Hay on Wye and around Bristol

Our week has been a bit of a mixed bag. We came home on Wednesday night to find that Pierre had been broken into during the day. They had forced the lock (luckily Harry works with panel beaters and so they taught the students the next day how to get a forced lock and surroundings back to normal), and had stolen our tent (only used once), and our tool kit. We had taken anything of value out since the last time, but had also left our cd's in the glove box - we had the last laugh though as they weren't the originals - only the ones Harry had burnt and called Hazza 1 and Hazza 2 etc - not much to sell in that lot we think. On Friday I had a meeting in Chepstow (another lovely big mansion made into a hotel and golf course with a little church and graveyard close by) and so dropped Rebecca off there to wander around the castle, little village and the River Wye while I went and sat at my meeting all day (with sunshine streaming through the window). It was a glorious day and so we looked forward to our visit to Hay on Wye on Saturday and a 3 hour walk we had planned around the Black Mountains. Filled with anticipation we stopped after winding our way through tree lined minor roads that took us to the Priory at Llanthony where it started to rain. The priory was falling down like many of them but had a similar design although quite a lot smaller. It sat in a valley, nestled in some hills and it was cold and wet. Harry has vowed it is the last weekend he will wear shorts this year. After looking at each other rather sheepishly we decided that hot drinks and food was far preferable to following those decked out in their wet weather walking gear up the hill into the mist (I think they envied us our hot drinks actually). So we ate, drank, wandered around the Priory and little Church of St David (where the first church stood in the 6th century and where St David lived for a time in the valley). Llanthony apparently in Welsh is spelt Llan-ddewi-nant-honddu meaning the Llan of St David on the river Honddu. (dd sounds like th in English). The Priory was originally built by two hermits in the early 12th century and later became a home for Augustine Canons - also known as Black Canons - as they wore black. They were ordained ministers which meant they went out to the countryside to preach and minister to the poor which made them quite different from other abbey's we have seen where they lived basically in solitude. When the monasteries were dissolved these canons were actually given pensions. The Priory became a place of refuge and it has thick stone walls and very small windows to act as a protection. Henry VIII again was responsible for the Priory falling into disrepair - he has a lot to answer for doesn't he?

Being in the land of the welsh means multi lingual signs everywhere so I thought it was about time that we increased our vocabulary from the welsh road signs. So here goes:

coeden = tree
castell = castle (that's an easy one)
baner = flag
dwr = water
aderyn = bird
pel = ball
mor = sea
tan = fire






Hay on Wye is a little town that sits right on the border of England and Wales, but is actually in Wales (it is one of many little towns on the Wye and we drove through many of them called something on Wye today). To get to the town we drove through some spectacular scenery, country roads and roads winding through a long flat plateaus. It is known as the 'Town of Books' but before that it has a history dating back to the 1100's and included a Norman Invasion, destroyed by King John (it was rebuilt one night by the wife of William de Breos who built the castle in the first place - the name of this outstanding woman was Maud de St Valery and she achieved this huge feat by carrying the stones in her apron). But more recently the Town of Books has its name from Richard Booth (he proclaimed himself as the King of Hay cos he owned the castle that overlooks the little village that slopes down towards the river) who opened his first second hand bookshop back in the early 1960's. A tourist is now given a map of the town with the 30 bookshops labelled - some selling new and some old but all of them a lot of books. Our first stop was the castle bookshop where there were boxes of little books for free so we gave a little donation and got books (very edited versions I think) with authors like Lord Byron, Robert Browning, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Kate Pullinger, Thomas Gray, William Blake, John Milton, Matthew Arnold, Isaiah Berlin, Rudyard Kipling, Churchill, Walt Whitman so who knows what I will write in the blog in the next few weeks. When we asked where to find a particular subject in some of the shops (the notice did say please feel free to ask) we got waved in a general direction but I gather the intention is that you have to browse the floor to ceiling shelves (yeah right after shelf 4 or 5 I didn't have a hope of seeing the titles) rather than just head for a specific subject. The book shops were in the castle, old cinemas, the town hall, outside and open to all weathers, under large marquis and trees, or in little boutique shops that looked small from the outside but usually meant a flight of stairs down to the basement, and up one or two floors. Besides book shops, we saw book binders, a jigsaw and teddy bear shop (biggest jigsaw had 24,000 pieces and cost around £157, while the smallest only had about 20 pieces and was made from wood, - Harry and I did decide we could buy one for winter to do in the evenings but couldn't find one we liked at a reasonable price), some expensive clothes shops, record and cds, lots of cafes and pubs and an art gallery. We stumbled across an auction - we could hear the auctioneers voice throughout the town - and thought 'a book sale' but to our surprise when we creeped through a door it was a 'pony sale'. There were heaps of ponies of all shapes, colours, sizes and ages and some of them were sold for £25 (how cheap I thought we could take one home) while others into the hundreds which we considered a better price. We walked into a dolls house shop and Harry decided that Caramello needed a chair. So, he tried the first chair and couldn't fit in it because it was too small, and he tried the middle size one but it wasn't quite long enough and so he fell off it, and then he tried the big one and he sat in it and it was just right - so we ended up buying it and now he sits proudly in comfort during the week before catching a bag somewhere during the weekend.

We then drove through Hereford a nice little town that we might explore more of one day and followed several trucks full of potatoes to Ross on Wye. Another little historic market town on the (yes you guessed it) the River Wye. It has a number of listed buildings and a mock gothic wall. We went up to the museum and watched a little video on the town (built from the surrounding red sandstone) and read that in the 1200's Henry III approved a charter for Ross on Wye to have a market every Thursday. I have driven past many little villages with signs saying there is a market every Tuesday, or Friday, or Sunday etc and now realise that these market days are steeped in history and probably approved by a king many years before. While driving back to Bristol I mused about whether history is restricting in many ways, provides some security and safety, or whether it offers some sort organisation and boundaries for us to follow - probably a mixture of all three. We came here to see the history as NZ is such a new country - its laws are far younger than many of the buildings we see and there aren't any age old charters to tell us what to do. So, does that make our culture more relaxed and spontaneous and is there less of 'this is how it is done around here because that is how it is always been done'. Food for thought of which I have few answers.

On the Sunday, we took Rebecca around Bristol to show her the city in autumn and then went to Weston Supermare. We missed the motor cycle beach races by a week thankfully, as there would have been crowds and she wouldn't have seen the endless mud, burnt down pier, or the architecturally interesting houses (some with a definite European look). The pier will be rebuilt and there is a competition for a design at the moment. We voted - I liked the building with a roof like a big wave - and wandered through the information centre which had articles on the history, fire and rebuild project. 'In the early hours of Monday 28th of July, a devastating fire took hold of the Grand Pier Pavilion and it was totally destroyed in less than 2 hours. In this modern age, live pictures of the fire taking hold, were shown across the globe and it became the biggest domestic news story the BBC had ever broken, attracting 1.6 million hits on their website in just four hours' (so bigger than the Queen Mother's funeral we thought, Princess Diana - perhaps not a domestic story, the crash landing of the 777 at Heathrow?).

Glasgow

Harry went to his last graduation service on Thursday and I took off to the new Cabot Circus (a shopping mall - brand new and opening celebrations - I had never been to an opening of a mall before so thought it could be interesting. Lots of people, shops fairly similar to other malls but I am told there are some new London chains now in Bristol. I spent about 15 minutes walking around looking at the architectual design - an interesting roof line which lets in natural light and air, but hopefully not rain, sloping floors which take you up floors without realising it. We have watched the car park being built over many months as we ride to work through the road works and thought we would never attempt to park any where near the Circus. After seeing the crowds I again thought bike is best. Rebecca arrived on Wednesday, so it was great catching up, and by Saturday she had a temporary job looking after crowds visiting a circus display (real kind not shops) for the weekend. She is getting used to Bristol - only got lost a few times - and the weather.

On Friday we flew to Glasgow (the Indian and curry capital of the United Kingdom). Our flight was delayed and so after a picnic tea in the car (crumbly bread rolls and bananas -we might suggest to the airport that they put in some picnic tables in the long term car park to avoid breadcrumbs all over the car) we settled in the airport with a 90 pence bottle of water (which you get free with a newspaper - if you don't want the newspaper you have to pay £1.15 for the bottle). So, lots of passengers sat at the airport reading and sipping until we hopped on the plane. Glasgow airport is like Wellington airport - same sorts of seats and the plane lands you at a long wing you have to wander down.

Our treat on Saturday was catching up with Zane and Michelle. It was lovely to see them and see that they are enjoying life in Scotland. They took us for a drive around Loch Lomond - it was misty and a bit wet and as Michelle said perfect weather for seeing Scotland - mountains, hills, water, green and relaxed. We visited little towns like Luss (lots of history there with the first monastic community around 1200) and Aldochlay (lots of lovely little houses with flower gardens) and Loch Katrin which provides the water supply for Glasgow. The Loch had pretty little steam boats chugging up and down the water ways but we decided to take a walk around the shoreline for a while. This is McFarlane Country - Zane's clan. Inverglas (the surrounding area) had 5 centuries of McFarlane rule - known best for their 'occasional spot of cattle rustling' (we saw some hairy coos and it would be a brave person to tackle those horns) and night time raids. Apparently, as they went on their raids they yelled 'Loch Sloy Loch Sloy' (I could just imagine Zane's rellies riding on horses doing this) and they became so well known that the moon was renamed 'McFarlane's lantern'. I wonder how many hoped for a cloudy night. It wasn't until the 18th century that the clan got a leader - Walter - a more scholarly gentleman who instilled some peaceful thoughts into clan members. I did smile thinking of the history of the clan and realised that there were more than 30 other surnames linked to this clan - so we just might all be related somewhere along the way. We had lunch in a cute little cafe which was packed with locals before making our way back around the other side of the Loch. Unfortunately just before arriving back into Glasgow Michelle and Zane's car decided to break its power steering cable, and after driving us back to the hotel, the car decided to breaks its fan belt and show its alternator light on the motorway. So, a 40 minute trip between Glasgow and Edinburgh turned into a few hours sitting on the roadside waiting for assistance and a long train trip back. Not much fun for our two friends.

On Sunday we decided to catch the 'Hop on hop off' bus around Glasgow. They're always quite good as they give you lots of information about the city, take you to the main spots while saving our feet and are usually quite frequent. The hotel was quite good for transport as on Friday evening we caught a bus from the airport (it felt like our own taxi as we were the only passengers and then the bus stop was right outside the hotel - so a door to door service without the expense). And the bus stop for the 'hop on hop off' was also right outside the door. Our first port of call was the Glasgow Tower - built solely as a tourist attraction as it seemed to have no other purpose. The tower was shaped a bit like an icecream cone and with a little help from some clever engineers stood on its narrowest end and went 127 metres into the sky. There was a viewing platform at the top and the whole tower rotated to face the wind to avoid it rocking - and because there was no wind they turned it round for us to see about 270 degrees of Glasgow which was quite fun. So we saw the the docks and the River Clyde - where we saw 2 seals play in the dirty water - the one tall ship which was built on the Clyde in 1896 and police helicopters take off from their pad below. We had initially agreed with the people who had told us that 'Glasgow is not a pretty city' but from the tower you could see that there is a plan - the new buildings are popping up along the river and all have a similar architectural look that complements each other (eg the Armadillo which is the events centre and looks like a bit of the Sydney Opera House, the Imax theatre which looks like a giant slug, the Science centre which looks a bit like a half of a big potato, the soon to be built new Transport Museum, and the modern bridges - the squinty bridge had a cable snap one night closing it for about six months - thankfully no one was around to get the lashing it would have dished out). There is also a bit of art deco around the place and some oldish type buildings but most of the buildings reflect that part of our life - post war - where residences were built cheaply and fast to replace those lost during the bombings.

By the time we had come down from the tower it was raining and so we stopped at the Museum of Transport. The museum was small but offered quite a few unique insights into the world of transport. Apart from the normal buses, engines, passenger trains and old cars there was

• a memorial to the victims of the Lockerbie bombing in 1988. I didn't realise that the Lockerbie disaster led to all the security now in place at airports - as it was caused by a bag in the hold with no owner in the cabin. I don't wish to knock airport security as it is for our safety but we did have an amusing time at Bristol airport this time. Being frequent travellers we have a little plastic bag already packed with all our liquids in - less than 50 mls per item is the requirement. The regulators in England decided the day before that they would enforce the size of the plastic bag that the passengers goodies were in. So, we got to security like many other travellers and were told we couldn't pass because our plastic bag was too small (others had them too big) and you could buy them 2 for £1 if you wanted to catch your flight (a bit of profiteering?). At Glasgow they had them free sitting beside security but by that time we were all sorted. Another interesting thing on our trip is that going domestic we forgot our passports - but we had photo driver licences that were o.k. - except I was travelling under my maiden name and the name on the licence was not the same - so we went looking pathetic to the airline help desk who printed me another boarding pass after some discussion. I couldn't resist taking a photo of Caramello beside the scanning machine as he always goes through it in our bag.
• an exhibition on transport built for the disabled. An interesting insight into life with a display of tricycles built for those who can't easily balance, wheelchairs - some designed for sport and recreation - others for getting from A to B. The AC car for the disabled was nicknamed the 'wee bluey' and had one seat and the steering wheel in the middle - it was designed to enable disabled people to 'broaden their horizons and socialise' but in reality was a danger to drive, not very good in cross winds and often cornering on only 2 of its 3 wheels. Good idea anyway.
• a cobbled village with old shops (chemist, butcher, Lipton tea shop and old Austin 7's parked outside).
• an exhibition on railways. We think railway and airline food isn't great - but I think things have changed quite a bit. In 1869 Anthony Trollope stated that the railway sandwich was a disgrace and in 1890 a railway passenger purchased a sandwich only to find 'a sandwich composed of equal parts of gristle, fat and sawdust' - I promise never to moan again!! The guide on the tour bus said there was an open top bus bus with a notice asking 'kilt wearing men' not to go upstairs on a windy day' but I couldn't find it so I think he was pulling my leg.
• and a large exhibition of bicycles (velocipedes), and tricycles that 'respectable' woman rode. The oldest bike was made in 1845 they think by a Scotsman and weighed 38kg while racing bikes today weight just over 6 kg (I think mine is closer to the 38kg - my excuse for going slowly up hills). They also reckon that regular cycling keeps you 10 years younger
  and that in the 1800's a 60 kilometre bike ride took heaps of time where a Scotsman in the 1990's built his own bike and did 51 km in less than one hour. We all knew that biking was good for the environment but I didn't realise that 75% of car journeys in Great Britain are less than 5 miles and if half of those were done by bike or on foot we would cut air pollution down by heaps (nitrogen oxide emissions down by 100,000 tonnes, carbon monoxide emissions by 75,000 tonnes and carbon dioxide emissions by 16 millionn tonnes) so Harry and I are doing our bit).

Scotland is also proud of their people - great inventors like John Logie Baird (initially I thought the guide said Yogi Bear) who we have to thank for the tv and various authors like Robbie Burns. I read one of Robbie Burns poems and didn't understand a thing - I did read it a few times to see if it would sink in but to no avail - but all is not lost as he did write Auld Lang Syne. I saw a teatowel with some scottish sayings such as

• fankle - dinnae get yourself in a fankle (twist)
• drookit - fell in the burn and got drookit (drenched)
• yer footering about stope it (muddling through)
• stoppe greetin (stop crying).

And then there is Sir Thomas Lipton, a Glaswegian who made his millions through the tea trade - he didn't drink alcohol - so we wondered it that is where the term teetotaller came from - water so bad if you didn't drink ale you had to drink tea. We did visit the Willow tea room for afternoon tea but at £12 each we settled for a scone and a cuppa. The tearooms was decorated by Charles Rennie Mackintosh for the active temperance believer Kate Cranson who in 1903 wanted somewhere to have tea with her friends. The tea room is above the jewellers shop, as it was many years before and while we were having tea my camera slipped off the table through the iron railings down into the jewellers shop, thankfully missing the display of bone china not far away. I had thought that children would have managed to slip things through but I guess it isn't a place for kids (or me!!). And then there is Sir Walter Scott who bought water to Glasgow in 1872 from the Loch Katrin which we had visited the day before with Michelle and Zane. There is a little fountain in the centre of town commemorating this important event. The motorway tunnel is now underneath this little fountain and due to subsidence it sinks to the right about 1 quarter of an inch a year - Glasgow's own Tower of Pisa. Incidentally the statue in Georges Square is of Walter Scott- originally it was to be King George but before the naming of the statue George had lost the colonies of America and bang went the Glasgow tobacco trade so Walter got the honours.

The peoples palace was opened in 1898 by the Earl of Roseberry - it was built in the what was considered the worst areas of Glasgow for the Glaswegians to have somewhere to go to enjoy - it is now home to an exhibition centre and we saw a photo display of life in the 1950's (a camera club had taken a range of photos of people going about their business eg pushing washing in a pram to the launderette - they tramped washing in large tubs and using the green as a drying and bleaching area, children playing in parks, a football stadium, rubbish collectors - an enlightening for the era). With rationing continuing until 1954 the photos showed what life was after the war and the fortnightly holiday with most Glaswegians going 'doon the watter' ie holidaying somehwere along the Clyde coast.

It told stories of:

• the children evacuated to the country - Glasgow was the recipient of heavy bombing presumably due to its dock and ship yards - a young girl wrote 'We didn't have a suitcase, I took a wee brown poke with a jersey and a pair of knickers in it'.
• the history of retailing in the city with the opening of the first retail store in 1909 and the Buttercup dairy factory. Interestingly it had a list of its commandments which if used today would probably boost the profits of stores. 'Its always worthwhile to serve with a smile, a parcel neatly and firmly wrapped will bring a customer back, cleanliness in handling food cannot achieve anything but good, where the staff is bright and cheery business will be brisk and bright and never dreary, economise in light, paper boxes and string - be careful - do not waste anything, if your customer says it is 'white' it is white because your customer is always right'.
• and of woman working in the war - summed up by this letter to Jamie - 'Dear Jamie - I am sticking in at my work, I will be an engineer before long. There are 25 more women coming in on Monday ... and we are told that the amount of work we do in 3 weeks would have taken the men 3 years and Jamie the men are quite mad at us'.

Outside the museum, is a green house with a few ferns. The notice says it is known as a Dicksonia Squarosa from New Zealand - and I always called it a ponga. There is also the

largest terracotta fountain in the world, a memorial to the 4 british colonies - Australia, South Africa, India and America - what about us I thought!! We then walked along the river back to our hotel to pick up bags and enjoyed the last of our quick trip to Glasgow including passing the number of bridges including the rail bridge with trees growing along the sides and a few of the modern ones.

One good thing about sitting at airports waiting for late planes is catching up on the news and articles I often skip over. There was an article about toilets - a topic dear to many a travellers heart. I have thought for a while that English do toilets well and have wondered whether this reflects the modest culture and their desire for privacy. Certainly some of the European countries we have visited either never clean them, or they don't exist. So, the article started with 'there is a school of thought that a nation can be judged by its public toilets - going by the majority of loos I've used recently, some countries are on the bring of civil collapse' caught my interest. The story goes on that a friend 'after using the loo she avoided paying again by letting her son jump in before the doors shut. But hell hath no fury like a toilet payment scorned and he was thoroughly disinfected when he go stuck inside during the cleaning cycle. Fifteen minutes later he escaped, none the worse for wear but with a brand new aversion to toilet pods.' Funny, I have often thought about avoiding the payment by letting Harry go second - still could - but he might not talk to me if the same thing happened to him.

Another article - was about the weight of bread. In 1266 the Assize of Bread and Ale has meant that no baker in England has been allowed to bake a loaf unless it was 400 grams in weight or multiples of it (not sure how this worked out before metrics came along but somehow the bread industry coped). Harry and I have often wondered why you couldn't get the lovely breads you can buy in France or Italy or New Zealand and now know why. Trading Standards officers would frequently visit bakers to make spot checks on the weight of the bread. But after Friday, bakers have the luxury and we the good fortune of being able to purchase loaves of any size and bakers now can create bread any shape or size just like the rest of Europe.

Only one question remains from our trip to Glasgow- Where have all the pipers gone? Silence is not what we expected or wanted.

Bordeaux

We had booked our weekend to Bordeaux back in winter - when we thought an autumn trip might be just the thing for us. So, after another busy week at work where we went to the movie the Duchess (and regretted it) , I spent a day in Swansea and Harry went to a graduation evening for his students, more doom and gloom on the housing and banking scenes and more airlines going bankrupt (we had a cancellation to one of our weekends in Spain in December) we caught a mid day flight to France and left Bristol in warm, sunny conditions (a rarity so it is worth mentioning) and arrived in Bordeaux to even warmer weather - bliss. After picking up our rental car (Seat Ibiza), we drove to the hotel which was very close to the airport (real cheap, but relatively new and nice. No restaurant but there was breakfast for 7 euros each, though not on Sundays, a pool and a kitchenette another rarity in European hotels). We then drove into Bordeaux - though quite a distance away it was in a straight line so we had no excuse to get lost and we didn't - we even found a car park after circling the block only twice. The car park was underground and built like a huge downward spiral - we parked in number 366 and after walking and eating we drove back up the spiral completely losing our sense of direction!! One very interesting security device was that without a ticket you couldn't access the lifts to the carpark - but if you were desperate I guess you could wander under the gate and down the spiral until you found what you wanted. Bordeaux is a quaint city - 1.2 million people, but spacious and exceptionally clean. We wandered around the town, past the gardens locked for the night, statues and fountains (Fountain of the Three Graces) and along the water front (River La Garonne). It didn't take long as we couldn't understand any of the inscriptions on various statues and so were left in the dark about the history of the city. The river is wide and muddy, quite deep (deep enough for cruise ships to berth and for a barge to carry a wing of an A380 up the river to the plane factory somewhere inland - Harry reckons Toulouse where there as an assembly plant on the same river) and deep enough to drown a skateboard much to a skateboarder's chagrin when he fell off and watched his board roll under the fence. Bordeauxians were enjoying themselves that sunny afternoon and we watched a bmx biker (doing wonderful tricks going upside down with his bike only to land heavily on his seat - ouch we both said but I think he said something stronger), rollerbladers, children playing (grandad had trouble keeping up with a 2 year old), cyclists and people having a drink or an early evening snack in one of the many old converted storage sheds or at Molly Malones (yes - we also found an Aussie pub). Great to see a city out and about on a Friday evening. Except for eating in Bordeaux that was our full extent of our touring around the city because have car will travel. Harry did well negotiating the right hand corners and anti-clockwise roundabouts as I sat in the passenger seat feeling I was sitting on the wrong side and spending most of my time resisting the temptation to grab the steering wheel to ensure we were on the right side of the road (or should I say left?).

And the next day we headed for the beach. First of all we considered sitting in the sun in 25 degrees and having our first swims (yes that is a plural) of the season a bit of waste of money as there is so much to see - but it was so nice, we just kept enjoying the sun, surf and sea air and in the end didn't regret it. Firstly we ventured to Lacanau-Ocean and then a bit further south to Cap Ferret. Golden sand, lots of dunes, waves, sheltered spots, cafes, shops selling sports and summery clothing, postcards and buckets and spades. The photos say it all - and with all that sand and sand bars it made for some interesting photos.

The French countryside is equally as pretty and we enjoyed driving through forest areas (while listening to a range of french and english songs), stopped by a lake for lunch (see the photo of our 'sandwich'), and on Sunday ventured to Cadillac - wine making and corn growing country. Cadillac was a cute little village, cobble stoned, typical cream coloured stone buildings, with cafes and church bells chiming and with that sleepy Sunday atmosphere. We ended up having crepes in a cafe after visiting the chateau. The chateau de Cadillac was firstly a royal residence and then a prison for 'fallen girls' in the late 18th century. It is now being restored as a royal residence but the the magnificent marble fire places, painted ceilings and window shutters (the first type of double glazing I reckon) could not hide the heavy doors with barred windows where many a poor woman was kept in absolute silence - the punishment imposed on the prisoners.

A little wander around Cadillac didn't give the impression of much more to see (after we spied a patisserie for our lunch) and so we drove back and stopped at a 'ancien village' (we interpreted as perhaps something old and worth seeing) and so ended up in Rions - an ancient village built back in 1295, and I think if I interpret the note above the gate correctly, redesigned and rebuilt in the 1330's and again in the 1800's. It was lovely wandering through the town (again rather sleepy and not a lot going on) looking at the houses and wondering what they were like behind the doors and the shutters. The view from the hill overlooking vineyards and corn fields was rather special particularly with some autumn leaves beginning to show. We then drove to a medieval castle, had a quick wander round before we drove back to the airport for the trip back to Bristol. Back in England Harry was delighted to see Wellington had blitzed Auckland and taken the shield and I was pleased to hear that some of the locals were kicking up a fuss about nudity on the Kapiti Coast beaches.