I was lying half asleep I heard the sound and I remember thinking to myself that this was no way to run a hotel, with cats going in and out all the time. Thoughts from a fevered mind.
And yes, I was getting a type of what I've earlier dubbed "old ruins fever". Or maybe a slump in my mojo, a spraining of the ole' travel leg, I dunno. Could be that the corona virus and the masks and all that insanity was taking its toll too.
In the early afternoon I went to Stonehenge and was seconds away from leaving altogether because of a huge traffic jam the last few miles. It was pissing down sideways when I parked, but it abated somewhat before I took the shuttle bus out to the stones.
I stuffed face on soggy sandwiches (due to the sideways rain) and I think the whole experience can be summed up quite nicely by the expression on my face.
If there was one good thing about the whole Corvid-19 thing, it was that Europe was no longer overrun with Asian tourists waiving their fucking cameras around. However, when I arrived at the temple, I found the place as barren and boring as on the two previous occasions. As it was, I took some pics from afar and left after five minutes.
There were some new info boards put up.
Barren and boring.
I did go a little bananas in the gift shop afterwards and that lifted my mood a little and the Indian food I ordered for dinner and had brought to my hotel for free, was very good. So there's that.
The remainder of the evening was spent in the hotel bar overhearing a bartender giving a young 'un the run-down of the place and the routines and boy, did I get a wake-up call as to how much work there is to that profession; the serving of drinks is just a tiny part of it all.
Sunday, July 26, 2020
UK Day 12: Randomly roving the hills
On the 12th day, he rested. Or, more specifically, he entered a place name a few miles into the Chiltern Hills and, once there, turned off Google Maps and just went where his fancy took him.
I saw a lot of small towns and hamlets, many of them with quaint Tudor houses and cozy pubs, narrow streets and probably very high property prices. Also, an array of stupid names, of which England has an incredible amount. Seriously, just open a map of England and laugh and laugh.
The property prices in this part of England makes my wallet go limp.
Finally, I saw a sign for Wendover and since I'd been to two Wendovers in the US, I set course for it. The two American cities lie on opposite sides of the Nevada/Utah state border and are quite representative of their states' peculiarities. I spent one night there on my first coast-to-coast trip of the US, so the name had a very faint attraction to me.
Upon arrival I found the center to be quite nice, with a couple of streets half filled with Tudor style and some clearly very old other types of buildings too. The shops and cafes generally exuded prosperity and as this was a Sunday, it was teeming with bicycles and families, two of the things I despise the most.
Nice, Tudor buildings. Oh, how I love cozy, quaint English villages.
There were purdy flowers everywhere.
The clock tower wasn't the most impressive I've seen...
The English love their roundabouts.
I had my sight set on the pub "George and Dragon", which looked properly old. It was just my luck that the place was no longer an English pub, serving solid, English grub, but a Thai place and not even a good Thai place at that. Seriously, there's only so much uninspired cooking one can cover up with chili.
The starter was all vegetables. I ate it all, because I'm a GOOD boy.
Afterwards, I took an even more convoluted route back to my hotel, with some sharp turns and one-lane roads, but also more pretty villages. Dinner was taken back in High Wycombe at a so-called "American BBQ" that really was neither, but at least the city council had had the good sense to cancel the fees in the adjacent parking house until August 1, when I would be in Norway.
*sniffle* It's so beautiful...
A meh burger.
I saw a lot of small towns and hamlets, many of them with quaint Tudor houses and cozy pubs, narrow streets and probably very high property prices. Also, an array of stupid names, of which England has an incredible amount. Seriously, just open a map of England and laugh and laugh.
The property prices in this part of England makes my wallet go limp.
Finally, I saw a sign for Wendover and since I'd been to two Wendovers in the US, I set course for it. The two American cities lie on opposite sides of the Nevada/Utah state border and are quite representative of their states' peculiarities. I spent one night there on my first coast-to-coast trip of the US, so the name had a very faint attraction to me.
Upon arrival I found the center to be quite nice, with a couple of streets half filled with Tudor style and some clearly very old other types of buildings too. The shops and cafes generally exuded prosperity and as this was a Sunday, it was teeming with bicycles and families, two of the things I despise the most.
Nice, Tudor buildings. Oh, how I love cozy, quaint English villages.
There were purdy flowers everywhere.
The clock tower wasn't the most impressive I've seen...
The English love their roundabouts.
I had my sight set on the pub "George and Dragon", which looked properly old. It was just my luck that the place was no longer an English pub, serving solid, English grub, but a Thai place and not even a good Thai place at that. Seriously, there's only so much uninspired cooking one can cover up with chili.
The starter was all vegetables. I ate it all, because I'm a GOOD boy.
Afterwards, I took an even more convoluted route back to my hotel, with some sharp turns and one-lane roads, but also more pretty villages. Dinner was taken back in High Wycombe at a so-called "American BBQ" that really was neither, but at least the city council had had the good sense to cancel the fees in the adjacent parking house until August 1, when I would be in Norway.
*sniffle* It's so beautiful...
A meh burger.
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