It was almost eight years since the last time, but I found the Enchanted Place just fine. However, the Sandy pit and the Heffalump trap eluded me. I dunno if there was even more vegetation now or if it was just that I was too tired to really make the effort.
"Galleons' Leap" in the books. Sigh.
Colorful vegetation.
A triangulation point.
Lovely pine tree. I love pines.
The Enchanted Place.
One of those benches with memorial plaques on. Much more sensible than a graveyard and much more quiet and dignified than a huge statue or memorial. Also, they're useful.
I then had to go through an endless series of traffic circles and tiny hamlets, narrow & winding roads and of course places where the vegetation overhead was so dense it formed what almost looked like a green, lush tunnel.
I finally made Canterbury, where upon the third try I managed to swing in to Queningate Car Park and leave the damn car for a stroll into town. I walked down a street and past the cathedral, to a small coffee shop. Here, I had a brunch consisting of a carrot cake and a chocolate chip milkshake.
The little square where the entrance to the Cathedral area is. You can see people lining up in the back.
There's lots of Tudor buildings around the square.
I sat in the sun and took in my surroundings. Tons of narrow streets and twisting alleyways and lots of people in the streets; a Bury on speed. It also contained several nationalities; I heard Italian, Dutch and German, plus some Slavic sounding ones.
View up the street from my outside table.
View down the street.
I was happy here.
After a while I went around the corner to the entrance to the Cathedral and was let inside. It was at least fifteen minutes before my supposed entry, but no one seemed to care, and I certainly wasn't complaining.
There was work being done on the outside of the huge cathedral and large scaffoldings had been put in place along a tower and a wall. Inside it was cool and dark and some of my pics came out so-so, because as usual, flash photography was verboten. Mustn't fuck up the color of the stone, or something like that.
It's effin huge.
The entrance area.
So effin huge.
Anyways, I settled for a pretty cursory look at most stuff in there; the only vaguely interesting things were the graves of Henry IV and The Black Prince, who, had he lived, would probably have led to there never being a Henry IV, at least not the one who was. If that makes any sense.
The Black Prince, I believe.
Henry IV and his missus.
Some modern arty-farty thingy.
A pulpit.
Purdy glass windows
The baptising fount.
I believe this altar stood at the very end of the long, long church building that is Canterbury Cathedral.
I then drove out to my lodgings for the night. It was the beginning of a rather interesting experience. I've chosen not to identify the place, since, although the behavior of the proprietor was appalling for a hotel owner and people with a weaker condition than yours truly would have been (justifiably) shocked and outraged, I actually had a good time.
I was met by a lady and shown to my room. I'd settled down with my water bottle to do some writing and some net surfing, when, appx. half an hour later, someone knocked on my door. It was the owner of the place, wondering about my payment details. I explained them as carefully as I could, and he seemed satisfied. At this point, I could not yet detect that he was, in fact, drunk as a skunk.
He also offered to make a dinner, which had not been part of the package on booking.com, but since I didn't have any plans for the evening I accepted. And he did make me an ok shepherd's pie, and a generous portion it was, too, but I'm getting ahead of myself here.
Anyways, I went downstairs at the appointed hour and the first thing that met me as I opened the door, was a beautiful husky who jumped right up on me and started slobbering me with kisses. Now, I love dogs and don't mind this kind of thing at all, but I realize there are people who would be terrified if something like this had happened to them.
I then talked a bit to the proprietor and soon got the notion that something was very off. With five minute intervals, he kept asking me the same questions or would tell me something he'd already said.
His accent wasn't difficult to discern as such, but he had this working class twist that still made him pretty difficult to follow and the fact that he was getting more and more drunk as the evening progressed didn't exactly make things better.
Now, like I said, the dinner wasn't half bad, and he also made good on his promise of a good dessert with berries and ice cream. He even brought cheese and crackers afterwards although I protested that I was stuffed.
Throughout this, the dog was sniffing around and came up to the table to beg all the time. I'm used to this and don't mind in the slightest, but I know my opinion is colored by having to fight off cats and dogs for my meals for most of my formative years, to exaggerate just a teensy, weensy bit.
The proprietor also pulled up a chair and started talking to me, or rather volunteering information about himself and his two ex-wives that I hardly felt I should be privy to. Personally, I was simply feeling entertained, but there are people who by now would justly be upstairs, packing their bags and calling their lawyer.
I won't go into more details about the conversation, such as it was, so as not to identify the place and the man, but this is not the way to run a hotel, not the way to meet a customer and not the way to talk about your private affairs.
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